She thought of Torin. His face appeared to her, stark and broken at a graveside, as if she had shattered the last of him.
Sidra found the surface with a gasp.
She trembled as she swam to the bank. She crawled upon the mossy rocks, spluttering and coughing. She lay down for a moment, until her heart was steady again. A spirit had tricked her, played her for a fool. Sidra covered her face and sobbed. She had been holding the tears in for hours, and she let them flow.
When her tears had dried, she noticed the time of day.
She had dived into the loch when the sun was at its zenith in the sky. It had now set behind the hills, leaving only a vestige of light on the horizon. The stars were winking overhead, and Sidra pushed herself to stand on shaky legs.
How much time had she lost? How many days had passed?
The panic coursed through her as she began to hurry home. She noticed that the effect of the Orenna flower had faded, zapping her energy. She could no longer see the spirit realm, and her head began to viciously ache.
The earth spirits must have felt compassion for her, although Sidra was reluctant to trust them. But five hills became one. The kilometers compressed, and the rocks receded, granting her a swift path to the croft.
She decided she should go directly to Graeme’s. She knew her father-in-law would be worried over her lengthy absence, but then she noticed the firelight illuminating her house from within.
Sidra paused, wondering who was home. Following the light, she entered through the back door.
Torin sat at the table, waiting for Sidra to come home.
He had been waiting for a full hour now. Weary and heartsick from a long day of searching, he had gone to Graeme’s at dusk, his arms aching to hold Sidra.
She wasn’t there.
His father rambled anxiously, claiming she had gone home to fetch her herbs at noontide and had never returned. Adaira had even called that afternoon to visit with her, but Sidra had been absent and Graeme could only surmise that she had been summoned to help a patient.
Torin had swallowed his panic and rushed down the hill, only to find a cold, dark cottage full of untouched food.
He didn’t know where she had gone, but he imagined she was searching for Maisie. He had seen the determination in her eyes when they had parted ways earlier, how his sharp orders had upset her. Torin was so exhausted now that he decided he should simply wait on her to return. Surely, the night would drive her back home. And he was so tired of searching.
He lit a candle.
He stared at her herbs, scattered on the table, an utter mystery to him.
He stared at Maisie’s toys, tucked away in a basket by the hearth. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of them.
The kittens were crying at the back door. Torin ground his teeth and poured a dish of milk, setting it on the stoop for the cats.
He paced the chamber but eventually sat again. He hadn’t slept in two days. He could hardly see straight, and he knew he had run himself ragged that afternoon.
My daughter is missing.
It still didn’t feel true. This happened to others, not to him.
You thought the same when Donella died, didn’t you?
Torin felt numb, and he wondered when it would truly hit him. He wondered what more he could do. He had searched house after house, croft after croft, all the castle chambers. He had glanced over more backs than he’d have liked to, searching for a wounded man, and yet he had failed to find the answer he sought.
He thought of Jack. The secret Adaira had shared with him earlier.
The bard was Torin’s last hope.
He was thinking of how long it had been since he had heard music when the back door creaked open. Torin stiffened, his eyes flickering to the threshold.
Sidra stepped into the house.
The first thing Torin noticed was that she was barefoot and completely drenched. He could discern every line and curve of her body through the damp chemise. The second thing he noticed was the strange expression on her face, as if she had just woken up and had no idea what had happened while she slumbered.
Seeing him sitting at the table, she closed the door and approached, but stopped a few paces away from him. Her long hair dripped water onto the floor.
“Where were you?” he asked. He sounded angry, but only because he was deeply afraid.
Sidra opened her mouth. Nothing but breath emerged. She was trembling; the sight made Torin ache. He could also see the bruises beginning to bloom on her chest, from where she had been kicked.
His hands curled into fists beneath the table.
“Sidra.”
“I was looking for Maisie,” she said, her gaze dropping to her feet.
He stared at her, wondering what she was withholding from him.