Alys grunted, fetching a faded blanket from the cupboard and handing it to him. “The world would be a better place if more people gave honest answers to honest questions.”
Callum shook out the blanket and draped it over his shoulders, grateful for the warmth. The room was not cold, but the chill of the last few days seemed to have settled deep into his bones. He leaned back on the settle, breathing in the smell of woodsmoke from the fire and the scent of fresh bread which still lingered in the air.
“Was it the de Nevilles who beat you?” she demanded. “Did the Earl of Wolvesley discover your feelings for his daughter?”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “I have not seen the earl for two winters now.”
Alys’s eyes narrowed. “It was the de Nevilles. I see it in your eyes. Did Tristan find you together with his sister and take against you?” She pointed the dampened brush towards him and Callum thought that he had regarded the tips of swords with less trepidation.
“Tristan does not know of my feelings for Frida.” It hurt to say those names out loud.
“But it was he that did this to you.” She nodded sagely, pre-empting his denial. “God’s bones, you must have angered him. Tristan is a man of honour. He does not chase violence.”
Her words floored him. They were worlds away from the man who had beaten him so callously, and yet they evoked the young man he had known briefly at Wolvesley in that long-gone yuletide celebration when all things seemed possible.
They also hinted at a personal acquaintance between the old serving maid and the future Earl of Wolvesley. Was it possible her proclamation about Tristan working for peace was more than the misguided mutterings of local gossip?
Callum shifted uncomfortably under his blanket.
“Tristan discovered that I was at Ember Hall under false pretences.”
“Working for the Bruce?” Alys chipped in.
“Aye.” He sighed. “With orders to assassinate Tristan himself. But Tristan was not in residence when I arrived,” he went on hurriedly, seeing the shock in the older woman’s face. “Forsooth, I did not even know the name of the man I was ordered to kill. ’Twas not until we arrived that I learned Ember Hall belonged to the de Nevilles.” He looked down at his hands until his rising emotions were more under control. “I once counted Tristan as a friend. And as for his sister, she has held a special place in my heart these last years.”
He spoke with frankness and honesty, because nothing else would explain his actions.
“You never raised your sword against him?”
“I could not have brought myself to do so, even if I had the opportunity.”
Alys sighed and put down her brush. “’Tis a tangled mess you have woven for yourself. But Tristan allowed you to go free. That means he must have forgiven you.”
“Nay. Tristan planned to kill me. His sister set me free.” He could not help a tremble in his voice as he recalled Frida’s bravery.
Alys put her hands to either side of her face, her eyes wide. “But I am a sworn ally of Tristan de Neville.”
Numbly, Callum rose from the settle. He took the blanket from his shoulders and folded it. “Then I shall leave. I would not put you in a difficult position.”
“Sit down,” she flapped her hand at him. “You are Lady Elizabeth’s son. I watched you grow. I will not watch you leave my house with a head wound still vulnerable to infection and naught to cover yourself with.”
Awkwardly, Callum did as she asked. He could not, after all, stride out into the day bare-chested. He watched as she finished working on his tunic then laid it before the fire to dry. Hundreds of questions chased around his head and in the end, he could not keep himself from asking one of them.
“How came you to be an ally of Tristan de Neville?” His voice rose with curiosity.
Alys turned to give him a thin-lipped smile. “You mean an old woman like me and a grand knight like him?”
Callum nodded. “Aye.”
They both laughed, which helped ease the newly formed tension between them.
“I am not one to gossip.” Alys reached out to pat Gil and the hound shifted so he could sit with his head in her lap. “But then, if I am able to mend this rift between you, it may keep one or both of you alive for longer. E’en open the door to a future between you and Frida de Neville.”
“I am afraid that is impossible.” Callum spoke softly but firmly. “Do not compromise yourself in hope of such a thing.”
She fixed him with her all-seeing green gaze. “You truly love her?”
“I do.”
