James gritted his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re saying, my lord—”
“Up to a point, it is understandable that Bruce took matters into his own hands,” Callum said, “but he loses the moral high ground if he pursues a vendetta against the supporters of Balliol. Better to back down now than for the father to lose the kingship because the son acted too hastily.”
Cassie wasn’t sure that these medieval men would know what a moral high ground was, but it involved military imagery, and Callum’s tongue-lashing had several men chewing on their lower lips.
“I would add that King David will surely see it that way,” Callum said.
James ran his tongue around his teeth while Callum kept his expression calm. James glanced at his men, several of whom looked down at their feet. Andrew Moray continued to glare defiantly, but after he and James exchanged a long look, Andrew canted his head as if to say okay.
James took in a deep breath and let it out. “I see the wisdom in your suggestion, my lord. Bishop Fraser, who holds Stirling, may well share your view. As you know, the other Guardians and Parliament were summoned before any of these events took place. They are already gathering at Stirling.”
James turned to Patrick Dunbar. “Will you ride to Bruce and convince him to back down from this fight? He can’t win with the men he has. Tell him that the Stewarts support him, but he must come to Stirling and seek justice under the law.”
“What if the MacDougalls follow?” Andrew said.
“Then they will get the war they’re looking for,” said James.
Cassie eased out a sigh. She had pushed Callum to assert his authority as a representative of King David. Even though he had no actual power here, the weight of England was behind him. In practice, that was no small thing, even if many of these barons despised the notion that the King of England was involved in their internal disputes at all. Callum, for his part, had risen to the occasion.
James’s face was tight with tension. “What of King David? Will he interfere?”
“Not if he doesn’t have to,” Callum said. “I think you’re doing the right thing—”
The door to the hall slammed open and one of James’s men strode into the room, followed by a second man in a travel-stained cloak and mud-spattered boots. The second man strode past the first and went down on one knee before James. “My lord, I have news.”
“Rise,” said James.
The man stood. “I have just come from Stirling Castle. King David of England received word of the ambush of his men and is even now preparing to leave London with an army. He’s coming to us, my lord.”
James turned his gaze on Callum.
“No one should have assumed he would take the death of his men lightly,” Callum said.
It was a desirable trait in a leader, even if it meant one more headache for James. An angry King of England was not what he wanted at this time, especially one with his own claim to the Scottish throne.
“Damn pigeons,” said James.
“It was a feat for your man to ride here from London in five days,” Cassie said, trying to find the silver lining for James.
“What the King of England chooses to do or not do is out of our control,” Andrew said. “It’s four hundred miles from London to Edinburgh. It will take him weeks to get here with an army.”
“Then we have time to straighten out this mess before he even reaches York.” James spun on his heel and glared at the noblemen who gathered around the table, all of whom gazed back at him with firm jaws and new resolve. “We ride for Stirling Castle within the hour.”
Chapter Seventeen
Callum
“You haven’t told anyone but James about Bishop Kirby,” Cassie said.
“I know,” Callum said, “but I think we’re better off not talking openly about what Kirby has done just yet. Given that he’s far away with Bruce, he’s not our concern right now.”
“He might be if he’s telling everyone he encounters that John Balliol conspired with the MacDougalls,” Cassie said.
“We have a little time, I think, before that rumor becomes widespread,” Callum said. “If I can send a message to King David, maybe he’ll have a few words of wisdom for me as to how to proceed from here.”
Callum hoped that Rhodri, David’s man in Stirling, would make himself known once they arrived at the castle and spare Callum the trouble of seeking him out. It would have been Rhodri who sent the pigeon informing David of the ambush—and of Callum’s death. David needed to know of Kirby’s perfidy as soon as possible and that Callum himself was alive and still working for him.
Located five miles south of Doune, Stirling Castle sprawled across the top of a crag in splendid medieval fashion and sat above the farthest downstream crossing of the River Forth before it flowed into the Firth. If Cassie’s eyes were big when they’d ridden into Doune, they were saucer-like at the sight of Stirling. The company came at the castle from the north as the early evening sun shone from the west, lighting up the rock on the west side of the river. Given Cassie’s silence on the topic of them as a couple, even more than at Doune, Callum felt a little sick at the thought that she would turn around the second they hit the gatehouse and fly back the way they’d come.
“I am very far from home,” Cassie said, showing Callum that he’d read her thoughts correctly. “I have often wondered how different our world would have been if my people had built castles.”
“From what I understand, they had different priorities,” Callum said.
“Conquest not being at the top of the list, you mean?” she said. “Yes, you’re right. But still, if the Incas could do it, why not the Umatilla?”
“Maybe they’re doing it right now in this world,” Callum said.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Cassie said. “I hiked to the west coast once, you know, so I could have a look at the sea. I wondered at the time what it would take for me to reach America.”
“A big boat,” Callum said, making Cassie laugh. That got them inside the outer curtain wall, but as they came to a halt amidst a hundred other men, Cassie went very quiet.
“What is it?”
“One of them is here.”
“One of the men who attacked you?” Callum said, going still himself. “Where?”
“Over there. By the blacksmith works.” Cassie ducked behind Callum, though with that five-foot bow on her back, if the man looked her way, he would see her.
“Just dismount,” Callum said. “If we stay calm, there’s a good chance he won’t notice us. Even if he does, you’re with me. Everything’s going to be fine.” With Cassie’s hand in his, Callum headed across the courtyard to the keep. He looked straight ahead and made sure he didn’t make eye contact with anyone but James, who had made it to the top step already and stood there with another man, waiting for them.
“My lord Shrewsbury.” As Callum reached him, James Stewart held out a hand to him. “May I introduce Bishop Fraser.”
“Welcome to Stirling Castle,” Fraser said.
Callum bent his head slightly in Fraser’s direction. “Thank you.”
James gestured that Cassie and Callum should precede him into the main hall.
“Callum,” Cassie said, in something of the same voice she’d used when he’d mentioned marriage, “Why did James just call you ‘Shrewsbury’?”
Callum and Cassie had resolved to use their English only when they were alone, so she’d spoken in Gaelic. Thus James, who was walking a pace behind them, overheard her question. “My lord, in all this time you haven’t told her who you are?”
Cassie came to a halt, forcing Callum to stop too. “It’s not important, Cassie.”
“Not important?” said James with disbelieving laughter, looking from Callum to Cassie. “My dear Cassie, Lord Callum is the Earl of Shrewsbury.”
Cassie kept her face perfectly still as she turned on Callum and said without expression or inflection, “Really.”
“The blame lies with me as well,�
� said James, a low chuckle still evident in his voice. “I didn’t include his title when I introduced him to my counselors at Doune. I failed in my duty.”
“As I said, it isn’t important.” Callum took Cassie’s arm to escort her, but he glanced at her as they walked towards their rooms, wary now. It was so hard to read her sometimes.
Fortunately, Cassie didn’t give him the silent treatment, even if he might have deserved it. “I was wondering about all the my lording everyone always did around you. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was trying to impress you,” Callum said. “You knew I was a knight and King David’s representative. That seemed enough to be going on with.”
As before, Callum got his own room, whereas Cassie had to lodge with other women further down the corridor. James stopped when they reached Callum’s door. “My lord Callum, back in the bailey, I noticed that the Cunningham boy, Gerard, caught your attention. Has he offended you in some way?”
James was interested in everything. Callum wasn’t sure what to tell him, but Cassie spoke up. “I shot him once.”
A grin split James’s face. “Did you, now?”
“I’d rather avoid him if I could,” she said.
“He’s a spoiled pup,” said James, but then sobered. “If he hurt you, Cassie—”
“He didn’t,” she said. “It was a long time ago and ended with both of us being equally scared of each other.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” said James.
“Is Gerard’s father here?” Callum said. “Should I speak to him?”
James pursed his lips. “I would hope there’d be no need. Let me feel him out first.”
James bowed and departed. Cassie eyed Callum, her face set.
“You’re mad at me,” Callum said.
“No,” she said. “I’m not at all mad at you.” Callum spent a silent ten seconds trying to figure out what she meant by that, but then she enlightened him. “I don’t like needing someone to protect me.”
Callum hovered in the doorway, trying to think of what to say. Women had little power here, no matter how smart or capable they might be. Many medieval men saw women as good for sex and heirs, and if by chance a woman inherited land, she could enforce her will only through the actions of men. Callum could see why it might make Cassie mad.
“I want to go home,” Cassie said, and then she gave him a rueful smile. “To my cabin, that is.”
“I’ll make sure you get back there if that’s what you want in the end,” Callum said. “I promise.”
But in promising to do what she might not be able to do for herself, Callum suspected he’d only made her anger worse.
Callum was given the opportunity to bathe and got in a good hour-long power nap while Cassie was prodded into a complete makeover elsewhere in the castle. When he was finally reunited with her again, Cassie didn’t express resentment about the dress James had found for her or the elaborate way the maidservant had arranged her hair. Callum wasn’t so naïve that he thought she’d somehow accepted the reality of life in the castle, but he hoped that she could tolerate it long enough to get through the next week. He didn’t want her to be the object of gossip and speculation, nor a target. And—holy hell—she was beautiful.
“You’re smiling,” she said, as he walked her down the steps that led to the great hall. “Why?”
“Because the most gorgeous woman in all of Scotland is on my arm,” Callum said.
Cassie’s lips pinched, but not in anger. She was holding back a laugh. “You see what you want to see.”
“No doubt—” Callum cut off his words when they both stopped short in the entrance to the great hall. Callum felt his own lips twitching. Cassie could deny what he saw all she wanted, but she looked unlike any other woman in the castle, as different from them as a wild rose amidst a field of tulips. Both could be beautiful, but only one turned the head of every man in the room. With Cassie’s particular coloring and bone structure, her beauty was unique. Nobody in all of Europe had her genes.
Callum should have known there was going to be trouble, however. She was gracious to everyone who spoke to her or came to greet her, but her laughter was hollow. Callum was required to spend most of the meal speaking to William Fraser, who sat between him and James, while James related in great detail all that had happened over the last week, including—finally—Kirby’s treachery.
As the meal drew to a close, William excused himself and James turned to speak to the man on his other side. Soon he was deep in conversation. At last, Callum could focus on Cassie. She stared down at the wine in her cup without drinking it. As Callum thought back over the last hours, he realized she’d drunk very little and eaten only a few bites of her food.
“What is it, Cassie?”
She looked up at him. Callum was afraid she’d be near to tears, but her eyes were clear. “You know what it is.”
“The meal?” Callum said. “The dress?”
“The expectations,” Cassie said.
Callum tsked through his teeth, irritated for the first time that she couldn’t play along, even for one night. “What kind of world did you live in back in the twenty-first century that you were able to be yourself all the time?”
Cassie laughed without humor. “Is that what you think? That’s not it at all. Quite the opposite. I couldn’t be myself there—not ever. Growing up as I did in my grandfather’s house, I lived with expectations about language and dress, about family and career, expectations that were impossible to meet most of the time. And don’t get me started on the infighting and gossip within the Tribe. But still, outside in the world—” she gestured to the hall at large, but she didn’t mean the people here, but those back at home, “—I never faced discrimination because I was part Indian, but nobody understood those expectations either, or where I came from or why I made the choices I did. Everybody just wants you to conform, no matter where you live …” She looked down at her plate.
Callum leaned in. “Don’t you think I understand that, Cassie? We all live inside our own heads most of the time. I came back from Afghanistan to a world that has no place for someone who’s most comfortable with a rifle in his hands, and yet can’t handle it if his hands don’t smell exactly right.” Callum touched Cassie’s shoulder and then dropped his hand because he knew she didn’t want him to touch her. “I had nightmares about the war every night until this week. I haven’t had a single one since I met you.”
“It could be because we’ve hardly slept,” Cassie said.
Callum had to smile. “I grant you that.”
To Callum’s left, James had risen to his feet and Callum caught a gesture out of the corner of his eye that meant he wanted Callum’s attention. “Earl Callum.”
Reluctantly, Callum turned away from Cassie to look up at James.
“If it pleases you, Bishop Fraser feels we must meet in council now,” said James. “Both John Balliol and the Black Comyn have arrived.”
This was going to be a fun meeting. “Of course,” Callum said. “Just a moment—” He turned back to Cassie.
“I know. You have to go,” she said, “though I imagine sitting in a meeting with men at each other’s throats has to be your least favorite thing on the planet to do.”
“I’d rather be on the wrong end of an ambush.” Callum leaned in and kissed Cassie’s temple. “I know I’d rather be with you.”
Though Cassie gave Callum a quick smile, it didn’t reach her eyes. As Callum stepped off the dais with James, he turned to look at Cassie one more time. She had already left the table, however, and was just disappearing through a door on the other side of the hall.
Chapter Eighteen
Cassie
Cassie was ready to leave, with or without saying goodbye to Callum, even if it meant behaving like Maria in that horrible scene from the Sound of Music after which her mother had always made her go to bed because the movie was so freaking long. Except that no duchess was telling Cassie l
ies to make her leave. She was doing that all by herself. It would be dishonorable to go, and hurtful, but Callum couldn’t see how wrong this all was.
Cassie saw what was in his eyes when he looked at her. They’d known each other for a week, and she knew what she saw in him because she felt the same as he did. How could they not, after what they’d been through? But he didn’t really know her if he didn’t see that she couldn’t do this; she couldn’t be a medieval wife; she couldn’t be the Earl of Shrewsbury’s wife, for heaven’s sake!
Back at the village, Callum had told Cassie how he felt about this life, and she had talked about her feelings. But the truth was, despite his issues, Callum handled being in the Middle Ages better than she did. He actually thought she could just adapt.
Cassie’s ire carried her out of the hall and up to her room. It started to wane, however, when she realized that her clothes hadn’t returned from the laundry (and might never do so) and that she still hadn’t restocked her quiver. She could at least do that and pretend that she had something real to occupy her time instead of simply looking pretty on Callum’s arm. Callum would be gone for hours meeting with the other men, determining the course of Scotland’s future.
And that probably would have sounded as sour spoken out loud as it did in her head. Poor Callum, though. The deep circles under his eyes were going to become permanent if he couldn’t rest in a real bed soon.
Cassie swung her fine new cloak around her shoulders and unsnapped her quiver from her backpack. She held the quiver in one hand and her bow in the other. Somehow, she couldn’t leave the bow behind, even for the time it would take to find the armory and fill her quiver. If she didn’t get her old cloak back, she’d have to cut slits in this one so she could wear her pack on her back as before.
Cassie found her way to the inner bailey of the castle, but when she reached it, she came to a halt at the sheer number of men in front of her. Not only the Black Comyn and John Balliol, but the Scottish parliament—a council of bishops, earls, and minor lairds from all over Scotland—had come to Stirling. At the same time, she was glad of their presence because it would be easy to get lost in the crowd.
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