The king dismounted, and so did Neil and the rest. Owen took a deep breath. He locked his eyes with Uncle Neil, but the older man’s expression was unreadable. What did he think of the whole matter?
“Welcome, Your Grace,” Dougal said. “Hope yer journey was good. We didna ken of yer arrival.”
“Aye,” the Bruce said. “But the message yer son sent was very important. We must act. Where’s Owen?”
Owen stepped forward. “Aye, Your Grace, I’m here.”
A tall, mighty man with the neck of a tempered warrior, huge shoulders and arms, the king wore a look of grave intensity. Owen had never spoken to the king directly, and being under his penetrating gaze made his skin itch. What if he was wrong? What if he was putting the destiny of his king and Scotland in jeopardy?
“Come,” the Bruce said. “We must talk somewhere quietly and decide what to do.”
“The great hall?” Neil asked Dougal.
“Aye, of course. Owen, make sure no one enters but those who’re supposed to be there. Craig, Domhnall, come with.”
Owen’s teeth clenched. He wasn’t even invited?
“Father,” Craig said quietly while Uncle Neil showed the king to the great hall. “Owen should be there. ’Tis he who heard the news.”
Dougal eyed Owen heavily and shook his head. “Aye. No way of turning this around, anyway.”
Owen was about to walk with them to the great hall when Amber caught his arm and stopped him. Her delicious scent reached his nostrils, her full lips close to him.
“Owen, don’t falter,” she said. “Don’t let them intimidate you. You got this.”
Even though he’d kept his distance from her all these days, she didn’t hold a grudge and still supported him. Gratitude spread through Owen’s limbs with tingling warmth. And then he had a thought. “Come with me. Ye’re from the future. Ye might have some good ideas.”
“Me?”
“Aye. Please. Amy’s helped Craig with her skills of finding people from the future. She boils milk and water and cloth, claiming it kills some invisible sickness. It sounds like witchcraft to me, but it works. Ye are a warrior from the future. Ye might ken something we dinna.”
Amber glared at him. “Didn’t you say I was distracting you?”
Guilt pinched him. “I will try to contain myself,” he said through his teeth. “If ye can help, ’tis more important.”
She tapped her feet nervously and held his gaze, thinking. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Aye.”
They walked to the great hall. It was being emptied for the discussion. The Bruce appointed his own men to watch the entrance and they blocked when Owen and Amber approached.
“The king wants me there, lads,” Owen said.
“’Tis nae about ye,” one of them said. “She canna enter.”
Amber took a step back. “Seriously, Owen, I don’t think I should be in there.”
“Nae, ye should. She’s with me, lads. She’s a known military strategist from the caliphate.”
The guards exchanged a look, but one of them shook his head.
“The Bruce will be pissed,” Owen said.
“I dinna hear nothing about anyone from the caliphate,” the guard said.
Craig appeared from the doors. “What’s taking so long, Owen? The king is asking for ye.”
“These good men dinna want to let Amber in.”
Craig frowned, clearly confused. “Amber? Why would she—”
“Aye, she’s a renowned military strategist from the caliphate. And the king would very much appreciate her advice.”
Craig’s forehead flattened. “Oh, aye. Lads, let her in. The king wants her in here.”
The guard sighed and stepped aside, letting Owen and Amber pass.
Men stood around one of the tables, the benches set aside. The king himself, Uncle Neil, Dougal, Craig, James Douglas, the Bruce’s brother, Edward, and several others stood around the table. Their presence suffused the great hall with a palpable pulse of power.
“Owen Cambel”—the Bruce raised his head—“finally.” He frowned at Amber. “Why is this woman here?”
“Lady Amber’s a traveling mercenary from the caliphate,” Owen said. “She was hired by Kenneth Mackenzie.”
“The caliphate?” The Bruce’s look sharpened. “Dinna women there sit inside harems and produce children? ’Tis what I heard.”
Amber raised her chin. “Not all of them. The strongest ones build their own lives. At least, that’s what I wish for them.”
His strong lass. But would the Bruce believe her?
“Why are ye here?” the king asked. “A woman doesna belong on my military council.”
If the wrath of the king would fall on Amber, it would be Owen’s fault. He needed to protect her. “I believe her unique knowledge from the caliphate might be beneficial. I have seen her fight and she possesses military skills I havena seen before. She is an asset to ye, Your Grace.”
The Bruce held him in his long gaze, then Amber. “’Tis most unusual, but these are unusual times. I’ll allow it. But rest assured, if I suspect foul play, ye will be held a prisoner, Lady Amber.”
Owen suppressed an urge to shield Amber from the king’s words. Another threat of prison… That must be hard for her.
The Bruce gestured for them to come closer. “Tell me, what happened, Owen. How did ye come to hear the information about MacDougalls and the ambush?”
Owen walked towards the table, feeling the eyes of every man on him. His da’s gaze was especially heavy. Owen could physically feel it on his skin. But his father was not his concern now. He came to stand at the table and met the king’s eyes. They were dark and piercing, the eyes of a man who knew what he wanted and expected much from himself and people around him.
The man who’d made himself king.
He wouldn’t forgive a weakness, or a mistake.
“As de Bourgh took Inverlochy, he took me prisoner.” He looked back at Amber, who stood behind him. The Bruce studied them both. “As well as Amber. De Bourgh tortured her, trying to find out anything that would compromise ye or the campaign. And when it was my turn to be interrogated, John MacDougall showed up.”
The Bruce’s sharp gaze pierced Owen. “Aye, and?”
Owen’s fists clenched as he remembered the rage that had thundered in his body. “We talked. As ye ken, our clans have a history.”
The Bruce shook his head briefly. “As does mine with his.”
“Aye. He beat the shite out of me and knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, de Bourgh and MacDougall didna ken that I was listening and they discussed their plan. Yer peace treaty with the MacDougall ends in a sennight. He kens ye’re coming for him since he’s the last strong clan in Scotland that stands against ye. And he kens the only way to his lands are through the Pass of Brander.”
“Aye.”
“He wants a repetition of the Battle of Dalrigh. He will ambush ye there.”
The Bruce stared at him for a long time, and Owen felt rooted to the spot. The anticipation of the waiting to see his king’s response was like cold iron solidifying the marrow of his bones. What would it be, shame or victory? Would he lose everything over this? Would he dishonor the reputation of his family in front of yet another king?