Seconds later, a pretty girl around my age with long mousy-brown hair rushes out of one of the nearby doors. She’s wearing a dress made of the same red tartan that Callum’s kilt is made of. She squeals when she sees him.
“Callum!” She throws her hair over her shoulder, then flutters her eyelashes. “I’ve run you a bath—just how you like it—and there’s some fresh clothes laid out on your bed.”
She doesn’t seem to notice the weary look on his face as she loops a strand of hair around her finger and continues to chatter.
“I was hoping you’d be back in time for the full moon. And the equinox feast, I’m glad you didn’t miss it. How was the siege? Some of the others were worried you’d not be returning, but I knew. Don’t you worry about Callum, I told them, he’s—”
She cuts off.
She straighten
