His friend made halting progress down the snowy steps and came to stand by his side. He smelled of hay and sleep, and his uncombed red hair hung in fiery tousles.
“Snow,” Andrew declared, putting his hands on his hips and gazing about.
“Aye.”
Andrew’s blue eyes caught him in a trap. “It will make travelling hard.”
“Well-nigh impossible.” Callum leaned back on his heals. “More is still to come, if I am not mistaken.”
“So we are to stay longer?” Andrew kept his voice low. Aware, as Callum was aware, of the sleeping guards nearby. And the guards on the wall who must be due to return soon.
“We have no choice, friend.”
“I see that.” Andrew nodded his head. He wore no cloak, but did not betray any discomfort from the cold.
“I am sorry for it.” Callum was driven to frankness. “This mission has turned out very different to the one we anticipated.”
Andrew grunted, his breath steaming before him. “That is what oft happens in this life.”
“Aye,” Callum said again, wishing suddenly that he might unburden himself.
Andrew was one of his oldest friends. And Callum had betrayed him almost as much as he had betrayed Frida. He had lied to them both; was lying to them still. Two people whom he valued above all others.
Regret swirled in his gut.
Andrew turned and clapped a big hand on Callum’s shoulder, all but knocking him sideways. “Ye didnae summon the snow, man.”
A smile tugged at his lips as he recovered his balance. “True enough.”
“And I have stayed in worse places than this.” The big highlander nodded ruminatively, his bushy eyebrows disappearing into his thatch of hair. “This stint ye arranged for us, as labourers?” He let out a bark of laughter, silencingCallum’s denial. “It has done me good to spend time working the land. A break, ye might say, from constant battling and plotting and bloodshed.”
“I think Arlo might see it differently.” Callum’s heart twisted as he recalled the moment the lad had fallen with a dagger between his shoulder blades.
“Ach, the lad is recovering now. And he could ha’ been more grievous injured had Gregor gotten his way.” Andrew nodded in the direction of the guards’ quarters. “The four of us against the lot of them.”
“Aye.” Callum rubbed his arms against the cold. “It would not have gone well for us.”
“I’ll no say I’ll no be glad to be back home.” Andrew lowered his voice. “But this is a reminder, ain’t it, of what we’re fighting for?”
Callum raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Peace. A quiet life. Chance to till the land and reap what ye sow.”
Callum’s heart twisted again, but he couldn’t allow his friend to see how his words affected him. He would trade all he had for the chance of a quiet, peaceful life with Frida.
Instead he cleared his throat. “You’re mighty poetic this morn, Andrew.”
“’Tis the snow. It has sent me soft in the head.”
Callum guffawed, scooping up a handful of soft snow and tossing it in Andrew’s direction. It landed squarely on the back of his head, white melting into fiery red. Callum realised that dawn had broken as they were speaking. The sky was bright with pink and orange rays, dazzling against the expanse of snow.
“Are ye starting something, man?” Andrew’s eyes gleamed provocatively.
“Nay, I am finishing it.” Callum went to scoop up another handful of snow, but the muffled squeak of boots tramplingthrough snow halted his movements. The guards were returning from their nighttime shift.
As one, the two Scotsmen straightened up, arms hanging limply by their sides. They nodded silently to the line of uniformed guards, some of whom returned the gesture as they climbed the steps to their adjacent sleeping quarters.
“’Tis a good job we finished the barn roof yesterday,” Andrew said quietly.
