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Jamie nodded.
Sir Alistair looked at them a moment and then nodded. “Very well, then. Wait here.”
He went into the stables and then came back out with a shovel. “Come on.”
He set off toward the back of the castle without another glance toward them.
Abigail put down her broom, and she and Jamie trailed him. She darted a look at Jamie. He had tears at the corners of his eyes. He’d cried for quite a long time the night before, and the sound had made her chest hurt. She frowned and watched the path. It was rocky and bumpy; Sir Alistair was leading them down through the old garden toward the stream. It was stupid because they hadn’t known Lady Grey all that long, but Abigail felt like crying, too. She didn’t even know why she’d asked to come along to help bury the dog.
Below the gardens was a bit of a grassy meadow. Sir Alistair tramped through it and as they neared the stream, Abigail could hear the rush of water. Farther up, there were some rocks in the stream and the water boiled about them, frothing white. But below the garden, the water had calmed, pooling in the shade of some trees. At the base of one was a lump bundled in an old rug.
Abigail looked away, feeling her throat ache.
But Jamie went right up to the bundle. “Is this her?”
Sir Alistair nodded.
“It seems silly to waste a good rug,” Abigail muttered.
Sir Alistair looked at her out of his one light brown eye. “She liked to lie on that rug before the fire in my tower.”
Abigail glanced away, feeling ashamed. “Oh.”
Jamie squatted and stroked the faded rug as if it were the fur of the dog beneath. Sir Alistair set his spade and began digging beneath the tree.
Abigail wandered closer to the stream. The water was clear and cool. A few leaves floated lazily on the surface. She knelt carefully and looked at the rocks at the bottom. They seemed quite close, yet she knew they were a yard or more away.
Behind her, Jamie asked, “Why’re you burying her here?”
She could hear the sound of the spade scraping against earth. “She liked to ramble with me. I’d come here to fish, and she’d take a nap under that tree. She liked it here.”
“Good,” Jamie said.
Then there was only the sound of Sir Alistair digging. Abigail leaned over the pool and trailed her fingers in the water. It was shockingly cool.
cked his head, considering her. “You’ve said that you’re widowed.”
Her chin lifted. “Yes, of course.”
“For how long?”
She looked away, hesitating for a fraction of a second. “Three years this fall.”
He nodded. She was very good, but she was lying. Did the husband still live? Or did she run from another man? “And what did Mr. Halifax do?”
“He was a doctor.”
“But not a successful one, I take it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“If he’d been successful,” he pointed out, “you wouldn’t have to work now.”
She lifted a hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, but the topic distresses me.”
No doubt he was supposed to feel pity for her at this point and give up the chase, but he had her cornered, and his curiosity urged him on. Her distress only made him more eager. He stepped closer, so close that his chest nearly touched her shoulder. His nose caught the scent of lemons from her hair. “You were fond of your husband?”
Her hand fell and she glared up at him, her tone tart. “I loved him desperately.”
