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Father Eòin laughed, delighted. We were so fortunate to have found a jovial priest for our big wedding day.

But Torin remained serious. “Ye are trustworthy, tis clear, Father.”

“I try tae be, son, what is this about?”

“Could I leave a small casket in yer care? I would pay for ye tae keep it secure, held in yer sacristy, keeping its contents secret until the family is able tae come for it.”

He asked, “What is in the casket?”

“First, I would need tae ken ye are able tae…”

“Aye, I can care for valuables. I hae held my tongue on important matters. I ken the importance of a family’s treasured belongings.”

Torin watched his face as he spoke, then he lifted the saddlebag, set it on the bench, and drew out the silver box. In that poor light it looked too fine for the kirk, too fine for us. I felt my breath catch. We had not discussed this out loud, but I understood the point. This was too much of a responsibility to guard and deliver it — where and when? And to whom? I had no idea, and would we keep it in the inn with us, protecting it for how long?

Torin said, “Tis this. It contains a kinsman’s tokens. His letters. What remains of him. I ask that it be kept unopened, and held until it is claimed by his house.”

Father Eòin’s smile faded, he chewed his lip looking at the box carefully. Then he looked at Torin’s face. “Whose remains?”

“He is a prince who died in the wars. He was called Archibald. Some named him the Wolf King.”

Father Eòin’s eyes went wide with recognition.

“Ye ken of him?”

“Aye, there are stories of his bravery. The legend is he fought alongside William Wallace, he is a hero around these lands.”

“Then ye understand why this would need tae be held in secrecy. Thieves might want his casket. His enemies might hunt his remains.”

Father Eòin said, “Aye, I understand, but this is a valuable casket for such a humble kirk.”

“It has come tae me that a humble kirk might be safest, nae one would expect this tae be held in the sacristy. Archibald asked that it be kept safe for his father and his line.” Torin kept his voice low. “Stirling would be best, but tis in English hands — I canna leave it there.” He kept his hand on the lid. “Bruce has turned the war though, he will be regaining all of Alba under his crown.”

“By the Grace of God our fortunes hae turned.”

“I believe tis true, Father, and this kirk will stand strong and safe, I pray, for centuries more.”

“And ye would hae me keep the remains of a prince, a hero, a man who fought alongside Wallace, in this small kirk? This is a great deal tae ask.”

“Tis a small casket and the dying wish of a man who fought honorably. He wants his father tae hae it⁠—”

“His father was the king, Mag Mòr. He has never been seen again in Alba, he winna return for it.”

“If not his father, then his brother, perhaps a nephew…” Torin exhaled long. “I daena ken, father, all I ken is twas passed tae me for safekeeping and I hae come tae determine that this is a safe place for it, far safer than the inn in the village, and the journey I am on.”

Father Eòin was quiet, his eyes on it.

Torin said, “I would leave plenty of coin for the keepin’.”

We watched him deliberate as dust moved in the gray light from the window. Dude climbed up on the back of the bench and arched toward Father Eòin’s hand wanting his head petted. The priest stroked his hand down the cat’s fur, causing him to purr and it was much like Dude was trying to win him over.

Father Eòin nodded. “Aye, son, I will keep it.”

Torin said, “Och, thank ye, father.”

“There is a locked kist in the sacristy, large enough tae hold it, and I keep the key. I will write that it is a charge of the kirk, tae be given tae those who come in the name of that house — Archibald, the Wolf King, son of Mag Mòr, friend tae Wallace, warrior of Alba.” He glanced at Torin. “Ye will pay for masses for the dead man, and for the keeping.”

“Aye.” Torin counted coins into the priest’s hand without haggling.