"Two men to a horse. We ride single file. Rodrick, do you have anything we can wear to conceal our tartan?"
The landlord nodded from the doorway. "Aye, some cloaks are piled ready for you in the stables."
"Then we thank you for your hospitality."
"Mind my words, Lennox MacGregor. Take good care of that one."
"I will. Aodh and Philip, prepare the horses."
He headed to the stable, his men following. Once they were inside, he looked at the horses they were to use.
"These are sturdy," he said, slapping one on the flank. "We should make it before sunset. I want to be there before they close the gates for the night. We do not stop. Any who fall behind must catch up on their own. We are pilgrims there to pay our respect to Oswin, nothing more. Swords hidden unless I say draw. No bloodshed unless we must. It is more important we retrieve the staff than we take out any English."
Once hidden under the cloaks, they looked like any other pilgrims ready to plod away on an arduous voyage.
Lennox climbed onto the back of his horse, holding out a hand to Rose. She took it, and he felt that strange warmth inside him again.
Once she was up behind him, they set out. They were several miles along the road before he spoke again. "All right," he said, glancing back at Rose behind him. "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"The thimble trick. I have to know."
"Oh that," she said, laughing in his ear. "It's easy enough. Where I come from, you would have been rinsed for every last penny you had if you insisted on playing that game."
"I was sure I guessed the right thimble. My eyes must not have been as fast as I thought."
"It's nothing to do with your eyes. It's just a trick. He hides the peppercorn in his hand and slips it under whichever thimble you don't choose."
"But how did you do it?"
"Same way. It's a common trick where I'm from. Called sleight of hand, get people looking at one thing while you do something else out of sight."
A whistle from the front of the group. Lennox whistled back. "We are here," he whispered to Rose.
"Good, my legs are killing me."
"Halt," a voice called out. Lennox kept his head down as David talked to the castle guard. They were still a quarter of a mile from the gates, the guard manning a post to control the flow of traffic to and from the priory.
"Pilgrims?" the guard was saying. "At this late hour?"
"We were held up by Highlanders," Aodh replied in a passable English accent. "We beg entrance to pay our respects to Oswin so that we may pray for his soul."
"All right. I don’t need your life story. Get on with you."
They rode on. "That was easy enough," Rose whispered in Lennox's ear once they were past the guard.
"Don't speak too soon," he replied. "We have a long way to go yet."
They rode up to the priory gate, passing through a moment later. Inside, Lennox could see a square keep like a castle, towers on each corner.
"The staff is in there," he said, nodding to the only tower topped by a blue and white flag. "Under the banner of the rat."
The men grumbled, and he knew why. Tynemouth Priory had been forced to swear allegiance to the rat a year earlier. All the more reason to retrieve the staff before the English took it back down south.
"The staff is held in the tower," Lennox said. "We must find a way inside."
"Leave it to me," Rose said, climbing down from the horse and crossing to the keep. Outside the door a guard watched her approach.
