Page 67 of Highland Spy

“Where did ye get this, Slink?” he asked, wondering because it sounded as if someone were in trouble. If the person who wrote the missive had wanted to meet during the sword fighting event today, then that told him it wasn’t written by or given to any of the finalists in the competition, since they wouldn’t be able to get away. He had no more time to think about it since the trumpet sounded, signaling the beginning of the last event.

“Och, nay, I overslept again,” he grumbled, stuffing the missive into his bag, picking up his pine marten, and hurrying down the ladder.

* * *

Bridget stood at the rail at the edge of the king’s wooden dais, looking out into the crowd for Caleb. She hadn’t seen him at all this morning, and none of his friends knew where he was either.

“Caleb, where are ye?” she said to herself, feeling her stomach turn. Her father had been ill this morning, not even able to get out of bed. She hadn’t liked leaving him, but had to come tell the king that she would be observing the final rounds of the competition, and then relaying the information to her father who would record it in the Highland Chronicles later.

She had wanted to tell Caleb about the missive, but the games were starting and he was nowhere to be found. Bridget looked over to Sorley, hovering over his book, looking very distracted this morning. The king drank from his cup and raised his hand in the air, signaling the start of the games. The competition began, but still she didn’t see Caleb. She started to worry that whoever wrote that missive to her had taken him captive or perhaps already hurt him in some way. She prayed this wasn’t true.

Looking back to the king, he didn’t seem to be watching her, so she figured she could sneak away. Hopefully, she prayed she would be helping Caleb by going to the mews, and not just endangering herself. She looked over to Sorley next, but he wasn’t there. His traveling companion, Sim, was there holding the book, watching out over the competition. She didn’t have time to wait. If something happened to Caleb, she would never forgive herself. Slipping back into the shadows, she took off at a near run for the mews.

* * *

Caleb ran up to find his friends standing at the rail watching the sword fight, since the competition had already started.

“Can one of ye watch Slink?” he asked his friends, shoving the animal into Logan’s hands without waiting for an answer. He ducked under the list and ran to the starting line where the rest of the finalists were waiting to compete.

“Thought ye werena goin’ to show,” said Clement.

“I wouldna miss this for the world,” Caleb answered, sure that Clement was the saboteur now.

“Och, ye mean ye canna wait until I beat ye in the sword fight,” Clement replied. “Then I’ll be the winner and crowned Leader of the Lairds.”

“Ye disgust me!” spat Caleb. “And I assure ye, I will never lose to ye, since ye had to sabotage yer competitors just tryin’ to win.”

“I didna do that,” the man growled.

“I would never hurt someone over a damned prize,” Caleb continued. “What is the matter with ye?”

“I told ye . . . that wasna me.”

“Prove it,” said Caleb, throwing down the gauntlet with his words.

“How?”

“Lose the sword competition. And when ye do, that will show me that I shouldna go to the king and report ye as the saboteur.”

“Throw the contest? I’ve worked so hard to come this far,” cried Clement. “Ye ken as well as I that if one of us wins the sword fight, the contest is over and the winner will take home the prize money, the brooch and crown, the land, and also the title of Leader of the Lairds. Why would I want to give up a chance to win all that?”

“Ye wouldna. No’ when ye’ve worked so hard to sabotage the contest already.”

“I swear, it wasna me doin’ those things. Please, dinna tell the king that it was.”

“Then prove it to me, and I willna say a word. Lose this fight, and then I’ll ken ye are no’ the saboteur after all.”

“I canna and willna do that. I am innocent, and ye canna pin the sabotages on me.”

“Really?” said Caleb, taking a chance with his next words. “I ken ye were talkin’ to yer accomplice in my chamber last night. Or are ye goin’ to try to deny that, too?”

The man looked forlorn. “My clan is countin’ on me to win. It is important.”

“All our clans are countin’ on us,” said Caleb. “And if no one was sabotaged, then the laird who truly earned and deserved the prize would have won. Because of what ye’ve done, guid men will go back to their clans lookin’ like weak lairds because they failed or because they are hurt.”

“I didna think of that,” admitted the man.

“Sometimes, losin’ just to save face and remain honest is better than winnin’ only by cheatin’ and makin’ others look bad.”