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“Let me go!”
“Certainly.”
Sir Alistair raised his hands and Jamie was free. But having gained his freedom, he didn’t seem to know what to do next. He stood in front of the castle’s master, his head bowed, his lower lip protruding.
Sir Alistair watched him for a moment, and then looked at Abigail with one eyebrow raised. His hair was about his face, his scars shone dully in the sunlight, and his jaw was still stubbled, but he wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Mr. Wiggins.
Abigail shifted from one foot to the other, still holding the broom. “We were beating the rugs.” She gestured weakly to the line of rugs behind her.
“So I see.” Sir Alistair looked back at Jamie. “I was going to the stable to fetch a shovel.”
“What for?” Jamie grunted.
“I’m going to bury Lady Grey.”
Jamie hunched his shoulders and kicked at the cobblestones.
Everyone was silent a moment.
Until Abigail licked her lips and said, “I-I’m sorry.”
Sir Alistair looked at her from his one eye, and his expression wasn’t friendly at all, but Abigail gathered all her courage and blurted it out before she let her fear and embarrassment freeze her. “I’m sorry about Lady Grey and I’m sorry that I screamed.”
He blinked. “What?”
She took a deep breath. “The first night when we came. I’m sorry I screamed at you. It wasn’t very nice of me.”
“Oh. Well… thank you.” He glanced away then and cleared his throat, and there was another silence.
“May we help you?” Abigail asked. “Bury Lady Grey, I mean.”
Sir Alistair frowned, his brows drawn together over his eye patch. “Are you sure you want to?”
“Yes,” Abigail said.
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.”
