Chapter 4
Fergus secured a bed at the tavern the evening of his arrival. Drummond’s brow was crinkled, and his tone was apologetic as he told Fergus the price of it, and he was likewise embarrassed to ask for the night’s cost in advance.
“I ken it’s probably higher than ye’re accustomed tae paying fer such things,” Drummond said as he showed Fergus the room, which was large enough to hold a single small bed and a tiny table and nothing else.
“Just as I ken that it would be the easiest thing in the world fer a fellow of fine character such as yerself tae take offense at being asked fer the money up front. However, ye must understand. The war has made things so much harder fer everyone in our clan, and sadly, I have had the odd guest skip out without paying. From desperation, nay doubt, but a man like me has tae feed his family too, doesn’t he? ”
“Think nothin’ of it,” Fergus replied, dropping the coins into the man’s wide and calloused palm. “I can afford it, and ye deserve tae have it fer yer kindness and generosity earlier. Ye have made me feel most welcome indeed, and that is a gift I am grateful for.”
These words were truthful enough. Fergus had been so anxious and unhappy regarding his mission, but Drummond’s friendly nature had put him more at ease since his arrival.
Then again, it also made him feel all the more conflicted, knowing that he was about to strike a terrible blow against this man’s clan.
“Bless ye, Sir,” Drummond exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “And as I said, I shall do all I can tae find work fer ye, though I can make nay promises, of course, given the state of things.”
“I understand completely. Anythin’ ye can do on my behalf will be most appreciated.”
Drummond withdrew, and Fergus sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh.
Part of him wondered whether he had made a grave miscalculation in simply handing over so much money without trying to haggle or even making it seem as though it would be a hardship.
He was posing as a poor traveler, was he not?
So how might it look, then, for a stranger who seemed to be desperate for work to toss coins around without a second thought?
Drummond had not seemed to notice or care, true, but that did not guarantee that he would not give such matters a second thought later. What conclusions might he draw?
Why, at worst, he might suspect that Fergus was indeed a member of the McDougal Clan and that he had been dispatched to the Wallace lands on some sinister errand.
At best? He would probably assume that Fergus had been at banditry while on the road and alert the guardsmen of the keep so that they might detain and question him.
His lies would not hold up for long, surely, and then he might well be doomed; expelled from the lands at once if he was lucky—and thus, forced to return to his own father as a failure—or beheaded if he was not.
He grunted, frustrated. The entire matter was giving him the most dreadful headache.
He was no spy, damn it, nor had he ever wanted to be.
He was used to fighting his battles openly, not sneaking around and making up stories about himself.
He bitterly wished that his father could have selected someone—anyone—else for such a horrid task.
And, of course, there was the girl.
Well, he’d been thinking about little else but her ever since he’d seen her, hadn’t he? He’d smiled and nodded and made idle conversation with Drummond and the patrons of the tavern, but all the while, he’d been unable to rid her from his thoughts.
There had been more than beauty in that pale oval of a face. There had been humor, wit, and kindness sparkling in her eyes…
Nay, he told himself sharply. Ye were nae expectin’ her countenance tae be quite so fair, that’s all. That, and the fact that ye are already dissatisfied with this assignment. Ye are seein’ the things that ye wish tae see so that you can talk yourself out of doin’ what needs tae be done.
But it does need tae be done, nay matter how much ye may hate tae admit it tae yerself.
Fer all yer acumen on the battlefield, ye have nae thought up a way tae win this war through martial means.
Ye have only continued tae lead wave after wave of men tae fight and die until yer clan’s resources are all but spent and the only path tae victory is a dark and crooked one.
So take a deep breath, collect yourself, and do what must be done. Yer father was right: Yer honor is a small price tae pay fer an end tae this senseless butchery.
He knew that such thoughts should have hardened his resolve and quieted his concerns, but unfortunately, they did neither, and he tossed and turned all through the night until the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window of his tiny room.
When the chirping of the morning birds assaulted his ears, he knew that he had no choice but to give up on sleep entirely and go down for breakfast.
Fergus descended the stairs of the tavern, yawning and rubbing his red eyes.
When Drummond saw him, he said, “Ah, it looks as though yer night was troubled indeed. Kept awake by worries aboot whether ye might find work here, is that it?”
“Aye, somethin’ like that,” Fergus agreed, sitting at the bar.
Drummond slid a plate of ham and eggs over to him. “Here, perhaps that will bolster yer spirits a mite. Meanwhile, I believe I might be able tae introduce ye tae someone who could help ye. He comes in here most mornings.”
“Oh?” Fergus’s eyebrows went up. “And who would that be?”
Before Drummond could answer, the door opened, and a noble in his early twenties swaggered in. He was clean-shaven, with a strong jaw and an effortlessly calm manner about him. His dark brown hair and twinkling blue eyes vaguely resembled Darina’s, and Fergus was able to identify them as siblings.
“Here he is now!” Drummond said happily. “Young Master Cameron, eldest son of Laird Cawley!”
“Here, we’ll have none of that,” Cameron chuckled, taking a seat next to Fergus. “It’s far too early fer honorifics, I think. Let a fellow enjoy his breakfast before drownin’ him in his own titles!”
Cameron’s fine clothes made him appear somewhat out of place in such humble surroundings among the farmers and other commoners who had drifted into the establishment for their first meal of the day. Even so, he seemed entirely comfortable around these people, and they greeted him warmly.
Would I be greeted nearly so well in my own lands, by my own people? Fergus wondered. If I sat down in a tavern, would I be made tae feel welcomed? Or would I be seen as an intruder and met with suspicion and hostility by those who feel my family does nae have their best interests at heart?
It was a grim notion indeed and one he was unprepared to entertain.
Drummond set a plate of food in front of Cameron, then pointed to Fergus. “This lad’s name is Finn, and he’s come tae these parts in search of honest work. Beggin’ yer pardon and hopin’ it’s nae too much of an imposition, I thought it might be best fer the two of ye tae become acquainted.”
“Is that so?” Cameron put his fork down and took a long, appraising look at Fergus. “Ye’re rather a large fellow, aren’t ye? Have ye any experience with fighting?”
“None at all,” Fergus replied immediately.
The last thing he wanted was to be hired on as a soldier, which would almost certainly lead to him being forced to do battle against his own countrymen.
He had come to commit an act of kidnapping, and that was bad enough.
He had no wish to commit treason and murder as well.
“I have only ever worked as a farmer and laborer, though in those capacities, I am quite skilled if I do say so myself.”
“Ah, that’s a shame,” Cameron replied. “We are always seeking out new soldiers tae aid in the war against those McDougal bastards, and with muscles such as yers, I’d wager ye’d send them runnin’ right enough!”
He laughed, and Fergus forced himself to join in, though the mention of his countrymen angered him tremendously.
“Even so, I believe we might be able tae accommodate ye all the same,” Cameron went on jovially. “As a farmer, ye’ll have had experience with horses and stables, aye?”
“Certainly,” Fergus said with a nod.
It was not entirely a lie. He had spent plenty of time in the stables of the McDougal keep as a boy, helping the stablehands care for the horses.
These creatures had been his friends and confidantes whenever he’d felt lonely or misunderstood—which, alas, had been rather often since he had rarely felt as though he was free to be himself around his father or siblings.
Indeed, he was beginning to find himself more at ease with the people of the Wallace clan than he’d felt among his own kinsmen for quite some time.
He found himself wholly unprepared for the surpassing strangeness of this realization and tried to renew his focus on the task at hand, telling himself that it was simply his discomfort with the parameters of his mission, nothing more.
“In that case, ye are in luck!” Cameron replied.
“One of our stablehands was a casualty of this dreadful war, and so we find ourselves in need of another. The stable master is Old Lennox, and he will be pleased indeed fer the extra help. I shan’t deceive ye: The pay isn’t much, but it comes with room and board. ”
“Do ye mean I shall be allowed to live in the servants’ quarters of the castle?” Fergus tried not to sound too hopeful, but this would advance his mission enormously, allowing him to get close enough to Darina to do what he had to.
But Cameron shook his head. “We cannae have that. Only those who work within the castle itself may live there, and those are only people who have come from the families of this clan and are well known tae us. Given the fact that we are at war, we cannae allow just anyone tae live under our roof fer fear they might mean us harm. I’m sure ye understand? ”
“Only too well,” Fergus answered. “The stables will be more than adequate, and I thank ye fer yer generosity. I shall work hard in yer service.”
“I have nay doubt that ye shall,” Cameron chuckled, shaking his hand. “A pleasure tae meet ye, Finn. I have a feeling ye will distinguish yerself well enough in the days tae come. Report tae the stables at first light tomorrow, and we shall put ye tae work, right enough!”
As Cameron finished his meal, shook a few more hands, and then left, Fergus could not help but marvel at how easy it had been to win over the man’s trust—provisionally, at least. The members of his own clan would never have welcomed an outsider into their midst so easily.
They would have questioned such a man relentlessly and continued to doubt his motives for quite some time, even if the answers he provided were deemed satisfactory.
The war had made them mean and distrustful.
These Wallaces seemed like good people, though, with open minds and kind hearts.
Fergus did all he could to mentally associate them with the horrors he’d seen on the battlefields, but he found himself largely unable to do so.
These Wallaces had been able to fight on and on without sacrificing any of their humanity, it seemed.
Why, then, had the McDougals been unable to do likewise?
The question continued to plague him as he went back upstairs and tried to rest in preparation for the labors of the following day. He found, however, that he was becoming less comfortable with this assignment with each passing moment.