Chapter 43
Kinclaven Castle
Perthshire, Scotland
The torch-lit archway Nella stood was wide enough for a dragon to step through with its wings spread wide.
“How many knights are guarding the king while he is currently at prayer?” Nella heard Callum inquire toward Sir Sean.
“Four.”
Callum glanced at a robust royal guardsman just outside the keep’s closed-door entry to say.
“Robert, double the number. Knights, not men-at-arms, are to surround King Alexander at all times. Same for our lord king’s tasters.
Two, not one, henceforth for each dish or drink offered, understood?
” Sir, tall, dark, and dashing, was taking it to a whole new level! Her heart tripled in beat.
Robert’s torso puffed up. “For certain, Captain.”
Callum continued closing in on the guardsman. “Robert, the gate watch has orders only those deemed essential and already known in this bailey or keep are to be present now and henceforth. If any are not, you seek me or Sir Sean straightaway. Make certain to tell each guardsman the order.”
“At once,” Robert replied, vanishing with his palm on his sword’s hilt.
Enough drooling, time to bring down a traitor.
Nella clasped her hand tighter in her skirt’s folds as she peered into the great hall when the doors burst wide open by young pages.
All shuffled about within the great hall after the sun had risen by those seeking to break their fast. The food seekers appeared among the numerous benches and dais.
The highest chair was empty. The king must still be in prayer.
Such a large number of lords were in this hall.
Not everyone here was going to be present for the treaty upon the morrow at the monastery where the Northern delegation would be waiting after arriving there later today.
However, all the Scottish courtiers had certainly seemed to have clustered here.
Okay. Assignments again? Alec, Sir Sean, and Lord Kolson were enlisted for watching any overtly grand expressions in shock or concern or anger while she chronicled all the sound signatures.
Callum took two steps ahead, his hood up purposely hiding his features for a more dramatic reveal.
He seemed part giant. Was it his immense height given most sat? No, it was him.
Callum paused, glancing at her one last time. He didn’t need to speak for the question to be heard in the herb-and-bread-fumed air. He was asking if she was ready for the immense chronicle before he stepped one more footfall from the final threshold. She nodded – once.
Time. Was. Now.
Callum lowered his hood.
“Oh, Sir Callum has returned, I may inquire as to whom he entrusts as a bowyer here in Perth.” Not him.
“The captain is back, time to see about rotating off night watch.” Not him.
“These eggs are ill-prepared.” Not the traitor.
“Better tell the captain not to try the milk, it tastes odd.” No, not him, either, ugh!
Gasp.
Gasp.
Her eyes snapped up while she held her head steady as to not give away her sense. Far corner of the dais, in embroidered surcoats were two wealthy lords who sat together.
Gasp. Another? Other side of the great hall, near the roaring hearth, a warrior not in a royal-crested surcoat.
“Sir Callum!” a voice boomed by the tapestry as the courtier or lord wiped his hands on a linen after using the basin by the passageway’s entry. “Grand to see you before quill meets parchment upon the morrow!”
“Lord Bentley,” Callum acknowledged with an incline of brow.
The rotund lord almost used his gut to shove the pages from his way as he made toward Callum. “There is much to do! An inventory must commence; I have heard a rumor regarding the arrows are rather low in count.”
“It shall be seen to at once,” Callum assured.
“Wonderful.” The lord slapped his hands onto his gut gleefully. “Pardon, the bread is fresh and the butter will not keep forever!”
“For certain, Lord Bentley.”
“Our lord king should be joining us soon,” Lord Bentley murmured before he turned for the dais.
Callum raised his hand, smoothing his fingers over his lips while he whispered to her, concealed, “Any gasps, my Nella?”
She remained by the archway. Meeting his gaze, she nodded, held up two fingers discreetly like she had done at the abbey, then locked her eyes on the lords at the dais in the embroidered surcoats.
“Alec and Sir Sean,” Callum hailed the pair, who approached quickly, then he spoke discreetly, “Quietly fetch Lord MacParson and Lord Phillbin unto the solar.”
The two sought the request as Callum turned back towards her. “Nella, any others?”
“My lady?” Holger muttered as well.
She looked toward the hearth – gone! The second warrior that gasped had vanished!
The panic must have been apparent on her features as Callum began stepping her direction, but she gripped two fistfuls of skirt before darting out toward the passageway’s entry in her own silent order for him to follow.
Callum appeared directly beside her and Holger.
Her words huffed on her breaths at the dash across the great hall.
“There was a warrior near the hearth, mail tunic but nae royal surcoat, who gasped and has turned into a shadow.” They all looked each way on the passageway, only seeing pages and squires and chamberlains bustling about at the early hour.
“Northman.” Callum pointed one direction. “You take the south passage.” He raised his arm the opposite way. “Nella and I will take the north. They arch about in a circular manner and meet on the keep’s far end if he has not ventured off the passage.”
“Scotsman.” Holger seized her arm. “The lady stays with me to determine the warrior’s chosen path.” Callum’s face turned two shades in crimson; it wasn’t the glow from the torch beside him.
She snatched her arm back. “Enough of this.” She clipped her words at Holger. “You waste precious time. The captain of the royal guard gave an order, you are upon Scottish soil, move!”
Holger glared a moment before a whistle-type hiss sounded under his breath, and he bolted south. Lifting her skirts, she charged alongside Callum down the maze in doorways and archways and stairwells.
Listen, Nella, listen for racing footsteps not of your own or Callum’s or Holger’s making.
Slowing her breathing, in spite of the race, same as hare in the Highlands, the echo by shuffling footsteps flooded her ears like the tides on a shore.
No, they were all walking; no one was running through the passageway… Wait.
Gasp. There it was again! The same gasp as in the great hall but not from shock it…
it was something else. Grabbing Callum’s hand, she darted them up a winding stairwell.
If her lungs could pop, they would have by the time they reached the highest floor.
Her feet numb, she halted them at the passageway’s entry.
“Callum,” she puffed, pointing at the passageway’s far end.
“HALT!” Callum roared.
The warrior’s steps froze as if he’d turned into ice. Callum pulled his sword. “Nella, please remain.” She nodded, watching him charge down by the doorways closing in on the possible enemy.
Gasp. That was odd. Why was the warrior still gasping? Was he having trouble breathing? Hands high, the would-be foe slowly turned toward Callum. The warrior gasped again.
“Captain,” the voice greeted, and Callum’s shoulders lowered, “I forgot to place on my surcoat. I was simply goin’ to fetch it before you saw me. Forgive me if I—”
Callum re-sheathed his sword. “Nae forgiveness needed, will see you later.”
“Aye, Sir Callum.”
Callum re-turned towards her. “Nella,” he explained, setting his hand onto her lower back as they walked toward the stairs, “the lad wheezes when nervous. He has been in my charge for years. ’Tis an ailment which has haunted him since he was ill some winters back.”
Her brows knitted. “Oh, Callum, forgive the mistake, the poor lad—”
“Ssshhh, my lady,” he assured gently, “how were you to know? Perhaps there has been something revealed by the lords summoned to the solar.”