"Aye," Fyfa responded. "The small chest in the hall contains a number of garments from your past lovers."

"Find something to fit him," Robena instructed the woman. "Choose the best there is so his pride is not too damaged. As I recall, that merchant's son was about his height, and his garments were particularly fine. If he asks, tell him that I have a cousin who sometimes visits now and again. And have Rafe polish up his boots. But remember to remove it all, including the boots, before we bury him," Robena said. "Now I must go and attempt to rest myself. You know how excited I become before the kill, and I know I shall not sleep a wink this night afterwards." And she was quickly gone from the little kitchen.

Fyfa heard her footsteps as Robena almost danced up the stairs, and she shuddered. The mistress was a terrible woman, but Fyfa knew she and her brother were safe. The lady needed them. She called to Rafe, and when he came Fyfa gave him his instructions, watching through the little kitchen door as he shambled off to dig the grave. The day was fair, and she wondered as she looked out over the gently rolling moor how long their lives would go on like this. Eventually a mistake would be made, and Robena's wickedness exposed. What would happen to her servants then? Would they be held accountable too? Whatever happened, Fyfa thought to herself, their fate was already sealed. If they left the mistress alone and to her own devices, she would certainly attempt to return to Dunglais and then the laird would know of their betrayal and he would certainly seek them out to punish them. She and Rafe were caught as surely as two poor rabbits in a trap. There was no help for them now but to continue on and pray when the lady was finally found out the laird would have mercy on them. Then, as she looked out over the late-summer landscape, her eye caught a sudden movement on the hillside. Pray whatever it was it did not come this way. At least not today.

The horse grazing the hillside looked up as the rider approached. It did not resist as its reins, which had been hanging, were taken up, and it was led away. It trotted along obediently until it was led into the courtyard at Dunglais. The rider dismounted, giving the lad who ran forth instructions not to take the beast into the stables until the laird had come and seen it. Then Beinn hurried into the keep, making his way immediately to the hall, where the laird was eating his morning meal.

"I found a horse, saddled, without a rider, grazing out on the moor," the captain informed his master. "I think you had better come and take a look, my lord. It's saddlebag contains papers, but I do not read. It could be important, and there may be a rider injured somewhere nearby, though I saw no one, nor heard any cries for help."

Malcolm Scott arose from his high board and followed his captain. As Alix was not in the hall, there was no need for an explanation. "How long do you think the horse has been out there alone?" he asked Beinn.

"Difficult to say, my lord. A few days, a few weeks. It's coat is roughened and it has not been curried in some while, yet the beast is sound, so someone once cared for it."

The laird grunted. "Hmmm," The creature before him was vaguely familiar. He reached into the saddlebag, pushing past the few garments, and drawing out several papers. His eye scanned the documents and then he swore aloud. "Christ's bloody wounds! The man is mad! Totally mad!"

"My lord?" Beinn looked puzzled.

"The horse belongs to Sir Udolf Watteson. He has obviously decided to ignore the archbishop of York and the bishop of St. Andrew's. He has come to claim my wife as his, Beinn. You did not see him?"

"Nay, my lord. There was no one near the horse out on the moor. Of course, if he were dead and lying in the heather I could have easily missed him. But I saw no carrion birds or beasts about at all. There would have been even if he had been killed a few weeks ago. His bones would not have been quite picked clean yet."

"We must search for him, Beinn. I need to know where that damned Englishman has got to, and I need to know if he is dead or alive." Malcolm Scott sighed. "God forgive me, but I hope the fellow dead. I will not have Alix distressed again by the man, and especially as she is now with bairn. Say nothing, Beinn. Gather a few of the men, and we shall go hunting this day for a sick old fox."

"And if you find him, my lord?" the captain asked quietly.

"I will have no choice but to put him out of his misery," the Laid of Dunglais said with a deep sigh. "It is a sad thing when you must kill a man not in honorable combat."

"You must do what you must do to protect your wife and bairns, my lord. There can be neither dishonor nor sin in that," the big man responded. "The priest will surely grant you absolution for such a deed. I would seek him out now."

The laird nodded, and without another word hurried off to find Father Donald. He discovered him in the little churchyard seated upon a stone bench in prayer. Malcolm Scott cleared his throat softly, and the priest looked up.

"Ah, my lord, is there some way I may be of help to you this fine day?" Father Donald said with a smile.

"Aye, Father," the laird replied, and then he told the priest of the discovery Beinn had made out on the moor and what must be done should Sir Udolf be found. "I would seek absolution for any sin I must commit, Good Priest, but I see no other choice open to me in this matter. My wife and bairns must not again be distressed by this man."

Father Donald did not hesitate. "Kneel," he said to the laird, and when Malcolm Scott knelt before him he absolved him of the sin of killing, signing him with the cross as he finished, and his lord arose to his feet once again. "There is no choice for you, my lord. I see that, but pray God the man is already dead and in purgatory so your conscience need never trouble you again in this matter. You go with my personal blessing as well. Does the lady know?" Father Donald asked.

"Nay, and I would not tell her. She was so relieved when the matter was finally settled that I have not the heart to distress her, especially now."

"Then the fewer who know the better. Let the men with you and Beinn believe that they are indeed out hunting game in preparation for the winter to come," the priest advised his master. "If any learn the truth, it is certain to come to the ears of another, and another, until finally some serving wench hears it and tells Fenella or Iver."

The laird couldn't help but chuckle at Father Donald's observation. "You're right, and I will heed your wisdom," he agreed. "Thank you." And the laird hurried off again to tell his wife that he was going hunting.

" 'Tis early," Alix said. She was now seated in the hall at her loom, wearing a new tapestry. "Now even autumn yet."

"But the day is fair," he told her. "And who knows what kind of a winter it will be? I should sooner have too much than not enough game hanging in the larder. And if we cannot eat it all ourselves, we will share it with the village."

"Oh, you are just restless." Alix laughed, and then she waved him off with a smile. "I envy you, for I should enjoy a good gallop myself."

He put a big hand on her rounded belly. "Birth the bairn first, my love," he said, and gently patted the mound beneath his fingers.

"Don't wake it," she cautioned him.

"You are still not certain, as you were with our lad?"

Alix shook her head. "This bairn keeps its own counsel, my lord. I think perhaps I carry a future bishop," she said with another smile.

He bent and kissed her lips. "If I find a pheasant, you shall have a fine feather or two for your blue velvet cap, my sweet Alix." Then he was gone from the hall.

Alix watched him go, considering how fortunate she was in her husband. Then her attention was drawn to Fiona, who came skipping into the hall. "Are your lessons done?" she asked her young stepdaughter.

"Aye," Fiona said. "May I put some of my own stitches in your tapestry, Alix?"

"How would you enjoy learning to make one of your own?" her stepmother asked.

"Oh, could I?" Fiona squealed, delighted.

"I will have Iver find another frame and set it up here in the hall near me," Alix said. "Then we will stretch the fabric and fit it to the frame and begin." She heard the sound of horses in the courtyard. "Your da has gone hunting," she told Fiona.

"Oh," Fiona said, sounding disappointed. "I should have liked to have gone with him." But then she brightened. "But if I had I would not learn how to make a tapestry."

"I would have liked to have gone with them too," Alix said, and then she called to Iver to help them.

Outside, the laird and his men departed. As the point of the excursion was to hung they did so while Beinn and the laird carefully scoured the hillsides they rode looking for any sign of Sir Udolf Watteson. Finally, as the two men traveled a bit apart from the main troop, Beinn spied something in the grass and, riding over, he reached down to pick it up. It was a dark velvet bag cap trimmed in rabbit fur, somewhat the worse for wear at this point, but the small tarnished silver broach with a little ruby proclaimed its owner as a man of rank or means or possibly both. He handed it to the laird.

Malcolm Scott examined the cap. "I couldn't say if it is Sir Udolf's or not," he told his captain, "but it probably is. We can find no body. There are no carrion creatures about. Therefore I must assume the man lives. He obviously fell from his horse. Perhaps he was injured. But where could he be?"

"He could have been found," Beinn said slowly.

"By whom?" the laid wanted to know. "And if he was found, why was he not brought to Dunglais? These are my lands, and there is no keep nearer."