‘I don’t know that they were hiding anything,’ said Alys. ‘They were simply reluctant to talk to a stranger. Mistress Weir is very certain there is no need to search for this man Murray.’ Gil considered this. He and Alys were in their chamber, halfway through changing their muddy riding-clothes for something fit to go down to supper in, and now he sat on the edge of the box bed and patted the counterpane beside him. ‘I want to find him, as I told her. We have a description,’ he said, putting his arm round his wife as she came to join him. ‘Of the man and the two fellows with him.’ Alys tilted her head back, gazing at the ceiling, and the soft light from the horn window edged the high narrow bridge of her nose. ‘A bare description,’ she observed. ‘Jock and Tam Paterson, who are brothers. One is taller than the other and both have all their fingers yet. I suppose they are young men.’ ‘And we have the list of the houses where Murray was to call, and the name of the salt-boiler beyond Blackness.’ ‘So someone must work his way down the list,’ prompted Alys, ‘asking if he was there, and when, and if all was well.
