Rob nodded, too young to be surprised by such knowledge in a foreign potentate. “Aye, sir,” he said. “My father is the sixth of our name.”
“As his father is the fifth. Aye, I know the man. Your grandsire, I mean. But you are born here in Scotland, are you not?”
“Aye, sir. In Turnberry.”
“Aye, indeed. And not in England. Your father was born in England, if I remember rightly. In Writtle, is that not so?”
Rob had no idea if that were so or no, but he knew that his grandfather held lands at Writtle in Essex, and so he merely nodded, noncommittally. The Highland chief, watching the boy keenly, almost smiled, then shifted his gaze to Nicol, who had been watching the interplay.
“So, Nicol MacDuncan, are we to stay here all day or are you to take us to Turnberry to meet this King of Scots?”
“We are for Turnberry. We can leave as soon as you are ready.”
The third horse scrambled ashore at that moment and was led to join the others while the last one aboard was moved into place to be fitted with the sling, and the three men began discussing other things that were of no interest to Rob. Knowing they had lost awareness of him, he looked about him curiously, and his eyes were drawn back to the boy holding the horses nearby. He was unsurprised to find the other gazing back at him levelly, his face expressionless. Rob glanced at his uncle, then, leading his mount, walked over to where the stranger stood clutching the reins of the newly landed horses.
“Hello,” he said when he was close enough to be heard.
The other boy simply stared at Rob, his eyes empty of all emotion, then turned and led the horses away. He did not go far, though, barely more than a score of paces, before he stopped again and stood staring down at the pebbles at his feet. Rob watched him, unsure whether to ignore his bad manners and follow him or to take offence, turn his own back and walk away, too, leaving the lout to curdle in his own ungraciousness. He decided to follow and see what happened, telling himself he had nothing better to do. He drew level with the other boy again and found himself greeted with that same empty look, but this time the other’s eyes slid away over Rob’s shoulder towards the men talking behind them, and he spoke without moving his lips or looking again at Rob.
“I’m no’ supposed to talk to ye,” he said in Scots. “I havena been permitted.”
Rob felt his eyebrows rise. “Permitted?” he said. “Ye mean ye’re no’ allowed to talk?”
The other boy continued to avoid his eyes, watching the distant trio of men. “No, I’m supposed to be workin’. And until they tell me to stop I canna do anything but work.”
“Are ye some kind o’ slave, then? A bonded servant?”
A smile, remote and bitter, flickered over the other boy’s face.
“No, but I might be better off as either one. I’m but my father’s son. And my task is to see to his wishes at all times, until he gies me leave to stop.”
“And who is your father, some kind of king? A tyrant?”
The half smile flickered again. “Sometimes he is. But at other times he’s well enough. That’s him, talking to the man you came wi’.”
“Angus Mohr? That’s your father?”
“Aye. Angus the Old since I was born. I’m called Angus Og— Angus the Young. Who are you?”
“Rob Bruce.”
The other boy turned to look at Rob, his eyes suddenly full of curiosity, and he spoke unthinkingly in Gaelic. “Bruce? You mean like the Englishman who married into Carrick?”
“The Earl of Carrick, you mean,” Rob responded in the same tongue. “Aye. He’s my father. The countess is my mother, and that’s where we’re going. To Turnberry Castle. That’s where I live.”
Angus Og was wide-eyed. “You speak the Gaelic?”
Rob grinned. “I should. I was born here. Will you be coming to Turnberry with us?”
Angus Og’s glance flitted from Rob to his father, whose back was to them. “I … I don’t think so. I’ll have to stay here with the boat.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I have no choice. I’m in training.”
“For what?”
The look that drew was almost pitying. “For life … ”
“We’re all at that. Would you like to come? To Turnberry? D’you want to?”
“Aye, of course I’d like to come, but I know better than to ask.”
“Then don’t. I’ll ask for you, and I’ll ask my uncle Nicol, not your father. You’re about the same age as me and there’s nobody else around who’s my age, and besides, tomorrow’s my birthday. Nicol will say yes, I know, and your father will be hard put to say no after that.”