It was vexing that he had not been able to find the reliquary, though.He had learned that Agnes spent many an evening with the ostler in the stables when Stephen’s wife awaited him at home.He had learned that Agnes was inclined to chat instead of do her labor.If naught else, he had no illusions about her nature and thought her to have more in common with Lady Isobel than might have been expected.
Indeed, he held the miller’s wife, Inge, in higher esteem than Agnes or Isobel.She reminded him of Lady Ysmaine, of Radegunde, and of Leila.He knew what manner of woman he would take to wife, when the time came.
When Laird Fergus told him of Leila’s observation, Hamish shared his scheme with his knight.
“That is clever,” Fergus said with approval.“Now, let us see if we can retrieve the prize.”
Hamish set off to find for the place where Agnes dumped the slops, carrying a sack with the block of wood.He paused outside the kitchens of the keep and quickly discerned a path that led around the back of the keep.He knew the slops were dumped on this side of the hall, but had never gone to do it himself.Those from his aunt and uncle’s house were dumped downriver of the village, as were those from the stables.
Hamish was stealthy for he feared to be spied where he did not belong.He found the spot in question—there could be no mistaking the smell—and glanced up.Sure enough, he could see a single window high on the tower of the keep, though the shutters were closed over it.There were stones at reasonable gaps in the water, and he used them to cross the river, needing to make one last leap to the other shore.Fortunately, it was not as muddy as it had been and his boots left no visible impression.
He broke into a run, counting in a rhythm as Laird Fergus had shared with him, and following what looked to be a path.He halted at thirty-five, pausing to look about himself.There was a footstep in the dirt ahead of him and it looked to be fresh.It also looked to be the right size for Agnes’ foot and was deep as if she had hit the ground hard.The next one was at a long interval, as if she had been running.Hamish walked in the brush to one side of her path, ensuring that his own boots left no mark.
Agnes’ trail ended at a large old tree.It was split and charred, as if it had been struck by lightning years before.Only a part of it was coming into leaf and there was a hollow within its trunk.
Hamish considered the situation for a few moments, for he wished to leave no hint of his presence.He found a bough of evergreen, recalling how Duncan had hidden their path at Haynesdale, and laid boughs to the hollow of the tree so they would cushion his steps.
Once there, he reached within the dark space and smiled when he felt a familiar round shape.The reliquary was wrapped in a chemise.Hamish noted the way it was bundled and its position, then carefully replaced the reliquary with the wooden block.
He ensured that there was no hint that he had been there, and returned to the village by another route.Once at his aunt’s cottage, he retrieved the sack of barley and pushed the reliquary deep into the grain so it could not be seen.
He then took it to his aunt’s kitchen.
“And what have you there, lad?”
Hamish did not like to tell a fiction to his aunt and uncle, but in this situation, there was no choice.Laird Fergus had insisted upon secrecy.“I had a commission from Laird Fergus that had to fulfilled with all speed.”
“Is that why he sought you out so early?And what task would he grant you on this day?”
Hamish put the sack on the table and lowered his voice, aware that both uncle and aunt listened avidly.“The laird has had a dream.”
“Aye, he was born to the caul,” Mhairi acknowledged.“A dream of what?And how can it involve you?”
“He dreamed of famine coming to Killairic, because the crops failed in the rain.”
“It has been a wet spring, to be sure.”
Hamish patted the sack.“So, he asked me to hide a sack of barley somewhere safe, and tell no one of it.I had to go to the mill to fetch it, for he was most insistent it be done this day.”
“In secret?”Mhairi echoed.
“When there is famine, there is theft of seed, Mhairi, and you know it was well as I do,” Rodney contributed.“Lock it into your stores.No one will know it is there but we three, and no one can steal it when you hold the only key.”
“That is a fine idea, Uncle.”Hamish was relieved that it would be locked away.
“I trust it is good barley and not wet from the rain,” Mhairi said then and he feared she would dump the sack.“It achieves little to save grain that is going to rot.”
“The boy has learned a thing or two, Mhairi.”
His aunt was not reassured by this.She propped her hands on her hips and Hamish untied the top of the sack, glad he had pushed the reliquary down so far.His heart nearly stopped when Mhairi pushed her hand into the grain.
She lifted out a handful of barley and let it slide through her fingers with satisfaction.Hamish thought his knees might give out.
“It is good and dry,” she announced with a nod, then lifted the key from her belt.“Come along then and lock it away.We will not question the laird’s whimsy, not when he seeks to ensure the welfare of all.”
“It will not go to waste, even if he is wrong,” Rodney said.
“Indeed,” his wife agreed.“Though you may have stewed barley thrice a day after the harvest, given the size of that sack.”They laughed together as the sack was locked away and Hamish was relieved when it was done.
