by Tarah Scott
Cameron’s dark eyes flicked to the lass in mild curiosity, but he replied to Julian’s question easily enough. “No matter how angry they are with James, they’re of no mind to let the King of England interfere. They’ll come, lad. They’ll come for the queen and the young prince, if naught else.”
“My Lord Gray!” another woman’s soft voice interrupted.
This time, it was a particularly comely serving maid setting down a platter of meat and a large mug of ale before him.
“Is there aught else I can do for ye?” she asked in a low voice, flipping a black braid over her shoulder and lowering exceptionally long lashes over a pair of stunning blue eyes. “I’d be more than pleased, my lord.”
Julian’s gray eyes swept her from head to toe. Aye, he knew quite well she sought an invitation to his bed, but oddly enough, he didn’t find the prospect tempting.
“No, I thank ye, lass,” he replied, and dismissing her with a nod the same as before, swiveled back to Cameron. “And when do ye think the clans will gather?”
Cameron folded his arms and tapped a long finger as his eyes narrowed in speculation. “Who is she, lad?” he asked, his voice rife with amusement.
Julian raised a puzzled brow. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the lass had already disappeared, but then Cameron’s deep laugh rang through the hall, and Julian looked back at him in surprise.
“Not the serving lass, ye fool,” Cameron explained with a chuckle. “I speak of the one who has captured your heart! Ye havena looked at a single lass since sitting, and ye’ve turned down two offers to warm your bed. ‘Tis most unlike ye, lad!”
Julian opened his lips to protest, but the words stuck in his throat as he heard Liselle’s sultry voice play through his mind. No man looks at another woman whilst in my company, Lord Gray.
“I must meet this astonishing woman!” Cameron was laughing outright as he slapped his knee with his palm.
Strangely bothered, Julian rose abruptly to his feet. “Ach, I dinna know what ye speak of! I’m overly tired, Cameron. That is all.”
“Aye, then.” Cameron graciously inclined his head, but it was obvious that he didn’t believe a word of it. “Rest. Ye’ll likely be riding in a few days. Sleep while ye may.”
With a curt nod, Julian snagged the platter and escaped to his chamber, scowling as he walked and reassured himself that there wasn’t a lass alive that could ensnare him!
He had been riding for weeks.
Cameron had merely mistook his exhaustion for something else.
Aye, he was just overly tired.
After devouring his meal and avoiding all thoughts of Liselle, he stretched out on his bed, one booted foot falling onto the floor. For a time, he absently flipped the bone-handled stiletto between his fingers, but Cameron’s words wouldn’t leave his head.
Rising from the bed, he paced for a time.
He wasn’t ensnared. He didn’t love Liselle.
Aye, he found her fascinating, but what man wouldn’t find such a bonny creature captivating? And what man wouldn’t find her lips preferable to others? Clearly, there was no comparison.
‘Twas quite unfair to the other lasses, but ‘twas how it was.
And then, annoyed to find himself thinking of her yet again, he swore under his breath, and grabbing a bottle of wine and a length of gray cord, propped himself on the window ledge to weave a few Turk’s head knots.
But he’d scarcely swallowed more than a few mouthfuls of wine before exhaustion overcame him. And tossing the knots to the side, he threw himself face down upon the bed and drifted off to sleep.
He’d slept through the remainder of the afternoon, night, and into the next morning before the plaintive wail of war-pipes roused him.
The clans were readying for battle.
Heaving himself from bed, he glanced out the window at the men moving about in the castle courtyard below. Aye, Cameron would be successful in outwitting Albany.
Julian stretched and gave a loud, long yawn.
Cameron didn’t need him for a day or two, perhaps now was a good time to see Dolfin safe. The old man would have made it to Channelkirk by now.
Making up his mind, he dressed and began packing his belongings to ride yet again.
It was a good day for travel; there was not a single cloud in the sky. And even though the warmth of the morning sun promised an unusually hot day, he much preferred to ride in the heat than to swim through the rain.
Coiling the Saluzzo’s leather belt, he placed it and the bone-handled stiletto into his sporran, and for a moment, stared down at his plaids.
Should he bring an extra plaid and cloak? Surely, the old man had assumed a disguise already? But ‘twas strange that he hadn’t in Fotheringhay, especially since he knew he was being followed. Such carelessness was quite unlike the old salt spy. Snagging the extra plaid and cloak as a precaution, Julian added his new collection of Turk’s head knots to the bundle and left his chamber.
He found Cameron in the hall speaking with various chieftains, and after securing the earl’s assurance that he could indeed be spared for day or two, Julian saddled his favorite gray mare and thundered down the Royal Mile.
He would reach Channelkirk by noon, escort the old man safely to Cambuskenneth Abbey, and mayhap along the way learn more about the Saluzzi and Vindictam.
Leaving Edinburgh behind him, Julian galloped down the King’s Road, flying south over the heath towards the parish of Channelkirk. The day grew warmer with each passing hour as he flew across endless fields of bracken and fern, and seas of early-blooming purple heather and saffron-colored moor grasses. And by the time the Lammermuir Hills swelled on the horizon, both he and his mare were sweating.
Pausing to water his horse, Julian wiped the sweat from his brow and greeted a few carts as they creaked past him on the road. Mounting once again, he cantered down the King’s Road at a brisk pace, but as he neared the old village of Channelkirk, the occasional cart had turned into a steady stream of wagons, all of them jolting towards the highlands.
Clearly, tidings of the English army’s approach had spread quickly.
Trotting down the village’s cobblestoned streets, Julian reined his horse before the only inn, The Golden Cockerel, a wattle-walled establishment with a mud-thatched roof and a stack of peat bricks by the door. And after seeing his mare watered once again, he tethered her to the post and ducked under the low doorway to acquire a refreshing drink for himself.
The common room was uncomfortably warm and heavy with the sweet smell of burning peat. An old woman with missing front teeth sat on a three-legged stool and was stirring the contents of an iron pot suspended over the fire. While, across the room at a small counter, a middle-aged balding innkeeper stood chatting with an elderly man who was quaffing a mug of ale.
There was no immediate sign of Dolfin.
"Aye, as if the king's black coins are nae enough sorrow to heap upon our heads!" The innkeeper clucked. "Now we have Albany bringing the English down upon us!"
“Aye,” the elderly man grunted.
Stepping up to the counter, Julian tossed a coin and wordlessly pointed to a mug of ale.
“Aye, my lord, and what have ye heard of the English?” the innkeeper asked, sliding a full mug across to him.
“The English?” Julian repeated, taking his mug and moving to a nearby table to stretch out his long legs. He downed half his brew with a hearty swig and wiped his mouth before replying, “I’ve heard thousands are marching.”
The innkeeper’s eyes lit with a morbid thrill. “Vermin!” he said in a tone of vindication and snapped his fingers under the nose of the elderly man. “I told ye! They’re coming just like rats!”
“Aye,” the man grunted in response before downing some more ale.
Finding the scene strangely amusing, Julian suppressed a grin, but then turned his thoughts to the matter at hand.
Had Dolfin arrived yet? The man would usually leave Julian a sign.
Tapping
his finger on the table, Julian cast a careful eye about the place. He didn’t spot anything unusual until he spied a small bowl heaped with salt resting conspicuously on the windowsill. Raising a curious brow, he rose to inspect it.
“Ach, dinna touch it, lad!” the old woman near the fire suddenly spoke.
“And what is it for, my good woman?” Julian asked, nodding his chin at the small wooden bowl of salt.
“’Tis to ward off the nasty Spirit of the Hunchback, lad!” she replied with a huff as though astonished at his ignorance.
Julian grinned with relief. So, Dolfin had arrived. The bowl of salt was clearly a sign as well as a tale left by the old man. It was true of every Venetian he’d ever met that they were fair distrustful of hunchbacks.
The innkeeper rolled his eyes and sent Julian a rueful smile. “Ach, ye’ll have to forgive my wee auld mother, lad. She listens to too many a traveler’s tale!”
“He said ‘twas not a tale!” the woman hissed at her son. “Not a tale! Not at all!”
The innkeeper shrugged and began to wipe the top of the counter with a rag.
“He?” Julian pressed softly.
“Ach, some auld merchant’s been filling her head with wild fancies,” the man explained, sending his mother an exasperated look.
She scowled at her son and made a whistling sound between her two missing teeth before she shook a trembling finger at Julian. “A wandering spirit is naught to make light of! Ye can ask him yourself, lad!”
“Aye, mayhap I will.” Julian laughed lightly. “Do ye expect this tale-spinner to return soon?”
“He’s looking after his horse in the stables, lad,” the woman answered and turned back to her pot to taste a spoonful of stew. Smacking her lips, she added, “He’ll be back soon enough!”
“Aye, then,” Julian agreed with a thoughtful smile. It would be amusing to surprise Dolfin. His mentor had surprised him many a time over the years. “I shall see to my own horse as well.”
Rising from the table, he finished off his ale and then ducked outside. Adjusting his eyes to the brightness of the sun, he took a step towards the post where he’d tethered his mare and promptly cursed under his breath.
The mare wasn’t there. Someone had stolen his horse.
9
blue fingertips
Julian let loose a string of curses.
The gray mare was a favorite of his, and he’d spent hours training her to come whenever he would call. Still cursing under his breath at the inconvenience, he cupped his mouth and let out a loud, shrill whistle.
He waited.
There was nothing. Not even the faintest whicker in response.
“By the Virgin!” Julian swore louder just as the innkeeper joined him at the door.
Upon learning of the theft, the man shook his head gravely. “Ach, ‘tis the times we live in! I’ll round up my lads and we’ll search the village at once!”
Julian cocked a brow at the line of carts disappearing towards the highlands. “Then have them be swift!” he said with a grim set of his jaw and nodded at the fleeing villagers. “That gray mare is special to me.”
“We’ll find your horse, my lord! And the thief as well!” the innkeeper promised before shouting over his shoulder and disappearing back into the inn.
Julian expelled a breath. He sprinted around the building to do a quick search himself, and whistled numerous times, but clearly his mare was gone.
With his brows knit into a scowl, he watched as the innkeeper and his sons spread out in different directions to begin their search of the village and figuring to use his time well, Julian headed for the inn’s stables to find Dolfin.
The stables were housed in an ancient, half-crumbling building of moss-covered stones and a moldy, straw-thatched roof. The large doors were open, and stepping inside, Julian found the place stuffy and quite empty, save for an old donkey and a very familiar gray-haired man grooming a fine black gelding.
Julian grinned in relief.
It was Dolfin. The old salt spy was safe.
Moving closer, Julian opened his mouth to surprise his mentor when he noticed that the man’s hands were shaking. Drawing his brows in consternation, Julian peered closer, detecting a frailness that he’d never discerned before.
He waited a few moments, and then changing his mind, announced his presence with a gentle clearing of his throat and a soft, “Well met, Istruttore.”
Dolfin jerked in surprise, but the eyes he turned upon Julian were smiling ones. “We meet again, caro vecio.”
Greeting him with the customary embrace, Julian’s concern deepened. The old man looked ill. His face was haggard, his long sweeping cloak unusually soiled and mud-stained, and he stood slightly hunched to one side.
“There’s no cause to fret over me.” Dolfin’s sharp eyes lit with amusement. “It is plain on your face that you think me an old dotard!”
“Not so!” Julian protested half-heartedly.
Dolfin slapped his horse upon the rump, and the animal flicked his ears immediately in response. “I was on my way to find you in Edinburgh,” he said. “I’ve tarried here too long.”
It was then that Julian saw the saddle and bags lying on the ground at his feet. He’d nearly missed him. “Then ‘tis glad I found ye, Istruttore! Allow me to help ye!”
Ignoring the man’s protests, Julian made short work of hefting the saddle onto the gelding and pulling the cinch tight. And as he buckled the saddlebags, he murmured, “I’ve a matter of mystery to discuss with ye ere ye leave this place.”
Dolfin’s expression brightened with interest, and seeing that his gelding was secure and busily feeding on a bit of hay, nodded towards the outside. Exiting the stuffy stables, the two men moved to a secluded stand of birch trees close by, a place somewhat cooler, and also one in which they would not be overheard.
“Ye’ve men on your trail,” Julian murmured softly as he pulled the Saluzzi leather belt from his sporran and held it out for the spy to see.
Dolfin turned white and staggered back. He would have fallen had not Julian caught him with a steady arm.
“Ye recognize it? Tell me then, what does it mean?” Julian’s brows rose, surprised at the strength of his mentor’s reaction.
“You have figured out for yourself that it is a code, then. What are the words?” Dolfin whispered hoarsely.
Softly, Julian repeated the ominous Latin he had puzzled out before.
“Then even the Saluzzi know!” Dolfin swallowed, instinctively drawing his hood over his face. “And now they seek you as well.” Raising imploring eyes to the heavens, he choked, “What have I done?” Grabbing the belt from Julian, he looped it around to read the words softly for himself, again and again.
His hands were shaking so strongly that Julian felt a ripple of unease. “Are ye ill, Istruttore?” he asked with a perplexed frown.
Dolfin straightened. And then in a sudden movement, he crushed the belt in his fingers and said in a horrorstricken tone, “I have brought death upon your head, Julian!”
Julian’s first reaction was to smirk, but he managed to suppress it out of respect. Clearing his throat, he gently asked instead, “Then tell me why I’m to die?”
But the old man didn’t reply. Heaving a sigh, he braced himself against a slender birch and simply shook his head.
It was an obstinate gesture that Julian knew well. One that meant little information would be forthcoming. How could his mentor refuse to talk now? Pulling out the bone-handled stiletto from his belt, Julian offered it to Dolfin hilt first.
“Then mayhap ye’ll speak of this instead?” he challenged with a half-grin.
Dolfin cast him a sideways glance and then his brows rose to his hairline. Snatching the stiletto, he gasped. “Where did you come by this? How? This blade couldn’t have been seeking your blood! It would never have missed!”
“Aye, this blade prevented my abduction and mayhap saved my life in Fotheringhay,” Julian answered with surprised curiosity. �
��It struck the Saluzzo who wore yon belt.” He nodded at the stretched leather that Dolfin still clutched tightly in his hands.
The old salt spy stared at Julian as if he’d gone mad. “There is no doubt that they saved you! Had the Saluzzo taken you captive, you would not have lived long. But why? Why?” he repeated several times. “Why would they save you?”
“They?” Julian prodded when he fell silent once again. Ach, but the teasing of information out of the old man was proving to be an aggravating task!
And then, handing the blade and the belt back to Julian, Dolfin closed his eyes and murmured, “They must be at war again!”
And the man fell silent once more.
Growing impatient, Julian planted his feet wide apart and crossed his arms. And when Dolfin offered no further explanation, he peered down at his mentor from under his dark lashes and offered, “Then ye speak of the war between the Saluzzi and the Vindictam?”
Dolfin cast him a startled glance. “Already you know too much,” he said in outright concern.
“Then tell me more!” Julian invited with a lopsided grin. “Ach, ye must! If ‘tis already enough to kill me, then to have more can do me no harm, Istruttore!”
The old man bowed his head, and then his lips parted. “Know that the Saluzzi are to Ferrara what the Vindictam are to La Serenìsima. They are both families of powerful assassins, faithful to their city-states,” he whispered. “Their names alone strike fear in the heart of any who hears them. For years, they were sworn enemies, that is, until recently. The families have forged an uneasy truce. But, if the Vindictam has spilled the blood of a Saluzzo, then the truce is broken.”
Julian nodded slowly. He’d already surmised as much. “But tell me, why are the Saluzzi after ye now, Istruttore?”
Dolfin shuddered and then confessed in a voice so low that it could scarcely be heard, “I stumbled upon a secret, caro vecio, and for that, the Vindictam exiled me from my homeland. They sent me away from any who would protect me and even now seek my death to prevent this secret from being known.”
