Chapter Three B #2
The man with the accent sat forward so that his face came into the light. He was older, his tanned skin like leather, but his brilliant blue eyes told a story. This was a man of strength; one could tell simply by looking at him.
“You have the heavy speech of a Highlander,” he finally said.
There was disdain in the way the man said it. Cam took that to mean that he sounded uneducated or even stupid. “I do,” he said. “But dunna let it fool ye. I’m smarter than most.”
The man considered that a moment. “That remains to be seen,” he said. “Who told you to come here and ask for The Cal?”
Cam didn’t hesitate. “St. Drostan Lindsay,” he said. “He is the chief of Clan Lindsay of Kirkburn Castle and I live on his lands. St. Drostan has gambled at The Cal and he said it is where a man can learn tae fight. I want tae fight.”
“Why?”
The question slowed Cam’s eager manner. He looked around the table, at the four men who were watching every move he made.
As much as he didn’t like being stared at, he’d hate it more if he ruined his chances to go to the Ludus Caledonia.
This was what he’d been waiting for and if these men were really from that place, then he’d have to cooperate.
“Because I have men tae kill,” he said quietly.
“The terrible day I dunna speak of… ye have a right tae know, I suppose. Men from Clan Keith, enemy of the Lindsay, destroyed my village on that day. My wife was killed. I am a smithy by trade, not a warrior, but that doesna matter. I will have my vengeance. I must learn tae fight so I can punish the Keith for what they did.”
It was a simple but honest answer. The man with the brilliant blue eyes stared at Cam for a moment longer before sitting back in his chair, back in the shadows again. When he spoke, it was in a quiet tone that made Cam sit forward just so he could hear him.
“I suppose that is as good a reason as any,” he said. “As I said before, you also fight with your brains because you brought Luther to his knees, which takes a clever man. You took on a bigger, stronger man and you won with your wits more than your strength. That is the mark of a talented warrior.”
Cam had no idea what he meant. “Luther? Who is Luther?”
“Me.” The big, bald man spoke. “I am Luther. You showed courage, little man. Not many stand against me and win.”
Cam lifted his eyebrows at him. He wasn’t a little man by any means, but compared to Luther, he supposed that he was.
It began to occur to him that the fight just a few minutes ago wasn’t random.
He thought back to the moment he’d barely stepped on the man’s foot and the speed with which Luther threw a fist at him.
He remembered thinking that it had all happened with very little provocation. Now he knew why.
He’d been set up.
“Mayhap I am a little man,” he said. “But this little man sent ye tae the ground.”
Luther grinned. “Very true.”
“So ye’ll not call me a little man again.”
“Nay, I will not. You fought like a lion.”
Cam studied him a moment before looking to the men in the shadows. “Ye planned the fight,” he said. “But why did ye do it?”
The man with the accent spoke. “We had to see if you were worthy.”
“Worthy of what?”
“Of The Cal,” the man said. “A man must be weighed and measured, for we do not take just anyone. We only take the worthy. Therefore, answer one question, Cam Netherton—do you wish to find your destiny?”
Cam nodded even as he mulled over the words. “Find it,” he said. “And change it.”
“And you are willing to do whatever it takes?”
“I am.”
“Then we can help you. Will you come?”
“Aye.”
With that, Cam found himself being pulled out his chair and being ushered to the door of the tavern.
Men were all around him, holding his arms, guiding him out into the sunset beyond.
He glanced up at the sky and saw the lines of clouds, turning orange and purple as night approached, and he wondered if this would be the last time he’d ever see the dusk.
These men were hustling him out into the streets of Edinburgh, moving swiftly to introduce him to the destiny they’d spoken of.
Little did Cam know that the adventure, for him, had just begun.
*
It was a wagon made to transport heavy loads.
Only the wheels and bed of the wagon were wood.
The sides were made of iron, a wagon that could transport animals as well as men.
Cam climbed into it along with three of the other men, including Luther.
The man with the brilliant blue eyes rode on the wagon bench with the driver, who had been waiting in an alley.
As the sun descended further in the west, the wagon took off at a clipped pace through the streets of Edinburgh, heading south.
Cam found that he had to hang on to the iron sides of the wagon to keep from being bounced right off the seat.
The streets were narrow and rocky because the whole of Edinburgh was built on rocky ground.
Wattle-and-daub structures closed in on them as they made their way down lesser-traveled streets, staying away from the main thoroughfares.
Cam didn’t recognize the streets, as he’d never traveled this far away from the tavern. The driver made several turns, perhaps to confuse anyone who might be foolish enough to follow. By the time they were actually heading out of the city, Cam had no idea which direction they were heading.
A night like this, so still and dark, reminded Cam of his travels from Netherton, when he’d first come to Edinburgh.
He’d had to depend on the kindness of travelers to send him in the right direction, but he remembered feeling like he was the only man on earth at times.
The Highlands could be a desolate place.
Even now that he was in the Lowlands, he still had the same feeling of isolation.
He’d never felt such loneliness in his life until the past few months, and it was a hollow sensation that he dreaded.
“My name is Luther Eddleston.”
Torn from his reflections, Cam turned to the big, bald man who had tried to beat him to a pulp. In the faint glow from the lanterns, he could see that the man was looking at him.
“Ye already know my name,” Cam said.
Luther pointed to the other two men in the wagon. “That beast with the fat face is Milo Linton,” he said. “The other is Wendell Stanhope.”
Cam looked to the other men riding across from him. Milo was the one who had stopped him at the door, while the other man, who seemed rather young and sharp-eyed, had been sitting with the Teutonic man at the tavern.