If the lassies could have seen their loch now, they’d know for what they spoke as truth. Many of the men ceased shaving and cared not that they were unkempt on a war mission for most would be covered with blood as soon as the battle began.

That got James to thinking. He jumped from the water, slipped on his braises, and trotted toward camp. There, he found Sean sitting on his tartan next to a small fire outside their tent. He was preparing the morning meal for their close group and grinned at him.

“Where’s your garments?”

James turned and looked back at the loch. “Oh, I left them behind. I need to borrow your blade, for I haven’t one small enough. And mine are still in my satchel.”

“Small enough for what?” Sean reached inside his tunic and pulled out two. One was about three or four inches in length, the other at least eight. James took the smaller one.

“I need to remove my whiskers.” He found a smooth stone with which to sharpen it. After the blade was sharp enough, he began to run it over the hair on his face.

Kenneth laughed his arse off when he saw what he was doing, and fell back upon his tartan. “If I weren’t wed, I’d probably be doing the same thing.”

Colm joined them and noticed their revelry. “What’s the jest?”

“James is shaving,” Kenneth said, continuing to chuckle.

“I deem the lassie’s words affected him.” Sean handed each of the men a bowl, and waited patiently for James to finish before handing one to him.

James took it and balked at the pottage. For it wasn’t as flavorful as their laird’s wife made or the Hume keep’s cook’s. But he ate it anyway, knowing it might be a while before they’d eat again.

“Where’s Grey?” he finally asked, after setting his bowl aside.

“Angus, take these and wash them. Put them back inside my tent.” The lad Sean had brought along did as he bode and set off with an armful of dirty bowls. To him he said, “He went to meet with Llywelyn and should return soon.”

No sooner had Sean spoken; Grey came traipsing through the encampment. He stopped to speak to a few of the men he passed. He didn’t appear displeased. When he reached them, he took the bowl Sean offered.

“I’m to bring my closest guardsmen into the keep. We’re to meet to discuss tactics. Later this day, our men will join with his in training. We’ll do so for the next week, mayhap a fortnight. I will discuss Marshall’s proposal when we sit down.” Grey watched him closely and raised a brow.

“You haven’t told him yet?” James felt Grey’s eyes on him and shook off the meaning of his gaze, for Grey wouldn’t be forthcoming. Either a plan formulated in Grey’s mind, or he was hesitant to tell Iorwerth of Marshall’s demand.

“There hasn’t been time yet. I will soon enough.”

James hastened to retrieve his clothes by the loch, and he quickly donned his tunic and belted his tartan. Once he’d secured the belt, he sheathed his sword, and rubbed a good amount of water over his face. For he’d slept little and when he had, the lass effectuated him to a state of arousal. He may as well have stayed awake for as much rest as he got.

He ran back to the awaiting guardsmen and when everyone was ready, Grey led them to the fortification. Many stayed behind, and only Grey’s personal guard and ten troop leaders went along for the meeting.

On approach of the fortification, James eyed the castle enshrouded by a heavy morning mist. Its location appeared strategic given that the garrison was able to block any movement into the heart of the fortification. The high round towers looked sturdy and were at least thirty feet in height. The surrounding wall at least eight feet thick and would verily take any attack and sustain its ability to protect.

Akin to Sean’s holding, this one had steps leading to the main tower keep. As he ducked under the portcullis, he noticed that if the bridge was pulled to upright position, it would cover the upper window casements. It was a protection tactic and one he hadn’t seen before.

James followed behind Duff, toward the enclosed entryway, and rounded the stairs which were opposite of what he’d expect. But he suspected it was a defense stratagem as well. There was only one level above, but the lower level appeared spacious.

Llywelyn rose upon their arrival in the great hall. His family stood behind him, his wife, Siwan, called Joan by the English, was a handsome woman. Their children stood beside her, and James looked at each one until his eyes reached and fastened on the water nymph.

She kept her gaze serene and on the back of her father as she stood there for inspection. Llywelyn cleared his throat and turned to address them.

“Welcome, one and all. My family,” he said, and motioned to those standing behind him. Without further introduction, he bid them to leave. They immediately followed his order and vacated the hall.

James kept his gaze on the red-haired lass until she disappeared. He wanted to go after her and introduce himself, and to ask her name, but alas, he could not do so.

The meeting was called to order by the fearless king. He took a seat and motioned for all else to do so.

Grey sat nearest to him, James next to him, and the others filed in along the row of chairs at the table stretched before them. There were enough chairs to fit their entire company and more.

“I’m gladdened you have arrived, Gunn. I received a missive from Alexander that you would be coming. How many men do ye bring?”

“Six-hundred, Lord Iorwerth.”

Llywelyn’s lips twitched. “Aye, a good number, it will add to ours and I vow will be enough to handle Marshall’s paltry attacks. I bid ye to call me Llywelyn.”

“Likewise, call me Grey. I wanted to bring Marshall’s pact. He bid me to set a proposal before you and awaits your response.”

The old lord laughed mockingly. “Ah, so he wants to parlay, does he? I am not in the mood to placate him, but I will hear his offer.”

“I met with him and he was quite serious in his proposal. He deems he will cease all nefarious activity against you and yours if you betroth your daughter to him.”

Llywelyn sat forward. A maniacal grin came to his lips. “Aye? So he covets what he cannot have. Did he name a particular daughter? For I’ve a handful of them, each of marriageable age.”

Grey kept his expression fixed on the lord and said, “The one named Emlyn.”

A flicker of resentment crossed the lord’s eyes. “Emlyn. Of course he would want her. Of all my daughters, she would be most challenging for him. I needs to consider this, Grey. For I know the reason he would name her and I am not sure I’m willing to sacrifice such a prize to that berserker.”

“If you agree, we’re to take her to him as soon as can be arranged. He awaits us at Schrosberie, where we will hand over the lass.”

Llywelyn guffawed in disbelief. “So he offends me by having me send my daughter to a keep I possessed, which he has taken? If I do agree, I will send her when and where I deem to do so.” The man looked at each of them, as if assessing their skill as a warrior. A small grin came to his lips. “In the meantime, we will prepare for war. Lest you know, I trust him not. Even if I did send my daughter, he would continue to thwart me and try to take my lands. I am familiar with his kind.”

“I have his word, my lord,” Grey said.

“His word is shit. I will discuss this with you further, Grey, and would invite you and your men to a welcome celebration. We’ll have it on the morrow in the evening and I’ll have an answer for you. That will give my servants time to prepare. This day, your men will join mine and we’ll see how they fare against my Welsh soldiers.”

Grey smiled with bemusement. “Aye, my lord, I know they’ll fare well.”

“Such admiration in one’s own army is renowned, young Gunn. I like that, indeed I do.”