“I’ve come to say …” Crombie started, but then stopped, unsure.

“Aye?” He kent well enough what Crombie had come to say, but he wasn’t above making him say it out loud. The auld curmudgeon was already stiff as a dried stick, but his arms seemed stuck to his sides. His fists curled, slowly.

“I—we—I regret … what happened. At the Lodge.”

“Aye.”

Silence, broken only by the wittering of birds in the nearby pines, waiting for Jamie to go away so they could flock down and poach the spilled grains. Crombie drew in air through his long, hairy nose; it whistled slightly, but Jamie didn’t laugh.

“I wish ye to ken that it wasna the doing of myself nor my brother or my cousins. We …” He stopped and swallowed, muttering, “… sorry for it,” under his breath.

“Well, I kent that much, Hiram,” Jamie said, stretching his back. The scar across his chest was burning from the shoveling. “Whatever ye think of the King, I dinna suppose ye’d try to kill me on his account.”

Hiram’s shoulders began to lower, but before he could get comfortable, Jamie added, “But I suppose ye kent what Cunningham was about, and ye didna warn me.”

“No.” After a moment, apparently feeling that this wasn’t an adequate explanation, Hiram blew out his breath and shook his head. “No, I didna. But I kent that Duff and McHugh had a whiff of it—I saw them watching Cunningham when he came out of kirk, like twa foxes watchin’ a wolf go past. And they’re your men. I thought they’d warn ye something was up. But Geordie Wilson—my wife’s brother, ken—he’s one of Cunningham’s. I couldna speak to ye without him gettin’ wind of it, and then …”

“Aye,” Jamie said, after a moment’s pause. “No man wants trouble in his family, and it can be helped.”

Hiram’s shoulders slumped in relief. He nodded to himself for a bit, and then spoke again.

“A wee time past, I said I wished to speak wi’ ye about a matter.”

Jamie remembered. In fact, Crombie had approached him on the way to Lodge that night. Which made him feel more kindly toward the man; he couldn’t have had a hand in what was afoot, if he’d wanted a favor from Jamie at that point.

“Ye did. About a’ Chraobh Ard, I think ye said?”

“Aye. I wanted to ask if ye’d maybe take him as a member of your militia.”

Well, that was a surprise. He’d been expecting a request that Jamie let Cyrus court Frances officially, and he would have said no to that. But this …

“Why?” he asked bluntly.

“He’s sixteen,” Hiram said, shrugging as though this was a complete answer. And it was. A boy that age needed badly to start being a man. And if he hadn’t got a man’s proper work to do …