Page 35 of Reviving Her Highland Spirit

“That all?”

“Aye.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, without any acknowledgement whatsoever. From Callum’s experience, the serving girls at the tavern changed over regularly. He didn’t know why and didn’t care to know why. At least nobody would learn to recognise his face.

He didn’t know how long he would have to wait until Rufus arrived, or if Rufus would even arrive. The weather hadn’t been bad enough to stop him coming to the tavern and collecting his post, but that didn’t really mean anything. He might choose not to come, or might keep Callum waiting for hours.

So, Callum wasn’t exactly prepared when a gust of cold air across his face heralded the arrival of a black-cloaked man, a gleam of red-gray hair poking out from under his hood.

He flinched.

“Rufus, you’re here.”

“Of course, I am here,” Rufus said, with just a hint of foolish boy in his tone. He glanced around the tavern, spotting the red-haired serving girl approaching with two tankards of ale. “Ye ordered ale?”

“Aye.”

“Wasteful.”

“I thought it would look stranger for us to sit here and not eat or drink anything.”

Rufus was quiet for a moment, and Callum was vaguely aware of a flash of pleasure, having scored a point with his intelligent mentor.

The serving girl placed the two tankards down and left without another word. Callum lifted his, taking a nervous sip. The ale wasn’t terrible here, surprisingly enough. Callum had a feeling that the innkeeper saved the good ale for his regular customers. While he might not bother to acknowledge Callum and Rufus, he must know that they were there often enough to merit the good ale.

Rufus pulled his tankard towards him, but did not drink it. He probably wouldn’t drink it. Callum had never seen Rufus touch alcohol. He’d asked him once why he didn’t drink ale or whisky, and Rufus had smiled grimly.

Alcohol costs me a kingdom, he said bluntly, and that was all he said. Even back then, Callum wasn’t foolish enough to push it further.

“So, why did ye summon me, Callum?” Rufus said quietly.

Straight to business, then. Callum shifted in his seat, clearing his throat and preparing to speak.

“I think they know that ye are coming for them.”

There was a long, tense moment. Rufus had no need to ask who knew or any more details.

“I see,” he said finally. “And how did ye come tae know this?”

“I overheard Lady Sola speaking to Mag – Lady Margaret about it. At least, they didn’t use your name. They talked about an old enemy and an urgent family conference. Perhaps it’s not you – I cannot tell.”

Rufus drummed his fingers on the wooden table in a regular rhythm. His expression didn’t seem to have changed, but Callum knew that he was thinking. He wanted to say something, to break the silence, to offer advice, but he knew better. He waited.

“That information could have come from anywhere,” he said finally. “There are many ways for Laird McAlister tae learn that I’m mustering against him. Ye have no real proof that is what the issue was, do ye?”

“No, but I think that was what it was.”

“Perhaps, perhaps. The Murphys have agreed tae stand with us.”

Callum sucked in a breath. Clan Murphy was a small clan, nestled between two larger ones. It was ruled by Laird Alphonse Murphy, with brute of a father – dead, of course – and a French mother who didn’t speak much English or Gaelic. Laird Murphy was a young man, famously bad-tempered, and keen to make a name for himself. It wasn’t surprising that he would ally with Rufus to leverage himself into a stronger position, but it certainly wasn’t wise.

Didn’t Rufus realise that his ally wasn’t as powerful as they needed him to be? Callum glanced up at his mentor’s face, but Rufus was not looking at him. He was chewing his lip, brow furrowed.

“Why were ye in a position tae overhear a conversation between Lady Sola and her daughter?” Rufus said suddenly.

Callum considered lying. As always, he sensibly rejected the idea.

“I am giving Lady Maggie – Lady Margaret – riding lessons.”