No one moved. The entire camp was silent. Maryam and Robard stood stock-still, afraid to reach for their weapons, their eyes wide. The Earl glared at me.
“Why urr ye ridin’ tae Rosslyn?” he asked, the fingers of his right hand tickling the hilt of his sword, which hung at his side.
“Well. . you see. . we are going there to meet someone,” I said.
“Who will ye meit thaur?”
Now I was truly unsure of what to do or say. I couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that the Earl and his men had been raiding or fighting someone, maybe in northern England or perhaps another clan. When he understood we were Crusaders, he made some internal judgment and perhaps accepted us as kindred spirits. He was certainly no one to be trifled with, and I could not reveal my true mission, but a lie very close to the truth might work.
“I need to deliver a letter to Father William at a church there,” I said.
“Faither William?” he asked.
I nodded yes and smiled, wanting to make sure the angry Scotsman knew I was his friend.
“Why urr ye seekin’ Faither William?” he asked.
“I served with his brother in Outremer. I’m sorry to say, he was killed in battle. I’m taking his last words to Father William.” It was all I could think of on the spot, and as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized he could easily discover my deception. What if he knew Father William didn’t have a brother? Or he wanted to see the letter? Knowing my luck, he was Father William’s brother.
“Oh, puir Faither William,” he said. He bowed his head and closed his eyes and prayed silently for a moment, then crossed himself.
“In th’ mornan’ we’ll tak’ ye thaur,” he said.
Robard and Maryam had relaxed, but we were all still wary.
“Did he just say ‘there’s a bell cow here’?” Robard asked.
“No, he said he’ll take us to Rosslyn in the morning.”
“Wonderful,” said Maryam, not meaning it at all.
The Scots were excellent campfire cooks, and we listened to them laugh and tell stories of their exploits long into the night. We couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying but were afraid to be impolite. From their laughter and antics, the tales were apparently funny and full of adventure. We’ll never know. Then it was time for rest, and they all dropped where they sat and went to sleep.
“Should we try to leave?” Robard whispered.
“I don’t think so. The Earl might be insulted. Let’s try to get some sleep and worry about it in the morning,” I said.
But I did not sleep. I half expected another clan to arrive and murder us all in our sleep. The horses the Earl and his men rode looked loaded with plunder, and someone must have been after them. Finally sleep overtook me and I remembered Little John’s admonition: “For every friend you make in Scotland, you make an enemy of someone else.”
I slept fitfully, waking every few minutes to keep an eye on my new “friends.”
Something nudged me awake. I looked up to see a boot attached to a leg. Then I heard the words “It’s mornan’. Gie up.” What? It didn’t make sense. Did someone say it was time for soup? It was not even dawn yet.
When I came fully awake, I found the boot belonged to the Earl. He repeated the words, and by now, I was awake enough to understand. He had said it was time to get up. We stood and found the Earl’s men already mounted up and prepared to ride. Hastily gathering our belongings, we too were ready to depart in a few moments.
The Earl climbed up on his own horse, a large black stallion. “Rosslyn’s tae th’ north.”
“He just said, ‘Rosslyn is north,’” Robard said, delighted he had deciphered the Earl’s announcement.
“I know. I heard him,” I said. We followed along behind the Earl but ahead of his column of men.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” Maryam asked.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. At first I thought not, but perhaps if he shows us the way to Rosslyn, we’ll be less likely to run into any trouble with his countrymen,” I said.
“Unless a bigger, meaner Scotsman with more men comes along,” Robard said.
“Thank you for mentioning that, Robard,” I replied sarcastically.
“I do what I am able,” he said.
We rode through the countryside all morning, and unlike us, the Earl rode through towns and villages with little thought. No one appeared to pay us any attention, but we did stand out, and I worried Sir Hugh would learn of our presence before long.
Shortly after midday we forded the River Esk and climbed up a tall promontory that I later learned the locals called Rosslyn Glen. It was a beautiful spot, with rolling hills that must have been magnificently green in summer. The sound of rushing water made the forest and the earth around us sound as if it were alive, with its own pulse and beating heart.
In the middle of the small village of Rosslyn stood the spire of a church steeple. I hoped it was the Church of the Holy Redeemer that Sir Thomas had instructed me to find. My heart sprang for joy at the thought.
Then as fast as my hopes had risen, they were dashed. Hanging from the gate of the village hung a Templar banner, and a half dozen Templars guarded the entrance.
Sir Hugh was waiting.