Chapter 7
“All prepared for battle?” Nella heard Callum’s question with a brush from his breath gracing her ear while they stood about ready to walk into the tavern which sounded packed heavier than the sheep in the pen at the barn behind them.
Sir Brayden’s stern nod matched his words. “As we discussed, my friend, if you need me at your side, simply hail me. I shall remain at watch here for any who believe to seek the stables in escape if they bolt for the door at being discovered by Lady Fawnella.”
“Aye,” she answered with ease. Why? Callum was close; he would keep her safe.
She closed her lashes tightly for a long blink.
Damn, it had been so long since having this feeling!
Was she prepared to unleash her instinct in sense?
Certainly; however, she had not been ready for the emotions awakening in her by his tenderness at each turn.
He grasped her elbow gently; it was a tiny gesture, but one which gave an even stronger confidence in her step. Had she realized how much of a brave face she had put on for those who surrounded her from Abbot to Abbess to… well, everyone till now? No, she had not.
A mask! It was a mask she had worn all these years after her father’s stern warning in making certain she concealed being odd.
The first glimmer in light feathered through the dark cracks also cast by her late husband’s cruel hand. Would she do anything to hang on to this feeling? To protect Callum with the element in her grasp? Aye! She stepped boldly over the threshold. Let’s commence.
Scotsmen filled the massive common room along with a haze by fumes from the smoky hearth or stench in bodies or roasted meat or fermented ale.
Not pretty. She held her finger to her nose briefly while falling in stride beside Callum as they made their way toward the only empty table flanked by benches.
The table was a perfect placement, shadowed from the closed shutters given the foul weather that was about to descend outside.
Taking a seat at the wax-covered table, one of the few lassies in the establishment meandered their way. About a score in years, the serving lassie looked… yep, right at Callum a long moment as if he were a delicious slab of meat.
“Cider for all,” Callum stated.
“Aye, nae pottage or other wants, my lord?”
Other wants? Yeah, let’s guess what those are, lassie. Nella’s eyes narrowed.
“My lady?” he questioned gallantly.
She hadn’t eaten anything other than some rye bread and cheese Callum had packed for his original journey from Stirling. At spying a bowl filled with something that had grease gleaming on the top – yuck – she shook her head.
“I shall be but a moment,” the serving lassie replied, giving her a dismissive look.
Soon as the skirt’s shadow vanished from near the table, Callum leaned over. “Is there anything I may offer which will help in the search?”
“Only if I suffer by a lack of someone speaking. Then you shall be hailed to go find a purpose for them to talk so I may gather a sound signature from their voice.”
His shoulders straightened as he leaned back to say, “Aye.” At her nod, he grew silent.
Her eyes strayed toward the lit candle with the wax bleeding onto the table.
Dare she stare at him with the fetchingly wayward dark hair tossed across his temple in a laddish way while attempting a chronicle?
Uh, only if failing were the desired result.
Tilting her head, she opened the stronger gateway for her instinct in sense, unleashing the conversations which flowed brisk and sure and loud as a waterfall from the surroundings.
“I told the shite he was to honor my daughter by askin’ for her hand or I would be cutting off his cock.” Nope, not the leader from the abbey.
“The prices were the worst I have seen at the tron gate since two fortnights past.” Not him.
“I must have the serving wench. My wife nor the wench will ever know with discretion.” Bastard, but not him.
“Why is the Benefactor not here? We were promised coin. Does he believe we shall simply harbor fear and cower away like mongrels given his standing?” Huh, promising; perhaps this was someone tethered onto the raiders?
“Patience, all will not be for naught. Look at the fine bottles of wine the Benefactor saw to leaving in preparation for his arrival.”
“Ack,” the stranger huffed dryly, “we sit here drinkin’ a wee bit of fancy wine while our great Benefactor is rumored to be riding off toward that grand wedding feast upon the day after the morrow at Highloch Castle.”
“How are you certain of this?”
“A rumor reached my ears. The Benefactor is a handsome one they say; savors the lassies who float about him same as flies onto pig shite.”
She dashed her hands onto the gritty table, leaning toward her battle companion.
“The four Scots at the table there.” She flicked her skull discreetly toward the bench by the fire where a massive cauldron boiled the greasy pottage.
“The sound signature is not a match for Hiss; however, the matters that they speak about is regarding a lack of coin for their efforts from one hailed as the Benefactor.”
“Benefactor thrust this task upon us; we led the charge, but I will not be goin’ to hell for burning clergy and an abbey for nae coin.”
“Callum,” she whispered frantically, “’tis them! The Benefactor is not present; he sent them a bottle of wine as they await his arrival. These are the raiders who were at the abbey.”
Callum’s cheek muscles flexed while he clenched his jaw before he spoke. “We may wait for this Benefactor to show. Yet” – his brows furrowed – “my instinct speaks this unseen leader shall remain invisible. Forthwith, I believe the resolute choice is to have a wee chat with those currently present.”
“Aye.”
“Nella.” He grasped her hand fiercely, which was resting upon the table. “You remain here a moment. If violence takes a turn, you dash for the doorway toward Sir Brayden. I shall not chance you, understood?”
Her eyes strayed toward his fingers in hers, and she gave a tug on them. Was it the same tug-like feeling as the one that happened in her heart at his concern? She nodded when words would not form.
Callum stood for an approach at the lot of them.
They all wore expressions as dark as the rags upon their backs.
The pair who had spoken guzzled the wine; the first had paunchy jowls that flowed into his shoulders with no neck.
The other was as thin as the stem on his goblet resting on the table he lifted.
“Raise your cups once more for a final toast.” The whole table of raiders drained their goblets, slamming them onto the table.
Callum left the bow on his shoulder. Instead, he quietly rested his hand on his sword’s hilt while he slowly approached the threat. Four against one; the odds were dire.
The gaunt one who faced Callum cussed. “Who the blazes is the massive warrior walking our direction with rich mail on his back? You think he is commanded by the Benefactor as a means to slay us?” Oh, no.
“Calm your arse. Malcom, over yonder, is our watcher of the common room. If deemed needed he shall attack the warrior unawares.” Malcom?
Watcher? Her eyes dashed toward a lone patron they glanced at sitting in the dark corner.
Malcom. Got you. Features shadowed by a wiry beard and mouth a snarling wolf would be happy to own.
Plan change. No more charging for the door if Callum was in danger.
What to use as a weapon if this turned violent?
The candlestick here; iron and thick and tall and perfect.
Leaning forward, she snuffed the wick with a breath born from fear before she snatched the find secretly under her cloak. Standing, she fluffed her loose hair.
A shaky breath rattling her lungs, she walked the steps as if her legs had turned into the same wood as the wall beside her.
What could she say to a frightening-looking stranger and garner his interest?
Tavern lassie would know. Whereas her experience seducing a lad had been, well, rather lacking…
Who was she kidding? Nonexistence more covered the grim truth at her skill.
Sway. Try swaying hips towards Malcom. Oh, look. He had turned his attention from the table her knight approached and eyed her instead; good. Now what? Flattery always worked on lassies; go with that.
She murmured in a low voice, “A Scotsman dashing as you should not sit alone.” Was the tone alluring?
A grin brown as the meat pottage before him showed. Ugh. “Lass, had a few too many cups, have we?” He looked intrigued.
“Wee bit.” She thumped her backside onto the bench beside him, while pulling the candlestick closer toward her hip under the table. “A lovely view here.” She spread her free arm wide toward the vista. Callum was almost at the enemy’s table. Keep Malcom’s attention.
The gaunt one hissed under his breath across the room to himself. “Malcom, take your eyes over here, you dimwit, and away from the bonny lass.” Oh good, it was working. Gaunt thought her bonny? Surprises all around!
A meaty hand snared her waist. “You are most bonny.”
Her free hand pressed his torso. “May I be so bold as to inquire what name you were bestowed?”
His breath, which was the stench of rotted flesh, brushed her cheek. Don’t breathe. She swallowed hard. “Malcom. Who may you be, bonny one?”
“I am…” The words died in her throat when a loud cluster by gagging and choking and coughing silenced the room like a devil had just stepped over the threshold.
The entire table Callum approached was… Brazen brimstone! They were being poisoned! Their faces turned a bright plum shade as they violently grappled at their throats and began falling same as stones off a cliff. The common room erupted into a chaos of cries.
“They are dying!”
“Poison!”
The door burst open with Sir Brayden charging inside, sword drawn after the other patrons began shouting in fright.
“What have you done, lassie?” Malcom roared at her.
She spun her head around when Malcom ripped her off the bench by the arm secured about her waist. She swung the candlestick at his brow, but the meaty Scot ducked toward the side. No! She missed! How could she miss?
Thump. The candlestick hit the floorboards after he batted it out from her fingers. “Nothing!” she cried when his free hand grabbed her throat. “I have done nothing!”
Words ridden with a growl echoed behind her. “If you release the lady; I may let you keep your hands.” Callum.
Turning her in his grip, Malcom tightened his hold on her waist, shoving her back up against his front while his palm remained same as an iron shackle about her windpipe. Callum had the bow in his grasp with arrow nocked right at Malcom’s face. Brayden at Callum’s flank.
“I believe you are mistaken who harbors the stronger position in this battle,” Malcom sneered then threatened, “Take another step closer, either of you, I shall snap this bonny neck. ’Tis a shame laying waste to such a fine lass.” Her stomach curled when his tongue licked her cheek. Ohhhh, yuck.
The raiders who lay dead on the table across the common room had said “bottles’”.
Malcom was part of the raiders; had he drunk the wine?
Her eyes glanced at the bottle; Callum must have taken note also as he said in a steely tone, “Have you partaken in the wine same as the others at the table beside the hearth?”
Malcom’s fingers twitched; he had.
“’Twas a poison I harbor knowledge of,” Callum surmised at Malcom’s lack of answer to say, “If you release the lady, I shall offer the antidote. Resist, you will join those dead to my rear flank.”
“The antidote first!”
“Nella.” Her eyes widened when Callum whispered…
only to her. Was Callum using his arm that was straight while holding the wooden portion on the bow, thus enabling him to cover his mouth discreetly from any prying eyes so he could speak only to her?
Aye, brilliant! Her knight was speaking in a wisp from breath only she could hear.
“My lady, if you hear me blink heavily –twice.”
If blinking could create a secret bridge only for the two of them it was just built.
“Good, I shall demand a glass of mead with onion but ’tis a ruse. There is nae antidote. When he reaches for the glass, break free to your left, and I shall sink this arrow into his eye. Blink once hard for nae or twice for aye.”
Hours they would spend in the fields hidden as he would practice at her encouragement knowing one day it would serve him well in keeping him safe during battle.
Had she ever considered it would be her that needed saving?
No. He was a master with the bow in unmatched strength – she blinked twice. Get him, Callum.
“Bring the Scot a cup of mead with onion,” Callum bellowed after her secret signal.
If time had halted it still would have seemed quicker at her current state before the serving lassie came forward bearing the request.
“Halt,” Malcom ordered the wide-eyed lassie, “set the cup upon the table before the bonny.” The fingers on her throat tightened. “Fetch it for me.”
“Nella, soon as he takes the goblet, he shall be distracted. Tilt your head left. I will make the mark. I vow it to you with all I am.” Aye.
She reached for the goblet, which slipped slightly in her sweaty grasp.
Callum held her gaze. His normally cool blue eyes seemed to take a fierce color same as a thundercloud. “’Twill be all right, Nella, I promise.” Her breath paused from gasping a brief moment at his iron-clad reassurance.
The goblet met Malcom’s fingers as he loosened his grip on her throat, and the same moment she crushed her eyes shut and pulled left – hard.
Whizz. The arrow flew by her ear so close it sailed through the few wayward strands above her ears.
She cried out. Malcom’s hands dropped from her body quick as the wind, which blew the shutters open wide beside them.
Thump, gurgle. Shaking profusely, she glanced down.
Her eyes burst wide at the sight of the arrow’s placement.
A breath from her temple right through Malcom’s left eye. Callum… Callum had made the mark.
A sob broke free after warm palms circled her. Did it matter to her he was not granted the title or had taken the oath? Nae, he was the same as a Templar’s knight in skill.
“Summon the sheriff at once!” someone yelled from the chaos, which swept through the tavern at the event’s turn.
“My friend,” Sir Brayden said, “we must take our leave – directly.”
Callum’s focus was only for her. “Nella?”
Numbly, she nodded after looking at Sir Brayden who wore a worried look. Why were they running from the sheriff? Swallowing the fresh sob which longed to be torn loose, she nodded again before Callum grasped her hand while they bolted for the door.
The final sight of those fallen appeared in her gaze – the Benefactor was as evil as the night was dark!