“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Sir Simon asked, his face flickering into a grin like a snake’s tail.
“I am just in a rush,” Kyle answered, standing awkwardly a few feet from the knight. “As are ye, isn’t that so?”
“Ha!” Sir Simon laughed back at him. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his blade, and Kyle felt that uneasiness creeping further down his spine, almost as if he could look into the future and see the two of them in the thick of a fight. “I know you want me out of your castle. Don’t you worry, man, we’re on our way out.”
“How did ye come tae be so far West?” Kyle asked suddenly as that uneasiness began to smother his romantic charge. “The road tae Stirling does nay come by here in the first place.”
“Ah,” Sir Simon said casually, “We came from Willby.”
“Willby?” Kyle asked, cocking his head.
“Aye, you know it?”
“Me brither deals wool with the lord there,” Kyle said slowly, as he tried to sort out why an English warband would be traveling from Willby to Stirling.
“A fine enough man,” Sir Simon said with a shrug. “A bit short of money these days.”
“War will do that,” Kyle replied.
“Indeed,” Sir Simon said, flashing his snake-like grin once more. “Well, I best be off. Thank you again for such kind hospitality.”
“Of course,” Kyle said, shifting his stance a bit as he watched the Englishman walk off toward the gate. There was something dreadful about him, and Kyle felt as if he was experiencing some kind of premonition of death as he watched the man go.
He stood there in the yard, watching Sir Simon until he passed from sight through the portcullis, and the feeling subsided as the Englishman faded from view.
“Bloody Englishman,” Kyle muttered, kicking the toe of his boot into the mud. Then, he turned back toward the keep and resumed his march to find Laila.
