He cocked his head, waiting for a response, but when it came, it was not what he had expected.
“I know who Angus Mohr is, and you make him sound like an ogre,” the boy said. “But he can’t be that bad, because my mam likes him.”
“He is an ogre, boy, and don’t you ever think otherwise. No man comes to be as powerful as Angus Mohr is by being kind and gentle. Besides, your mother can find a good word for anyone. That is why she’s my favourite kinswoman.”
“Not everyone, not by a mile. My father has friends she won’t let in the house, so she’s not that tolerant.”
“Friends? Or do you mean people who work for him? I’ve seen some of them myself and I wouldn’t let them into my house, either.”
“Aye, but she has always liked Angus Mohr, ever since she was a babby. So he can’t be as black as you would stain him.”
Nicol turned his head away to hide a smile and spoke towards the distant western hills. “Perhaps she may be right. We’ll see. But one way or the other, once we have the great man safely in hand, along with whoever might find honour in being with him, we will make our way up to Turnberry, where you will be a Bruce again—for a while at least, until they pass you back to me. It’s just a few miles north of where we are headed, and your mother will be waiting for you. Tomorrow is your tenth birthday after all, as you said, and ten years is a whole decade—worthy of celebration—so we’re taking you home to be with your family. You will remember the day you turned ten, though. You will recall it forever after as the day you met the King.”
“The King? King Alexander?”
“Aye. Is there another that you know of? Alexander the Third, of the House of Canmore, King of Scots. You will not have met him before, I suspect, eh?”
“No.” The boy was wide-eyed with wonder. “And he’s coming to Turnberry?”
“Aye, he is. And he’ll be there for your birthday.” His grin grew wider and then he shrugged. “Mind you, he’s coming to meet with Angus Mohr as well. The two of them have matters to discuss. But he will know your face, from tomorrow on.”
Rob was stunned, for he had never met anyone his own age who had met the King. Alexander had been King of Scots for more than twenty years, he knew, but few of his common subjects were ever fortunate enough to meet him, especially here in the wild southwest. And now King Alexander himself would be in Turnberry, there for his birthday …
Rob had known he would be returning home for his birthday, because he did so every year. This year, though, he had not been altogether sure he wanted to go back, and he had been feeling guilty about that, uncomfortable with what he suspected were stirrings of disloyalty. Now, though, he felt a great wave of relief sweep over him, banishing his earlier feelings and filling him instead with eager anticipation. Notwithstanding the King’s visit and the excitement it would engender, he found himself thrilling to the thought of seeing his mother again, and even his father, Earl Robert, though the man seldom recognized Rob’s existence other than to growl a warning at him from time to time when his patience grew thin. And it would be good to see his brothers and sisters again, though most of them were too young to be of any real interest. His elder sister, Christina, he knew, would be happy to see him, and so would his closest younger sibling, Isabel. Even Nigel, the sturdy, smiling, sunny-natured child whose name was really Niall, after their maternal grandsire, would make him welcome. Isabel was eight now, and Nigel must be six and a half, but below them in line, spaced roughly a year apart, came three more boys, Edward, Thomas, and the recently born Alexander. All three of those, in young Robert’s eyes, were little more than sources of never-ending noise, ranging from screams of rage to whines and bleats of complaint, separated by unintelligible outbursts of squabbling.
No wonder, he thought for the first time, that his father was so impatient and short-tempered all the time. Robert Bruce of Carrick was a conscientious, studious man who took his duties as the earl seriously and was consequently seldom at home. Whenever he did come home, though, the constant noise of brawling, squabbling children must have driven him mad. Realizing that he shared that much in common at least with his father, Rob decided, then and there, that meet the King or no, he would far rather spend more time with his uncle Nicol, in his home at Dalmellington, than among his own clamouring brood in Turnberry Castle, and he was surprised, for a moment, by how happy the decision made him feel. He turned his eyes slightly to glance at his uncle and was relieved to find that Nicol was deep in his own thoughts, his narrowed eyes gazing off towards the west as though they could pierce the hills and show him the distant sea.