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The old man nodded. “I heard someone say once that it was south of the church in Morningside,” he said. “St. Eustace’s Church is down there. So are the Bonaly hills. But if ye want tae know for certain, they’ll tell ye at The Sticky Wick. Those from the Ludus Caledonia haunt the tavern, but it’s no place for a lady. Send a man there tae do the asking.”

He turned back to his task and Esme could see that the conversation was over. But she had what she wanted.

She could make it south of Morningside.

Over the course of the past several years, Esme had been to Edinburgh many times and she had traveled the streets with Lady Ayr, a mistress who liked to experience taverns and shops and entertainment. Esme knew the city fairly well, so surely a place like this fight guild would not be difficult to find. Strange how she’d never heard of it in all that time. But no matter. She would find Titus and beg him to help her.

Finally, that time had come.

Tonight was the night.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Ludus Caledonia

“What did ye put in my drink?”

The question came from Cam.

It was evening, a hush having fallen over the land as the night birds chattered and brooks through the glens sang their gentle song. In the complex of the Ludus Caledonia, it was time for the evening meal, and although each competitor had his own stone cottage where he ate and slept, there was a small communal hall where men could gather and socialize.

Friendly gatherings weren’t widely encouraged because friends tended to not want to fight, and defeat, other friends. Isolation when not in the arena was urged, but sometimes on the nights when the Ludus Caledonia had no fights, the doctores and the senior warriors would gather and share a meal.

Tonight was one of those times.

It had been a perfect opportunity for Titus to slip his friends the wine that had been steeped all afternoon with the silver pellet, but Cam was already on to him. Therefore, he replied confidently to the man’s question.

“What makes ye think I put anything in it?” he asked.

Cam pointed to one of the doctores, an Englishman named Wendell Stanhope. Wendell was bent over near the exit of the hall, vomiting onto the dirt floor. Titus looked at him, unconcerned.

“What is wrong with him?” he asked.

Cam lifted a blond eyebrow. “He took my wine by mistake. What did ye put in it?”

Across the table, Brody was about to take a drink of his wine, but when he saw Wendell doubled over, his eyes widened and he quickly set the cup down.

“Idiot,” he hissed at Titus. “Ye almost caught me with whatever ye’ve poisoned Wendell with.”

Sitting next to Brody, Galan looked at his half-empty cup of wine, realizing he’d been made a victim in Titus’ nasty game. “Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “Did you just poison me, Chicken?”

The Chicken nickname was a running joke among them. It was actually an affectionate term, with Titus’ moniker being The Eagle, and his friends would tease him by calling him The Chicken.

But this was no teasing matter.

Titus smiled smugly.

“Do ye not have more faith in me than that?” he said. “Ye may be English, but I wouldna poison ye. Not much, anyway.”

Galan could already feel something going to work in his belly. “Damn you,” he muttered. “What did you do, you Scottish bastard?”

“Ye’ll soon find out.”

Galan was beginning to sweat. “I’ll get you for this, Chicken. You’ll be very sorry.”

Titus snorted. “Not as sorry as ye’ll be in a little while,” he said. “But have no fear. Ye’ll be fine on the morrow. But it’s going tae be a long night.”

As Galan grunted and grasped his belly, horrified, Brody and Cam were looking at him as if waiting for him to explode in all directions. Realizing Titus may have gotten the upper hand on them wasn’t acceptable, so Brody, wanting to create trouble for his smug friend, lifted his cup and called out to one of the newer warriors at The Cal.