The Scottish Boy

by Alex de Campi

They’ve stopped touching each other, and Harry never realised how tactile their friendship was until it ceased. He misses it. Harry catches Iain watching him out of the corner of his eyes, though. It’s as if he’s waiting for Harry, but Harry has absolutely no clue what to do.

‘You won’t do anything while I’m away, will you?’ Iain looks down at his still-braced leg, then raises an eyebrow at Harry. ‘Rabbie will presumably be at Windsor too?’ Harry nods. Iain hums. ‘Then if killing Rabbie is off the table as far as entertaining myself while you’re gone is concerned, I promise I’ll be a good boy and return your manor to you in the same condition you left it.’ Then he smirks. ‘Maybe even better condition.’

Both pause their high jinks to wave and smile at Ralf as they pass, and the blacksmith just shakes his head fondly, his big shoulders quivering in amusement. ‘Harry, don’t you dare pull that boy off his horse and injure his leg again,’ Ralf calls out to them. ‘Thank you,’ yells Iain, exasperated and somewhat breathless. Then there’s a squawk and an ‘och, ye bastard, I’ll get you for that’.

And now instead of sleeping ahead of their dawn start, he’s stalking back and forth in the solar after supper, wearing a hole in the floorboards, trying to work out what he’s forgotten. ‘If you don’t stop that pacing,’ Iain finally snaps from his pallet, ‘I am going to tackle you and tie you to the bed.’ Iain is ready for sleep:

‘Why, then? It’s a good bed,’ Harry huffs. ‘Because I said so,’ Iain grumbles. ‘That’s not a reason,’ Harry says, crossing his arms. ‘Why not?’ Iain snorts and squeezes his eyes shut. ‘Because, Harry, if you absolutely need to know, I feel like a cat in heat right now and as soon as you leave I’m going to defile myself every single night and probably go and fertilise the moss on your stone too, and spilling all over your nice bed is definitely bad manners.’ ‘Iain, you’re disgusting,’ Harry frowns. Iain opens one eye and glares at him. ‘And you do not know when to drop a subject, Harry.’

Filters, anyone

‘It’s just … I never hear you doing it, so I didn’t think I should …’ ‘Yes. Well,’ Harry says, staring at his feet. ‘For a long while I was too worried about someone stabbing me in my sleep to think about getting off.’

Murder does tend to put a damper on the hornies

‘Harry,’ Iain says, licking his lips, ‘you have to understand. I’m not going to live to my majority. I’ll be killed. My very existence is … enormously inconvenient. I didn’t want to die without knowing what pleasure was.’

Harry gets up, trips over the breeches pooled around his ankles, falls onto his knees, kicks the fabric off him, and then since he’s on the ground already he decides to crawl over to Iain.

‘I can’t believe I lost my virginity to you. You bit me.’ Harry can feel Iain’s smirk, even in the dark. ‘If you ask me nicely enough, I’ll bite you again.’

Oh no

He looks beside him, to Kit’s shaggy blond head and wide smile. Then back, to dark, sharp little Peter, riding the fat little pony they all call Goblin because she isn’t nice for anyone other than him. Both are attractive men, in their way. Harry can admit that. He can also admit he feels nothing for them, other than a vague kinship. Harry exhales in relief. He’s not … he’s not a sodomite. He remembers riding through Salisbury Market a year ago with Sir Simon, and there was a man being hung for sodomy. When the body stopped jerking, the executioner had cut his genitals off, and then they had quartered him. The crowd had cheered at the butchery.

Harry sighs. He supposes they’re lucky, that the only casualty of Iain’s first months had been a horse. But everything now seems to come at the cost of a life. His mother’s, for the chance to go to war. Sir Simon’s, for becoming a knight. And Star’s, in exchange for gaining a friend. For gaining Iain. Mysterious, lost, wild Iain.

Montagu begins, but the rest of his sentence is cut off by a commotion from the pavilion’s entrance and the Baron’s name being shouted out. By Rabbie. Sir Robert. Upholder of such knightly virtues as murder, torture and casual cruelty.

Yay knights

He smirks, and imagines what Iain would say. Iain would pull Numbles over close to him and murmur about how Waldegrave is already as red as his coat, that garment straining at its seams like an overstuffed sausage casing. How Thomas Howland’s horse looks like it was cobbled together from the spare parts of other, unrelated horses.

he finds he’s not simply being polite – he really would like to walk around Dartington with Alys and hear her quick, clever take on things. Annie would love her. Iain would … Iain would hate her. At first.

That moron Balliol can’t even hold a candle without spilling wax; he’s never going to hold the North.’

despite the early winter weather he is barefoot, wearing only a long, baggy shirt, belted low on his hips. He’s looking down, raking a dirty hand through his hair to dislodge the pieces of straw from it. His shirt is a mess, almost translucent with wear and badly torn at the shoulder. Then he looks up, and grins as he sees Harry. Harry’s breath fails him. Iain’s hair has been cut. His face is exposed to view, no longer hidden behind dark, matted locks. Harry’s heart fails him next, skittering strangely in his chest. Iain is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

Haha Harry has a crush

He knows he’s grinning like a fool, unable to take his eyes off his friend, overcome with what feels like not just butterflies in his stomach but the whole damn aviary.

Even budgies damn

‘Didn’t mess around with your girl at Windsor?’ Iain rumbles, turning back to his ablutions. ‘She wasn’t that kind of girl,’ Harry says. ‘And I’m that kind of boy,’ Iain says, something mournful fraying the edges of his voice. ‘Iain, no,’

they start the journey to the great tournament at Dunstable. Where he and Iain will live in a small tent together, sharing a travelling pallet at night, for a whole week. Harry shuts his eyes and prays to Agnes, patron saint of chastity.

Iain looks at him and shakes his head. ‘Only a crazy person makes friends with a boy in a cage,’ he says, as if realising something profound. ‘I should have seen it. Only a crazy person.’

Harry sighs. ‘There’s a rule, Iain. A squire can run into the mêlée. If he unseats a knight, he can keep their horse. But nobody actually does it. You have to go in unarmed and without a shield, at most in a mail shirt and a helmet.’ ‘Oh,’ Iain says, a grin playing at the edges of his lips. ‘Iain, no,’ Harry says.

"Iain, no" is the alternate name of this book

The King claps him on the back, and tells him with a grin that his squire’s flying attack is the best thing he’s seen in ages. ‘God’s teeth, don’t encourage him, Your Majesty,’ Harry sighs, and the King roars with laughter.

Because he loves Iain. His strong, brave, wild Iain, who charms the bitchy old heraldry clerks with Latin insults and has Annie wrapped around his little finger and who knocked Rabbie Ufford into a pile of horseshit because winning a tournament mattered to Harry.

Haha Harry has a crush

Then Iain gasps and sticks his face in Harry’s, grinning. ‘Harry. Can you imagine? Lord Morris would brick himself. I show up and give him my full lineage; find that in your book, Lord Magnus. The poor old bat would keel over.’ Harry snorts. ‘Iain, don’t abuse the heraldry clerks. Without them, English knighthood would fall apart.’

‘The first step in my war of vengeance,’ Iain hisses. ‘Actually, no,’ he adds, in a normal tone of voice. ‘They’re exempt from vengeance, for reasons of decent Latin.’ ‘His wrath was mighty, but swerved for epigrams,’ Harry snorts. ‘Exactly,’ Iain says.

A noble exemption

‘I choose to be here with you, Harry. If it comes out publicly who I am, then I will have to go away for a while to take care of some things, but listen to me.’ He takes Harry’s face in his hands and holds him there, gazing into his eyes, deadly serious. ‘I will always come back to you. Always. Even if I have to drag myself out of the grave to do it.’

‘King of a country I don’t even remember. What a joke.’ ‘You’re already king of a country,’ Harry says, tracing his finger down Iain’s face, those glorious cheekbones, that strong jaw. ‘A very small one, comprising a simple country knight, and his sword, and his heart.’

Oh my fucking god

‘And when I am away from my country, which I love with all my heart,’ Iain says, throwing his leg over Harry so he can straddle him, ‘I am diminished, and sour, and must content myself with the work of mine own hands, which are cold comfort, compared to the warm embrace of my home.’

‘I was an idiot who thought ignoring love could make it go away.’ Iain bites his neck, sending a jolt of pleasure straight down to Harry’s groin. ‘My idiot,’ Iain growls. ‘Crazy person befriending boys in cages.’

Iain stop biting people

He realises it’s not enough, that Annie deserves the full truth. He sucks in a breath, hot and bitter with ash. ‘Annie, Iain and I are …’ Annie pinches his arm. ‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘Would that we all could find someone who looks at us the way you two look at each other.’

Of course Annie knows you dumbass

just because Iain knows what rock bottom is, has been there and climbed back up from it, does not mean others will be as forgiving of any slip in status. Those who have travelled great distances on the class scale often forget how much those who have not measure every inch above and below them as if it were a league.

his long-tailed liripipe comes unwrapped from around his shoulders and the soft wool falls across Iain’s face. Iain wrinkles his nose and snorts in amusement as Harry flails. ‘Oh, fuck this,’ Harry grumbles, trying to right the ridiculous garment. ‘Fuck these clothes.’ ‘I was trying,’ Iain mumbles, faux-grumpy, ‘but you stopped me.’

Oh snap

‘Hm,’ Arundel says by his side. ‘Is he always that dramatic?’ ‘You have no idea,’ says Harry.

‘Oh, Harry. Your Scotsman, isn’t it? When you took my favour, he glared at me like he wanted to kill me.’ ‘To be fair he, uh, looks at most people like that,’ Harry mumbles. ‘Mm. Except you,’ Alys says. ‘And you are inseparable from him.’

‘I love him,’ he breathes. ‘He is your squire,’ Alys says. ‘Your servant. Are you not concerned that he couldn’t say no?’ Harry snorts in amusement. ‘Oh, he bloody can. He says no every day. He’s the worst, most insubordinate servant you’ve ever met. One time? He stabbed my horse. When I first met him? He bit me. Bit me! I still have the scar.’ He looks at Alys again, deadly serious.

Murderous

‘I have a proposal for you. You wish a wife, while you love another who you cannot be with publicly. I wish a husband I can trust, and … not to be touched.’ Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Alys holds up a finger. ‘I’m not frigid. I don’t need to be warmed up. I am fine the way that I am. And if I enter an arrangement with you – because it’s you or the convent, to be honest – you must understand what I want, which is that our love remain chaste and courtly. And you never make me feel lesser for what I do not desire.’

Alys is an Icon

‘Would he formally give up all claim to the French throne?’ Alys asks. ‘Yes, I believe he would,’ Harry says. ‘He doesn’t want to be king.’ ‘That’s good,’ Alys breathes. Then she whispers in Harry’s ear, and he can hear the smile in her voice. ‘He’s terrifying.’ Harry melts a little. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘It’s just …’ Harry begins. ‘When I was a child, I’d go to this pond and lie on a rock and dream of my future, of having a staunch knight as my best friend, and a noble lady to love with all my heart. And now I find myself a man, a warrior I love with all my heart, and a noble lady as my best friend.’ He shakes his head. ‘This is. Not how I expected my life to go.’

Oh how the turntables

The King is in the crowd. Marvellous, Harry thinks. The King is watching him have a very public, armed spat with his lover. So much for his grand hopes for a triumphant Nottingham tournament.

‘My lord of Arundel,’ the King calls back. ‘What have you on your mind?’ ‘A petition for Sir Harry here to come back to our team on the opening mêlée, that is all. When he’s around I don’t get knocked on my arse so much,’ Arundel admits, to general laughter.

Ten, Harry thinks. Ten left of the Galloway Dozen, including him. Of course, it could be a coincidence, but he doesn’t think so.

Coincidence? I think, not!

Iain sighs. ‘And then she made me laugh. I see what you love in her.’ ‘No,’ Harry says. ‘I love only you. I adore her.’ Iain hums, and tilts his head. ‘I can’t promise I won’t have tantrums,’ he says. ‘I hear they’re a royal prerogative,’ Harry replies.

‘Well, now that I know the baby won’t be born in a barn,’ Alys tosses back at Sir Gervase. Harry rises to the occasion, crossing his arms and pantomiming displeasure. They can joke their way out of this. ‘I don’t know what you’re objecting to, Alys. It’s a very nice barn.’

Harry turns back to the Black Knight. He doesn’t understand any of this: the knight’s strange stillness; his choice of targets— Harry’s eyes widen and his skin prickles with goosebumps. His choice of targets. Sharp and Howland. Two more of the Galloway Dozen. But not him. The knight has not lifted a hand in battle to Harry, and neither have the rest of the raiders. ‘Who are you?’ Harry says. His voice shakes. And in front of him Harry doesn’t see a knight, but a starving little ball of Scottish fury in a cage, hissing that his name is Lord Death. Threatening to kill every one of his captors, despite being too weak to stand.

Iconic

He jots a quick letter to Alys apologising for his long absence, and asking for news of the children and of Dartington. He entrusts it to Sir Hugh, who is crossing the Channel with the King. ‘Is there anything I should add?’ Sir Hugh asks, tucking the letter into his saddlebags. ‘Just tell her I think I’ve seen a ghost,’ Harry says. Sir Hugh nods. Then he puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder. ‘Be well,’ he says. ‘I hope you find him.’

Spooky

When they break the kiss, Iain breathes, ‘Will you still have me, Harry? Scars and all?’ ‘Now who’s the idiot?’ Harry growls

‘Where have you been?’ the Bishop gasps. ‘Finding the boy,’ Harry says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, and not like a man who’s just been reunited with the love of his life and then ploughed him senseless several times during the night.

Oh poor Bishop

‘Just … I feel odd. I don’t know what to do, now that I’m not angry any more.’

Iconic

‘Out of curiosity, do you kneel for Philip of Valois?’ Iain shakes his head. ‘Fret not. I only kneel for one man, and it is neither of you, my cousins.’ Harry ducks his head as he stands, hoping nobody notices either his blush or the twitching of his loins.

‘Your terms have averted a war and eliminated the enemy’s greatest knight. And yet you ask no prize from this, Sir Harry? Are you sure? We badly need a new earl, to replace the two who have just rendered themselves useless.’ Harry shakes his head. ‘An earldom is too much for a simple country knight like me.’ Then he looks over at Iain, his voice growing thick. ‘Besides, he kneels for me. What greater prize is there?’