Merlin saw a curious tremor pass through the King’s body. One hand crumpled up the quilt.
“Good father, my heart burns in me. Have they not caused me to hate and to distrust?”
It was he who spoke now—Merlin who listened.
“I was sick in soul, and these lords stormed at me. It was a cunning plot. I see it now. And you—you charge these noble uncles of mine with treason?”
Merlin spread his hands.
“Whom does Fulk Ferrers serve? In whose forest has he been hidden all these years? The Duke of Lancaster should know the why and the wherefore.”
“Traitor that he is! And Thomas of Woodstock—what of Thomas of Woodstock?”
“Why has he hidden himself in Wales? To wait—and to watch. This woman, Isoult of the Rose, is his spy.”
Richard sat rigid, white to the lips.
“Good father, whom can a King trust?”