The scullery maid opened the door to the parlor and unceremoniously announced, "In here." Jamie MacTavish ducked automatically as he came through the door, bright hair darkened by the rain to the color of ancient bronze. He wore an elderly and disreputable coat against the wet, and carried a riding cloak of heavy green velvet folded under one arm.
He nodded in acknowledgment as I rose and introduced him to Geilie.
"Mistress Duncan, Mrs. Beauchamp." He waved a hand toward the window. "I see ye've had a wee bit doing this afternoon."
"Is he still there?" I asked, peering out. The boy was only a dark shape, seen through the distortion of the wavering drawing-room panes. "He must be soaked through."
"He is." Jamie spread the cloak and held it for me. "So you'd be as well, Colum thought. I'd business in the village, so he sent along the cloak with me for ye. You're to ride back wi' me."
"That was kind of him." I spoke absently, for my mind was still on the tanner's lad.
"How long must he stay there?" I asked Geilie. "The lad in the pillory," I added impatiently, seeing her blank look.
"Oh, him," she said, frowning slightly at the introduction of such an unimportant topic. "An hour, I told you. The locksman should ha' freed him from the pillory by now."
"He has," Jamie assured her. "I saw him as I was crossing the green. It's only the lad's not got up courage to tear the griss from his lug yet."
My mouth dropped open. "You mean the nail won't be taken out of his ear? He's to tear himself loose?"
"Oh, aye." Jamie was cheerfully offhand. "He's still a bit nervous, but I imagine he'll set his mind to it soon. It's wet out, and growing dark as well. We must leave ourselves, or we'll get naught but scraps to our dinner." He bowed to Geilie and turned to go.
"Wait a bit," she said to me. "Since you've a big, strong lad like yon to see ye home, I've a chest of dried marsh cabbage and other simples as I've promised to Mrs. FitzGibbons up at the Castle. Perhaps Mr. MacTavish would be so kind?"
Jamie assenting, she had a manservant fetch down the chest from her workroom, handing over the enormous wrought iron key for the purpose. While the servant was gone, she busied herself for a moment at a small writing desk in the corner. By the time the chest, a sizable wooden box with brass bands, was brought in, she had finished her note. She hastily sanded it, folded and sealed it with a blob of wax from the candle, and pressed it into my hand.
"There," she said. "That's the bill for it. Will ye give it to Dougal for me? It's him that handles the payments and such. Dinna give it to anyone else, or I'll not be paid for weeks."
"Yes, of course."
She embraced me warmly, and with admonitions about avoiding the chill, saw us to the door.
I stood sheltering beneath the eave of the house, as Jamie tied the box to his horse's saddle. The rain was coming down harder now, and the caves ran with a ragged sheet of water.
I eyed the broad back and muscular forearms as he lifted the heavy box with little apparent effort. Then I glanced at the plinth, where the tanner's boy, in spite of encouragement from the regathered crowd, was still firmly pinioned. Granted this was not a lovely young girl with moonbeam hair, but Jamie's earlier actions in Colum's Hall of justice made me think that he might not be unsympathetic to the youngster's plight.
"Er, Mr. MacTavish?" I began, hesitantly. There was no response. The comely face did not change expression; the wide mouth stayed relaxed, the blue eyes focused on the strap he was fastening.
"Ah, Jamie?" I tried again, a little louder, and he looked up at once. So it really wasn't MacTavish. I wondered what it was.
"Aye?" he said.
"You're, er, quite sizable, aren't you?" I said. A half-smile curved his lips and he nodded, clearly wondering what I was up to.
"Big enough for most things," he answered.
I was encouraged, and moved casually closer, so as not to be overheard by any stragglers from the square.
"And tolerably strong in the fingers?" I asked.
He flexed one hand and the smile widened. "Aye, that's so. Happen you've a few chestnuts you want cracked?" He looked down at me with a shrewd and merry glint.
I glanced briefly past him to the knot of onlookers in the square.
"More like one to be pulled from the fire, I think." I looked up to meet that questioning blue gaze, "Could you do it?"
He stood looking down at me for a moment, still smiling, then shrugged. "Aye, if the shank's long enough to grip. Can ye draw the crowd away, though? Interference wouldna be looked on kindly, and me a stranger."