Afternoon turned into evening, and the bits of sky that they could see turned sapphire blue, and all around them sounded a great fluttering of wings as gentle wood pigeons moved through the treetops, seeking somewhere they could settle for the night.

He asked, “Why not a soldier?”

“What?”

“Why did ye say I could not be a soldier?”

“Soldiers die.”

He considered this. “We all die.”

“Soldiers die afore most other men.”

“So could I be a sailor?”

Lily thought it might be possible. “And where would ye be sailing to?”

He shrugged and said, “A land that’s not discovered yet. Where else?”

She offered, “Norway?”

“Norway? Why that? What’s in Norway?”

“Montrose sailed there once, to freedom and to safety.”

“Then he should have stayed there.”

“Aye.”

Someone was coming. She could hear the fall of steps across the grass, and something else—a lighter sound of dragging. Closer and closer the steps came, until the low branches beneath them swayed and there was somebody standing below, and a deep voice familiar to both of them said, “Now, let’s see what new birds I have nesting in my tree.”

The old laird himself. Jamie leaned over and called to him.

The Laird of Inchbrakie replied, “A strange wee bird indeed, that calls me by my name.”

“I’m not a bird,” said Jamie.

“Are ye not? Well then, ye should come down and eat your supper, I suppose.”

He’d brought the ladder, and he set it into place now. Though it did not reach the whole way to the branch that they were on, the sight of those sure sturdy rungs was all it took to steady Lily’s fears and give her confidence enough to ease her way along the branches, finding her way down.

“There, that’s the way of it.” The laird reached up to help her. For a man of his age, he was strong. He lifted her the final distance to the ground and held her there to steady her until her legs stopped trembling.

She had always liked the laird.

He’d had an accident when he was a young man, they said, with gunpowder, and it had nearly killed him and had left a mark upon his scalp. And he’d been a soldier and killed countless men with his own hands. But Lily did not find his face so fearful, and his hands to her had always acted gently, and he had kind eyes.

Those eyes were watching hers now, in the swiftly fading light. “All better, now? Good. Leave that ladder, Jamie,” he advised his grandson, who by now had joined them on the ground. “The gardener will fetch it in the morning.”

Jamie did as he was told. “How did ye ken we’d need the ladder?”

“I did not. But I was certain I would need it. It’s been many years since I last climbed a tree.”

The night was drawing in more quickly, and with one child’s hand in each of his, the old laird turned and started back across the grass toward the castle, where the light now glowed within the ground floor windows.