“What is the meaning of this?” He kept his voice low, his words clipped.
Gregor pushed back his shoulders and looked at him scornfully. “I will nae follow a coward.”
“Callum is nae coward,” Arlo spoke from beside him.
Callum fought an urge to tell the lad to go away. Somewhere he would not be harmed by flying fists or blades. Instead, he put his hands on his hips and fixed his gaze on Gregor. “Your orders were to work on the barn. Why are you headed for the house?”
“To do what ye are too afeared to do.”
Cold pinpricks of apprehension washed down his spine. “I am the one in charge of this mission. I will decide what we do and when.”
“Ye are nae in charge of naught.” Gregor spat again. “All day ye have been picking apples and fawning over lady Frida de Neville. Ye are a warrior man, the lady’s enemy. At least, that is who I thought ye were.”
The courtyard still appeared empty, but armed guards could be listening to their exchange even now. This was no place for a discussion. Much less for threats and accusations. If they weren’t careful, all three of them would wind up with swords pointed at their chests.
His heart beat hollowly, but he drew himself up to his full height and ensured his voice carried an edge of menace. “This is not honourable, Gregor. No true Scotsman would launch an attack on defenceless women.”
“Ye dare speak to me of honour?” Gregor snorted. “When ye have lied from the very day we arrived?”
Callum bade his voice be steady. “What is this you accuse me of?”
“Ye lied outright when ye told us that Tristan de Neville was expected here within two days.”
Callum froze. He had not anticipated being caught out so quickly.
“Dinnae try to deny it. I asked the lassie who thinks herself the boss o’ me now. Miss Mirabel. She saidLord Tristan is not expected. Those were her exact words.Not expected.” Gregor spun his knife in his hand, triumph glinting in his dark eyes.
Arlo was following the exchange closely, his eyebrows disappearing under his thatch of hair.
“But why else would we ha’ stayed?” the lad interjected.
Gregor let out a bark of laughter. “Why else? That is what I have been asking meself.” He lifted his chin, eyeing Callum as if he were a flea-ridden hound. “Shall I tell ye what I have concluded?”
Arlo looked to be struck dumb. Callum forcefully re-entered the conversation. “Aye, why don’t you do that, Gregor. Continue with your entertaining tale.”
Anything to turn the conversation away from his lies over Tristan’s whereabouts.
“Yer a friend to the de Nevilles and a traitor to yer own kin.”
“I am no traitor.” He ground out his reply with force, Gregor’s accusation having struck a recently-exposed nerve. A shutter banged somewhere nearby, but Callum did not shift his gaze from the highlander.
“I am thinking ye intend to betray us three to yer friends here. That is why ye demanded we surrender our weapons.”
Callum heard Arlo’s sharp intake of breath, and this wounded him just as much as Gregor’s insults. Coming so soon after his own barrage of self-abuse, it was too much. Red mist descended before his eyes.
He took a step closer to the older man, squaring up as if for a fight. “I dare you to say those words again.”
Gregor leaned closer, his sour breath filling Callum’s nostrils. “And I dare ye to do what we came here to do. Kill the de Nevilles.”
“I will not harm Frida de Neville. Nor any of her kin within these walls.” His voice was too loud and carried too far around the courtyard. He must not lose control. “Jonah is scarce old enough to bear arms. Is this the man you truly are, Gregor? One who would strike down a youth?”
His adversary’s eyes glittered with triumph. “Yer Lord Jonah has seen more winters than young Arlo, I’d wager. Here’s more proof that ye value English blood higher than Scots. That boy in there is capable of swinging a sword, and if ye won’t face him, I will.” Gregor spun around and resumed his journey towards the front steps.
Callum was not entirely sure of the sequence of the ensuing events. His rage erupted in a fierce roar. He grabbed Gregor by the shoulders, dimly aware of Arlo shouting a warning. Then Gregor was on the ground, his knife still clutched in his fist, and Callum’s own fist was stinging from the blow he had landed.
For a moment the man lay still. Slowly the ringing in Callum’s ears lessened. He shook his head to clear his senses.
“Get up,” he ordered.
