“I’ll tell them, and meet ye on the morrow just after dawn on the road to the borders,” Callum said.
Rafe nodded, and then disappeared into the crowded marketplace near where they had met. Callum rode back up to the castle. He brought his mistress her sweets, saying, “May I speak wi’ ye, my lady?”
Lady Fleming popped a sweet into her mouth, and a look of delight passed over her features. She waved a hand at him. “Aye, Callum.”
“I must beg yer permission to leave ye. When I was in the town I was approached by a kinsman who had come to find me. My mam is very ill, Rafe said. They think my mam may be dying. He was sent by our priest to fetch me home to Duin,” Callum said.
A look of distress passed over the good woman’s face. “Then ye must go if the priest calls ye,” she said. “Will ye return?” She took another sweet from the box.
“If I can, my lady, for it has been a pleasure to serve ye,” Callum said with a bow.
“Inform the steward of yer departure,” Lady Fleming told him. “Tell him I have said he is to hold yer position for ye until Twelfth Night.”
“Thank ye, my lady.” Callum hurried off.
The castle steward was not happy to see him go. “She likes ye, and ye’ve served her well, but still, we only hae one mam, and if the priest sent for ye, then it is serious.”
Callum ate a larger than usual supper. In the very early morning he arose from the pallet that had been his in a corner of Lady Fleming’s apartments. He had dressed the night before in his own clothing, carefully folding the garb he had been given and laying it on the pallet. The false dawn was lighting the skies as he came out into the courtyard and made his way across it to the stables. There he sought out his horse, saddled and bridled the beast, and led it outside.
To his surprise Lord Fleming’s secretary, Allan, approached him in the half-light. He thrust a small packet at Callum. “His Lordship wants this delivered to the Hamiltons. If their messenger hasn’t died and is still at yer master’s house, have him take it. Otherwise tell the steward of Duin he is to arrange for its delivery himself.”
“Aye, sir, gladly,” Callum replied, taking the leather packet and tucking it in his shirt. The Earl of Duin was going to be very interested to see what this message contained.
He mounted his horse, Allan walking him to the barred gate.
“Let the lad through,” Lord Fleming’s secretary said.
The portcullis was raised, and Callum Ferguson departed Dumbarton. He met his kinsman eventually on the road to the borders. Together they rode home to Duin, riding in as the late-November sun was setting over the sea. Callum went immediately to find the earl and tell him what small information he had discovered, and to deliver the packet meant for the Hamiltons. He found both his master and his mistress in the hall.
Annabella jumped up from the high board when she saw him. “Oh, lad, thank God ye’re back safely!” she said. “I hae been so worried.” She collapsed back into her seat.
Callum bowed to the earl. “I bring some small news, but more important, I bring a message meant for the Hamiltons,” he said, laying the leather packet on the table before Angus Ferguson. “They plan to assassinate Moray as soon after Twelfth Night as they can, Lennox next, and then Erskine. They dinna believe they can bring the queen back until this is done. And they said they will hae to rescue the queen from the English.”
“Did ye learn where they will accost Moray?” Angus asked the boy.
Callum shook his head. “I heard Lord Fleming complain to his wife that Moray never remains in one place long enough to catch.”
“Moray knows the dangers he faces,” the earl said grimly. “Ye’ve done well, lad, and I thank ye. Go and get something to eat. After the old year turns ye’ll come into my personal service.”
“What did ye do at Dumbarton?” Annabella asked him, curious.
“I was assigned the task of scribe to Lady Fleming,” Callum said. “She writes letters each day to her family and her friends. I learned nothing, however, from her dictation. Mostly gossip and her thoughts on being cooped up in Dumbarton. She dinna like it, and fears the castle will eventually be taken.”
“Dumbarton’s impregnable,” the earl said.
“Everything hae its weak spot,” Annabella said.
Callum went off, and Angus Ferguson reached to open the packet. Taking his knife, he carefully slipped it beneath the seal, easing it from the parchment enough to open. If he decided to send the message on, he could reseal it in such a manner that no one would realize that the letter had been opened.
The inside revealed little new but for one important thing: Lord Fleming had learned that Moray would be spending the twelve days of Christmas at Stirling, where the little king was now housed, as his mother before him had been. Sometime in mid to late January he would go to Edinburgh. An assassination at Stirling with the king in residence was unthinkable. But a watch would be kept to learn of the departure of Moray for the capital. And when that date was learned, a messenger would be dispatched to the Hamiltons. It was up to them when and how the deed was to be done.
Angus read the message aloud to his wife. “They are being cautious,” he noted.
“Will ye send the message on?” Annabella wanted to know. “And where will ye send it, as we never asked our guest from where he came?”
“Remember he said the Hamiltons move around quite a bit to avoid the King’s Men. But he must know some way of getting in touch with them,” Angus answered her.
“Shall I ask him?” Annabella teased. “He seems to be willing to speak wi’ me.”
