“Ye should know, lad. Being half sassenach yourself.”
“My mother was born in England. That does not mean I know every inch of it.” Callum shrugged.
That was not the full truth.
In truth, Callum’s childhood home lay not far from here. But that was not information he wished to divulge at present.
“And ye learned how to swing your sword in Lindum.” Andrew gestured towards the gleaming hilt of Callum’s sword, resting at his hip. “Alongside those English knights that now lay siege to Scotland.” His horse skittered around a clump of gorse and Andrew gathered up his reins, grinning at Callum to show he spoke in jest.
Andrew and Callum had fought side-by-side in the highlands for more years than Callum cared to count. His friend knew where his loyalties lay. But that wasn’t true for all their party.
“Are you going to recount all of my life story? Mayhap for the benefit of Gregor here, who is the only one that doesn’t know it?” Callum’s voice carried an edge, for he could see by the set of his shoulders that the man ahead was listening.
Callum’s parentage was no secret. If anything, the opposite was true. His English birth and education meant he could mix seamlessly with the most important noble families in the realm. He was the perfect spy for Robert the Bruce.
“All that matters is we take our revenge,” Arlo spoke up fervently. His calm cob was plodding steadily along the farm track, but every inch of the youth’s body was braced for battle.
An ice-cold warning trickled down Callum’s spine.
“What matters is that my heart beats for Scotland,” he proclaimed, kicking his warhorse into a canter so he could go ahead of Gregor then swivel round to face all three men. “All our hearts beat for Scotland, am I right?” His horse shied, uncertain of the woodland shadows, but Callum kept his seat easily.
“Aye,” shouted Andrew.
“Our orders are to assassinate the English lord who has recently returned to this place. ’Tis a blessing for us we have not had to travel far from the border. And a further blessing that we are not tasked with taking innocent lives.”
His men silently nodded, not yet convinced.
“This man is powerful. A danger to Scotland. If we take him out, our people will be able to sleep easier in their beds. Is that not what we all want?”
“Aye,” they muttered.
“Who is he?” demanded Gregor.
“The house is Ember Hall.” Callum spoke from memory, keeping his voice level. The parchment containing their scant orders had been burned as soon as he digested its contents. Upon seeing the scribbled words some days earlier, his heart had leapt in his chest, for Ember Hall was situated not many miles distant from his childhood home. He recalled an attractive manor house, slowly falling to ruin. It had stood empty for as long as he was a boy, and was likely to remain so given its unfortunate position so close to the turbulent borderlands.Some minor noble must have purchased it for little more than a song.
Or been gifted it by the King in thanks for services rendered in Scotland.
“I mean, what is the man’s name?” Gregor’s horse pawed at the ground as if sensing his impatience.
Callum shook his head. “We do not have it.” Even Andrew looked aggrieved with that answer, but Callum shrugged again. “There is nothing of note in that. You all know the situation we are in. The less we know, the less we can tell if captured.” He paused to allow them to think this over. “We have been riding since before dawn. What say you to resting here awhile? We know not what will be waiting at the other side of the hill.”
“Aye.” Andrew agreed immediately, swinging one leg over his saddle and landing heavily on the ground. “Ye dinnae need to ask me twice.”
Hiding a relieved smile, Callum also dismounted and led his horse over to a small clearing. Rummaging in his saddlebags, he found bread, dried meat and two skins of ale which he passed around. The tension that had been rising between them started to abate as they ate and drank, although Callum could still feel Gregor’s eyes boring into him. It was no surprise when the older man edged closer and spoke up.
“Is this your first mission for the Bruce?”
Callum wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nay,” he answered shortly, unwilling to speak more on the subject.
And even less willing to tilt his head upwards in recognition of Gregor’s height.
Gregor stood half a head taller than he, but Callum fancied that youth would be on his side in a fight, should the man turn nasty. Callum’s hair was thick and dark, his tanned face largely unlined. While Gregor’s forehead was creased with frown lines and his thinning hair threaded through with grey.
“I have served him since he was little more than a lad.” Gregor stated this as a challenge, his sharply articulated words given emphasis by the dense walls of fog all around them.
Callum nodded mildly. “My father’s family has long been closely allied to him.”
Gregor’s face relaxed a little. “Yer father is the Laird of Kielder?”
