Calen sat on the grassy riverbank, the shiny whistle Micara had given him heavy in his hand. The whistle's mass was next to nothing, but it weighed like an anchor on his mind. When he had returned to camp with the firewood, Micara was in the tent, silent and closed off. Christian and Will looked at him expectantly, clearly confused as to what was going on. Calen was in no mood to explain, so he had tossed down his load of firewood and stalked to the water's edge to think the matter through and clear his head.
He knew what he had to do, he just didn't know he was going to bring himself to do it. The whistle made it worse. He couldn't keep his convictions about her character in place with the proof against his assumptions sitting in his palm. He found himself wishing she hadn't given it to him, that she had stayed the spoiled and obnoxious aristocrat. It was easier that way.
Calen heard footsteps behind him and he didn't have to look up to know that it was Christian who sought him out. His friend lowered himself to the grass beside Calen. He kept quiet, knowing Calen well enough to understand that if he wanted to talk about his troubles he would.
There was silence for several minutes. Calen felt no need to spill his thoughts to his friend, especially considering the present issue with Micara was only a scratch on the surface of a subject he preferred not to dwell on.
He closed his fist around the whistle, hiding it from view.
"What do ye think of my passenger?" he asked, interested to see if Christian had gotten the same impression as his own. Christian didn't answer. His expression was blank.
"A spoiled, feisty spit of a lass, isn't she?" Calen pressed.
Christian nodded slowly, his voice emotionless, "She certainly seems a mite of a handful."
Calen gave an agitated nod. "Aye, that and more. This whole trip 'as been nothing but a misery. She'll talk yer ear off with nonsense and then bite yer head of oe'r nothin'. A more feather-brained, willful, and obnoxious woman I've never met."
Calen's grip on the whistle was as tight as iron. His body was rigid and tense. When Christian let out an un-amused laugh, Calen was surprised.
"You are a thick-skulled cowering sod of a Scotsman," Christian said, his face serious and slightly annoyed. "You have your mind so set against her kind that you don't even glimpse the person that she is."
Calen opened his mouth in defense, but Christian cut him off, silencing him with words that Calen himself had taught him, " Důn do bheal," (duin du vale: shut your mouth) "What right have you to judge her? Especially when in doing so you are guilty of the same ignorance you have been judged by."
Christian stood, wrangling his exasperation before speaking again, gentler this time. "You are not the barbarous wretch you are behaving like. This is not you."
He paused a moment, sorry for what he had to say next due to its painful reminder, "This is not you, and she is not Christine."
Calen flinched, but otherwise did not respond. He stared into the river as if Christian did not exist. Christian waited a few moments for a possible reaction before leaving Calen to his own miserable company.
Christian didn't go back to camp right away, choosing instead to take a short walk. He disliked the whole business of the conversation he had just had with Calen. He had never had much of a stomach for quarrels, especially with his best friend from child hood. After every argument with him, he had always felt ill at ease until they had once again made their peace. This time was no different. He understood Calen's reactions to Micara, but from the short time he'd spent with her, he knew them to be unjustified. The sooner Calen realized that, the better, for though he wouldn't admit it, Christian had seen something in Calen's behaviour that completely contradicted the way Calen claimed he felt about Miss Micara. Christian hoped his words had made some impact on Calen and that his friend would return to his somewhat reasonable self.
When he had walked himself into a calmer mood, Christian returned to Camp. Will, whom had been left in a confused state in camp with Micara, was visibly agitated. He didn't look at all relaxed on his seat of a fallen tree. He had an elbow on one of his knees, his chin on his palm, while he bounced the other knee in a nervous gesture. He stopped when he spotted Christian, popping up and waiting impatiently till he had approached.
"What did Calen say?" He asked before Christian could even form an opening sentence, "Why is Miss DeMonae so upset?"
Christian explained the situation to Will. When he was through, Will looked angry. "You set him straight, didn't you?" he asked.
Christian nodded, giving him a short run through of what he'd said to Calen. Will nodded his approval but was still not satisfied that Christian had said enough.
"Someone has got to tell him. He's been an unbearable sodding tyrant since we left Dryden, and he's only gotten worse the longer we travel. Someone's got to knock him off his throne, and I'll be hanged if it isn't me."
Christian watched Will stride off with the determination of a general going into battle. The younger man had worked himself into a frenzy. Calen was bound to get some of what he had been handing out.
Will marched down the riverbank. His resolve wavered slightly when he saw Calen, but he straightened his shoulders and plowed on.
"Calen," he confronted firmly, "I've got something to say to you and you won't be rid of me till I say it."
Calen regarded him calmly, the prideful manner he had been sporting since Dryden was strangely absent.
Will continued on his confused and flustered tirade, "Ever since we began this trip you've been nothing but a..." he paused to find the right words, tongue tied. Calen helped him out, "A thick-skulled, cowering sod of a Scotsman?"
"...Yes. Exactly, a thick-skulled, cowering Scotsman. That's exactly it. You've been angry, bull headed, and tyrannical."
"A barbarous wretch," Calen commented, surprising Will yet again with his calm acceptance.
"Yes," Will said confusedly before going on again, "And another thing, your behaviour towards Miss DeMonae has been nothing but..."
"Ignorant and judgmental?" Calen offered, again supplying the words calmly. By now Will was confused. He had expected to find Calen enraged and defensive but instead, Calen was taking his berating very well.
"I am ashamed of my behaviour and will seek to make it right with all haste."
"As you should," Will replied, surprised yet again.
Calen nodded, waiting for Will to speak. "Anything more, lad?"
Will crossed his arms, "I believe I've made my point."
"Aye, ye have, lad, and I'll be going to make my amends now."
Will nodded, dismissing Calen as a school master to a chastised youngster. He didn't fully understand what had just happened, but he was satisfied that he had done the task he had set out to do.
Calen went back to camp. Christian was tending the fire. Calen offered him a one-shouldered shrug and an apologetic expression, knowing it was all that was needed to put the friendship back to rights. Christian acknowledged his semi-apology with a nod, before glancing meaningfully at the tent.
"I suppose I'll go find Will," he said.
He left the camp in Will's direction to give Calen some privacy.
Calen approached the tent nervously. Christian's words had shaken him. He knew that his friend would not lie to him, and though he'd been angry at the accusations, he knew them to be true. He had already felt the effects of his behaviour in his conscience. When Will had come barrelling down the bank chastising him the same way Christian had, Calen knew he'd gone too far. He also knew that these two were his true friends, for though he had let his pride take him over, they were not about to allow it.
"Miss Micara?"
There was no answer inside the tent for several seconds. Calen wondered if she had fallen asleep, or if she was purposely ignoring him. Guilt pricked hid mind. He wouldn't blame her for ignoring him after his harsh accusations earlier.
The flap of the tent was pushed open and Micara appeared.
"Yes, Mr. Donelly?" Her expression was a combination of determination and exhaustion. She was not pleased to see him. Nevertheless, Calen couldn't stop a slight smile of relief that she was at least willing to speak to him.
After a moment, she raised her eyebrows questioningly and he wiped the smile off his face, realizing he had not spoken yet. He cleared his throat before beginning.
"Micara," he paused uncertainly, "May I call ye that?"
She made a facial expression he didn't recognize, but did not disagree, so he went on. "I've come to apologize."
He easily recognized surprise and disbelief on her face. "I am sorry for my harsh words today and for the way I've treated ye. I was unfair and ungrateful. I've been shown the error of me ways and I wish to mend them. I'm begging your forgiveness and asking for a chance at a new start. Ye have my promise as a Scotsman that my actions will not be repeated."
With his apology over, all he could do was wait for her answer. Her face was unsure and after a few moments he began to doubt whether she would accept. He felt a tinge of anxiety. Not only would her forgiveness mean Christian's and Will's too, but for some unknown reason, her answer was important. He wanted her forgiveness, her acceptance.
Finally, she answered, a hint a suspicion still on her face and in her voice. "Very well, Mr. Donelly, I accept your apology. You are forgiven."
"My thanks, Lass," he said, hoping she could tell he was sincere, "And now for our new beginning."
He plucked his fur cap off of his head, combing his hair back with his fingers when it fell forward. "Calen Donelly, simple trapper, coeur de bois, and tradesman, at your service."
He bowed forward as he should have done out of politeness when they had first been introduced. "And the lady?"
Micara responded with confused amusement, a slight smile playing about her lips. "Micara DeMonae."
He took her hand and bent over it, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "A pleasure, Micara."