Chapter 217: Just a Brief Audience
24 August, 1361. Magdaline Castle, Islia
William walked into his apartnts and shrugged off his outer tunic. He’d just returned from a picnic in the western gardens that Camilla had arranged to celebrate their son’s first birthday. It had been an afternoon of much rrint and laughter, watching Malcolm toddle unsteadily on his plump little legs, desperate to keep up and play with Jas and Blanche’s sons. Fortunately for him, the older boys were kind hearted and had been happy to lead the toddler around by the hands as they all scampered on the lawns.
At one point, Blanche’s daughter, who was not yet two, had toddled over to Malcolm and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. The boy had stared at her for a mont, nonplussed, before continuing to eat from the little plate of food placed in front of him.
Jas had found the encounter hilarious. "That will all change, little lad. If you’re anything like your father, in a few years you’ll be very glad when the ladies are queuing up to kiss you."
Everyone had laughed and William had shaken his head in good humour at the reference to his past as a notorious womaniser.
Once the picnic had ended with Malcolm asleep on Camilla’s lap, she’d carried him back to his nursery to try and settle him for a proper nap. William doubted she’d succeed - Malcolm almost always refused to nap unless he was snuggled in his mother’s arms.
"Can’t really bla the lad," William mused out loud as he walked into the dressing room and started scanning the racks for a more formal tunic to wear to dinner.
A faint sound reached his ears, sounding like knocking. William walked out of the dressing room and through the bedchamber. When he reached the presence chamber, the knock began again, along with Casimir’s voice.
"Your Grace! You have a visitor." the page called out. "A wealthy Haviettenese rchant."
William frowned. He couldn’t recall arranging to et with anyone today and certainly no rchants. All he really wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon was relax and catch his breath before dinner.
And maybe undress my pretty wife, if she manages to get Malcolm to agree to a nap, William mused. To Casimir, he called out, "I have no visits planned for today. Ask him what his business is."
There was the faint murmuring of voices on the other side of the door, then Casimir replied, "The rchant says his business is actually with your lady wife, Her Grace."
Perhaps Camilla was negotiating a purchase from the rchant, that she’d forgotten to ntion to him, William wondered. "I’m afraid she’s not here right now. Tell the rchant to co back tomorrow."
More murmurs behind the door. Casimir’s voice then rang through. "Begging your pardon, my lord. But the gentleman says he cannot return tomorrow and must speak to your lady wife urgently. He only requests a brief audience with her."
William was rapidly losing his patience with the conversation through the doors. He stomped over to the door and pulled it open.
His annoyed gaze first landed on Casimir’s thin, careworn face. The page bowed nervously.
"Pardon the interruption to your afternoon, Your Highness." Casimir said.
"A little late to apologise now, isn’t it?" William grumbled as he turned to look at the man standing a little behind the page.
The man bowed respectfully to the prince, keeping his head low. He was wearing an embroidered red tunic common among the rchant class, as well as a broadcloth cap with a large brim, pulled low to obscure his eyes.
"My wife may not return for an hour or so." William warned.
"If you please, my lord, may I wait for her? It’s rather important I have a word with her." The man kept his voice soft, but his rather odd accent was unmissable. William couldn’t place it.
His narrowed his eyes with suspicion. What business would this man have with Camilla? Not wishing to continue the conversation in the corridor where gossips were always listening, he impatiently waved the man inside.
William closed the door behind them and appraised the rchant more carefully. He was tall, about William’s height but with a broader build. He kept his face downcast and his eyes were concealed by the wide brim of his cap.
"Are you in the habit of keeping your head covered before royalty? Take off your cap." William ordered. He wasn’t usually so abrupt with strangers but there was sothing about the man that made him uncomfortable.
"My apologies, Your Highness, but I cannot." The man’s voice was deferential. So why did William think he detected the faintest hint of mockery in it?
"I have a bad head wound I prefer to keep concealed from the sight of others. Especially from such illustrious company as yourself and your lady wife." the rchant replied.
Liar, thought William instantly. "So what is is you wish to speak to my wife about that is so important, you’re willing to wait for her here?"
"It is a rather delicate matter." The man’s tone grew hesitant. "But I promise I won’t take too much of the Princess of Moraigth’s ti."
William bristled. "She’s Islian now. And you’d better explain this delicate matter to
first, if you think you’re going to receive an audience with her."
"But my lord, it’s rather hard to explain." The man twisted his hands nervously. "It will all beco clear once I speak to Her Highness though-"
"Is that so? You think I’m going to let her spend ti in the presence of so stranger who can’t even explain the reason for his visit?"
"I swear I have nothing but honest intentions-" the rchant protested.
"Enough!" William snapped. "I grow bored of this conversation. Either you tell
what business you have with my wife, or you leave this instant. The choice is yours to make."
"Are you in the habit of controlling all her visits, then? Treating her like a songbird in a cage?" the rchant replied, his strange accent becoming thicker as frustration crept into his voice.
William took a single step closer to the man. "Who the hell do you think you are to ask
such an inappropriate question? And why is my marriage any concern of yours?"
The man held his ground, clearly refusing to be intimidated.
William was about to open his mouth and order the impertinent man out of his sight once for all, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the corridor.
Both n suddenly turned to face the double doors to the presence chamber as they swung open and Camilla bounded through, carrying a sleepy eyed Malcolm on her hip.
Even in the middle of the tense standoff, William had to pause for a mont to admire his beloved wife’s beauty. Her skin glowed from an afternoon spent in the sunshine and she radiated contentnt.
When she saw William was in the middle of a discussion, she quickly flashed him a sweet smile and began to head towards the bedchamber. To the rchant, she rely aid a polite nod.
Then she stopped so suddenly, she almost staggered. Camilla whirled to take a second look at him, her eyes wide. As she scanned him with her gaze, William saw her face slowly lose every drop of colour in it and her expression turn completely vacant from shock.
Camilla began to sway slightly on her feet.
She recognises this man from sowhere, William realised. Even with part of his face obscured. Was he an old suitor? A stab of jealousy began to prickle under his skin, hotly uncomfortable. His eyes darted from his wife to the rchant, who was staring back just as intently at Camilla.
"Camilla? How do you know each other?" William blurted out. There was sothing very strange about the look that passed between the locked gazes of the pair in front of him.
Camilla drifted towards William but didn’t look at him. Instead, she handed the toddler over to his father without tearing her eyes from the strange man. Once her arms were empty, she stepped ever closer to the rchant, who looked as if he wanted to speak but was struggling to find the right words.
"Who is this man, Camilla?" William asked again, louder this ti.
Again, she didn’t respond to her husband, or even turn to look at him. She slowly glided to stand in front of the other man as if tugged by an invisible rope.
William could only watch, stunned and utterly baffled by his wife. In the next mont, Camilla reached up and pulled off the man’s broadcloth cap.
No terrible injury could be seen, confirming William’s earlier suspicions. Instead, a mop of loose, rust coloured curls were revealed, sparking a long dormant feeling of familiarity in William’s mind. The only person he could ever recall eting with the sa hair was-
"Malcolm." Camilla breathed out, her voice a thin, awed thread.
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