Rolfe repeated the amount King Richard had quoted to him, frowning slightly when the Scot showed no reaction. Shifting, he added reluctantly, “If that is not enough, the king has agreed to add to it.”

Duncan continued to stare, apparently unimpressed.

“How much is the king willing to add?” Angus asked, speaking for the first time since leading them to his son.

“He would go so far as to double it,” Rolfe admitted reluctantly, worried that by the lack of response of the Dunbars even that would not be enough. Much to his amazement, the younger Dunbar cursed at that, drew his sword, whirled away with a roar, and charged off across the courtyard, his plaid slapping against his legs as he ran.

Everyone in the bailey paused to watch him race madly toward a small group of men practicing at battle. Reaching the nearest of them, he released a second roar and raised his sword high. That warrior immediately brought his own sword up and the clang of metal meeting metal rang through the bailey. As if it were some sort of cue, all who had stopped went about their business again, wholly unconcerned by the man’s daft behavior.

Turning slowly to Angus Dunbar, Rolfe raised one eyebrow in question.

“He be thinkin’ on it,” the old Scot explained with a toothy grin. “We’ll go in an’ have a mug o’ ale while he decides.” Turning away, he started up the steps to the keep.

Shaking his head, Rolfe glanced at the bishop. “What think you?”

“I think we should have a mug o’ ale and await his decision,” the bishop murmured with amusement; then seeing the younger man’s bewilderment, clapped a hand on his back, urging him toward the stairs. “You have not had much experience of Scots, have you, my boy?”

“Nay,” Rolfe admitted with a slight frown.

“Well, I have had some small opportunity to deal with them and I should tell you, they are not like the English.”

“Aye.” Rolfe grimaced. “I had come to that conclusion myself.”

“Ho! And what is it has me brother so afire?”

Recognizing his sister’s voice, Duncan plowed his free fist into the jaw of the man whose sword was locked with his own. Without waiting to see him fall to the ground, he turned, drove the tip of his sword into the ground, grabbed Seonaid up in a bear hug, and whirled her around. “Congratulate me, sweetling. ’Tis a happy man I be.”

“I can see that, brother.” She laughed breathlessly as he dropped her lightly back to her feet. She stepped back, grinning broadly, and Duncan saw that she was accompanied by their two cousins, Allistair and Aelfread. “Now tell me why,” his sister said.

“What is it I have dreamed o’ doin’ since I turned eighteen? What is it I have worked the men near to death fer? What would I ask fer were I given a wish?”