Before a bright fire in the great audience chamber of Dumbarton Castle sat King Alexander the Third. By his side stood two youthful pages, one a lad of sixteen or so, whose delicate complexion and habit of dress proclaimed him to be English; the other a lad of perhaps the same age, whose clear blue eyes, flaxen hair, and ruddy cheeks betokened northern blood. Sitting apart were the King's justiciary and the sheriff of Dumbarton. At the far end of the hall at either side of the portal stood two Highlanders, armed with drawn swords.
The king, now at the age of three-and-twenty, was dressed in a long robe of brown velvet, trimmed with fur. He wore a heavy chain of gold about his neck, with the device of the thistle resting on his jerkin of purple silk. The jewelled haft of a dagger was seen in his belt of crimson leather, and a long sword hung at his left side. His long thin legs were clothed in tight-fitting hose, and his feet -- which were, perhaps, over large -- were furnished with warm slippers lined with fur. He sat with his legs stretched out before him, and with his hands clasped behind his head.
Presently he yawned, stretched his arms aloft, and stood up, walking to and fro about the apartment with his thumbs stuck in his belt. In person he was majestic, and although his figure was too tall and his bones over-large and ill-covered, yet his limbs were well formed, and he bore himself gracefully. His countenance was handsome, and it beamed with a manly and sweet expression, which corresponded with the sincerity of his character.
Pausing abruptly in his pacing, he addressed the English page.
"We will now see this young lord of Bute," he said. "Go, Edwin, and bid him enter, and with him our friend Sir Piers de Currie."
Edwin went out. His companion of the flaxen hair fixed his blue eyes upon the doorway, nervously expectant.
"Ah, my young Harald," said the King in Gaelic. "So, then, you heard the name of Bute, eh? Are you already weary of courtly life that you so prick up your ears at the name of an island?"
The youth blushed and looked ashamed, but still furtively watched the door as it was reopened to admit Earl Kenric. Sir Piers de Currie entering with him, remained within the doorway until the king should be ready to receive him.
Kenric was attired in the same fashion as on the day of his throning, but that he now wore no covering upon his head. He advanced towards the king, and prostrated himself humbly before him.
"God be your guard, my lord the king," he murmured in that pure English that his mother had taught him, and raising himself on one knee he took King Alexander's hand in his own and pressed it to his lips.