Exiles in Time (The After Cilmeri Series)

by Sarah Woodbury

  Cassie turned to Donella, a questioning look on her face. Callum had noticed the healer’s odd movement too. “What was that?” he said. “Do you know something we don’t?”

  “Plenty,” Donella said, with a wary look. “But that I didn’t hear.”

  Cassie eyed her for a second, feeling that Donella wasn’t being honest, but gestured to Callum to stop him from questioning her more forcefully. “We’ll find them,” Cassie said.

  “We will,” he said.

  Cassie acknowledged that Callum was going to go after the prisoners, no matter the consequences, all the way to Dunstaffnage if need be. Cassie’s next decision was going to be whether or not she was going with him.

  Liam gestured to Callum’s temple. “Looks like you’ve had your share of trouble as well.”

  “Oh, this?” Callum’s hand went to his head and came away with a pinpoint of blood. “It doesn’t hurt much anymore.”

  “Let me see that.” Donella ordered Callum to a low stool, patted at his wound with a cloth, and then brought an oil lamp from her table so she could see better. She turned to Cassie. “What did you put on it?”

  “Sanicle and comfrey,” Cassie said.

  Donella nodded grudgingly. She could hardly complain. Cassie had gotten the herbs from her in the first place. “I will treat them both again and then you should leave,” Donella said.

  “How?” Cassie said.

  Callum peered up at Donella. “You have a way out, don’t you? A secret way. I can tell from your voice.”

  Donella sucked on her teeth. “You know so much, do you? Donella knows some things too.”

  “I imagine you do,” Callum said, “but if you could hurry …”

  Moving steadily, though at a faster pace than Cassie had ever seen her use, Donella patched up Callum and helped Liam put his arm into a sling. Then she asked Callum to pull Liam’s pallet aside. Muttering to herself, she knocked on the south wall of her hut and then swung open a four by four section of it. Freedom lay beyond the wall.

  “I trust you not to tell the Bruce of this,” she said to Cassie. “Lord Patrick trusts you.”

  “We have nothing against your lord.” Callum grunted as he helped Liam through the opening. Liam was having an awkward time of it since he had only one usable arm on which to crawl.

  Cassie turned to go too, but Donella caught her arm. “There’s no going back if you follow him.”

  Cassie froze. “What—what do you mean?”

  “You’ve lived cozy the last few years, but your little shell is cracked now and no amount of daub is going to mend it,” Donella said.

  Cassie leaned in closer. Donella’s voice had taken on a singsong tone. Others had spoken of her as having the sight, but her eyes looked clear to Cassie. “Donella. What are you talking about?”

  Callum poked his head back through the hole. “You coming?”

  “Yes!” Cassie squeezed Donella’s hand. “Thank you for your help.”

  Cassie’s show of affection seemed to surprise Donella as much as she had surprised Cassie with her warning. “Bring me a rabbit sometime.” Donella nodded to Cassie’s bow. “You’re good about not damaging the fur.”

  “I will.” Cassie ducked through the hole, waited a moment for Donella to set the panel back in place, and then ran at a crouch from the palisade to the edge of the plateau some thirty yards away. The trees had been cut down along its rim, but a few remained below the level of the field as the hill fell away. Callum crouched with Liam behind some bushes. Liam had his head down and was breathing hard.

  “I’m not entirely sure what to do next,” Callum said. “Do we go to Stirling, or should we try to do something about this little war the MacDougalls have started?”

  “Do you think Robert Bruce would listen to you?” Liam knelt in the grass, holding his wounded arm with his good hand

  “He might,” Callum said, “but can we really walk up to the rear of the Bruce force and introduce ourselves? They’ll attack us on sight.”

  “If it’s really the Bruces who’ve come, then Robbie could be with them,” Cassie said.

  “That’s a good point,” Callum said. “I’d like to think that he would listen to me.”

  “Whatever we do, we can’t stay here.” Cassie glanced back to Mugdock Castle. What had Donella meant about Cassie following Callum?

  A great shout came up from the outer bailey. “Sounds like they’ve breached the palisade,” Callum said. “That’ll keep both sides busy for a while.”

  “We can follow the cliff around the edge of the loch,” Cassie said. “Once we’re away from the castle, then we can decide what to do.”

  “Lead on,” Callum said.

  So Cassie did. The going was rough: Lord Patrick had deliberately encouraged the growth of vegetation around the loch so as to discourage an army from trying to do exactly what they were doing. Fortunately, the moon had risen and the clouds had cleared, so they had light to see by. Even so, ruts and holes in the ground that lay in shadow tripped them up. They had to walk nearly a mile, which was a good half hour of effort and more than Liam could afford. Callum was holding up well, considering he’d spent the day in bed too, but Liam was more seriously injured than he. He held onto Callum’s shoulder with his good hand and winced painfully every few steps as the movement jarred both his arm and his head.

  They reached a point within a hundred yards of the outer pickets of the Bruce camp before they stopped to regroup. Cassie was in favor of walking right up to the soldiers guarding the perimeter, but neither Callum nor Liam thought that was a good idea.

  “Why don’t I just talk to them?” Cassie said.

  Callum moved to one side, a step away from Liam, and lowered his voice. “No.”

  “I pose no threat.” She spoke in modern English.

  Callum scoffed at her. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk up to those men all by yourself.”

  Cassie glared at him. “I’ve lived on my own here for years. Don’t you think I’ve learned how to handle myself around soldiers by now?”

  “Maybe you have,” Callum said, “and maybe you’ve learned not to fear, but we would fear for you and we’d be too far away to help you if the men were to capture you and bring you into their camp.”

  “That’s what we want though, right?” Cassie said. “We need to find Robbie Bruce, or at the very least, his father.”

  Callum shook his head. “No. We should all go together.” He switched back to Gaelic, turning away from Cassie so as to include Liam in their conversation. “You and I will help Liam to walk between us and he can hobble and moan and pretend to be more ill than he is.”

  “I don’t think I will have to pretend much,” Liam said.

  Cassie agreed, albeit reluctantly, and they did as Callum suggested. Four men guarded the entrance to the camp and spotted the trio the moment they stepped from the trees. Two came forward to meet the three companions before they’d crossed half the cleared space that separated the camp from the trees.

  “Halt!” One of the soldiers barked the order. “Put your hands where we can see them!”

  Liam, of course, had only one hand to raise. Cassie and Callum compromised by propping Liam between them and holding up one hand each.

  The second soldier stepped closer. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Callum. I was one of the men who rode with Bishop Kirby, Robbie Bruce, and James Stewart. I am King David’s emissary to the throne of Scotland.”

  Callum still wore his mail and sword, of course, and was obviously well-turned out, which was why Cassie had agree that he should do the talking. The soldier lifted his torch so he could see Callum more clearly and then shifted from one foot to the other as he acknowledged that he faced a knight. “Donald—”

  “Hush, Rory,” the first soldier said. “Run and get the lord.”

  Rory obeyed, hustling towards the camp. Cassie, Callum, and Liam waited with Donald, though Liam looked like he was about to fall over. Cassie slowly lower
ed her hand so she could hold him up with both arms around his waist. Although Cassie still wore her bow and quiver, and she’d seen Donald’s eyes go to them and then move away before he’d spoken to Rory, she hardly posed a threat against so many men.

  Rory came hurrying back with a middle-aged man of medium height. He was dressed in a fine tunic that fell to his knees and a wool cloak, but wore no sword.

  “My apologies, my apologies!” The man waved a hand. At the sight of him, Callum leaned Liam further into Cassie and stepped one pace forward. The man came to a halt in front of Callum.

  “So it is you,” the man said.

  “So it is,” Callum said. “I thought you were dead. I saw you fall.”

  “A necessary illusion.” The man’s eyes went to Liam, widened, and then he moved towards him with arms outstretched. He took Liam from Cassie and enveloped him in an embrace. “My boy. I’m so glad to see you alive.”

  “Thank you, Uncle,” Liam said. “It pleases me to be alive too.”

  Cassie might be slow on the uptake, but she’d caught on by now. This was Bishop Kirby.

  “Come with me,” Kirby said.

  “Of course,” Callum said, but he let Bishop Kirby and Liam get ahead of them, the Bishop assisting his nephew on one side while Donald took the other. Rory followed, leaving Callum rubbing at his temples with his fingers and still not moving. “He was dead. I swear it.”

  “I saw him fall, too,” Cassie said. “I saw the blood.”

  “So if he didn’t die, who did?” Callum said. “Why the deception?”

  “Could he have known about the ambush in advance and left before it started?” Cassie said.

  Callum glanced at her. “You have a suspicious mind.” Before Cassie could protest, he added, “I like that.” The two of them took a couple of steps towards the camp, but then Callum stopped again and shook his head. “Men died. Good men.”

  “You will find the answers.” Cassie had spent three days with Callum, two of them with him asleep, but from what she’d learned of him so far, there was no way he was letting this go. If Cassie was sure of anything, she was sure of that.

  Chapter Nine

  Callum

  This situation stunk so high to heaven, Callum was having trouble not holding his nose in the bishop’s presence. Callum had seen the look in Kirby’s eyes as he’d recognized Callum and Liam. He’d thought they were dead. More to the point, he’d wanted them dead. Callum hadn’t seen that look since Afghanistan, and even then it had been in the eyes of one of his own men who hadn’t known when to stop firing his rounds.

  Callum’s biggest concern at this point was the welfare of Cassie and Liam. Just after that came the fear that if Kirby would have preferred Callum dead, was that true of Daddy and Grampa Bruce too? And if so, were any of them going to get out of here alive?

  A healer’s tent had been set up near the center of the camp. Kirby dropped Liam off there and after a quick check on him, Cassie and Callum followed Kirby to another tent of similar size, twenty by twenty, with the Bruce banner planted in front of it. The door flaps were pulled back and the soldier who guarded the entrance gestured them inside.

  “Lord Callum!”

  At Callum’s entrance, Robbie Bruce leapt towards him, grabbed his arms, and then forsook decorum to hug him. Callum patted Robbie on the back, happy to see him alive and that his greeting appeared genuine. Murderous intrigue was an unlikely thing with which to have entrusted a fourteen-year-old, but family politics being what they were—and Callum had heard plenty from David about what had gone on over the years in Wales—one never knew.

  The four men already in the tent looked up at Robbie’s exclamation. A man in his middle forties, with black hair receding at the temples, came around from behind the table. “I’m Robert Bruce. Robbie has told me much about you.” Daddy Bruce (Callum couldn’t decide if he should throttle Bronwen when he saw her again or thank her for putting these nicknames in his head) didn’t hide his examination of Callum, openly looking him up and down. Callum stood six inches taller and broader, but Daddy Bruce had a presence about him that seemed to fill the tent.

  Daddy Bruce’s eyes then went past Callum to Cassie, so Callum gestured Cassie forward. “My lord, this is … Cassandra. She is under my protection.” Callum made the comment knowing that it would cause Cassie to grind her teeth, but he needed everyone to know that she was with him and not fair game for any other man.

  Daddy Bruce nodded, but Callum could see him instantly dismiss Cassie from his mind. Such an attitude towards women, even one with a bow across her back, was typical of medieval noblemen. Callum had seen Meg and Bronwen use that disregard to their advantage, as a way to disarm a man and find out information they wanted to know. Daddy Bruce underestimated Cassie at his peril.

  In this case, Daddy Bruce had a task before him and thus a clear focus on those whom he considered important, further winnowed down to those he could use. Likely, Daddy Bruce hadn’t yet decided whether or not he could use Callum. Callum, for his part, was happy to keep him guessing. Staying alive might depend on it. David had never been further away.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re alive,” Robbie said. And then his face fell. “All the others … James … he’s dead.”

  “No, Robbie.” Callum lifted his hand to gain Daddy Bruce’s attention. “My lord, he isn’t.”

  Daddy Bruce had been turning away, having lost interest in Callum, but now spun back. “What did you say? Bishop Kirby told me that he was the only survivor of the ambush.”

  Kirby cleared his throat. He had entered the tent before Callum and Cassie, but had sidled to the side and come to stand near a tent pole in the far corner. “I awoke after the battle having been left for dead. I assumed I was the only one to survive.”

  “Liam and I survived,” Callum said.

  Cassie put a hand on the back of Callum’s cloak and gave a slight tug. She had her cheek near Callum’s left shoulder blade and said in low voice in their English, “I looked into every face. Every face. Nobody was alive on that road but you.”

  Callum turned his head and spoke softly, “Did you see Kirby?”

  “If that man is Kirby, he wasn’t there. The one who died wore the white robes of a bishop, but he only faintly resembled this man.”

  As Cassie and Callum spoke, identical annoyed expressions crossed the faces of Daddy Bruce and Kirby. “What language are you two speaking?” Daddy Bruce said.

  Callum hesitated for half a second before answering. “English. A dialect from the place where Cassie and I grew up.”

  Kirby’s face flushed red. “I can tell from your demeanor that you doubt my word. I am offended.”

  “King David relies upon me to doubt,” Callum said. “I doubt everyone. What I can tell you is that we have just come from Mugdock Castle. Alexander MacDougall did not murder everyone. He marched the survivors north this morning. James Stewart was among them.”

  Daddy Bruce slammed a hand onto the table in front of him. “They were here, then! We are correct in thinking that Lord Patrick was a party to the ambush!”

  “No.” Cassie stepped out from behind Callum. “He was unaware of what had transpired until the perpetrators arrived at his doorstep. Your ire is misplaced.”

  “He could have sent word to me! He could have denied them hospitality,” Daddy Bruce said.

  “From what I saw, he was caught between his honor and his loyalty,” Callum said. “You ask too much of him to turn aside Alexander MacDougall.”

  “John Balliol, you mean,” Daddy Bruce said.

  “No, I don’t—” Callum began, but Kirby cut him off.

  “MacDougall was acting on Balliol’s orders. We know it for a fact.”

  Callum pursed his lips. “How can you know—?”

  But again Kirby overrode him. “Without honor, a man is nothing, and Alexander MacDougall has no honor.”

  “Regardless of who’s at fault, anger towards Lord Patrick is misplaced,” Cassie said.

/>   “Lord Patrick did not know of the ambush in advance,” Callum said, determined to back Cassie up. Kirby’s disrespect was starting to irritate him. “He bears no grudge against Lord Stewart or your son.”

  Bruce’s face was still flushed with anger, but he gave a jerk of his head in acknowledgement of Callum’s reasoning. It was just Patrick Graham’s bad luck to be the laird of a lesser clan caught between Balliol and Bruce. In Scottish history, that was never a good place to be.

  “MacDougall will be taking them to Dunstaffnage Castle,” Kirby said.

  “I don’t—” Callum was about to tell him that this might not be true, but Daddy Bruce cut him off with a bark.

  “I will waste Mugdock and then turn my attention to Dunstaffnage.” Daddy Bruce placed his hands on his hips, gazed at Callum for a count of five, and then turned to Kirby. “I want MacDougall’s head for what he’s done. He has conspired against my family for the last time.”

  “My lord—please. A private vendetta is the last thing Scotland needs right now,” Callum said. “We must find the prisoners, but Alexander MacDougall’s punishment … surely that is the king’s responsibility.”

  “We have no king,” Daddy Bruce said. “Thus, those who have the strength must act in his stead.”

  “The Guardians of Scotland act as king until one is approved,” Callum said. “You must inform them and leave MacDougall’s punishment to them.”

  “The Black Comyn is one of the Guardians!” Daddy Bruce said. “As John Balliol’s brother-in-law, he had to have known of this plot!”

  Cassie started beside Callum. “I don’t think—” she said, but not loud enough for Daddy Bruce to hear. Callum wasn’t following the reasoning either.

  The Comyns were a powerful clan in their own right with their own strong claim to the Scottish throne, though the elder Comyn had forgone his claim in favor of his brother-in-law, John Balliol. Like the Bruces, the Comyns insisted on giving every son the same name, but history had done the nicknaming for Callum, dubbing the elder John Comyn, ‘Black’; and his son, ‘Red’.

  “I would see the proof of that before I condemn him,” Callum said.