Mia had a grand old time, playing chase with the younger equines, and sometimes acrobatically leaping onto their backs and riding them bareback, as if she were a circus performer. Indeed, perhaps she had been?

Then she detangled Vincent’s tail with her fingers. This was a task I’d been attempting myself for weeks, but abandoned repeatedly due to his contrariness – my arms had several half-healed scars from his sharp beak. But for her, he stood calmly and continued grazing.

“She’d make a fine stable lass, sir,” Adamson commented. “After training, of course. It’s as though she’s never seen reins or a saddle before. Do you think Mr Baird will employ her, sir? There’s plenty of work for another, especially now with a unicorn to care for too.”

I grunted noncommittally.

Mia crouched still in the grass for a time. I thought she’d fallen asleep, until she suddenly pounced, held up a wriggling rabbit, then tossed it to Vincent, who caught it mid-air in his beak and swallowed it whole.

Adamson went deathly pale.

I hid a small smile. It was best that he remembered she was a savage. Yes, it was best that we all remembered that.

“Under the silver birches, sir,” he whispered. “Two men.”

Pretending to continue watching the horses, I checked the birches out of the corner of my eye. Yes, the lad was right. Couldn’t be McCallum – he always worked alone.

“Keep an eye out all around,” I said. “There may be more.”

If so, I couldn’t spot them. I caught a glint of sun from the birches once, perhaps a reflection from binoculars or a camera, but otherwise the two made no move. Harmless nosey parkers?

“Time to head back,” I told Adamson in a low voice. “Keep your wits about you, unbuckle your saddle scabbard, and be ready to draw your rifle on my word.”

All went as normal until we approached a crossroads – three riders waited on the road leading to the distant village. Aye, this would be a fine ambush spot to steal an equine. Adamson looked back at me uncertainly.

I fired my rifle into the air. “This is private land! Be off with you!”

To my relief, they turned and rode off at pace. The gun blast also startled our equines, which galloped through the crossroads and back up towards the safety of their stables, led by Adamson.

As I rode, I watched Mia closely, half expecting her to swerve and flee after the threesome, riding Bonny or perhaps the unicorn. If so, I’d chase after her – although I had little idea of what I’d do if I caught her.

But no, she stayed on Bonny and kept with the herd. Bonny probably hadn’t galloped in years, and soon lagged behind the other equines. I slowed to match her pace, in case this was some trick of Mia’s, but she showed no objection to riding beside me.

Indeed, her tear-stained face seemed genuine. “Bad men,” she shouted, pointing behind us. “Bad men!”

I looked back but saw only empty road.

#

Back at the stable, Mia’s English unsurprisingly wasn’t up to identifying the “bad men.”

McCallum later found cigarette butts and hoofprints where they shouldn’t be, but nothing more useful.

As the days passed, we settled into an uneasy calm.

Mia remained as savage as ever, sleeping on haybales in the stable and gobbling any food put near her. The stable was the best place for her, as she stunk like a badger. She either would or could not wash, but happily stood in the water spray when Adamson hosed down the equines. Perhaps she imagined she was a pony.

Adamson taught her how to use a curry comb and other equine grooming tools, and the use of a feather comb on Bonny and Vincent’s wings. Her technique was clumsy but effective, and the equines lined up to be groomed by her, even Vincent.

The unicorn remained intractable, refusing any suggestion of headcollar, rope or saddle, and still following Mia around like a lost puppy. Happily, he showed no romantic interest in our mares, and damaged the stable no further.

McCallum spotted no more strangers, and the police did not come calling for runaway lassies.

On Thursday evening, Mrs Baird received a telegram saying Graeme would be on tomorrow’s Flying Scotsman to Edinburgh, after a faster than expected journey through Spain and France. She delivered this news to the staff dining room in person, and thanked us for our efforts under these “trying circumstances”, which I thought was very decent of her.

So, the lassie and the unicorn would soon be Mr Baird’s problems. That was a weight off my mind.

Until Adamson ran in and told us that Mia had just flown away on Vincent.

So obvious in hindsight. Locate a menagerie with a rare and valuable hippogriff but no unicorn. Wait until that suspicious bugger Baird is absent. Send them a cunning wee lassie who knows her horseflesh, along with a rather ordinary surplus unicorn from your herd. Have her speak gibberish while eavesdropping on everything they say. Toss them a few red herrings about their silly old pegasus until they think she’s the prize. Have the girl win friends and influence people, just like that book says, although Carnegie probably wasn’t thinking of hippogriffs. Then have her fly away on the hippogriff before Baird returns.

And we fell for it. All of us, even the poor unicorn, who now pines after his former mistress, despite Adamson’s best efforts.

McCallum’s searches have found nothing.

Rutherford is distraught.

And I am the daftest fool in Scotland.