"A ghost?" Callan groaned, his voice laced with both annoyance and disbelief. "Do I look like the one?"
"You have to get them to believe it," Sir Malcolm declared. "It won't be difficult, if they believe in a Christian god like that, they'll believe in a ghost as well."
Callan scoffed, his brow furrowing. "And you don't believe in Jesus?" he asked with a hint of amusement, "I thought faith was especially strong in your time..."
"I believe what Lady Ryanon and the druids told me," Sir Malcolm, although his voice was firm, looked reproachfully at Callan. "I believe that God is in each of us and all around us, we ourselves are responsible for what happens to us and what we do, the main thing is to understand the essence of the things."
"Okay, okay," Callan rolled his eyes. "I don't understand anything from that either. Believe what you want, that only don't get me involved. Has anything else happened while I was away?"
"There was a woman who had escaped Sir Engus' captivity. It emerged that it was Daiermed's mother, whom this fool had kept imprisoned for so long as to hide from the eyes of the people and force others to believe that it was the son of Lady Ryanon. I'd never believed it, but now I'm not going to hide my language. I made this woman to feed well and get dressed. From now on, she will find shelter for herself in Danvegen."
"I think she's not here anymore." Callan said with a chuckle, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I went to the Elf Bridge in the meantime."
"Where?" Sir MalcoIm exclaimed and jumped to his feet.
"To the Elf Bridge," Callan repeated calmly, "and not only walked across of it, but also walked quite a long time on the other side. You probably forgot that I could get wherever I wanted. And I wanted to visit Lady Ryanon."
Sir Malcolm looked at his relative with a wide eyes. This boy had dared to cross the Bridge of the Elves, had been able to find the lady, and seemed to have even spoken to her. None of the McLaughlins, none of the bravest men in Scotland, would be able to do that.
"You talked to her?" Sir Malcolm grabbed Callan's hand.
"Slower, slower," Callan tried to wiggle out, "my bones are not from iron, let go!"
Sir Malcolm released Callan's hand and sank back into his chair. Callan took a sip from a nearby wine pitcher and told him about his conversation with Etine, carefully skipping over the parts that would be incomprehensible to Sir Malcolm, focusing on the essentials.
"So, she'll send you two envoys and you'll have to follow them immediately if you want to stay with her." Callan concluded.
"Do I want to?!" Sir Malcolm sprang to his feet again, his face alight with a radiant joy that seemed to erase years from his appearance. "Oh, God, all these years I've lived solely out of the hope that this can ever happen!"
Callan stared at his relative in surprise. The wrinkles had smoothed out, the fatigue and resentment in his gaze were gone, his shoulders straightened out – Sir Malcolm was beaming with happiness.
'Well, if he looks like that, he's not too old for Etine and no wonder he's liked by Janet,' Callan thought and frowned.
Ser Malcom hugged him in a tight embrace, his voice thick with emotion . "Why did you become so gloomy, my boy? My own son couldn't have done me a bigger favour. Once we have won the upcoming battle, we will hold in your honour such feasts and races as have not yet been seen in Scotland! We will strengthen, we will throw spears, we will conduct a hunt, we will invite poets and songwriters, bagpipes will make our feet jump and hearts tremble, the grass will be filled with joyous cheers, for there will be a rich treat and endless stocks of ela!"