Callum was gratified to hear Andrew speak up in his stead, but one glance upwards told him that his old comrade was far from convinced. Andrew’s green eyes were wide with worry.
“This is nae the job we came here to do,” he appealed to Callum.
“You are right.” Callum reached up to clap him on his shoulder, knowing that he was asking too much.
For the sake of a woman he barely knew.
But she was the woman he had ne’er been able to forget.
“I ask only for a couple of days. No more, I promise. When Tristan de Neville arrives here, I will do what needs to be done.” He quelled his inner turbulence and gazed steadily at Gregor until the man caved and met his eyes. “I will fulfil the Bruce’s orders, to the very letter.” He smiled, bringing Arlo and Andrew back into the fold. “And we can all go home.”
Fresh tension reverberated through the chill air as they considered his words.
“And until then, what?” Andrew raised his hands, palm up. “We till English fields for wealthy English nobles?”
Gregor deliberately spat on the wooden floor. Callum did not react.
“We do what we need to,” he answered mildly. “As every man must.” He scratched at the growth of stubble on his cheeks. “As the Bruce expects.”
This was his winning line.
Arlo nodded, his face serious. “We blend in, so as not to attract attention.”
Callum could have hugged him. “Exactly that.” But a muscle twitched in Callum’s jaw. He had not yet told them the worst of it. “We must surrender our weapons.” He saw immediately how this would go. Gregor’s expression became thunderous. Even Arlo looked discomfited. “At least, we must appear to,” Callum amended, thinking quickly.
“What madness is this?” Gregor looked ready to rise and walk from the room.
“Think on it, man, there is no good reason for us to be so heavily armed.” He indicated the gleaming swords each man carried at his hip. Knives, he knew, were secreted elsewhere on their persons. Along with heaven knew what else.
“I will nae walk about as defenceless as a bairn,” Gregor stated.
“And nor do I ask it of you.” Callum leaned over the sticky table, ignoring the sickly-sweet scent of spilled ale. “Let us surrender just half our weapons. The rest we shall hide, until we have need of them.”
“I am not leaving this place without my sword.” This from Andrew, who had lowered his brow.
A warrior’s bond with his sword was near sacred.
“Again, I’ll not ask it of you.” Callum opened his arms to indicate his sincerity. “Every last blade shall be recovered before we depart Ember Hall.”
“Right ye are,” Andrew sighed. “I can spend two days of what’s left of my life here.” He rubbed at his beard. “I suppose on a good day, if we squint, we can see Scotland.”
“Thank you, all of you.” Callum nodded at each of them. “I am sorry for this unexpected turn. But our mission will come good. I will make sure of it.”
Arlo and Andrew both smiled. Gregor did not, but the friction in the room had eased slightly.
Callum resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. He had won this first battle, but he had no idea how he might make good on his promise.
How could any good come out of this?
*
Callum spent arestless night and was relieved to hear the cock crow as the first pink rays of dawn spilled over the horizon. He and his men had slept in a low, boarded chamber above the stables, just a thin row of slatted wood separating them from the guards. There was no opportunity for even hushed conversation, for which Callum was grateful.
His threadbare reasoning had withstood enough scrutiny.
At the other side of the wooden partition, he heard heavy footsteps and murmured exchanges as the guards returned from the night shift. Callum lay still and silent, his ears straining to catch any reference to the small band of men who had ridden through the gates yesterday. He could make nothing out, which meant either that their arrival had caused no suspicion, or that the guards were as aware as he was about the flimsiness of the wall.
Most probably the latter.
