Free Thorn in My Heart by Liz Curtis Higgs Page A

said!” Jamie shoved the blade inside his boot with a groan of frustration. Either Evan hadn't seen him, or his brother was deliberately waiting inside the inn and making him suffer.
    “Pay me no mind, young George,” Jamie muttered, starting to pace. “By all means, care for the horse. That's what I paid you good copper to do.” He waved the boy back to his labors, wanting time to think, to plan the hours ahead. Though he needed to eat, he had food enough in his pouch. And though he needed to sleep, he'd not catch a wink in the rafters of House o’ the Hill, knowing Evan lurked just below him. Worse, he'd have to get past Evan and his cronies first, and the odds were not in his favor.
    Jamie turned toward the stable hand, who'd gone to work brushing Walloch's black coat with long, sure strokes. “Tell me, lad, have you a plaid you might loan me for the night?”
    “A plaid?” His brow tightened. “What would ye be wantin that for?”
    “Warmth,” Jamie snapped and produced another coin. “For your trouble.”
    “N-no trouble.” The boy disappeared into one of the stalls and returned with a tattered length of wool. “Will this do?”
    “ ‘Twill have to.” Jamie tucked the worn plaid under his arm. “Under no circumstances is anyone to walk off with my horse, no matter what manner of tale or how many shillings he offers. Do you understand?”
    George nodded. “Yer mount will be here ‘til ye come to claim him yerself.”
    “Clever lad.” Jamie impulsively ruffled the boy's hair. “See you at dawn.”
    With plaid and pouch firmly in place, Jamie turned to face the road, peering down one direction, then the other, weighing his options. Evan would expect him to ride south toward Monnigaff, the very route he'd planned. Jamie would head north, if only for the night, toward their Uncle Patrick's estate of Glencaird. It was the last place Evan would look for him and for a very good reason: Two cairns—burial chambers from the dawn of history—dotted Glencaird's grazing lands, and Evan was exceedingly superstitious. Who knew what evil spirits one might still find among the hallowed stones? “The deid are not to be trifled with, Jamie,” his brother had once warned him, eyes wide with horror. “Mark my words.”
    “Consider them marked, Brother,” Jamie announced to the misty night air, lengthening his stride as he reached the bottom of the hill. To the nearby cairn he'd go. A slab of rock would make a fair bed, sparing him the unhealthy dampness of the ground. He scrambled over the
dry stane dyke
that bordered Uncle Patrick's land and aimed for a grove of rowan trees standing guard near the ceremonial site, keenly aware of an uneasiness growing inside him.
    He slowed his steps across the uneven ground until his boot struck one of the rounded stones encircling the cairn. Older than King David of Scotland, older than King David of the Bible, the ancient ruin had lost many of its stones over the centuries, exposing a long chamber lined with split boulders. Across the top was a massive slab of granite tooheavy to be carted off by a local farmer in need of building materials. Beneath it were buried the remains of men lost to history, their bones long since turned to dust. Jamie swallowed hard, his gaze taking in the desolate scene. By day, a cairn was naught but a pile of rocks. At night, the stones whispered of mysteries untold and dreams forgotten.
    Mustering all his courage, he moved toward the tomb. Even if Evan did discover him asleep, his brother wouldn't have the nerve to step inside the sacred circle. Jamie shook out the musty plaid, preparing to spread it across the stone slab, when his boots brushed against a cluster of berries hanging from stout, purplish stems. The flowers had faded, but the profusion of glossy black fruit remained. Something to add to his meager bedtime meal perhaps? He reached down and plucked the good-sized berries and brought them to his lips, then cringed at their