“Unbar it, Bastard. Or the men with me will take it down. And if any harm has come to my father, you shall die where you stand.” Regal did not sound at all pleased with me.
“What’s this, boy? The door barred? What goes on here? Regal, what goes on here?” It pained me to hear the King’s voice crack querulously.
I crossed the room, I unbarred the door. It was flung open before I could touch it, and two of Regal’s more muscular guards seized me. They wore his satin colors like bulldogs with ribbons about their necks. I offered no resistance, so they had no real excuse to throw me up against the wall, but they did. It awoke every pain I still bore from yesterday. They held me there while Wallace rushed in, tut-tutting about how cold the room was, and what was this, eating this, why, it was no less than poison to a man in King Shrewd’s condition. Regal stood, hands on hips, very much the man in charge, and stared at me through narrowed eyes.
Rash, my boy. I very much fear that we have overplayed our hand.
“Well, Bastard? What have you to say for yourself? Exactly what were your intentions?” Regal demanded when Wallace’s litany ran down. He actually added another log to the fire in the already stifling room, and took the half-eaten pastry from the King’s hand.
“I came to report. And finding the King ill cared for, sought to remedy that situation first.” I was sweating, more from pain than nervousness. I hated to see Regal smile at it.
“I’ll cared for? What exactly are you saying?” he accused me.