When Agnes had delivered a son to Fergus, the villagers would know better than to disdain her.
She returned to the old laird with the liniment and the milk. He thanked her effusively. She helped him to his chair, positioned in the sunlight by the window, and tucked pelts around him. Then she knelt before him and rubbed his favored liniment into his knees, striving to appear fascinated as he recounted the same stories that he had told her a hundred times. She exclaimed in all the right places and encouraged him, watching as he sipped the warm milk.
“Surely, you did not need to abandon the solar, my lord,” she said. “I am certain Laird Fergus would wish for you to be comfortable.”
“I like the view here, Agnes, and this room is more cozy. The wind is diminished here.” He leaned back his head and yawned mightily. She saw the cord around his neck and looked down as if disinterested. “Stir up the coals on the brazier, if you please, Agnes.”
“Of course, my lord. Would you like more milk?”
“Nay, but I thank you.” He yawned, doubtless because the room was so warm, then waved her away. “Leave me sleep, Agnes, but do not let me miss the evening meal. Tell Iain that I must be awakened when Fergus and Leila return, for I would hear of their day.”
“Of course, my lord,” Agnes agreed, but his lids were already drooping. She waited, watching and listening, still rubbing his knees but with diminishing force. The old laird slipped into a deep sleep, his head drooping and his hands slack. Agnes waited a little longer, scarcely daring to breathe.
She heard Xavier and Iain arguing in the kitchens. She knew the Templars played chess in the hall. No one came up the stairs. The sounds of the village seemed remote.
Laird Calum began to snore.
Agnes held her breath as she stood. She waited, then stepped closer to his shoulder. She reached and slowly lifted the knot on the cord away from his skin. She did not even dare to breathe. He murmured to himself in his sleep and she froze, waiting until his snoring began again.
Slowly, carefully, she untied the knot. The keys fell into her palm with a soft tinkle and she caught her breath, fearing she would be caught.
But Laird Calum slept on.
Agnes left the cord around his neck. She retreated with care, closing the door behind herself, and stopped to listen while she stood on the stairs. No one was near.
This was her chance.
She hastened up the stairs on silent feet, unlocking the door of the solar as quietly as she could. She breathed a sigh of relief that the key worked, then ducked inside.
She closed the door quietly behind herself, then locked it again so she could not be discovered at the worst moment. Her heart was racing. She crossed the solar, avoiding the floorboards that creaked. Her hands shook a little as she unlocked the treasury, and she feared that the saddlebag had been removed.
But it was there, on the floor just inside the door, just as it had been from Laird Fergus’ return. There were also chests of coins and one of documents, but this was the bag that intrigued Agnes.
She listened, but there were no indications that anyone climbed to the solar or sought her. She crouched down and unlocked the buckles, threw back the flap. There was a wrapped bundle within the bag. It smelled faintly of manure, which surprised her, but she lifted it out of the bag and carried it to the window.
Agnes set the bundle on the table beneath the window and studied the way it was wrapped. She took careful note of the details so that she could return it with the appearance that it had been untouched. Then she opened the bundle. There was a great deal of cloth wrapped around whatever was inside, as if it might be fragile. It was round and of a goodly size. Agnes thought she felt metal and could not make sense of it.
Until the last length of cloth was removed and the sunlight fell upon the golden reliquary in her hands. Agnes’ mouth fell open in astonishment. The treasure was gold, gleaming gold and studded with gems, marked with inscriptions and crosses.
Agnes could not read the inscription but she knew this was a prize, a treasure beyond price. She traced a cross engraved in the surface with a shaking fingertip. This explained the presence of the Templars. They guarded this marvel and were yet in the keep. She licked her lips, wondering how best to use this treasure to see the whore discredited.
The answer was clear. Of course, an infidel would not hold such an item sacred. An infidel might steal it, perhaps to finance her journey home. Agnes smiled. She would steal the reliquary and make it look as if the whore had taken it. Laird Fergus would challenge the whore, she would deny that she had done anything amiss—as one would expect—and he would cast her out.
Leaving his bed cold and his father yet in need of an heir.
The scheme was simple, yet flawless.
Perhaps Agnes would be rewarded for restoring the prize, when all seemed to be lost.
Certainly, she could grant Laird Fergus all he needed.
Agnes lifted the reliquary out of its protective wrappings and rolled it instead in one of the whore’s dirty chemises. She left the saddlebag splayed open in the treasury, and placed the wrapping in the bag, but in disarray. It looked as if someone had hastened to seize it and not cared that its absence would be obvious.
Well pleased with herself, Agnes locked the door to the treasury again. She ensured that there was no sign of her presence, then left and locked the door from outside the solar. She hugged the treasure as she descended the stairs, praying that she would not be spotted.
The bucket for slops was outside the old man’s door. It was empty but only Agnes knew that. She put the bundle in the bucket, replaced the lid, then took a deep breath. She eased into the old man’s chamber, where he still snored, and placed the keys back on the cord. Her hands were still trembling, but her excitement rose as she neared success. She knotted the cord again, holding her breath all the while, and worked both cord and knot beneath his chemise. When she was certain he slept uninterrupted, she backed slowly out of the chamber.
The bucket was just as she had left it. Agnes hefted it to descend the stairs.
Iain had come into the hall. She smiled at him, noting that one Templar was playing chess with Murdoch while the other looked on. That second one spoke while gesturing to the board, apparently giving advice, and Murdoch snorted.
Disdaining it, no doubt.
“Laird Calum is asleep but wishes to be awakened for the evening meal,” she said to Iain and the steward nodded.
His gaze dropped to the bucket with a frown. “My lord does not usually evacuate at this hour of the day.”
“And so he did not,” Agnes said, concocting a lie. “But I forgot that I was to take his bucket this morning. I am sorry.”
Iain was stern. “See that you do not make such an oversight again, Agnes. His lordship should not have to endure the smell for a moment longer than necessary, and the hall must be kept clean, by request of her ladyship.”
“Of course, Iain. I apologize again.” Agnes bowed and apologized and said whatever was necessary to convince the old busybody to look the other way. Finally, she was able to leave the hall. She took measured steps to the stream on the far side of the keep where the sewage was dumped.
Instead of emptying the bucket, though, she placed it on the ground. She looked back but could see no one. She tipped off the lid and seized the treasure. Agnes jumped the wall and crossed the stream, clutching her prize. She ran for a hiding place she knew well.
The reliquary would be safe there until she could give it to Laird Stewart.
How soon could she convince someone to look for the reliquary to ensure that the whore was condemned for its loss? Agnes was not certain who knew about the prize and doubted that Laird Fergus would hear a word against the infidel in his bed.
She would have to watch and listen and seek her chance.
Laird Calum might provide the opportunity she sought.
* * *
It had been a fine day and one that gave Leila much hope for the future. She and Fergus
had ridden the perimeter of Killairic and he had shown her the bounty of the holding he called his home. She had been much impressed by Killairic’s beauty and more so by Fergus’ affection for the people and the land.
Even better, they had talked of those in the village and she had seen his talent for taking responsibility without meddling. They discussed how best to aid the miller’s son, and he had shared his scheme to send Hamish to help.
He had told her about the midwife who had passed away in his absence and had conferred with her about seeking out a new healer for the village. They had discussed the possibility of tempting one to move from Dumfries and what inducement such a woman might find appealing.
Leila liked that Fergus was concerned not only with her own welfare, should she conceive, but with that of the other women in the village. They had agreed that Radegunde could test the knowledge of whoever they chose, for Fergus expected she would pass through Killairic either with Duncan or in search of him by the fall.
They spoke of Hamish and his future, the possibility of him training for his spurs at Haynesdale, and agreed that the boy might be glad of the opportunity. This, too, Fergus resolved to discuss with Hamish.
Their conversation was easy and companionable, and she liked the glances that Fergus cast her way. He asked for her advice on the administration of the keep itself, and they considered who should accompany them on the journey to Iona.
The sun was setting when they rode back into the village. Farquar beckoned to them to share Nellie’s progress and it appeared the mare would be well enough to pull the plow within a week or two. The priest smiled and waved at them, and Leila agreed to meet him the next morning for more lessons.
All went aright.
Calum was coming down the stairs when Leila and Fergus climbed to the solar. They were muddy from their ride and both meant to change their garb for the evening meal. Fergus changed course and accompanied his father to the hall, tactfully ensuring that the older man did not fall, while Leila continued to the solar.
She was unlocking the portal when she smelled manure.
She had crossed the threshold when she smelled Agnes. The girl was not as clean as Leila might have preferred in a maid, but she knew better than to give that one counsel. And truly, it was not all bad for Agnes to have a distinct scent, since Leila did not trust her.
Agnes smelled of perspiration, and faintly of sexual pleasure, as well as onions. Undoubtedly, she had peeled vegetables for Xavier before her change of post though Leila wondered who the girl’s lover could be. It was somewhat disgusting that she had washed so little in two days.
Leila thought at first that the girl’s scent lingered from earlier in the day, but it was stronger in the middle of the solar.
It was strongest yet by the window with the trunk beneath it.
Had Agnes been in the solar in their absence?
But how?
There were more keys, just as at Châmont-sur-Maine.
Leila felt cold.
She saw then that the soiled chemise she had left for the girl to wash was gone, though the other laundry was not. Fergus’ plaid was still stretched out to dry and his chemise from the day before had not been moved.
She was frowning at the door to the treasury when Fergus entered the solar.
“What is amiss?” he asked immediately and she indicated that he should close the door. He locked it before coming to her side, his eyes alight with curiosity.
“There is another key,” Leila said quietly. “Agnes has been in this chamber in our absence.”
“How can you tell?”
Leila touched her nose and Fergus nodded.
“Alone?”
“If not, her companion is cleaner than she.”
They both looked at the door to the treasury as one.
Fergus put out his hand even as Leila drew the cord with the keys over her neck. She handed the keys to him, fearful of what he would find yet having a curious conviction of it all the same. He opened the door to the treasury as her heart pounded in fear and she knew immediately that her suspicion had been right. His posture changed, his shoulders drooping, then he glanced back at her, his lips a hard line.
“It is gone,” he said softly.
“As is my chemise.”
Fergus nodded. “Whoever took it meant for you to appear to be the villain.”
Leila watched him, wondering what he would decide. He closed the door and locked it again, then he came to her. His eyes were dark, his expression solemn. “I will keep the keys now, as that will cast doubt on any accusation.”
Leila nodded, feeling that her position was precarious.
Fergus slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Do not look so fearful. I know that you have defended the prize with your life. I know your innocence. But what scheme does our villain have? Agnes is yet in the hall, so if you are right—”
“I am right. I know her scent.”
“Then she has not gone far to hide it. That means it can be found.” Fergus smiled down at Leila. “Let us say naught and let her provoke the display of the reliquary. There must be some plan to reveal your supposed theft.”
“And we may find the treasure before that,” Leila concluded.
“I will ask Hamish to follow Agnes and see if he can find it, but we will confide in no one else.” Fergus raised his brows. “Certainly not our guests, the Templars.”
Certainly not.
* * *
Leila was clearly shaken by the theft of the reliquary. Indeed, Fergus was worried about it, as well, but he strove to appear more confident than he felt in order to reassure his wife. He guessed that Leila feared she would be blamed and did not doubt that she was right.
He had to find the reliquary first.
He spoke to Hamish after the evening meal, striding to Rodney’s abode to speak to the boy in confidence. Hamish was thrilled to be entrusted with the responsibility of watching Agnes and Fergus knew the boy would do whatever was necessary to aid Leila. His loyalty was indisputable. Fergus chose to wait a few days before sending Hamish to aid the miller, and asked instead what Hamish thought of journeying to Haynesdale to train for his spurs.
Hamish’s shout of joy brought Rodney and Mhairi and offered a suitable guise for Fergus’ mission.
“It was Leila’s idea,” Fergus said. “She was the one who guessed your ambitions.”
Hamish’s eyes glowed and his aunt and uncle were most grateful.
Fergus returned to the hall to find Leila laughing with Calum beside the fire. Agnes was cleaning the board without enthusiasm and he wondered where she might have hidden the reliquary. He recalled that glimpse he thought he had of her in the stables and resolved to look there the next morning.
At this hour, though, he wanted naught more than his wife’s companionship.
And truth be told, he wanted to give Agnes a surprise.
Fergus caught Leila’s eye and smiled at her, glad that she smiled warmly in return. He pulled the keys from his purse and let them swing on their cord, catching the light. Agnes stared at him. “You have the keys, my lord?”
“Aye, Agnes. After my lady locked me in the solar the other day, I vowed that would not occur again.”
The girl flushed and stammered an incoherent reply, then glared at Leila before she returned to her cleaning. Fergus thought she deserved no less, for it was clear to him that she meant to let Leila be blamed for the loss of the reliquary.
Leila’s distrust had been deserved, after all.
He could only hope that Agnes would soon lead Hamish to her hiding spot.
In the meantime, Leila spoke to his father, who rose to his feet and the pair crossed the hall to Fergus.
“You will not have a protest from me when you summon your lady wife to bed,” his father jested and they climbed the stairs together. Calum retired, Iain coming to assist him, and Fergus escorted Leila to the solar. “Since I have the keys,” he said. “I would serve as your maid this night.”
<
br /> Leila smiled. “I would wager that you wish for a boon from me for your trouble.”
“Of course. I have waited all day to learn whether the merchant escaped the djinn or not.”
She laughed aloud. “You could have asked me during our ride.”
“I could have, but our discussion was so lively.”
They entered the solar and Fergus locked the door behind them, even as Leila lit some of the candles. The chamber was chilly and Fergus lit the braziers, then drew the curtains around the bed.
“If you recall, the djinn had lifted his sword, intending to behead the unfortunate merchant,” Leila said as she sat on the edge of the bed. She slipped off her shoes and began to untie the laces of her kirtle.
Fergus shed his own garb with haste, then came nude to the bed.
She spared him a glance and a smile. “It is cold for such enthusiasm,” she said.
Fergus laughed. “Then hasten yourself, woman, and warm me.”
Leila laughed again, and Fergus helped her with her stockings. He coaxed her out of her kirtle and chemise, then tugged her beneath the coverlet and pelts.
She licked her lips, her eyes shining, and continued the tale. “Just before the djinn made his blow, the merchant cried out. He asked the djinn to delay his execution, so that he could return home and say farewell to his family. The djinn was not inclined to do as much, but the merchant noted that he had not yet made a will and that his affairs had to be left in order. He begged the djinn to let him see that his property was divided and his family provided for—and he vowed to return when all was done. The djinn was skeptical that the merchant would return, but he swore an oath that he would return in exactly a year and a day, to the very spot, to accept his fate. They agreed and the djinn disappeared.”
Fergus did not fail to note that the term was that same as that of their handfast.
“The merchant raced for home, both glad he had escaped a dire fate and fearful of his future. He knew he could not break his word, yet he was not ready to die. His family greeted him with great joy, but his wife noticed that he did not share their jubilant mood. Husband and wife were much in love and knew each other very well...”
The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance Page 22
