Callum gave a single nod and raised his bow in answer.
One of the older men, Sileas, stared at him with a suspicious eye. “Why would you want that one? He’s no good to us. A half-wit, isn’t he?”
The cold anger clenched beneath Callum's skin, rising for a fight. Were it a younger man who’d spoken, he might have unleashed his temper, proving who the real half-wit was. Instead, he took slow steps toward the man in a silent threat.
Iagar intervened, placing himself between them. “I know the MacKinlochs,” he said. “They’re loyal to our cause.”
Doubt and distrust marred the mood, causing dissent among the men. Iagar reminded them, “We could use an archer.” He sent a questioning look toward Callum. “If you’re willing.”
There was risk involved in this fight, for he didn’t know the men or where they were going. Yet, neither could he remain on the castle grounds watching Marguerite with her intended husband. If he didn’t occupy himself somehow, the jealousy and madness would consume him.
He inclined his head in agreement.
Before Iagar could speak again, another man intervened, “We don’t even know him.” Staring hard, he added, “He might tell the Duc about the raid.”
“He can’t speak,” Iagar responded. “There is nothing to fear.”
Sileas’s eyes gleamed, a thin smile spreading over his face. “Then he couldn’t betray us if he wanted to.”
Callum made no effort to prove him wrong. Though he’d spoken a few words to Marguerite, each one had been a struggle. He didn’t know what was preventing him from speaking, but the morning he’d spent as her lover had somehow slashed through the barrier of his voice. He was fighting for every word, hoping that somehow he would regain enough of his voice to convince her to leave with him. Being around her was changing him inside, healing the scars of his imprisonment.
As the men continued discussing their plans to raid a garrison a few miles to the south, he thought of all the nights he’d spent imprisoned, wishing someone would save him. He’d been a captive since the age of twelve, and the years of imprisonment had changed him. He didn’t know how to live like a normal man, how to carve a life for himself.
The thought dug into his conscience like a dull blade, scraping the heart of his frustration. He needed a purpose, a way to provide for the woman he wanted. And the only thing he knew how to do was wield a bow and fight alongside his brothers. It might not be enough.
“He’s got a horse, hasn’t he?”
The unexpected words broke through Callum’s musing, snapping him back to attention. Before the others could voice their opinions, he shook his head in refusal. No one was going to take his horse from him.
“We’ll get there faster with horses, MacKinloch,” Iagar protested. “We need yours.”
But the stallion was his only way to return to Glen Arrin, his homeland. He wasn’t about to let them use his horse and possibly lose it in a raid. Callum unsheathed his dirk in a dark warning. He shook his head in refusal.
Iagar raised his hands in false surrender. “It was only a suggestion. We’ll leave it here, if that’s your wish.” But the words held a note of anger, echoed by the men who looked irritated at his refusal.
Callum lowered the dirk and returned it to his belt, ignoring their grumbling. The horse was safer, left behind in the stables than with these men.
He hung back while the others disappeared into the darkness. Iagar moved to walk alongside him. “I’m glad you’ve joined us, MacKinloch. We’ve a greater chance of succeeding with more men.”
His fist clenched around the bow he’d slung over one shoulder. The lines in Iagar’s face relaxed, and when they had gone far enough away from view of the castle, they stopped to build a fire and light torches.
This raid was a reckless effort, but if they freed even a few prisoners, it was worth it to join them. Callum cast a look back at the castle, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.
Chapter Eleven
It took them over an hour to reach the garrison. Callum wondered how any of them knew where they were going, but the older man Sileas guided them there until they reached the river where they extinguished their torches. The wooden fortress was small, with perhaps a dozen guards. Barely more than an outpost, the fortress was no threat to anyone.
Uneasiness crawled through Callum’s stomach, making him wonder why these men had chosen such a small target. And whether there were any prisoners there at all.
He’d stopped Iagar, pointing to his scarred wrists and then to the fortress.
“If there are any prisoners there, we’ll free them. I promise you.” Iagar gripped his shoulder and added, “Stay here. We’ll need you to guard our backs.”
Callum slowed his pace, taking his position behind them.
“Let none of the English soldiers escape,” the older man warned. “Otherwise, they’ll bring reinforcements.”
Callum gave a nod, but inwardly, he didn’t like this. He doubted if there could be more than one or two prisoners, not in an outpost this small. But he had a greater range by staying outside the fortress with his weapon. He fitted an arrow to the bowstring while Iagar, Sileas, and two other men crawled on their stomachs toward the gates.
