After dinner, Moro and Mosco went to bed in their bedroom. The stableboy Sandy was sent home. Sam and Frodo settled down to spend the night in the stable loft. Sam took efforts to make the loft as comfortable as possible for Frodo; he'd brought pillows and a quilt from the house and bundled a pile of straw beneath a thick woolen blanket.
"You weren't telling the truth," he said as Frodo lay down beside him on this makeshift mattress. "You don't expect those Longchalks to come and get Candlestick."
Frodo shook his head. "No, Sam, but I thought it best to let them all believe so, rather than explain why I wanted to come out here tonight. There is some part of the truth I can't tell them yet, but that someone else ought to. I expect the person who took Fleetfoot to come to me and confess. This gives him the opportunity to do so privately."
"So it wasn't the Longchalks?" Sam was baffled. "But they had Fleet! You said so yourself, and I saw that tipped-over ashbarrel in their yard where they got the soot to cover him in."
"They had him, yes, but I'm certain they weren't the ones who took him from the stable that night. I think Urgo Longchalk was telling the truth when he said that he and his brothers hadn't been near Lad's. He also said something about Fleet wandering the fields at night, which makes me think that was how and where they did find him."
"And took him back to their own farm rather'n bring 'm home?" Sam spoke with a note of disgust. "They can say that's not stealing, but it's right close to it."
"Indeed. They might say they're innocent of theft, but their actions regarding Fleetfoot these last two days don't bear close examination. One thing has struck me as peculiar since the beginning, Sam." Frodo was in much better spirits tonight, since Fleetfoot had been recovered unharmed and his relatives were happy. He'd ended his investigation successfully after all. He'd even brought off the conjuring trick they'd been hoping for. He was pleased to explain his reasoning and was almost flirtatious as he gave Sam a hint. "Do you remember when I asked the boys if they'd heard anything, and they said they hadn't?"
Sam remembered. "You said it was 'curious.' I wondered what you meant when you said it."
"Just that, Sam. It was very curious indeed. Think about it: You know Fleetfoot nearly as well as Lad and Milo do. He's a pony rather timid of strangers. I don't believe he would allow anyone he didn't know and trust to lead him out of his stall in the middle of the night. He'd certainly kick up enough fuss to wake the boys if one of those Longchalk brutes had tried to take him."
"So it must be someone the pony knows, if they wanted to lead him out quiet-like," said Sam thoughtfully as he gathered Frodo into his arms and spooned in close behind him.
"There are three possibilities, one more likely than the others, although I'm sure the other two could tell us more about this business too. We'll just have to wait and see if I'm right."
This was enough of a hint for Sam to understand who Frodo meant without his naming names. "But why?" he asked. "What did they want to take Fleet out in the middle of the night for?"
"I don't believe they meant him harm, Sam. I have an idea of what was behind it all--just a suspicion, mind you, from some remarks I overheard at the races today. But it wouldn't surprise me to learn that Candlestick isn't the only foal Fleetfoot's sired... Well, we'll have to wait and see about that too. We have a little time to spend while we wait."
He moved closer back against Sam, enjoying the sensation of being held this way again after so long. Frodo rarely saw Sam privately in their own home anymore. It was impossible for them to meet at nights; Mrs. Cotton and Marigold were practically living at Bag End to help out with caring for the newborn twins as well as the two older children. And even though Angelica had given them a room to share here, it was between her own room with Lad and the one where Milo was sleeping, and with the windows wide open during these warm summer nights, they had to be careful not to have any personal conversations nor make noises they would not wish their hosts to overhear. This was the first time they'd truly had a chance to be alone together since they'd come to Michel Delving.
Frodo was therefore not surprised, and not unpleased, when Sam unfastened his trouser buttons and slipped a hand inside; in response, he twisted his head and the upper half of his body around to give Sam a kiss.
"We can't go too far," he warned Sam after they'd kissed. "We might have to be ready to go down at a moment's notice if someone comes in below." But he saw no reason they couldn't have a bit of fun. It was still early, and he wasn't expecting anyone to come in until later in the night, when things were quiet. Turning fully toward Sam, Frodo shrugged off his braces from his shoulders and wriggled to slide his unfastened trousers down over his hips. The feeling of rough wool against his bare backside was arousing, and his erection, once free of the waistband of his smallclothes, sprang straight up. Sam laughed, and bent his head to it.
Frodo was nearly at the moment of ecstasy, when he was jolted suddenly from it by the stirrings of the ponies waking below as one of the stable doors was pushed open. He shoved Sam's head away and hastened to rearrange his disheveled clothing before he crawled to the edge of the loft to peer down while Sam scrambled to find and light the lantern.
When Sam held the lantern up, they saw that the intruder was Mosco, gazing up at them with large and sorrowful eyes.
"Uncle Frodo," the boy spoke. "You know, don't you? It's all my fault."
"I guessed that you'd taken Fleet from his stall, and guessed the reason why as well," Frodo answered. "Why don't you tell me how it all came about?" He climbed down the ladder to hear what Mosco had to say.
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