Though he despised his uncle, he was pleased to discover that he’d kept the castlein good repair.
A sharp clanging sounded from his right.
He glanced over, watched the smithy forge a red-hot wedge of steel, and recalled, as a lad, being taught how to wield a hammer tocraft a blade.
Cailin scanned the stable. Down the generous corridor, two stalls away, a thin man was brushing a bay. The horse snorted, then backed up.
“You will be getting your oats once I am done with you,” the man grumbled, then continued his task.
“What do you see?”she whispered.
“Besides the stable master,” he replied, keeping his voice low, “there are a few lads mucking out the stalls, but nay one else.” He gestured toward two nearby large flat rocks against one wall of the tunnel. “Rest whileI keep watch.”
“Is there a place where I canlook as well?”
Cailin shifted aside a degree. “We can both see through this slit.”
She moved beside him and peered out.
He could smell her scent, impossibly fresh despite their travel. Her closeness was one he had been avoiding since the stable. Ruthlessly, he now squashed any awareness of her. His preoccupation with her was dangerous when his thoughts must be on hissurroundings.
“I never knew these tunnels existed,” she said.
“They were created when the castle was built.”
“Cailin.”
“Aye?”
“Why did you kiss me?”
He could have groaned. He was doing his best to ignore his body’s tightening at her nearness. “Now is not the time to discusswhat occurred.”
“When will be the time?”
“Never. ’Twas a mistake.”
“I see,” she said after a significant pause.
Guilt wrenched him at her subdued tone. Now she was far from the stubborn, relentless fighter he’d come to know. In his need for self-preservation, he’d hurt her. Unsure how to respond, but needing to say something, he turned.
Elspet gasped. “’Tis the master-at-arms heading this way,” she whispered, “one of the men Father Lamond told us to seek out!”
Thankful for the diversion, Cailin studied the large man entering the stable, his shoulder-length hair threaded with gray, and his arms defined by muscles honed from long hours of training. A younger man walked at his side.
Though years had passed, Cailin recognized Sir Petrus Beaton. Sentiment stormed him at seeing his mentor from his youth, a man who’d taught him how to ride, hunt, andwield a sword.
Elspet touched his arm. “How are we going to speak with him alone?”
Cailin watched as the knights moved closer, then glanced toward the others in the stable. “I am unsure.” If he created a diversion, Sir Petrus would run out. Yet theremust be a way.
Brooms clattered as the lads working in the stable departed, leaving only Sir Petrus and the younger knight inside. The men paused before a destrier five stalls away. They began to talk. Cailin’s mentor folded his arms across his chest as the younger man became animated over whatever they debated.
The master-at-arms scowled, thenshook his head.
“Whatever they are discussing,” Cailin said, “the younger knightisna pleased.”
“’Tis Sir Donald Burke,” she said. “He tends to be hot headed and often earns Sir Petrus’s censure.”
