Chapter 2
Evan Campbell sauntered up the path towards this God-forsaken hole’s only inn, whistling a merry tune. To anyone watching he would appear relaxed, without a care in the world, enjoying the late season sunshine and the breeze coming in off the sea.
But appearances can be deceptive.
In truth, his eyes darted everywhere, scanning the alley that ran down the side of the inn, noting the two lads sitting on the wall tying a line to their fishing rods, counting the number of patrons that left the inn and their appearance.
When he reached the rickety stone-and-timber building, instead of entering through the front door, he ducked down the alley, wrinkling his nose at the smell of piss and refuse, and moved swiftly along it, taking note of its length and where it led.
Round the back was a kitchen garden where the proprietor grew the few vegetables that could withstand this harsh sea-climate and a few scraggly hens picked through the rows.
The back door of the inn gave out onto the kitchen garden, and a narrow, zigzag path wove its way from the garden and down the steep hillside upon which the inn perched.
Good. It would provide a means of escape in a pinch.
Satisfied, Evan made his way back through the stinking alley and emerged at the front of the inn.
The two lads had gotten the line attached and now appeared to be arguing about what to use for bait.
Other than those two, the approach to the inn was empty.
From here, he had a clear line of sight down to the harbor and the fishing boats and skiffs that filled the wharves.
He glanced at the sky. Almost time. He’d better get in position.
Pulling on a nonchalant air, he strode up to the door, pushed it open, and made his way inside.
The common room was large and dingy, with benches for seats and half-barrels for tables, with rushes on the floor to soak up the mess that its patrons left every night.
The bunches of lavender and other herbs hanging from the ceiling couldn’t quite mask the scent of spilled ale and sweat.
Evan fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. He made his way over to the bar and leaned on it. A tired-looking serving lass stood behind, cleaning a pottery tankard.
“What can I get ye?”
Evan put on his most charming grin. “A smile from ye is all a man could ever want.”
The lass rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “I’m fresh out of smiles but I can get ye an ale,” she said.
She was a pretty one, with her plump curves and rosy cheeks, and on another occasion Evan might have persisted with the flattery to see where it might get him. But today he was here for other business.
“It’s a poor substitute, but an ale served from yer fair hands will have to keep me going, I suppose,” he said with mock disappointment.
She rolled her eyes again, dipped the pottery tankard into a barrel behind her, and handed it over to him. Evan took it with a nod, flicked a coin in her direction, and made his way over to one of the benches, placing his tankard on the half-barrel table.
He lowered himself onto the bench, which creaked as he set his weight, and then stretched out his long legs.
He scanned the room. Not many patrons at this time of day, which was good.
Fewer eyes to mark him. He’d made sure to position himself with a clear view of the main door, but also close enough to the back that he could get out to the kitchen garden if everything went sour.
In his line of work, it was important to have escape routes.
He took a sip of the beer. It was warm and sour, and probably only fit to be used to clean the privies, but he swallowed it down anyway. He glanced at the door, feeling his impatience rise. Waiting had never been one of his strong points.
“My, ye will burn a hole in the wood if ye keep staring at that door any longer.”
Evan jumped at the sudden voice, one hand going instinctively to the handle of one of the many daggers strapped beneath his clothes. But he relaxed when he saw that the person addressing him was just an old woman.
Evan glanced behind her, wondering where she’d come from. It was a rare person who could sneak up on him. Annoyed at himself for his lapse, he smiled. “My apologies, madam, I didnae see ye there. Is there something I can help ye with?”
To his surprise—and mild irritation—she lowered herself onto the bench opposite him, then reached out and took hold of his tankard. Raising it to her lips, she took several deep swallows before plonking it back onto the table with a sigh.
“Ah, that hits the spot, my lad. Although I think I would have preferred whisky.”
Evan glanced around for the serving lass, hoping she would know this woman and be able to extricate her from his presence, but the girl had disappeared. Bloody hell. He glanced at the door again. His associates would be arriving any minute. He had to get rid of her.
“If ye would excuse me, madam, I have important business to attend to—”
The old woman cut him off with a loud guffaw. “I’m sure ye do, lad! After all, dinna we all think our business is important? Otherwise, why would we bother to do it?”
His glaze flicked to the door. Just his luck to be accosted by some eccentric elder right when he needed it the least. How could he get rid of her? “Are ye waiting for someone?” he asked.
“I was,” she replied airily. “But he’s arrived now.”
She fixed Evan with a piercing gaze, and he noticed how dark her eyes were.
They glittered like black pebbles that had been shaped and polished by the waves of the sea.
He couldn’t put an accurate age to her. Although wrinkles creased her face like lines drawn on a map, her mischievous grin made her look far younger, and her eyes sparkled with an amused intelligence.
“Ye are the one I’ve been waiting for, Evan Campbell.”
A spike of alarm shot through him. How did she know his name? Was she an associate of the people he’d come to meet? Beneath the table, his hand strayed to the hilt of a dagger strapped to his leg.
“How do ye know my name? As far as I can remember, we havenae met.”
“Nay,” she agreed, shaking her head. “We havenae, although I’ve had my eye on ye for a while.”
The hair rose on the back of Evan’s neck. She’d been watching him? And he hadn’t even noticed? He was clearly losing his touch. “Watching me? Why?”
“Because I watch all those who stray so far from their path that they begin to affect the Balance. Like ye, Evan Campbell. Ye are far, far from where ye are meant to be.”
She was rambling. Perhaps she really was just the eccentric old woman she appeared to be, rather than a threat.
He eased his grip on the dagger. “Oh? And where is that?”
She tapped the bridge of her nose. “That’s not for me to say, lad. That’s for ye to discover. Yet, I think ye know. If ye search yer heart, I think ye know that this life isnae the one ye were supposed to lead. Nor, I think, has it brought ye the peace ye have so desperately been seeking.”
Evan searched for the derisive laugh he’d perfected so well but found that it wouldn’t come.
In fact, he found himself at a loss for words.
There was something in the way this old woman spoke, something in the way she looked at him, that sparked something.
He wasn’t sure whether it was unease or a distant kind of recognition.
“Who are ye?” he whispered.
She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and regarded him in much the same way his old tutors had regarded him when he’d displeased them.
“My name is Irene,” she said. “Irene MacAskill.”
He’d never heard the name before, but even so, that spark of recognition deepened as though perhaps they’d met somewhere long ago, but he’d forgotten.
“Ye seem to have me at a disadvantage, madam,” he replied. “Ye know me whilst I’m sure I dinna know ye.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed. “But yer ancestors did. Those who served in the Order of the Osprey and helped to preserve the Balance.”
Evan sat back, leaning against the cold stone wall behind him.
The Order of the Osprey. His father used to talk about it, about the noble legacy of his ancestors who had spent their lives serving Alba.
But that had been long ago. The Order of the Osprey was no more, and the noble legacy of the Campbells was shattered, splintered into pieces by the family rivalry that had followed his father’s death.
His ancestors might have been honorable, but he and his brothers were about as far from the ideals of the Order of the Osprey as you could get. And he was the worst of them.
He stirred in his chair, disliking the uncomfortable feelings her words evoked. “As interesting as this conversation has been, madam,” he said. “I will have to ask ye to excuse me. I am waiting for someone.”
“Aye, ye are,” Irene MacAskill agreed. “But not who ye think. It isnae the ruffians ye call business associates who ye are truly waiting for. It isnae them who will show ye to yer true path, but someone else entirely. Someone who will challenge everything ye think ye know about yerself and help ye see yerself anew. What will ye choose, Evan Campbell? Will ye choose to take the path this one will show ye? Or carry on the path ye already walk? The one that leads only to darkness? The choice is yers, lad.”
She heaved herself to her feet and patted him on the shoulder. “Choose wisely.”
She turned and walked away, disappearing through the back door which swung shut behind her with a thud.
Evan stared after her. What, by all that’s holy, was that all about?
At that moment the door swung open, letting in a swirl of salt-laden wind. Two men stepped into the inn. Both wore rough, patched clothing and bore many weapons. They looked, he reflected, exactly like the ruffians Irene MacAskill had named them.
Taking a deep breath, he plastered a confident smile onto his face and spread his arms expansively. “Gentlemen! How wonderful to see ye!”
The two spotted him. Neither smiled nor returned the greeting.
They strode over to his table and took seats on the bench.
Not much older than himself, the two nevertheless showed the signs of a life hard-lived.
One had thinning, ginger hair and several missing teeth, whilst the other, thin and wiry with a tangled black beard, sported a scar that ran up one side of his face.
“Alec,” Evan greeted, the bearded one. “David,” he nodded to the redhead.
“Campbell,” Alec said. “Ye have it?”
Evan nodded and patted the wrapped bundle he kept inside his cloak. He leaned forward.
“Right. Shall we get down to business?”