He remembered in a rush of shame that he had failed.
James said gently: “I’ve sent for a man to look to you, laddie. Dinna be afraid. He’ll look after you.”
He smiled, and it was the tender smile he bestowed on all handsome young men.
He turned away then and Robert groaned.
He had had his great chance but believed he had failed.
“A broken arm, Sire, seems to be the main damage. He’ll mend fast enough. He’s young.”
“Ay, he’s young,” agreed the King. “Jamie, where is the lad?”
“Your Majesty commanded that he was to be housed in your own palace and given the attention of your own physician. This has been done. He is bedded next to your own apartments.”
“Poor laddie, I fear he suffered. He was so eager to do well in the yard.”
“Perhaps he has not done so badly, Sire,” murmured Sir James.
“I’ll go and tell him so. He’d like to hear it from me, I’ll swear.”
“He might even think it worth a broken bone or two,” replied Sir James.
“What! A visit from his King! You boys all flatter your old Dad, Jamie.”
“Nay, Sire, I was not thinking to flatter.”
James laughed, nursing a secret joke. His lads were always afraid he was going to single one of them out for special favors. Jealous cubs, they were, fighting together. Yet they never amused him so much as when they jostled for his favor.
So James went along to see Robert Carr, who lay in bed, his beautiful head resting on his pillows. He tried to struggle up when he saw the King.
“Nay, laddie, bide where you are.”
James took a seat beside the bed.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Y … yes, Sire,” stammered the boy.
A very nice natural modesty, thought James; and now there was a faint color in the young face and, by God, there could not have been a more handsome face in the whole of the Court … now or at any time.
“Dinna be afraid, laddie. Forget I’m the King.”
“Sire … I lie here and …”
“As you should, and I forbid you to do aught else.”
“I should be kneeling.”
“So you shall when you’re well enough. Tell me now: Is it true that you’re Robbie Carr of Ferniehurst?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I’ve heard tell of your father. He was a good and loyal servant to my mother the Queen of the Scots.”
“He would have died for her as I would …”
“As you would for your King? Nay, mon! he’d not ask it. This King likes not to hear of men dying … and this is more so when they have youth and beauty. Wouldn’t a broken arm be enough, eh? Is it painful?”
“A little, Sire.”
“They tell me it’ll be well enough soon. Young bones mend quickly. Now, Robbie Carr, were you a page to me back in bonny Scotland?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And came south with me and then left me?”
“I was sent to France, Sire.”
“Where they taught you pretty manners, I see. Now you’re back at the King’s Court, and Robbie, your King’s telling you this: he hopes there you’ll stay.”
“Oh Sire, my great wish is to serve you.”
“So you shall.”
Robert had heard that the King was always deeply impressed by good looks but he had not believed that they could have such a remarkable effect as his evidently had. The King was as indulgent as a father; he wanted to know about Robert’s childhood, what life had been like at Ferniehurst.
Robert told of how he had been taught to tilt and shoot, and how he had become an expert in such manly pastimes.
“But what of books, lad?” James wanted to know. “Did they not tell you that there was more lasting pleasure to be found in them than in the tiltyard?”
