He listened intently. “Why would you think your sister is in danger? Where is she?”
After hesitating for a few minutes, Lucy simply said, “She is far, far away.” She let out a breath. “I think she is safe. ’Twas merely a ruse by Agnes to get me away from Blackford so they could take me and lure William to them.”
When Callan froze, Lucy tilted her head in question.
“You know Blackford Castle?”
He added another log to the fire as they sat across from each other, the horses grazing, the afternoon deepening to evening.
“You said your name was Lucy Merriweather when we … met.”
“Right.” Lucy shook her head, happy at least her hair was finally clean, even if she didn’t have any soap. The sand she’d found at the water’s edge had worked well enough. She’d untangled her hair using a thin, supple twig.
“Sorry. My maiden name was Lucy Merriweather. I’m LucyBrandon, Lady Blackford. William is Lord Blackford, my husband.”
The color drained from his face. Oh, no. Had William met him in battle at some time in the past?
Callan stood and paced. He’d dried his shirt on rocks by the fire, and then donned it again when it was dry. His plaid was still as filthy as her dress, but for now they were stuck wearing the disgusting clothes. Neither one of them had wanted to risk staying at an inn, so they’d slept in the woods, only venturing into a village to purchase food along the way.
“Callan? What’s wrong?” Lucy pressed her lips together. “Did my husband do something to wrong you?”
“Nay, lady.” Callan hesitated, then said, “Would ye listen to my story? I canna say it without telling the tale.”
“Yes, I’d like to hear your story.” She sat cross-legged on the ground, elbows on her knees. “And, Callan?”
“Aye?”
“With all we’ve been through, plain ole Lucy is fine, no need to call me ‘lady’.”
With a nod, he sat, stretching his long legs out, and she recognized the signs of a storyteller settling in to tell his tale.
“They cast my mother and me out of our clan…”
He told her of how his mother fell in love with an English lord, how the clan found out, and the resulting consequences. How they’d had to live apart and alone, the man never coming back for them even after his mother had written to him.
When Callan told her of his mother dying, and finding the letter that changed everything, Lucy knew what he was going to say.
Unable to sit still, he walked around their little camp, each step making his plaid brush against his boots as he continued.
“She named Hugh Brandon, the Earl of Ravenswing, as my father.” He stopped and took a drink of water.
“Went I went to Ravenswing village to confront him, to ask why, an old man told me the earl had passed, but then … he said the earl had a son, William Brandon, now the lord of Blackford Castle.”
He swallowed. “I decided to go to Blackford and ask his son if he knew about me, and why his father let my mother suffer.”
Oh, my. Talk about revelations.
It was Lucy’s turn to need a few minutes. She finished the bread and cheese they had for supper, along with another drink of water.
“William had another brother,” she said, more to herself than him, but Callan’s head snapped up.
“There are others?”
Lucy needed to move. She brushed the leaves off her cloak as she paced back and forth, grateful for the warmth of the fire.
“There was one. We suspected there might be others, but didn’t know of anyone else.” A long sigh escaped at the thought of conjuring Clement’s ghost.
“He had a childhood friend who turned out to be his half-brother.” Lucy paused, then just decided to say it.
