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Galan had no idea why everyone was looking at him and laughing until he looked at his hands. They were covered in ash. He growled angrily.

“Chicken,” he boomed. “This is your doing!”

He had rubbed the soot over his face so much that his brightest features were his eyes, blazing among the ashes. Axel picked that moment to enter the chamber, having come from Clegg’s private viewing box above, and he shook his head reproachfully when he saw Galan smeared with soot. The tricksters were at it again. But Galan was so angry that it was hilarious, so he fought off a smile.

“Clean yourself up, de Lara,” he said. As Galan rolled his eyes at the obvious, Axel sought out Titus. “Eagle – Clegg wishes to see you.”

Titus was still laughing at Galan, still fussing with his glove, but he stood up and headed in Axel’s direction.

“What’s afoot?” he asked him.

Axel simply threw a thumb in the direction of the staircase that led up to Clegg’s chambers.

Titus made his way up the stone steps, still chuckling at Galan, still lighthearted from the day in general. It had been a day of days and his mood was better than it had been in a very long time. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Esme had agreed to marry him, he’d managed to put one over on Galan, and for the first time in his life, he was looking forward to the future.

There was everything to be happy about.

Little did he know that all of that was about to change drastically.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Come in, Titus.”

Clegg was standing on the balcony that overlooked both the staging area and the arena floor beyond. He had a straight line-of-sight view to everything, even now as the rain fell and those working in the arena struggled to keep the hundreds of torches lit for the coming events.

Titus had come up the stairs that dumped into the rear of the room, a private staircase meant only for the warriors when Clegg summoned them. They were never allowed to come through the front entrance, or at least rarely. Titus had often been an exception to that rule.

Clegg turned to the warrior as he entered.

“Titus,” he greeted.

“M’laird,” Titus returned. “It is going tae be a sloppy night if this rain keeps up.”

Clegg nodded, glancing to the gently falling rain once more. “We’ve had nights like this before, haven’t we?” he said. “I can remember seeing you covered from head to toe in brown muck many a time. All of this slippery mud makes for interesting bouts.”

Titus grinned. “Messy ones, anyway,” he said. “Axel said ye wanted tae speak with me?”

Clegg nodded. “I do, indeed,” he said. “Sit down a moment. I just had an interesting conversation about you.”

Titus sat down. “About me?” he said. “Who with?”

“The Duke of Ayr.”

All of the joy and happiness Titus had been feeling died at that very moment. In fact, he could feel himself stiffening, from the bottom of his feet all the way up to the top of his head. He bolted to his feet and didn’t even realize he’d done it.

“Ayr?” he hissed. “Here?”

Clegg nodded. In fact, he was watching Titus’ reaction very closely. “I take it from the tone of your voice that this does not please you.”

Titus was ready to explode, right through the roof. “Not in any way,” he said, struggling to control his shock and his temper. “He is here? Tonight?”

Clegg nodded again, more slowly this time. “Titus,” he said after a moment. “I know little of your background before you came to the Ludus Antonine. I know that Axel found you fighting in the streets of Glasgow but little else. A man’s background doesn’t matter to me, but the duke tells me you are the son of the king’s youngest brother, Hugh.”

Titus was starting to tremble. “I am his bastard.”

“I see,” Clegg said. “You are a man of royal blood. I should have known.”

Titus was beginning to twitch. “It hasna been a blessing if that’s what ye mean.”