Chapter 8
Callum took another deep breath, and the scent in herbs mixed with lass filled his soul. Aye, she was safe. His palm settled heavier about her ribs while they cantered through the sunny wood which had turned glossy after the fresh rain let up. The leaves now sparkled same as stars at midnight.
“I am the one who has fallen into bewilderment,” Nella began. “Why are we bolting in haste from the sheriff?”
“Discretion,” Sir Brayden called over the sound from the charger’s cantering.
“Discretion?” she repeated, puzzled.
Callum explained, “Our lord king sought this matter handled with utmost discretion. A few years back directly before the Battle of Largs and defeating the Northmen, my wee brother, Sir Aonghus, his wife, Lady Keirah who hailed from the Clan MacThistlen—”
“MacThistlen,” Nella broke in, shocked, “an ancient line of fate-seers, the rumors are true?” There were more like her with unique instinct in senses?
“Aye, her instinct in sense gave way for the treaty we now endeavor to see secured,” Callum replied. “There was an event, three years past, which almost claimed our lord king’s life. It was never spoken of after the tragedy that was stayed by the MacThistlen—”
“And you, Sir Callum!” Brayden added proudly then quipped, “Modesty is a poor shade upon a knight’s armor. Lady Fawnella, Sir Callum’s arrow slain the enemy who would have killed the king that day after Lady MacThistlen declared where the enemy lurked.”
“Our lord king worried then as now if one saw weakness within the kingdom, this may breed more discord.”
“Thus, discretion,” Nella concluded. “Nae sheriff.”
“Aye,” Callum said, then a somber turn came. “Nella, there is a matter which has pressed upon me severely since our leave. Why did you not seek the door? In its stead—”
“Callum,” she interrupted in a frantic whisper, “rider’s approach due south of us if we remain upon this path.”
“Sir Brayden,” Callum hailed his friend, “follow our lead.”
“Aye,” Brayden replied.
Let’s go this way. Callum swiftly set a new course around a grove filled by massive yew trunks then carefully circled back.
Nella tilted her head more as her brows furrowed. She was listening to something. He remained silent.
“’Tis the sheriff and a lord,” she explained for his ears alone as they set to a walk in remaining quieter while sneaking around those who approached. “If we stay upon this course, they shall pass us by unseen and unheard.”
“Aye,” he replied. If not for the worry plaguing him, he would have been awestruck at her prowess once more. “Nella, why did you not heed my warning at the tavern?”
She looked at him, and innocence reflected her wide gaze.
“Malcom, he would have struck you down if those you had planned to speak with had given him the signal. I could not chance this.” Her words brushed his cheeks softly.
“A thousand times given the choice this day and a thousand would hold the same conclusion. I would never see your hurt, Callum.” If a declaration could cause his emotions of love to drown him, that was it.
Something was amiss. It had to be. Why would she have abandoned him the night they were to meet?
They must speak in private about the reason.
He glanced at Sir Brayden; no, this wasn’t the moment for that subject but the other matter plaguing him wouldn’t wait.
“Nella, I cannot lose you.” His explanation was rife with anguish. “You seek that I am not struck down? To know you are hurt shall lay me into ruin, one far worse than any considered by a dagger or arrow or sword.”
Her lashes widened this time by surprise. “You care so deeply for me?”
“Aye.”
Her hand cupped his jaw. “Then I shall be more careful forthwith.”
Luss tripped slightly, causing her to drop her hand as he steadied the reins, then heard her whisper, “Callum, it seems fate has laid some different challenges ahead for us as well.” Her words almost feathered over his mouth.
“There is matter I must speak with you and Sir Brayden upon regarding the raiders at the tavern.”
She was so close. Giving an inward growl at being unable to claim her lips, he reluctantly summoned, “Sir Brayden?”
The hearty knight came closer in stride beside Luss.
Nella darted her gaze between them while she explained.
“A Scot spoke regarding a ‘Benefactor’ who I believe is the one that poisoned the wine.” Callum nodded.
“This Benefactor is rumored to be present at a grand wedding feast upon the morrow at Highloch Castle.”
“A strong alliance has tethered this marriage between a lowland chief and one of the queen consort’s ladies in waiting,” Sir Brayden chimed in.
“Alas, my wife Lady Maise, who attends the queen consort as well was most disappointed at being unable to attend given the lowlander clan arriving is a rival clan to my own. Pardon, Lady Fawnella, this I may offer nae aid upon nor Sir Callum. The MacCades are… well, my friend?”
Ahem. “Aye, Clan MacCade has never been a friend to that lowlander clan either,” Callum replied, giving Brayden a sidelong look.
“Modest once more, Sir Callum, I believe upon our last discussion the title you mentioned regarding them was they are a clan of ‘uppity arseholes’?” He leaned forward with a grin. “Pardon again, my lady, but the chief and chieftain believe their airs smell of flowers.”
Nella appeared to be biting her lip to stay from smiling.
Her head tilted not at instinct in sense but bewilderment.
“The lady in waiting to be married. I know her Highland-born mother, a Lady Alaina,” Nella offered.
“Lady Alaina may secure our way into the feast and some proper garments to attend.”
Brayden smoothed his hearty fingers over his mantle. “Huh, I thought we were rather dashing—”
“Sir Brayden,” Callum interrupted dryly, “I believe my lady was referring upon her own gown.”
Nella’s cheeks blushed up at him. Stunning. His fingers tightened on her waist. “Aye, Sir Brayden, ’twas my consideration. A gown streaked by earth and soot does not offer the appearance of a wealthy widow flanked by her ‘guardsmen’.”
Callum raised his left brow. “Guardsmen?”
A determined spark crossed her expression like she was a warrior almost into battle. “This ‘Benefactor’ dared to harm the abbot, abbess, and threaten a treaty which Scots have bled for. If we must dance with the enemy to find this shadow, so be it. What say you, my knight?”
“Aye!” Callum concurred as Luss sailed into a gallop toward Highloch Castle.