Page 58 of The Speed of Lightning
“I’ve to win the MacSorleys without your father’s help. And I have to find the one they call the Storyteller.”
Her smile tightened. “The Storyteller?”
“You ken who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him, aye.”
“You’ve never seen him?”
She shifted the pottery higher. “No…never seen him.”
He blew out a breath. “I wish you had. You could tell me who he is, what he looks like.”
The dishes trembled against her hip. “I’m certain he’s about.”
Calum caught on her words. “So he lives nearby. On Jura?”
Her eyes widened, tongue darting across her lips. “I’ve heard some claim they know him. Perhaps I could ask Fraser.”
“When did you first hear the tales?”
Her brow knit. “At Gavina and Fraser’s cottage. From the children—not them, the children. Maybe…ten years ago?” She squinted at him. “I thought the man told stories to help you.”
“You think he’s a MacLean? Someone of my blood?”
“I dinnae think so.”
“But a Juran? Someone in the clan?”
She glanced toward the loft, thinking. “Perhaps. Why do you need to find him now? I thought you’d given up.”
“Your father called Murdoch and me by our war names. He shouldnae have known Murdoch’s connection to the Shield. That means there must be additional Shield stories, ones that point to his identity. A few others at the training said new Shield stories crop up every few months. If the man’s Juran, he’s stolen my father’s missives. I’ll have to take it up with Da—Heaven only knows how that will go.”
Her brow furrowed. “You think he’ll resist?”
“He avoids conversation about anything deeper than the weather—about the clan, rebuilding, the Storyteller, our past. You’ve a warmer way with him. Maybe we could visit my parents for supper tomorrow evening.”
She fumbled. The crockery slipped, crashing to the floor. Bog leapt at it at once, licking around the mess.
Calum sprang to his feet, but she waved him off, her brow creased. “No, no. I’ve got it.”
He bent anyway, sweeping up shards and pushing Bog away. “Next time let me carry it, it was too heavy for you. I still dinnae ken how you got those trunks into the loft.”
Her smile was brittle. “I’ve go’ it, Cal, truly.” She gathered the wreck and hurried outside.
Calum sat back down, his spoon poised, but his eyes followed her as she swept food into the yard. She seemed unsettled. When she returned a few minutes later, still flushed, he knew he must have made her uncomfortable. “Freya—what I said earlier, about feeling more than friendship for ye. Did I say too much?”
She shook her head, her face unreadable. “No, Calum. …That reminds me, I’ve made a sweet pudding.”
His ears pricked up, as did Bog’s. “I love pudding.”
She smiled faintly. “I’ll fetch some—and warm a little milk.”
Chapter 15
LEALT, JURA - NOVEMBER 10, 1386
Freya clapped her hands three times. “The Storyteller accepts your payment.”
