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Jamie dismounted behind the byre where anyone looking out wouldn’t see him.
There was a loose stone halfway along the wall. He pulled it free, tucked a purse of coin into the hollow, and had just put the stone back when a voice came from behind him.
“Ye could use the door.”
Jamie looked over his shoulder to see Morag sitting beneath the little overhang beside the byre with a lantern in her lap.
He glanced toward the house.
“Yer supposed to be asleep.”
“I might say the same to ye.”
“I’m a ghost. We keep irregular hours.”
Morag rose and crossed the yard, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself. Silver streaked the hair escaping her cap, and she wore the same expression she’d used on Jamie since he was old enough to climb things he shouldn’t.
Her gaze went to the wall. “You’ve left something.”
“I’ve done no such thing.”
She smiled. “Then I suppose I imagined it.”
“That seems likely at your age.”
She smacked his arm as Jamie laughed and caught her hand before she could do it again.
“How is wee Robbie?”
“The fever broke and the lad took a bit of broth.”
The answer took some of the tightness from his chest. “Good.”
Morag studied him. “The healer says he’s on the mend.”
She looked toward the wall again, then went to the loose stone and pulled out the purse. The moment she felt its weight, her expression changed.
“Ye should keep yer coin.”
“It’s for the healer.”
“This is too much.”
“There’s food to buy as well.”
“We have food.”
“You have oats and three onions.”
“We have four onions.”
“My mistake. Yer wealthy beyond measure.”
She gave him a dark look, but her fingers closed around the purse.
Jamie turned back to the mare so she wouldn’t thank him again.
“You’ll be careful,” she said.
