Up in the hayloft, just under the roof, the light was even better, striping the piled hay with yellow bars and lighting the drifting dust motes like showers of gold dust. The air came in through the chinks in warm drafts, scented with stock and sweet william and garlic from the gardens outside, and the pleasant animal smell of the horses wafted up from below.
Jamie stirred under my hand and sat up, the movement bringing his head from the shadow into a blaze of sunlight like the lighting of a candle.
"What is it?" I asked sleepily, turning my head in the direction he was looking.
"Wee Hamish," he said softly, peering over the edge of the loft into the stable below. "Wants his pony, I expect."
I rolled awkwardly onto my stomach beside him, dragging the folds of my shift over me for modesty's sake; a silly thought, as no one below could see more than the top of my head.
Colum's son Hamish was walking slowly down the aisle of the stable between the stalls. He seemed to hesitate near some stalls, though he ignored the curious heads of chestnut and sorrel poking out to inspect him. Clearly he was looking for something, and it wasn't his fat brown pony, placidly munching straw in its stall near the stable door.
"Holy God, he's going for Donas!" Jamie seized his kilt and wrapped it hurriedly about himself before swinging down from the edge of the loft. Not bothering with the ladder, he hung by his hands and then dropped to the floor. He landed lightly on the straw-scattered stones, but with enough of a thud to make Hamish whirl around with a startled gasp.
The small freckled face relaxed somewhat as he realized who it was, but the blue eyes stayed wary.
"Needing a bit of help, coz?" Jamie inquired pleasantly. He moved toward the stalls and leaned against one of the uprights, managing to insert himself between Hamish and the stall the boy had been heading for.
Hamish hesitated, but then drew himself up, small chin thrust out.
"I'm going to ride Donas," he said, in a tone that tried for determination, but fell somewhat short.
Donas—his name meant "demon," and was in no way meant as flattery—was in a horsebox to himself at the far end of the stable, safely separated by an empty stall from the nearest neighboring horses. A huge, evil-tempered sorrel stallion, he was ridable by no one, and only Old Alec and Jamie dared go near him. There was an irritable squeal from the shadows of his stall, and an enormous copper head shot suddenly out, huge yellow teeth clacking together as the horse made a vain attempt to bite the bare shoulder so temptingly displayed.
Jamie stayed motionless, knowing that the stallion couldn't reach him. Hamish jumped back with a squeak, clearly scared speechless by the sudden appearance of that monstrous shimmering head, with its rolling, bloodshot eyes and flaring nostrils.
"I dinna think so," observed Jamie mildly. He reached down and took his small cousin by the shoulder, steering him away from the horse, who kicked his stall in protest. Hamish shuddered in concert with the boards of the stall as the lethal hooves crashed against the wood.
Jamie turned the boy around to face him and stood looking down at him, hands on his kilted hips.
"Now then," he said firmly. "What's this all about? Why are ye wanting aught to do wi' Donas?"
Hamish's jaw was set stubbornly, but Jamie's face was both encouraging and adamant. He punched the boy gently on the shoulder, getting a tiny smile in response.
"Come on, duine," Jamie said, softly. "Ye know I wilna tell anyone. Have ye done something foolish?"
A faint flush came up on the boy's fair skin.
"No. At least… no. Well, maybe a bit foolish."
After a bit more encouragement, the story came out, reluctantly at first, then in a tumbling flood of confession.
He had been out on his pony, riding with some of the other boys the day before. Several of the older lads had started competing, to see who could jump his horse over a higher obstacle. Jealously admiring them, Hamish's better judgment was finally overcome by bravado, and he had tried to force his fat little pony over a stone fence. Lacking both ability and interest, the pony had come to a dead stop at the fence, tossing young Hamish over his head, over the fence, and ignominiously into a nettle patch on the other side. Stung both by nettles and by the hoots of his comrades, Hamish was determined to come out today on "a proper horse," as he put it.
"They wouldna laugh if I came out on Donas," he said, envisioning the scene with grim relish.
"No, they wouldna laugh," Jamie agreed. "They'd be too busy picking up the pieces."