It happened again.

Leila was awakened in the night by Fergus’ agitation. As every night thus far, they had loved sweetly and afterward she had told him more of Scheherazade’s tale. As had happened once before, he had shouted Isobel’s name in the darkness.

On this occasion, he turned away from her when she would have consoled him. His action left Leila awake and filled with dread. Did his gesture reveal the truth of his heart? She could not say.

She rose early and said her prayers in the garden, striving to keep from making much of little. Like every other day thus far, she went to her lesson with the priest afterward, Murdoch by her side. When she returned to the hall, Fergus was breaking his fast with his father. His mood was good and she wondered if he even recalled his dream of Isobel.

Or if it pleased him to so dream of her.

The notion was like a knife twisted in a wound and added to Leila’s sense of discontent. It irked her that Hamish had not yet found the reliquary and began to fear it would be lost forever. What if Agnes had somehow sent it away?

Fergus had sent Hamish to the miller’s son after two days of the boy watching Agnes, for it seemed that the girl grew suspicious. She had challenged Hamish about his interest in her after mass on the Sunday, so Fergus had bidden Hamish to be more subtle.

The lack of resolution troubled Leila beyond all else. She feared the reliquary might be journeying ever farther away from Killairic and worried about the repercussions of its loss. That could be the meaning of Fergus’s sense of doom. She had no doubt that as an infidel, she would be blamed for the reliquary’s loss, no matter what Fergus said in her defense. The Templars had no greater fondness for women than for Muslims. She wanted to solve the riddle, lock the reliquary where it belonged, and be rid of the scheming Agnes—and she wished to do it immediately. Fergus had more patience than she.

Leila forced a smile as Fergus surrendered the key to the solar to her, then continued up the stairs to put the rug away. Murdoch remained in the hall.

She opened the shutters on the windows before leaving the solar, for the wind was crisp this morning and the sun was already warming the air in a most pleasant way. She took a deep breath of the scent of growth and greenery, then went to the last window. This one faced away from the village, to the north and west of the keep, and she was not certain she should open it. The wind from this direction was often chilly, though she supposed it might offer some relief in summer.

Leila could not wait to feel the sun’s heat again. She had just moved the shutter an increment when she spied a movement in the forest below. Some instinct encouraged her to freeze and watch.

It was Agnes. She carried a bucket of slops, presumably to dump it in the river on the quiet side of the keep. Leila was surprised to find the girl actually performing her labor in a timely manner, but perhaps Iain had chided her. She was about to open the shutter all the way, when Agnes did the most curious thing. She put down the bucket on the bank of the river, then looked up at the keep.

As if she feared to be observed.

Leila could not imagine why the girl would be afraid to be seen dumping slops, which was one of her tasks. She remained motionless and watched.

Apparently reassured, Agnes abandoned the bucket. She crossed the river on a number of stones, then leaped to the opposite bank. Leila caught only a glimpse of her running through the forest, for the trees were coming into leaf and obscured Agnes from view.

She waited, watching and counting steadily. She reached eighty-two before the maid reappeared.

Agnes carried nothing, though again, she spared a glance at the keep.

Had she been checking on her prize?

Leila intended to find out. She left the solar in haste, locking it quickly, and fleeing down the stairs so that she could appear to have been there all along when Agnes returned to the hall. She took her place beside Fergus who spared her a questioning glance. She smiled at him and took his half-eaten piece of bread, feigning it was her own just as Agnes appeared in the portal.

The girl seemed to check that all were present before continuing up the stairs with the empty bucket.

“I believe she visited her prize,” Leila murmured to Fergus.

“Indeed.” He took the bread back from her with a smile and gave her another, as well as a comb of honey.

“I saw her from the window. She went to empty the slops, but left the bucket. She crossed the river and ran into the forest. I counted to eighty-six before she returned.”

“At what speed?”

“The speed of my heart.” Leila tapped her rhythm on his thigh, her hand hidden from view, and he nodded.

“I will speak to Hamish,” he vowed. “Let us put an end to this.” He kissed her brow and left her at the board.

Leila ate her breakfast with leisure, hoping against hope that Hamish would find the reliquary. She realized that she wished even more for Agnes to be shown for what she was. The girl reappeared at the base of the stairs in search of a broom and Leila ignored her, speaking instead to Calum, as if she were more calm than she felt.

A storm was brewing, to be sure, and she could only hope that she could outwit the maid.

---

Hamish had used the days since Laird Fergus’ assignment to make preparations to hide the reliquary again once it was found. His scheme gave him great pride. Recalling how Lady Ysmaine had made a substitution for the prize on their journey, he had devised a means of doing much the same. He had found a block of wood at the carpenter’s shop of suitable size and shape, then purchased a half sack of barley from the miller. This last he left hidden beneath his own bed at his aunt and uncle’s home.

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.

“I must tell him that the task is fulfilled,” he said.

“Indeed, you must,” Rodney agreed. “A laird must know who he can rely upon.”

“Of course, he can rely upon our Hamish,” Mhairi said, smiling he departed. “What a good boy he is,” Hamish heard her say. “Do you think Laird Fergus truly will see him trained for knighthood?”

“If the laird sees sufficient promise in our Hamish, he will do as much,” Rodney said, winking at Hamish. “I have no doubt he will ensure the boy’s future in one way or another. He is a man of merit in that way.” He gestured to Hamish. “Now, go, and prove to him that you can be relied upon.”

Hamish needed no further encouragement to do just that.

---

The theft had not been discovered, and Agnes grew impatient. What manner of person did not verify the safety of his prize? Especially such a treasure of such value as this one? She had been twice to her hiding place to confirm that it had not been removed.

It showed a trust in the world that Agnes did not share.

She was skeptical of all who surrounded her. She had even thought that Hamish might have been following her until mass on Sunday, but his interest had proven to be more personal. Once she had commented on his apparent infatuation and teased him about his youth, he had abandoned his pursuit.

Agnes could not understand why the Templars did not wish to see the treasure she assumed they defended, but they played chess as if there was naught else to be done.

It was time she provoked someone’s curiosity and prompted a search.

The Templars were playing chess in the hall again that afternoon, while the laird and his whore had gone to the garden with Iain and the man from Dumfries who would build the dovecote. Agnes was left to sweep the hall, which she did without enthusiasm. The old laird was watching the chess game and dozing a little by the fire. Murdoch had joined the party in the gardens.

This was her chance.

Agnes swept toward the table where the knights bent over their game. They spoke seldom and usually in French, but she knew the taller one understood Gaelic. Enguerrand was his name and he had a great hooked nose as well as a piercing stare.

He glared at her when she swept beside him. “Must you do that now?” he demanded. “We are at our leisure.”

“I have been told to do it, sir, and I must follow my lady’s commands.”

Enguerrand made a comment to his fellow, who smiled, then returned to his game. The old laird stirred himself and spoke to her. “I hope there will soon be matters of greater interest to attend than a dirty floor, Agnes.”

“Indeed, my lord?”

His smile broadened. “Perhaps Fergus will share tidings of a babe soon.”

Agnes bit her lip, thinking of the abomination of a brown son standing heir to Killairic. She also thought it best to keep from commenting upon Laird Fergus’ enthusiasm for his wife each night. “I hope the tidings are as you hope, my lord, and delivered as soon as you desire.”

His gaze landed upon her, his expression knowing. “It is not evil to be different, Agnes,” he said gently and she was startled that he had any inclination of her thoughts. “You will learn that there is good in every kind. Lady Leila has a good heart, and that is of the greatest import of all.”

“Of course, my lord.” Agnes took a breath and dared to say more. “I only hope your trust and generosity is returned in kind, sir.” She was proud that she let a little doubt color her tone. It had been perfectly uttered, to her thinking, and she knew she was right when Enguerrand turned his head slightly to listen to her.

The old laird’s gaze brightened. “What do you imply, Agnes?” he asked.

“Naught, my lord. I simply found it curious that the lady had the key to the treasury upon their arrival and not my lord Fergus.”

The old laird fingered the keys on the cord about his neck. “Indeed?”

“Indeed, my lord. Laird Fergus is your son and heir, as well, while Lady Leila is newly arrived.” She was aware that Enguerrand watched her closely, and shrugged. “I wish I had your capacity for trust, my lord. But then, it is not for me to know what is sheltered in your treasury. Perhaps there is little of value there.” She smiled and bobbed her head, turning back to her sweeping. Her heart was thundering and she hoped that her hint would be acted upon.

Agnes was not to be disappointed.

Enguerrand made a sharp demand in French, but the old laird shook his head. He closed his hand over the keys upon the cord and resolve lit his eyes.

Of course, he would defend the infidel.

But the Templars were not so inclined to trust as their host.

The second muttered something but Enguerrand snapped at him, saying something fast in French. Agnes guessed that one of them would pay if the treasure was gone, probably Enguerrand.

“What have you seen?” he demanded of Agnes, his manner so fierce that she did not have to pretend to be afraid of him.

She retreated hastily. “Naught, sir. I only wonder, though it is not my place to do so.”

Both Templars got to their feet in unison, moving so abruptly that the chess pieces were toppled. Enguerrand’s fists were clenched. “What have you seen, girl?” he repeated.

“I dare not make a false accusation,” Agnes said, dropping her gaze as if she were demure. “Although it seemed most odd to me that my lady left her chamber in such haste that morning, with a burden I could not see. It was only natural to wonder what it might be.”

The old laird inhaled sharply.

“A bundle?” echoed Enguerrand.

Agnes described a shape with her hands, of about the size of the reliquary. “It looked to be dirty linens, but that could not be.” She strove to appear mystified as to what it might be.

“Why not?”

“My lady did not have so much garb until Margaret completed her new kirtles. And, if it was but laundry, sir, why be secretive about its removal from the solar?”

The Templar caught his breath. “What morning?” he demanded.

“The one after my laird swore his handfast to her. I had completed my labor in the solar and was taking out the slops, sir.” It was remarkable how easy it was to fashion a lie and have it believed. Agnes thrilled at her easy triumph.

“That was the day Fergus rode to Dunnisbrae,” muttered the Templar.

“Before he had the second keys made,” Agnes noted and the old laird gave her a hard look.

The other Templar said something about “Saracen,” which was perfect, in Agnes’ view. The old laird took exception to the comment, which indicated that it had not been kind, and they argued briefly in French. Agnes returned to her sweeping, hoping for the result she desired.

“Where did she go?” Enguerrand asked Agnes, his eyes flashing.

“I regret, sir, that I do not know.” Agnes looked Enguerrand right in the eye. “I had duties to attend and was not at liberty to follow my lady.” She bowed her head. “Nor would I show such disrespect as to question her, sir.”

“You question her now,” the old laird noted.

“And rightly so,” whispered Enguerrand. He studied Agnes for a long moment, then his lips thinned. He turned to the old laird and made a demand. The old laird appeared to be vexed by whatever Enguerrand asked him and did not relinquish his grip upon his keys. The pair exchanged a few harsh words in French, and it was evident the old laird would defend the infidel to the last.

Enguerrand barked a command to his comrade, then marched out of the hall. The Templar set a course for the garden, and Agnes resumed her sweeping, well content with the results of a few well-chosen words.

“Agnes, Agnes,” the old laird murmured, his tone chiding. “What have you done?”

“I, my lord? Naught at all.” Agnes held his gaze, striving to look as innocent as might be. “Laird Fergus says it is best to always tell the truth, sir.”

“Indeed,” the old laird said, then his lips tightened. He toyed with the keys, his expression troubled, and Agnes let him fret about the fate of the infidel.

She would get what she deserved, in Agnes’ view, and soon Laird Fergus would be in need of another wife. Laird Stewart had not arrived at the gates, nor had he sent Nolan to learn what she knew, so evidently he had neither the wits nor the desire to respond to her message. More fool him. Agnes had repaid her debt to Laird Stewart, in her estimation, and was thus released from any obligation.

At any rate, she liked the look of Laird Fergus much more than that of Laird Stewart. Let Lady Isobel keep her husband. Agnes had chosen another finer one.

She could scarce hold her pace steady as she swept the floor, for anticipation made her heart pound. But an appearance of innocence and honesty was key to the success of her scheme.

Agnes even managed to look startled when Laird Fergus and Enguerrand appeared in the hall and hastened past her to the stairs. She stumbled a little and Laird Fergus caught her elbow, ensuring that she had found her balance, before he charged toward the solar with the Templar, the second trailing behind them.

She smiled, pleased by his attention, and felt the weight of the old laird’s assessing gaze upon her. It mattered little what he thought of her now.

Indeed, his opinion might not be of import for much longer. Laird Calum was aged and feeble. If he defended the infidel whore too much, Agnes might be compelled to hasten his demise.

It would be in pursuit of a good cause, after all.

---

In a way, Leila was glad to have the truth revealed.

Enguerrand and Yvan appeared suddenly in the garden, and Enguerrand was intent upon interrupting the discussion about the dovecote. Fergus squeezed her hand, then took the Templars aside. Iain meanwhile, escorted the mason to the gates, finalizing the arrangement for the construction of the dovecote.

“I must see the prize entrusted to us!” Enguerrand declared, making no effort to keep his voice down. “I must verify its safety.” The Templar’s demand to be given the key to the treasury was clearly heard by all, for both Iain and the mason glanced back from the other end of the garden.

Murdoch folded his arms across his chest and watched.

Leila hoped they did not all understand French.

She feared otherwise.

The men conferred more quietly for a moment. Then, Enguerrand marched back into the keep with Fergus and she knew they would ascend the stairs, unlock both doors, and find the reliquary missing.

And she would be blamed.

Praise be that Hamish had found the reliquary and ensured its safety.

She sank down to that stone bench, feeling the urge to pray all the same.

What if Agnes had guessed the location and stolen it again?

“What is amiss, my lady?” Murdoch asked from her side, but Leila did not reply. In this moment, she was uncertain who to trust fully and chose to trust no one. She intended to be a good wife to Fergus, because she loved him, but as the cries of outrage rose from within the hall, Leila realized that being a good wife might not prove sufficient.

When she was forbidden to climb to the solar, she feared the worst. She returned to the stone bench and reminded herself to trust Fergus in this matter.

But there was no disguising the fact that Leila felt very much alone.

---

Fergus hated that he had to let Leila appear to be guilty in order to keep the reliquary safe. Enguerrand was furious about the apparent loss but probably more concerned with his own status. For that reason, Fergus did not confide in him.

He had a lingering sense of malaise this morning, as if the dark cloud drew closer. He feared that he had said something in his sleep, for Leila had been less happy this morning than was her inclination.

Could it be that more than the reliquary was in peril?

In the solar, Enguerrand raged about the folly of letting Fergus take custody of the treasure and spewed hatred about Saracens and women that set Fergus’ teeth on edge.

“She did not steal it,” he said finally. “Think of what you are saying.”

“Of course, she stole it!” Enguerrand raged. “A priceless relic stolen when a Saracen held the sole key to its hiding place! What else could have happened?”

“My father has a key as well.”

“To his own treasury. How could he not?” Enguerrand shook a finger at Fergus. “And he did not have a key on the day you rode to Dunnisbrae.”

“What has that to do with it?”

“That is the day it was stolen!”

“How do you know?”

“Because there was a witness,” Enguerrand insisted.

“Ask the witness who took it.”

“She—that person will not say.” Enguerrand paced the width of the solar. “Your father did not take it, that old man. Why would he steal it? It was in his possession already!”

“And why would Leila steal it, after she had defended it from thieves all the way from Jerusalem?”

“She had a scheme. They all have schemes...”

“Why would she want to steal it?”

Enguerrand rounded upon him with flashing eyes.

“Saint Euphemia is not sacred in their tradition. The relic has no power for her. She meant to sell it,” the Templar hissed. “It was for the coin that she wished to have it.”

“Then why would she not have stolen it in Venice or in Paris, where such a prize could be more readily sold?” Fergus argued. “There are no buyers with fat purses in Galloway in search of relics, and if there was one, he or she would not buy from a Saracen woman.” He shook his head. “There is no reason for my wife to have taken the reliquary.”

“Yet she did. She had the keys!” Enguerrand snapped his fingers. “Perhaps she intended to extort coin from us!”

“You have no coin,” Fergus pointed out. “Being sworn to poverty and chastity.”

“But the order is wealthy beyond compare,” the Templar said with fury. “This must be her scheme. Summon your infidel wife and demand her price!”

“Have you not considered that someone else might have wished to blacken Leila’s reputation by making it appear that she had taken it?”

“She is an infidel,” Enguerrand said. “What reputation has she to defend.”

It was difficult for Fergus to keep his temper. “Yet she is my wife and has some authority by dint of that.”

“Who would care?”

“I have an idea, but I would like to be sure.” Fergus arched a brow. “What of your witness?”

“I care little for treachery in your household. I care more for the relic entrusted to me.” Enguerrand pounded his fist upon a table. “Where is the prize?”

Fergus heard a tap upon the door. He opened it to find his father in the portal, his expression grim. He gestured for that man to enter, then closed the door again.

“What is missing from the treasury?” his father asked and Enguerrand started. “It is evident from Agnes’ comments in the hall that you expected some prize to be secured here, and your expression now reveals that it is missing. What was it?”

Enguerrand said naught.

“The reliquary of St. Euphemia,” Fergus told his father. “We were entrusted with it at the Temple in Jerusalem, and I was charged to bring it here for safekeeping.”

“Yet is it not safe!” Enguerrand said.

“Ah!” Calum said, taking a seat and nodding at Enguerrand and Yvan. “Now I understand your presence in the company.”

“On the contrary, the reliquary is quite safe,” Fergus said, much to the knights’ astonishment and his father’s interest. “We discovered the theft soon after it occurred, and later the hiding place of the prize. The reliquary has been moved to a new location.”

“Where?” Enguerrand asked.

“It is safer if no one else knows.” Fergus bowed to his father. “I apologize, Father, for not confiding in you sooner...”

“It is of no matter, my boy,” that man said calmly. “A secret is better defended if fewer know it.”

“This is outrageous...” Enguerrand sputtered but father and son ignored him.

“The girl provoked him to search for it,” Calum said. “And knew its dimensions.” He raised his gaze to that of Fergus. “Which means she knew your secret.”

“Aye. We believe she stole it on the day I showed Leila the holding.”

“But she said she saw her lady with it the day before,” Yvan declared.

“A lie. Leila had the sole key to the treasury that day.”

“Until you had the silversmith copy them and gave a set to me,” Calum said.

“And when we returned from that ride, Leila smelled the girl in the solar.”

His father chuckled. “Saracens and their sharp noses!”

“But how could that be?” Enguerrand asked. “If you and your father had the sole keys, only you could have entered the solar and the treasury then.”

Calum wagged a finger at him. “But the knot in the cord of mine was retied that day, for it was different when I awakened from my nap. I wondered at it at the time, but saw no reason why it should be so until now.”

“But still, any soul could have taken it...”

“The girl was particularly attentive that day. I wondered at that at the time, as well, but was content to let her serve me.”

“She wanted the key,” Fergus concluded.

“Alas, it is not my attention she covets,” Calum said.

Fergus did not understand. “What do you mean?”

“I would wager that she has a scheme to better her position, by ousting Leila from your marriage and stepping into the vacancy herself.”

“What madness is this?” Fergus demanded.

His father chuckled. “I have seen her watch you when she thinks herself unobserved. That one never planned to labor all her days, and if you would wed a Saracen, why would you not wed a peasant?”

Fergus swore. Enguerrand looked shaken and Yvan hid a smile behind his hand. Calum looked most pleased with himself. “And what is your scheme now?”

“We shall pretend to fall for her ploy,” Fergus said. “Enguerrand and Yvan can search the solar and we will ensure that Leila is believed to be guilty so that Agnes reveals the fullness of her plan...”

His father raised a hand to silence him. “I have a better idea, one that will not discredit your wife in the least.”

“I should be glad to hear it,” Fergus said, and the older man dropped his voice to a whisper. The Templars and Fergus leaned close to hear his suggestion, which was a vast improvement, indeed.

---

Calum knew he was going to enjoy this feat. Agnes had tricked him and he was not a man to let such an insult pass. That she meant to discredit Leila, the lady she served and the wife of the laird, was a breach of everything Calum held dear. The scheming girl would be taught a lesson and soon.

He had a wager with Fergus that Agnes would flee and he intended to win it.

“It must be here!” Enguerrand roared from the solar above him, then audibly tipped a chest to its back.

“My wife is innocent,” Fergus shouted back. There was a great sound of a scuffle in the laird’s chamber, one loud enough to draw the attention of all in the hall. Furniture was tipped and Calum had no doubt that the contents of the various chests were scattered. He made his way down the stairs to the hall, pretending that the task was more difficult than it was.

Of course, there was a small cluster of souls awaiting him at the foot of the stairs. Iain was there, but Calum raised a hand to halt him from climbing to the solar. “I would have a cup of hot milk, Iain, if you please,” he said firmly. “Lady Leila, your husband would speak with you in solitude.”

Leila nodded and climbed the stairs quickly.

Agnes smirked, turning away to hide her expression as she returned to her sweeping.

Enguerrand and Yvan passed him, noisily demanding a search of the entire keep. “To the smithy!” cried Enguerrand. “She must have hidden it there!”

In truth, they were going to make their way toward Agnes’ hiding spot to ensure she could not retrieve what she believed was the relic.

Enguerrand paused on the threshold of the hall and turned back, fixing his glare upon Agnes. “You!” he cried and the girl looked up. “Do not even think of leaving this hall before I speak to you again.”

“Of course, sir.” Agnes curtsied, her satisfaction with this most clear. She evidently thought she would have the opportunity to condemn Leila, but Calum would help her to see otherwise.

Calum returned to his abandoned seat and sat down heavily, passing a hand over his eyes as if he were more tired than he was. He considered the chess pieces on the floor and bent with painful slowness to pick up a pawn, drawing her to him like a fish on a line.

“My lord, let me assist you in that,” Agnes said, easing him back to his seat before she bent to gather the errant pieces. In truth, if she were as dutiful as she would have him believe, she would have picked them up already.

Calum sniffed. She did smell like onions.

“Thank you, Agnes,” he said, as if exhausted beyond compare. “I shall miss you, to be sure.”

“Miss me, my lord?” She smiled at him. “Why would you miss me? I have no plan to leave Killairic. It is a most fine keep.”

“I fear I have been unable to defend you in this matter.” Calum shook his head. “It is most unjust, but then, such matters usually are.” He sighed.

“What is unjust, my lord? What matter?”

“The matter of the missing Templar prize, of course,” Calum admitted heavily. “You were right to tell them of what you saw, but they are not inclined to sense. It is Enguerrand’s conviction that Lady Leila must have had an accomplice.”

“But why?”

“How else could she sell the prize, knowing so little of Scotland and of Gaelic?” Calum shook his head. “Nay, by their thinking, she worked with another to ensure her success. They seek that accomplice now.”

Agnes paled and licked her lips. “Surely she might have made such an acquaintance on her journey north?”

“But someone must have hidden the treasure for her. How else could she fulfill her obligations of that day, as well as hide the treasure? And given her activities of the day, it must have been someone within the hall.”

“Must it have been, sir?”

“Of course!” He ticked off events on his fingers, watching the girl’s fear grow. “On her first morning here, Lady Leila broke her fast early at this very board, with Duncan. Iain saw them both, for he told me of their farewell when I rose.”

“Perhaps she gave it to Duncan.”

“Nay, Iain said Xavier packed provisions for him and that Duncan took naught else from the hall.”

Agnes sat down.

“Iain told me also that Lady Leila was subsequently with Xavier in the kitchens, reviewing inventories and making plans. She went then to the smithy, where she aided poor Nellie, and all the village knew of that. The rain was such that she could not have gone any farther without being in a more foul state. Then we two sat together, here by the fire, awaiting Fergus.” Calum shook his head. “Nay, if she is the culprit, she had an accomplice, and you can be certain that the accomplice will be the one to bear the burden of the blame.”

“What is this?” the girl cried.

“My son will hear no criticism of his lady wife! He believes her innocent. Nay, Agnes, the sole person who could have aided her in this hall, by Enguerrand’s reasoning, is you, and I wager that he will not be silent until he has seen you tortured and tried for the crime.”

The girl rose to her feet. “Me, sir?”

“You, Agnes. There is no other person who could have so aided Lady Leila.” He held her gaze for a moment, letting her see his conviction. “I fear for you, Agnes, which is why I tell you of this.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Is there a place you might find sanctuary? For once the Templars return to the hall, your fate will be sealed, and even I will not be able to speak for you.”

Agnes surveyed the hall, her panic clear. “Dunnisbrae,” she whispered. “My brother is there.”

“Then flee, Agnes,” Calum advised. “Flee now while there is a chance. It will not endure long, so do not delay.”

“I will not, my lord. Thank you for this!” She kissed his hand, then walked quickly from the hall. Calum sat back in his chair, not doubting that she broke into a run as soon as she was out of sight.

He wondered how much she would steal on her departure and could not help but think that any loss was worth the price of being rid of Agnes and her schemes.

---

Leila could not believe that Fergus had convinced the Templars to take her side. She stood at the window of the solar with him, the same one from which she had watched Agnes visit her prize.

Fergus was at the opposite window, both of them ensuring that they remained out of the light. “My father has done as he suggested. She is running to the stables.”

“But she has no horse.”

“Hamish thinks Stephen is her lover.”

That would explain the girl’s scent. Leila gripped the sill, watching. She had a glimpse of Enguerrand and one of Yvan. The pair had separated in the forest and their mail had shone briefly in the sunlight. She guessed that they had both closed their cloaks for she could not see them any longer. There was no motion below at all.

Fergus muttered a curse. “And so she steals one of my palfreys,” he muttered. “I suppose I should not be surprised.”

Leila turned to him as the sound of the hoof beats echoed in the village. “Will she go to back to Dunnisbrae?” she asked and he shrugged.

“I do not care where she goes, so long as the reliquary remains safe and we are rid of her.” He came to Leila’s side and they watched together. Soon enough, Agnes and a palfrey came into view. She had arrived so quickly that she could not have stopped at the hut of Hamish’s aunt and uncle, even if she had divined the new location of the reliquary. She hesitated at the point where the road curved toward the forest.

“Let us send her on her way,” Fergus muttered. “Wherever she is going.” He leaned out the window then, pointing at her. “There!” he cried. “There is the thief!”

There was a hue and cry from the walls, but the Templars did not reveal themselves. Agnes turned the horse and gave it her heels, urging it to a gallop. She fled down the road that led to Galloway and Leila had never been so glad to see the back of another.

Fergus pulled her into his arms again and held her tightly. “Shall we find you another maid?”

Leila smiled. “Not until the shadow you sense has been dispersed. Is it gone?”

Fergus winced and shook his head. “Perhaps on the morrow.”

But perhaps not. Leila held tightly to his hands, glad beyond all that he trusted her, and hoping they would survive whatever threat he sensed.

Would his portent hang over them for all time?

Was it caused by her presence at his side?

What if only her departure would see Killairic safe?