Only a rim of red marred the smoky gray sky. The road, which would lead them to Constantinople when came the time, passed before the Englishman’s walls and carried on, a mere flaw etched in the rippling hills.The road lay empty. Marek, on his bay palfrey, was not to be seen. But that coin had two sides: Lord Hugh and the Templar weren’t awaiting them either. And for that, Mairead was profoundly grateful.A servant admitted them to the courtyard, gave the reins of the tired courser to a groomsman, and escorted them to the Great Hall. Mairead hugged her cloak round herself and stayed close at Annan’s shoulder, almost brushing against him, as the servant inclined his head and asked them to be seated.Annan made no motion to sit, and she stayed beside him.“Did a Scottish lad come through here yesterday?” Annan asked.The servant shook his head, the gray hair of his eyebrows flitting with the motion. “Your pardon, Master Knight, but I do not know. I think not.”Annan grunted, and the servant bowed once more before leaving.
