He glanced down at his heavily crumpled tunic, then reached up to scratch at his many days’ growth of beard.
“Forgive me, I have not bathed nor changed my clothes in many days.”
Alys nodded. “Come the morn when the sun has regained some warmth, we can see to all of that. For now, Callum, take your rest. Then mayhap you can tell me who or what you are running from?”
*
He refused totake her bed, but the settle proved far more comfortable than the hard floors he had been obliged to lay upon these last days. Callum slept deeply by the dying embers of the fire, the only disturbance being occasional snores from Gil the dog. When he awoke, the small house was bright with sunlight and Gil was nowhere to be seen.
Callum laid still for a moment, making a mental inventory of his injuries. His ankle still throbbed, though less insistently now. The rest of him was recovering. For certain, nothing was broken. Even his head seemed clearer. He could swivel his neck and look about him without any dizziness or nausea.
I will live.
Though what he might achieve with the life left to him, he could not yet imagine.
A murmur of conversation reached him through the open doorway. Callum stood and stretched his arms over his head, his fingertips brushing against the rafters of the roof. He could make out the chirping tone of Alys, and the other speakerseemed to be a young boy. Outside, the air smelled sweet, washed clean by the melted snow. Alys turned a smiling face in Callum’s direction and then bade farewell to the boy, pressing something into his hand first.
“For your troubles,” she said. “God bless you, Matthew.”
“God bless you, Missus Alys,” the boy replied in a high piping voice. Then he set off running down the narrow path as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Callum rotated his shoulders, pleased to feel his body coming back to something approaching its usual strength.
“Who was that?” he asked, as Alys stepped back inside.
“The gardener’s grandson from Egremont House. I worked with his father for many years. Now he sends the lad to check on me and bring me treats along with bits of news.” She lifted a small wicker basket, from which came a most entrancing aroma of freshly-baked bread. “Today we have a gift of food from the kitchens; much appreciated if little needed.” She sniffed. “I try not to take offence at the implication that I cannot fend for myself.”
“’Tis human kindness,” Callum commented, reaching to relieve her of the basket and place it carefully on the scrubbed table.
“Aye, and human need for connection which I value just as high.” Alys pulled a shawl about her shoulders, her eyes dancing. “You cannot imagine what news Matthew brought with him this morn.”
“I cannot.” Callum could think of little save the bread in the basket.
Alys smiled as if divining his thoughts. “Let us sit together and break our fast, then I will tell you what I have learned.”
This time Alys perched on the wooden chair and Callum returned to the settle. The fire had been restocked with logs and was blazing merrily. Gil trotted in and took his usual place with adeep sigh of contentment. For a long while, all was well. Callum filled his mouth with soft, sweet-tasting bread, washed it down with another cup of ale. When Alys produced a small package of nuts and berries from the bottom of the basket, Callum closed his eyes at the explosion of flavour against his tongue. He had tasted naught like this for many days.
“There is better colour in your cheeks,” Alys commented.
“I am better by far,” Callum declared, brushing crumbs from his tunic. “Well enough to deliver to you the explanation you are owed.”
She held up her hand. “Let me tell you this first of all. Matthew brought news from o’er the border.”
Callum could not help his spine instinctively stiffening. “From Scotland?” Alys nodded and his mind immediately conjured images of battles and bloodshed. “God’s bones, what has happened there now?”
“’Tis good news.” The old woman’s green eyes danced. “Your man, Robert the Bruce, has been recognised as king of an independent Scotland.”
Her words echoed in his mind without him grasping their meaning. “An independent Scotland?” Just the idea would be heresy in some households, although it was the very thing that his father lived for. “By whom?”
“By the pope himself,” Alys breathed.
Callum leaned back on the settle, looking at her curiously. “Are you a Scot, Alys?”
“Nay.” Wisps of grey hair escaped their pins as she shook her head. “I am a true-blooded English woman, the same as your mother.”
“But I am not,” he interjected.
“You are Scottish on your father’s side, English on your mother’s,” Alys said, as if this fact had not haunted so many of his days. “So that means you are both English andScottish yourself. To that end, I am sure this news has special significance for you, Callum dear.”
