Finally she spotted the cluster of dark forms beneath the pines.Hamish and the rest of the fold, drowsing in the grass.
She approached with stealth then.She didn’t want to startle the beasts.
Hamish was the first to rouse.He tossed his shaggy head, as if shaking off the cobwebs of sleep, which woke the others.But since the cattle were accustomed to her presence, once they caught her scent, they settled back into slumber.
Only Hamish stayed awake, waiting for her to come and give him a scratch.
She meant to be strong.But her eyes filled with tears as she rubbed the furry spot behind his crogged ear.She remembered what a brave wee calf he’d been when he had to be marked and gelded.How he’d rested his head in her lap afterwards.How he’d let her sing him to sleep.
She remembered how she’d occasionally sneak a turnip from the kitchens to take to him.How his eyes rolled with excitement as he crunched the special treat.
She remembered how he always lowed for her that first day after winter when the fold was driven to the ferme to graze.And how eagerly each fall he trotted back to the stone close, knowing Carenza would visit him every day.
A sob escaped her as she brushed the hair out of his handsome face.If all went as planned, Hamish would come back to the close no longer.
She needed him to stay safe.To move on to greener pastures.To leave Dunlop and civilization.To find a wild herd and never return again.
Sniffling and wiping a tear from her cheek with her palm, she murmured, “Are ye ready, lad?Are ye ready to go with me on an adventure?”
She looped the rope she’d brought around his head, dodging his horns and cinching it around his neck.She planned to lead him northeast to the mountains beyond Dunlop.She knew of a secret spot where herds of wild coos sometimes passed.A lovely glen hidden between two high peaks.A glen where a steer could feed to his heart’s delight.Where he could live out his days in peace.Where nobody would find him.Least of all, her father, who meant to cut his life short.
The ground was hard.The air was cold.But Hew didn’t mind.The blood of Vikings flowed in his veins.Besides, it was no less comfortable than his cell at the monastery.
He stretched out his legs, crossing his boots, and draped his plaid over them for warmth.Then he set his axe on his lap, folded his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the trunk of the pine to wait.
He’d barely settled in when the barbican gate swung open again.
He sat forward, unfolding his arms and seizing his axe.
It wasn’t the man he’d followed.This figure was smaller and stouter and walked with a shorter stride.
Hew frowned.Was Dunlop a gathering place for mysterious nighttime travelers?
This stocky fellow wasn’t even using the road.He clambered down the slope and began hiking off across the hill.
Where was he going?
Hew came to his feet.
The figure strode surely through the wet grass, as if he knew exactly where he was headed.
Hew hesitated.
He didn’t want to leave his post.The man he’d followed could emerge at any time.
On the other hand, perhapsthisman was the thief.Perhaps he was on his way to a robbery right now.
The man from the monastery had only just arrived.If he was the physician, he’d remain within.If he was a man of the cloth, he’d surely spend at least an hour inside.
Meanwhile, Hew would follow this new stranger and see what mischief he was up to.
After a long trek over fell and dale, it seemed the man at last found what he sought.A fold of cattle sleeping beneath the trees.They stirred when the man approached, then settled back down to doze.
“Sard me,” Hew muttered in self-disgust.
The man was obviously just a cooherd come to watch over the laird’s cattle.Hew had wasted time, following the fellow.
Still, it was curious that he’d come in the middle of the night.And his behavior toward the coos was odd.He was standing far too close to one of them, scratching its head between two horns that could have easily tossed the man heels over head clear across the glen.
