Chapter Three #2
“More chance for rest then.” Callum crossed his long legs and smiled. “Take some rest, man. I am certain you deserve it.”
A beat passed. “Why do you offer me this?”
Callum’s face lost some of its benevolence, but Frida chose that moment to step into the room, balancing a well-stocked tray in her hands.
“This is long overdue for a man who traveled so far to reach us,” she murmured, settling the tray on a low table and passing Adam a cup of warmed wine. “Your news took us all by surprise. But please, eat and drink your fill.”
Adam took a sip, pleasantly surprised by the rich taste and subtle spices. He recalled his manners before he drained the cup.
“Thank you, milady.”
“Frida,” she corrected him, smiling slightly. “Callum has spoken to me of a man named Adam who first taught him to fight with a sword. You are that same man, I believe?”
The simple fact that Callum had remembered that time—and saw fit to share his memories with his wife—made Adam choke up with emotion.
“Aye, ’tis the same man,” Callum answered for him. “I had seen mayhap ten summers. Adam here was a strapping youth. If it were not for his early lessons, perchance I would not have been accepted at Lindum.”
A long look passed between husband and wife. “Then we never may have met,” Frida said simply.
Callum glanced at Adam. “I trained alongside Frida’s brother at Lindum,” he explained. “Tristan de Neville. Mayhap you have heard his name?”
Adam nodded. Tales of an English knight named de Neville had indeed reached as far as the highlands. But nonetheless, he hoped they would not dwell overlong on this subject. Callum may have spent happy years at Lindum. But for Adam, those same years were tinged with darkness.
“I will leave you to talk.” Frida threw another smile at her husband and walked gracefully from the room.
“Eat,” Callum encouraged him, nudging the tray closer. Adam’s stomach rumbled with hunger, but he would not give in to it before he had his answer.
“Pray, answer my question. Why do you offer me this chance to reside in your home and do naught for it?”
“Not naught. You forget, the primary purpose is to ensure no harm befalls my wife’s sister.”
“And is harm likely to befall her?” He thought of the young woman with hair as golden as ripe corn and eyes as blue as the sea. She looked to have never known a day of hardship in her life.
“She is the youngest child of the Earl of Wolvesley. A prize many men would like to claim.” Callum scratched at his arm. “In good conscience, I cannot leave her here undefended. But in truth, nay, I do not think it likely she will be approached.”
“Why does she not wish to return to Wolvesley? Is she ill-treated there?”
Adam eyed the freshly baked bread which exuded a most alluring aroma, but in his mind’s eye he saw the cheerless stone halls of Kielder Castle and heard a woman sobbing.
“Not in the slightest,” Callum answered firmly. “The earl adores her.”
Adam exhaled. “Then I cannot make sense of it. Why should she wish to remain here? And why do you want me to remain here with her?”
“I cannot answer the first. Perchance you should ask her yourself. ’Twill be some whim she has. Or a quarrel with an admirer, mayhap?”
“She has many admirers?” Adam found himself asking.
“There is a long line of suitors asking for her hand. But the lady is indifferent to them all.” Callum half smiled.
“The de Nevilles are a close family. Esme visits us often; Ember Hall is a second home to her. I would prefer not to turn her away.” He opened his arms, indicating he had nothing to hide.
“And the second?”
“More complicated.” Callum scratched at his growth of beard.
“In part, ’tis because I trust you with the task.
” Adam raised his eyebrows and Callum laughingly continued.
“Come now, you must have seen for yourself how things are. Esme is an uncommon beauty. Not just in looks, but in character. She could charm the very birds from the trees. And her dowry is sizeable.”
Adam clasped his hands and focused his gaze on his fingernails. Anything to avoid Callum’s honest gaze. “And you trust this flower of England to my safe keeping?”
“I would trust you with my own daughters,” Callum said, his voice serious. “But that is not all of it.” He sighed deeply. “I have some idea what your days must be like.”
Adam stilled before slowly lifting his eyes to Callum’s. “You mean, at Kielder Castle?”
“I mean with my father,” Callum said gruffly. “He is not an easy man to be around.”
“Nay indeed.” ’Twas easy enough to agree with that.
“You can take no pleasure in serving him. Since my mother passed, he has become a bloodthirsty Scottish warlord. You were raised in England as the son of a farmer.”
Adam could deny none of this.
“Have I remembered that correctly? You came to my parents following the death of your own?”
He nodded. His parents had been tenant farmers; their land adjoining that once farmed by Clara’s family. But he was unwilling to reawaken such memories.
He closed his mind to thoughts of his lost love. “My parents were taken by a fever when I was but a youth. My father and yours once served alongside one another and Rory was quick to offer me a home.”
’Twas a rare example of generosity from Rory Baine.
“I can scarce remember a time when you were not at Egremont House.” Callum smiled. “I hope you found at least some small happiness there?”
Adam was happy to provide such assurance. “I did. Your mother was a lady of great kindness.”
“But then she also died.” Callum’s face darkened. “You must have had some reason to follow my father to the highlands. Whatever that reason was, you stay with him now because of a sense of duty.”
Adam was finding it hard to swallow. Harder still to formulate a response.
“Moreover, your sense of duty is to the villagers and servants. Not to my father.”
“I have never moved a finger against him.” Adam’s pulse pounded.
“I do not accuse you of it,” Callum swiftly interjected. He sat back in his chair. “The only thing I accuse you of, Adam, is having a big heart. You care for those unlucky enough to live within my father’s walls. You have picked things up where I left off some years hence.”
Callum could always see straight through to the crux of a matter, even when he was a young boy. It was one of the many qualities Adam admired in him.
“But I am Rory Baine’s son. Perchance it is time for me to take on this burden.”
Adam shook his head. He carefully placed his cup down on the table before his trembling hands caused wine to spill on the rug. “You have a wife and family. Your home is in England. ’Tis as your mother would have wished it.”
Mayhap he should not have uttered those words. But it was the truth as he saw it.
“I am not abandoning them. Forsooth, my wife and family are determined to go with me.” Callum tipped his head back and stared up at the vaulted ceiling.
“Though I question even Frida’s abilities to bring peace to the troubled halls of Kielder Castle.
But that is not a matter to discuss now.
In all honesty, Adam, I have been anticipating this summons for some months.
It is time for me to return.” His expression turned bleak, but only for a moment.
“Why should some good not come out of this? Stay here, man. Enjoy the rest. We have a good wine cellar, and you are unlikely to be much troubled by visitors.”
Adam was halfway to being convinced. He tore off a hunk of bread and chewed it ruminatively.
“You will return here?”
“Indeed, I hope so.” Callum rubbed again at his arms. “If not I, then Frida and the children will. This is their home. I will not rip them from it, whatever may occur at Kielder. But I must accept there will be much to do in Scotland, whatever the outcome with my father.”
Adam nodded and reached for a glistening red grape. “I would like to be of help to you, when that time comes.”
“And I would be pleased to accept.” Callum grinned, once more the boy Adam had known.
“You will not leave me to fester in this lonely corner of England?” He wanted to be sure, especially given the ghosts of his past which still haunted these lands.
“You have my word.” Callum rose from the chair and clapped him on the shoulder. “Though you should not speak in such haste. This lonely corner of England has brought me much peace and happiness.”
“Aye, well.” Adam found his lips twitching up into a smile. “I do not aim so high as that.”
“A few days’ rest, making sure no churl carries off my wife’s sister. I dare say you should grasp this opportunity. Who knows what perils await us all if that man, Roger Mortimer, has his way? This tentative peace between England and Scotland would not long survive.” Callum shook his head.
Adam had long ceased to follow the intricate twists of English politics, but he knew of the man Callum referred to.
“He is too power-hungry.” Much like Rory Baine, he reflected.
“Whereas we both know the power that peace can bring.” Callum offered his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
A few days rest.
The chance to sleep easily in my bed.
Adam clasped the man’s forearm with an iron grip of his own. “We have an agreement.”