Page 125 of Laird of Steel
“You’re a warrior,” he said.
“That I am,” Walter said, “as is my friend here.”
“Robert,” the second man chimed in, offering his hand. He nodded his shaggy blond head toward Gellir’s sword. “And unless ye’ve pilfered that weapon from a passin’ knight, ye’re a fightin’ man as well.”
“Aye,” Gellir said. “I’m…John.”
“’Tis a bonnie blade, John,” Walter said.
“It serves me well.”
“It’s earned ye a place to sleep tonight,” Robert said with a wink.
Gellir frowned, confused.
Walter confided, “Methinks the old wench doesn’t mind havin’ a few well-armed lodgers to look after the place.”
“Ah.”
The old woman set a trencher of steaming pottage and a cup brimming with ale before him.
Gellir dug in eagerly. A crumb of horsebread and a wedge of hard cheese had been his only sustenance today. So the humble meal was as welcome as a royal feast.
“Where are ye headed?” Walter asked.
“East,” Gellir said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. But wandering aimlessly around the countryside seemed like a suspicious reply. “And you?”
“On our way home from Perth.”
“What did you do there?” Gellir asked, stabbing a morsel of mutton with his knife.
Robert drew himself up proudly. “We marched with the king’s guard.”
“The king’s guard?” Gellir frowned. “In Toulouse?”
“Nay,” Walter said. “Malcolm landed in Scotland a fortnight ago.” He arched a brow and added pointedly, “He needed extra defense for the journey to Perth.”
“He’s in Perth?”
“Aye,” Robert said, shaking his head. “But we didn’t stick around.”
The two men exchanged meaningful glances.
Gellir stopped with his knife halfway to his mouth. “Why not?”
Walter scanned the corners of the cottage with suspicion, even though there were only the three of them. Then he whispered, “There’s rumors of an uprisin’.”
Gellir returned his knife to the trencher. “What kind of uprising?” he whispered back.
The old woman came in to poke at the fire, and they fell silent.
“Woolens are in there,” she said, wagging a finger toward an oak chest, “and I’ll thank ye to bank the fire ere ye bed down, aye?”
“O’ course,” Robert said. When she was gone again, he murmured, “A handful of earls are plottin’ to lay siege.”
“Because of Toulouse?” Gellir guessed. “Because of Malcolm’s alliance with Henry?”
“Right,” Walter said.
