Caleb picked it up to inspect it. “I see now that the saboteur keeps plantin’ evidence on the contestants to make them look suspicious.” He threw down the drill.
“We need to go after them,” she told him.
“I will go after them, but this is gettin’ too dangerous, Bridget. Ye need to go back to yer chamber and look after yer faither. Lock yerselves into the room and dinna open the door for anyone. Do ye understand?”
“But I want to help ye.”
“Nay. I dinna want to have to worry about ye. Now, keep yer eyes open for Slink as well. I am goin’ to try to follow them. Go directly back to yer chamber, lass, and I will see ye in the mornin’.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and darted out the door.
Against her wishes, Bridget headed back to her chamber. She entered the room and closed and bolted the door behind her. After checking on her father, she went over to the table to write a few more things into the Highland Chronicles about the games. The king had told her she’d have to read the events to him aloud in the morning and she needed to be ready. How she tired of this charade and wished she no longer had to do it. If only her father was not going mad, she could talk to him about all this, as well as share with him the feelings she had for Caleb.
She missed her mother, and wished she were here now to tell her how to care for her father. Besides Caleb, Bridget had no one to talk to and felt so alone. Would her father end up being executed when the king found out their secret? And would she go to prison for the rest of her life for her part in this deceitful game?
Pulling out her chair, she was about to sit down when she looked down to the desk and her heart almost stopped. There, on top of the Highland Chronicles was a missive. And on the parchment were the words, I ken yer secret. Meet me tomorrow durin’ the sword competition in the mews. Come by yerself. If ye dinna come or if ye bring another or tell a soul, yer loved one will be in danger.
Her hand shook as she held the parchment. Someone had been in her chamber and for all she knew, could still be here. They could have killed her father. Fear coursed through her and she jumped up and ran over to the fire, grabbing the poker and holding it in front of her with two hands. Slowly making her way around the room, she checked in every nook and cranny but, thankfully, didn’t find anyone still there. Running back to the door, she pushed a heavy trunk in front of it, and then hurried back to the bed and lay down next to her father.
She wanted to run and tell Caleb, but she didn’t want to leave her father alone and unprotected. Whoever wrote that note might come back and do something to her father as he slept. She didn’t know what to do, but decided she should stay there until the morning, like Caleb told her. Then she and Caleb could figure it out together. Totally exhausted, she put her hand over her sleeping father and slowly drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Caleb spent most of the night lurking in the shadows, following each of the men who were in the finals, but couldn’t find any evidence that any of them was the saboteur. He also couldn’t find Slink anywhere and that bothered him. Oftentimes, Slink went off on his own, but he’d always stayed close to Caleb. Hopefully, his little pine marten was just hiding somewhere, trying to stay away from the crowd.
Caleb regretted not confronting the two men in his solar, but if he had, he’d been sure Bridget would have tried to help him and he didn’t want that. She could have been hurt or possibly even killed. It would have only put her in danger. He didn’t want her involved in his mission at all. Now, he regretted asking her to help him. At the time, he’d been trying to make her forget about her worries, but now his decision only added to his problems instead. He walked the battlements, hoping to clear his head in the cool night air.
“Caleb? What are ye doin’ up here?”
He looked down the wall walk to see his father.
“Da,” he said, not having seen him much during his time here. “I was tryin’ to clear my head before the end of the competition tomorrow.”
“Ah. I often walk up here to clear my head as well. But are ye sure what ye’re thinkin’ about is the Leaders of the Lairds Competition?”
“What do ye mean?” he asked, not understanding what his father meant.
“Yer mathair and I have noticed the way ye light up brightly when ye’re around that chronicler’s daughter,” he said with a smile. “I just thought mayhap ye were thinkin’ of her instead.”
“Well, mayhap I was . . . a little. I really like Bridget, Da. I think when this competition is over, I’m goin’ to ask her to marry me.”
“That’s my boy,” said Ian, with a slap to Caleb’s back. “I always kent that someday ye’d find the right lassie for ye. Bridget seems like a fine, honest, respectable girl, even if her faither is a little odd. Still, if he’s the king’s chronicler, then it’s obvious he can be trusted. We’ll welcome them both with open arms into the MacKeefe family,” he told Caleb.
“Thank ye, Da,” said Caleb, not knowing what his father would do if he ever found out the truth of how Bridget and her father were deceiving their king. He wanted to explain things to him, but perhaps this wasn’t the right time. He needed to stay focused on finding the saboteur.
“Is there somethin’ else on yer mind, Son?” asked Ian.
“I’m lookin’ for someone, but I dinna ken who,” he told his father.
Ian chuckled. “I thought ye found someone. That is, Bridget. Are ye lookin’ for another lass as well?”
“Nay, Da. I’m helpin’ the king flush out the saboteur of the contest, but I’m no’ doin’ a very guid job at it.”
“Saboteur?” His father’s dark, craggy brows dipped down. “Are ye sayin’ there is a threat inside the walls of Hermitage Castle and ye didna bother to tell me about it?”
“The king asked me to keep it a secret,” explained Caleb. “And Storm kens all about it, so please dinna say a word to anyone until I can figure out who it is.”
“It sounds dangerous, Caleb. Mayhap I, as well as the rest of the madmen, can help ye find this man.”
“Nay. Please, Da. This is somethin’ I need to do on my own.”
“Ye sound as if ye are tryin’ to prove yerself to someone. Is that true?”
“I’ve always been smaller than the rest of the men of our clan. Because of it, I’ve had to bear the brunt of many jests. Aye, I need to prove myself to my friends as well as to the rest of our clan.”
“Includin’ Bridget?” Ian asked curiously.
“I suppose so,” said Caleb with a small nod, looking over the wall of the battlements.
“Well, with what her faither wrote in the chronicles about ye, I can see why ye’re worried. It was a little . . . shall we say exaggerated?”
“Och, I ken that, Da. But dinna worry. She’s taken those pages out of the chronicles so no one will ever read them again.”
“She?” His father raised a brow.
“I mean – he. I need to go, Da.” Caleb was tired and making mistakes. He’d almost spilled Bridget’s secret and he didn’t mean to do that. The last thing he ever wanted was to put her or her father in danger. No one could ever know the truth. He turned to go, but his father stopped him in his tracks.
“When a man is in love, he sometimes does foolish things,” said Ian. “Just be sure ye are no’ blind to the woman ye marry.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, being careful not to say too much.
“A man’s legacy lives on through his children,” Ian told him. “Caleb, I like Bridget, and I am sure ye can be happy together. But are ye really sure ye want to marry a lass who canna give ye bairns?”
“How do ye ken about that?” asked Caleb, surprised to hear his father say this.
“I overheard a man tellin’ the chronicler that Bridget is barren.”
“That makes no sense. Why would someone tell her faither somethin’ he already kens.”
“No’ him. The other chronicler.”
“Sorley?” he asked in surprise.
“I th
ink that’s his name.”
Caleb cringed. Sorley seemed to write everything into his book, trying to impress the king. It was bad enough that poor Bridget had to be humiliated by having her marriage annulled. But did the king and the rest of Scotland need to read about it in the book as well? It made Caleb very angry.
“What was the man’s name who told the chronicler this?” asked Caleb, wanting to hunt down whoever it was and wring his neck.
“I canna quite remember.”
“Was it Valan?”
“Aye, that was it. Do ye ken him?”
“He is someone I’d rather forget,” said Caleb, heading to the great hall.
Once there, he found Logan having some Mountain Magic with their good friends, Hawke and Ethan.
“Caleb,” said Hawke. “How are ye?”
“When did ye two get here?” asked Caleb.
“Just now,” Ethan told him. “When we heard ye were competin’ in the Leader of the Lairds, we rode day and night to get here quickly because we didna want to miss it.”
“Aye, it surprised us to hear that the king chose ye to fill in for my da,” said Hawke.
“Logan, did ye tell them everythin’?” asked Caleb.
“Aye,” answered Logan. “I told them about the saboteur.”
“Have ye found any evidence yet of who it might be?” asked Hawke.
“I dinna need evidence. The fact that Clement MacLean is the only one who has no’ been sabotaged, proves that he is the guilty one.”
“Clement MacLean?” asked Ethan. “He’s no’ usually a man who would stoop so low just to win a competition.”
“I didna think so either,” Caleb told him. “And I dinna think he’s workin’ alone since I heard two men talkin’ in my chamber.”
“Ye heard two men or saw them?” asked Ethan.
“Just heard them. I didna see their faces.”
“Why no’?” asked Hawke. “I thought ye were in the room.”
“He was hidin’ behind a tapestry,” Logan blurted out.
“What?” both Hawke and Ethan said together. Then they burst out laughing.
“It’s no’ like it sounds,” spat Caleb, knowing they weren’t going to give him a chance to explain.
“If it were me, I’d have killed them both without a minute’s hesitation,” said Hawke.
“Ye and me both,” agreed Ethan.
“I was protectin’ Bridget, because I didna want her to get hurt or possibly killed.”
“She was hidin’ in the trunk,” Logan mumbled into his tankard as he lifted it to his mouth. “Plus, he was protectin’ his weasel.”
“Caleb, cowerin’ behind tapestries isna goin’ to get ye mentioned in the Highland Chronicles,” Ethan pointed out.
“Och, dinna worry about that,” said Logan with a grin. “Caleb wrote himself into the book, and then Bridget wrote things about him, too.”
“Caleb wrote himself into the book?” asked Ethan.
“And Bridget wrote about Caleb, too? I dinna understand,” said Hawke.
“Logan!” said Caleb through gritted teeth. “Ye werena supposed to say anythin’.”
“Bid the devil, Caleb, Hawke and Ethan are our friends,” Logan told him. “We always share secrets between us. What’s the problem?”
“Each of ye better take that secret to yer graves, or I swear I’ll have yer heads,” threatened Caleb.
“Calm down, Caleb,” said Logan. “Ye can trust us.”
“Have any of ye seen Slink?” asked Caleb, his eyes searching the floor and the beams overhead.
“Nay, but I saw Jack out by the stables when we rode in,” Hawke told him.
“I’m goin’ to look for Slink,” Caleb told them, rushing from the great hall, wanting to get away from everyone and everything.
Chapter 22
Caleb awoke the next morning to the sun’s rays shining against his closed lids as he slept in the hayloft once again. He heard a rustling beside him and turned his head and smiled when he saw Slink next to him.
“Slink!” He shot up to a sitting position, grabbing his pet and giving it a hug. “I thought Jack ate ye for sure when I couldna find ye last night. Where the hell have ye been?” He noticed something in the hay and realized his pine marten had been playing with it. Reaching out, he picked up a missive and read the words upon it. I ken yer secret. Meet me tomorrow durin’ the sword competition in the mews. Come by yerself. If ye dinna come or if ye bring another or tell a soul, yer loved one will be in danger.
“Where did ye get this, Slink?” he asked, wondering because it sounded as if someone were in trouble. If the person who wrote the missive had wanted to meet during the sword fighting event today, then that told him it wasn’t written by or given to any of the finalists in the competition, since they wouldn’t be able to get away. He had no more time to think about it since the trumpet sounded, signaling the beginning of the last event.
“Och, nay, I overslept again,” he grumbled, stuffing the missive into his bag, picking up his pine marten, and hurrying down the ladder.
* * *
Bridget stood at the rail at the edge of the king’s wooden dais, looking out into the crowd for Caleb. She hadn’t seen him at all this morning, and none of his friends knew where he was either.
“Caleb, where are ye?” she said to herself, feeling her stomach turn. Her father had been ill this morning, not even able to get out of bed. She hadn’t liked leaving him, but had to come tell the king that she would be observing the final rounds of the competition, and then relaying the information to her father who would record it in the Highland Chronicles later.
She had wanted to tell Caleb about the missive, but the games were starting and he was nowhere to be found. Bridget looked over to Sorley, hovering over his book, looking very distracted this morning. The king drank from his cup and raised his hand in the air, signaling the start of the games. The competition began, but still she didn’t see Caleb. She started to worry that whoever wrote that missive to her had taken him captive or perhaps already hurt him in some way. She prayed this wasn’t true.
Looking back to the king, he didn’t seem to be watching her, so she figured she could sneak away. Hopefully, she prayed she would be helping Caleb by going to the mews, and not just endangering herself. She looked over to Sorley next, but he wasn’t there. His traveling companion, Sim, was there holding the book, watching out over the competition. She didn’t have time to wait. If something happened to Caleb, she would never forgive herself. Slipping back into the shadows, she took off at a near run for the mews.
* * *
Caleb ran up to find his friends standing at the rail watching the sword fight, since the competition had already started.
“Can one of ye watch Slink?” he asked his friends, shoving the animal into Logan’s hands without waiting for an answer. He ducked under the list and ran to the starting line where the rest of the finalists were waiting to compete.
“Thought ye werena goin’ to show,” said Clement.
“I wouldna miss this for the world,” Caleb answered, sure that Clement was the saboteur now.
“Och, ye mean ye canna wait until I beat ye in the sword fight,” Clement replied. “Then I’ll be the winner and crowned Leader of the Lairds.”
“Ye disgust me!” spat Caleb. “And I assure ye, I will never lose to ye, since ye had to sabotage yer competitors just tryin’ to win.”
“I didna do that,” the man growled.
“I would never hurt someone over a damned prize,” Caleb continued. “What is the matter with ye?”
“I told ye . . . that wasna me.”
“Prove it,” said Caleb, throwing down the gauntlet with his words.
“How?”
“Lose the sword competition. And when ye do, that will show me that I shouldna go to the king and report ye as the saboteur.”
“Throw the contest? I’ve worked so hard to come this far,” cried Clement. “Ye ken as well as I that if one of us wins the
sword fight, the contest is over and the winner will take home the prize money, the brooch and crown, the land, and also the title of Leader of the Lairds. Why would I want to give up a chance to win all that?”
“Ye wouldna. No’ when ye’ve worked so hard to sabotage the contest already.”
“I swear, it wasna me doin’ those things. Please, dinna tell the king that it was.”
“Then prove it to me, and I willna say a word. Lose this fight, and then I’ll ken ye are no’ the saboteur after all.”
“I canna and willna do that. I am innocent, and ye canna pin the sabotages on me.”
“Really?” said Caleb, taking a chance with his next words. “I ken ye were talkin’ to yer accomplice in my chamber last night. Or are ye goin’ to try to deny that, too?”
The man looked forlorn. “My clan is countin’ on me to win. It is important.”
“All our clans are countin’ on us,” said Caleb. “And if no one was sabotaged, then the laird who truly earned and deserved the prize would have won. Because of what ye’ve done, guid men will go back to their clans lookin’ like weak lairds because they failed or because they are hurt.”
“I didna think of that,” admitted the man.
“Sometimes, losin’ just to save face and remain honest is better than winnin’ only by cheatin’ and makin’ others look bad.”
The herald called out that Clement would now go up against Angus MacKenzie. Angus had already fought against every other finalist except Clement and Caleb, and won. Clement stared at Caleb, not saying a word. Then he turned and headed to the center of the field to spar against Angus. They were equally matched, but Caleb was sure Angus was about to be sabotaged somehow. But then Clement looked over to Caleb and nodded slightly. The next blow from Angus knocked the sword out of Clement’s hand, even though it didn’t seem likely. Clement must have purposely let go. The crowd cheered for Angus, and he raised his sword above his head triumphantly.
Highland Spy: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 4 Page 18