“An ale wouldna go amiss,” Calum agreed and moved forward to claim a spot.
Kenneth joined them as a serving lass brought their drinks.
Calum asked for some food to go with his, his belly having unknotted enough for him to be hungry. The lass gave him a smile and hurried away to fetch what was left from the supper he’d skipped.
They talked weapons and tactics, the conversation so comfortingly normal that it gave Calum as much hope as his successful archery practice earlier. When his food arrived, he fell to with more appetite than he’d had since he’d been injured. The lass brought extras for Kenneth and Euan, so they all chewed as they talked, and before long, several other men joined them.
“Calum, ’tis good to see ye among us again,” one remarked. “Ye look well.”
“Aye,” another joined in. “I hope we’ll see ye on the practice ground soon.”
“Nay tomorrow,” Kenneth cautioned. “Ye’ll need the healer’s blessing to fight with a blade or hand-to-hand.”
Though it rankled, he knew Kenneth was right. He couldn’t yet depend on his left-side vision to defend against an attack from that side. Archery was one thing. Swordplay could get him injured worse than the injury he’d already suffered. Or get him killed.
“I’m nay a fool,” Calum told him. “I dinna need any of ye lot taking my head from my shoulders because I canna clearly see ye coming.”
“So yer vision is still no’…” the man trailed off as if unsure how to describe it.
Calum’s improved mood allowed him to reply charitably. “Completely clear and sharp? Nay, ’tisna, but ’tis getting better. Ye’ll have yer chance at me soon enough.”
Euan lifted his cup. “I’ll drink to that.”
The men joined him with convivial laughter that warmed Calum down to his bones.
Conversation continued in a pleasant rumble around the table. Calum sipped his ale, simply enjoying his return to the life he’d feared he’d lost. Euan was in a debate with one of the other lads about the best source of steel for weapons, one arguing Spanish steel, another saying the French had good blades, but maybe they got them from the Spanish.
A little niggle of unease uncurled in Calum’s belly. This was too close for comfort to the subject of the shattered sword that injured his eye. He forced his attention to the other side of the table where two of the lads were debating the merits of several of the serving lasses. Like most men, he enjoyed lasses, their company, their beauty, everything about them. He didn’t need to compare them to appreciate them. Still, he preferred listening to what these lads liked about them over discussing the merits of swords.
Until one of the lads stumbled over a name certain to ruin Calum’s good mood. “Janet…uh, Ella. Or Janet…”
Calum dropped his gaze to the tabletop and froze, not wanting to be seen paying attention to what they were saying, but wanting to hear the rest of the sentence. He felt Kenneth shift beside him. So, Kenneth had heard it, too. Did everyone know about Ella’s deception? Did they all think him a fool for not realizing from the first moment who Janet really was? Had everyone in the clan been lying to him?
Chuckles from that end of the table grated more than Calum could take. He stood and eyed the men. “What’s so amusing?”
The men turned to each other, guilt written plainly on their faces. “Ah, a bad jest,” one admitted.
“Why dinna ye share it with the rest of us, aye?” Calum goaded. He might as well find out what everyone really thought about him.
“Nay. ’Twasna that funny,” the man’s companion insisted.
“So, ye’ll laugh behind my back, but no’ tell me to my face, is that it?”
Kenneth reached up and put a hand on his arm. “Ye’re making too much of this, Calum. Sit and finish yer ale.”
Euan had risen to stand beside Calum when he first challenged the men. “They’repished, Calum. Dinna pay them any heed.” He turned to the men in question. “The two of ye have had enough. Go on with ye to yer beds and sleep it off before ye cause any more trouble.”
When it looked like they would argue, Kenneth rose, too. “Enough lads. Take Euan’s advice before I have to make it an order.”
The resistance on the two men’s faces folded with Kenneth’s threat. They rose and walked away without further argument.
Both Kenneth and Euan turned to Calum and gestured him to take his seat.
“Finish yer ale,” Euan said again.
Calum shook his head and stepped away from the table. “I’ve had enough as well. I’m for finding my bed.”
Euan traded a look with Kenneth, then nodded. “Rest well, my friend. We’ll practice more on the morrow.”
Calum nodded and left them, his good mood fled, and the weight of all he’d been carrying firmly back on his shoulders. He could stomach a lot, even poor jests, but not their pity. Never that.
