But if it wasn’t for the turmoil of his thoughts, he might have spent a restful night, for they had been provided withwarm rugs and straw pellets thick enough to hide those weapons too large to conceal within their saddlebags. The building was weatherproof and, oddly enough, a feeling of calm had settled upon him as soon as he laid down. Mayhap it was the distance he had travelled from Kielder Castle that allowed some of the horrors to recede from his mind?
A brusque knock on the door broke his reverie.
Callum rose from his pallet, careful not to bang his head against the low-hanging beams, and picked his way across the narrow chamber. Andrew and Arlo slept on, but Gregor’s eyes followed him in the half light.
He unbolted the door and pulled it open. “What is it?”
A tall guard stood at the top of the outer steps, smothering a yawn. “Miss Mirabel is here to see you.”
Callum blanched with surprise. “Here?”
The guard jerked his head backwards. Behind him, thick, uneven stone steps had been built into the wall of the barn. “In the yard.”
“Thank you.”
The guard swivelled on his heel and trampled back down. Callum rubbed his eyes.
This was unexpected.
Last night, he had removed his chain mail and slept in his hose and tunic. He glanced downwards, taking in his crumpled appearance. It could not be helped, for they had not come to Ember Hall equipped to stay for any length of time.
But the morning air carried a chill. He would need his cloak.
Callum walked back to his pallet at the end of the room and rummaged through the items he had piled on the floor. Dust motes rose around him, making him blink. In times past this room had clearly been used to store hay, for the sweet smell still lingered.
“What is happening?” Gregor’s voice was rough, either with sleep or displeasure.
Callum tied the strings of his cloak. “As soon as I find out, I will tell you.”
Before further questions could be asked, Callum strode away, closing the door behind him.
It was something of a relief to hurry down the stone steps and breathe the fresh, clean air of the morn. Yesterday’s mist had cleared away and the faint early sunshine held the promise of warmth. In the centre of the yard he spied a lone female figure, clad in a long grey cloak with the hood pulled over her hair.
Mirabel Duval was ward of the Earl of Wolvesley. Callum could remember her clearly. When last he saw her, she had worn a dress of shimmering green which matched the holly and pine decorations for the Twelfth Tide Ball.What brought her to this remote outpost, he wondered.
He bowed smartly and walked to her side.
“Miss Mirabel.”
She gave an answering curtsy. “Sir Callum. I trust you passed a comfortable night?” Her hazel eyes looked up at him, something shining in their depths that he could not read.
“Most comfortable, thank you.” He gave her a quick smile. “I am afraid that two of my men slumber still.”
“It is no matter. I came only to speak to you.” Her eyes darted about the courtyard as if to confirm they were alone.
He was half intrigued, half wary. “How can I help you, Miss Mirabel?”
“Oh please, call me Mirrie. Everyone does.” She folded her hands demurely in front of her. “I came to ask a favour.”
Callum’s attention was caught by a small parade of guards making their way from their sleeping quarters to their day-time stations. He counted six of them, before turning back to Mirrie.
“I will be pleased to hear it.”
“How gallant you are.” She turned, indicating he should walk with her across the courtyard. A soft wind blew, rustling the folds of their cloaks. “Are you always willing to help a lady in distress?”
Callum’s mouth twitched. Miss Mirabel was teasing him. Under the circumstances, it was not what he had expected. Banter and light-hearted conversation had been in short supply recently.
“I should hope so,” he answered lightly. Their exchange put him in mind of the last time he had exchanged pleasantries with well-dressed English ladies: at the Twelfth tide ball in Wolvesley.
