“What news?” he demanded.
Callum held up a hand, bidding his friend to pause while he scanned his surroundings. The room was small and square, lit with two flickering candles as well as the dim light filtering through the tall window. He took in a wide window seat, upon which Andrew had been reclining, and an array of wooden furniture. Arlo and Gregor faced one another across a round table, upon which a pitcher of ale sat beside an empty trencher.Refreshments had been brought up, as promised. There was no hardship here, save the stuffiness of the small chamber.
“We are to stay,” he told them, shortly.
His announcement was greeted with silence. Arlo’s pale blue eyes flickered between Gregor and Andrew, as if gauging their reaction.
“As guests?” Gregor’s voice was incredulous.
“Speak softer, man,” Callum warned him. “We do not know who might be listening.” Moving with deliberate slowness, he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, stretching out his long legs with a sigh. “Nay, not as guests,” he finally answered. “We are to help work the land.”
Not a muscle moved in Gregor’s face, but his eyes remained fixed on Callum’s.
It was vital to bring him on side.
Callum leaned forwards, placing his elbows on the table and realising too late that he had chosen to sit by a puddle of ale.
“This house is owned by the de Nevilles,” he said, in little more than a whisper. Andrew crossed the room to stand closer, his shoulders hunched against the low ceiling. “They are a powerful family.”
“I know right well who they are.” Gregor’s voice carried a warning.
“We must tread carefully,” Callum continued.
“We must strike now, when they least expect it.” Gregor banged his fist on the table for emphasis, caring little for keeping their plans quiet.
“We cannot kill the lord when he is not here.” Callum tried hard to keep his tone reasonable.
“We can kill those that are.” Gregor’s eyes flashed with fire as he glared across the table. “’Tis no more than the English did to our own women.”
Callum snatched a deep breath, knowing he must disguise the cold fear flooding his veins. His mind conjured an image of Gregor stalking toward Frida, his sword outstretched and ready to strike. “That would be going against our orders.”
“Is the lord expected back?” Andrew asked. A lone voice of sanity.
Amidst his growing panic, Callum glimpsed a way forward. “Aye. He visits regularly. They expect him any day.”
He looked from one to the other in the dim candlelight, his heart racing. He had not intended to tell an outright lie, but the words were out now. There was no going back.
He cleared his throat. “Given these circumstances, ’tis clear enough to me there has been some mistake with our orders. If we stay a while, we may yet rectify the situation. I have the trust of the family. If all else fails, we can question them to discover the whereabouts of Tristan de Neville and intercept him on the road.” He lowered his voice further. “But we cannot take this fight to his father’s seat at Wolvesley Castle. ’Tis too well-defended. Our best bet is to bide our time here and await his arrival.” Arlo’s question was hesitant. “Is it safe for us to stay?” He glanced towards the window, through which the regular trampling of booted feet could be heard. The guards of Ember Hall remained ever vigilant.
“Nay. I cannae think it is.” Andrew looked towards Callum, confusion clouding his brow.
Callum poured himself a cup of ale, hoping that the tremors in his hand would not betray him. He took a mouthful and smacked his lips. “Aye, it is safe,” he declared.
As soon as his proclamation landed, he knew it had failed. Even Arlo sucked in his breath as the narrow room seemed to palpate with tension.
“How so?” Gregor was the first to voice his challenge. “You may speak like the King himself, but we dinnae. It will take justone suspicious servant to work out where we’re truly from.” He sneered. “And ’tis not Egremont House, where’er that is.”
Callum held his gaze. “You will have to stay quiet, all of you.” He avoided looking towards Andrew.
“As if we are mute?” Arlo’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his untidy thatch of hair.
“Or dumb,” Gregor sneered. The big highlander rocked on his chair until the spindly legs creaked with protest.
Callum leaned forwards, meeting his challenge. “Naught so extreme. Just keep your words few and far between. Is it not the basic task of a spy to avoid suspicion?”
“I am nae spy, man. I am a warrior.”
“Then just keep yer big mouth shut.”
