Chapter Three
The lass is the very image of Clara.
Adam wanted to close his eyes against the swell of painful memories. The last thing he needed was this living, breathing reminder of his lost love.
His body already ached with tiredness after his long journey south from the highlands whilst his mind was troubled by his mission.
Aye, it was right and proper to inform Callum of his father’s illness; but nonetheless he balked at taking a man—who had not long since found happiness—far from the source of that happiness and back to a place of cold and steely disapproval.
If he was being strictly objective, Adam would admit that Lady Esme’s hair was a more golden hue than Clara’s had been.
And perchance this lovely young woman had seen a couple more summers than the lass who lived through less than twenty of them.
’Twas the bright, restless energy emanating from her that put him so in mind of Clara.
The radiance of her smile. Her shimmering determination.
Belatedly, he realized the whole family were staring at him as if waiting for some kind of response.
The roaring of blood in his ears, which started when Lady Esme first entered the room, had grown louder still when she conversed with him.
Whilst imprisoned by her brilliant blue eyes, he had answered her questions.
But as soon as she turned back toward her family, he had lost himself in the past.
Lady Esme put her hands on her slim hips and frowned.
“The idea displeases you, sir?”
Adam’s opinion was rarely called upon at Kielder Castle. He was accustomed to receiving orders and acting upon them. Anyone who had spent time around the great warlord, Rory Baine, knew that it was safer to keep one’s opinion to oneself.
Wearily, he rubbed a hand across his brow. “I beg your pardon, milady.”
She lifted her chin. “What do you say? Aye or nay?”
Callum passed his bairn to a servant before joining their little group by the window.
He had grown contented since Adam saw him last. With a beautiful wife and strong, healthy children. And a home filled with laughter and lively conversation.
I should not have come.
“My good man, you are not obliged to remain here as personal guard to Esme whilst I am away. Though I know my sister-in-law is a hard woman to refuse.”
Adam lowered his head, resting his gaze on his worn leather boots which were coated with dust from the road.
Did he wish to return to Kielder Castle? To the backstabbing and constant air of acrimony?
Nay, I do not.
Did he wish to stay here, to be tormented by memories of Clara?
Nay, I do not.
Adam’s life had been dictated by the whims of others since his youth. He had long since stopped attempting to wield control over the tides of fate.
“Whatever pleases you most, milord,” he said. “’Tis little difference to me.”
He heard Callum puff out a breath. From the corner of his eye, he saw him shake his head to restrain Esme’s celebration.
“Come now, Adam. We do not stand on ceremony here. Moreover, you have never addressed me as milord. There is no call to begin. But I see we have placed you in an impossible situation. Let us retire to the solar and discuss the matter without further interruption.”
Adam lifted his head. As ever, the gaze of Rory’s only son was unflinching and honest.
Callum offered his hand, and Adam realized it would be churlish to refuse it. He allowed the younger man to haul him to his feet, feeling again the deep ache in his calf muscles.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly.
Callum clapped an arm around his shoulders and turned them both in the direction of the solar.
“I shall bring in some wine.” Callum’s bride smiled warmly.
When he first caught sight of her, Adam had been taken aback by Frida’s waterfall of silvery hair. But now he saw that her face was that of a younger woman. Her eyes were bright, and her movements were quick and light.
Callum is fortunate indeed.
They tramped together across the wooden floor. Adam was relieved to enter the solar and hear the squeak of the door closing behind them.
“Sit.” Callum flung himself down into a tapestried armchair and indicated a comfortable-looking couch opposite.
The room was long, narrow and flooded with light from a large window.
A writing desk and matching chair were pulled up by the window, as if to make best use of the light.
“Frida’s brother, Jonah, likes to sit in here and write,” Callum explained, nodding toward the desk.
Adam had no response to this. He was overly conscious of his travel-stained clothing and the impeccably clean furnishings. He had washed his hands upon entering Ember Hall but would have paid more attention to his ablutions had he realized he would be spending so much time with the family.
Though Callum had always treated him like family. And Adam had once thought of Callum as the little brother he never had.
So much had changed since Callum left Kielder Castle that final time. None of it good.
As if divining his thoughts, Callum leaned forwards, clasping his hands together. “Tell me everything that you could not say in front of my wife.”
Adam dampened his lips with his tongue. He was parched with thirst and wished he had not been so quick to turn down the offer of refreshments when he first arrived. But he had wanted to deliver his message as soon as possible, without the hindrance of niceties.
“It is much as you would imagine,” he answered carefully, biting back ‘milord.’ “Your father’s health has been failing this last year.
At the harvest supper he took to his bed and has been unable to leave it since.
” At Callum’s questioning expression, he offered more.
“When I left, he was still able to take some bread and drink some watered wine. But the physician said you should be sent for.”
“I do not question your motives in coming for me,” Callum said quickly.
“I would not do so lightly.”
Adam paused to meet Callum’s eye, waiting for his nod of understanding.
“And what of Kielder Castle? What of my old comrades, Andrew and Arlo?”
Adam’s chest ached, though he had anticipated the question. “Andrew has moved away from us. He married a lass from the islands. I told him to grasp his chance of happiness.”
Callum smiled. “I am glad of it, though I am sure he is much missed.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “And Arlo?”
“He was kicked by a horse last yuletide. His leg was broken, and I am afraid he has not fully recovered.”
Callum almost jumped from his chair. “Ye Gods. I had no idea.”
“He did not want to cause you any concern.”
“Has my father sent the physician to see him?”
Adam paused for a moment, then settled for the lie. “Aye. More than once. He made a splint for his leg and Arlo can get about tolerably well now. But his days of wielding a sword are behind him.”
In truth, Adam had summoned the physician and paid for his services with his own carefully saved coin.
“He has taken some other position in the household? Or has my father granted him a pension?” Waves of agitation rippled across Callum’s face.
This time, Adam could not bring himself to lie.
“There is little in the castle coffers to allow such a pension,” he said diplomatically. “Arlo helps in the stables.” He paused. “When he is able.”
Callum dragged a hand through his hair. “I know the rebuilding of the keep drained our reserves.” He referenced the siege some six years prior which had seen Kielder Castle all but razed to the ground.
“But Arlo has served our family most faithfully. I do not like to think of him working when he is injured.”
Adam said nothing. The situation was more dire than he could aptly give voice to.
Rory Baine had retreated further into spiteful parsimony since his son’s departure, and it was not unknown for the servants to go long weeks without receiving the coin they were due.
But with no other settlement for miles around, many had neither the wealth nor health to consider leaving.
And others, like himself, felt duty bound to stay and do what they could to help. The siege of Kielder Castle had left its scars: children without parents; warriors without limbs; and farmworkers with wounds—physical and mental—that refused to heal.
He fixed his gaze on the dapples of sunlight covering the plastered wall ahead of him. Laughter came through the adjoining wall of the great hall and outside in the courtyard, someone was singing.
A woman’s voice. Perchance it was Esme?
He shook his head to dislodge the notion. Foolish fancies for a young woman, some years his junior—and many ranks his better—would not aid him in any way.
Callum sat back in his chair. “What of this request from my sister-in-law? That you remain here whilst I visit my father?”
He was temporarily lost for words.
“’Twas impertinent, I know. But she is a lass who speaks her mind.” Callum grinned, clearly unaware of the impertinent steer of Adam’s thoughts. “I wondered if you might appreciate the chance of some days at rest?”
Adam lifted his brows. “Days at rest?” he repeated stupidly.
“Should you be of a mind to chop some firewood or exercise the horses, none would stand in your way. But as my wife said, we are ready for winter.” Callum shrugged. “You can take some rest. Or else renew your acquaintance with the land. ’Twas not far from here you were raised, I believe?”
Adam swallowed painfully. The lure of someplace called home had ceased to tug at his heartstrings many years since. When Clara was killed and Adam, mired in grief and twisted with desire for vengeance, followed Rory Baine north to the Highlands.
He had become a man who served, who followed orders. Even though he had once hoped for more.
“Do you have friends or family still living nearby?” Callum cocked an eyebrow, oblivious to the tumult of emotion his question caused.
“Nay.” Adam did not elaborate.