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While we waited for the food, Torin’s attention centered on one of our saddlebags. He looked at it near his foot with his head cocked. Then he flipped the flap aside and peered down in.

He groaned.

“What?”

“We are carryin’ the casket.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Niall put it in our bag. We are now in charge of the belongings of… the Wolf King, ye remember his name?”

“Archibald, I think.”

“Aye, the son of that king… the one called Mag Mòr.”

“What’s in it, do you think, besides those letters we saw?”

“I canna look, not here, tis silver. I daena want tae draw attention tae the contents. We will look when we go tae the stable.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I suspect he was done tryin’ tae get it somewhere safe, he wanted us tae take on the trouble, and I daena think he wanted the king tae ken he had it.”

I nodded, curious to know what was inside.

Our meal was brought to us, plain thick oat porridge and coarse bread. Happily there was plenty of ale, and the fire was warm. I’d always loved watching flames, so I grew warm and buzzed, watching them pop and spit in the hearth.

We talked about a few things, but then Torin shifted on the bench and grimaced from the pain.

“Where does it hurt, my love?”

“Everywhere, mo leannan, but I winna complain, it daena hurt here.” He patted the outside of his left ankle.

“Right there on that spot?”

“Aye, I am blessed.” He raised his glass.

“Want to go to our room, Albannach?”

“Aye, tis time.”

He stood and pulled all our bags from under the table. He lugged them out to the stable while I followed carrying our mugs, filled again with ale.

The boy had already put down fresh straw. Cathbarr and the smaller horse watched as we carefully moved into the empty stall.

I joked, “Look at their expressions, they’re wondering if we’ve lost our minds.”

Dude immediately claimed a corner of the straw and began washing his face as if the accommodations were perfectly acceptable.

I spread down our cloaks and sat down, looking around at the rough wooden walls, the gaps between the boards, and the dark shape of the roof overhead.

Horses shifted quietly nearby.

It was damp. It was uncomfortable, exactly as medieval as I had feared.

Torin made sure to put most of our bags between us and the wall, and lowered himself carefully beside me, wincing as he settled. “Only the best for the Princess, who I love and adore.”

A horse snorted.