Niall winced and shut his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. But as you’ll soon learn, I am not a good man.”
“You don’t have to be a ‘good’ man,” Jack said. “You simply need to be an honest one.”
His father looked at him again. His eyes were a bloodshot blue, like the summer sky at sunset, and filled with remorse.
“Very well,” Niall said. “Then let me speak honestly to you. I’ve stolen. I’ve lied. I’ve killed. I’m a coward. I left your mother to raise you and your sister alone. I let her go. I let you go. I let Frae go. I am unworthy of what you hope for me, because I never fought for your mother and you and your sister when I should have.”
“Then fight for us now!” Jack replied sharply. He pounded his chest with his fist, felt the beat move through him. “Let our names be the sword in your hand. Let us be your shield and your armor. Fight for us tonight. Because over the clan line, in the shadows of the Aithwood, my mother still waits for you, weaving your story on her loom. My sister longs for you as I once did, wondering where you are and hoping you will one day knock on the door and proudly claim her. And I would love nothing more than to bore you with mainland stories day after day and sing for you until your guilt sheds like old skin and you choose the life you want, not the one you think you deserve.”
Niall was silent, but tears had gathered in his eyes. “It’s too late for that,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.
“Is it?” Jack countered. “Because I’m here now.”
Niall held his stare a beat longer before turning away.
Jack couldn’t move—he couldn’t breathe—as he watched Niall open the door and politely ask the guards to take him back to the dungeons.
The shackles were latched around his wrists as the door closed.
Alone, Jack gasped and let down his guard, bowing over in pain. He let his mind dig a trench for his thoughts to pace, around and around.
Did I say too much? Did I not say enough?
He would have to wait for the midnight bell to truly know.
On her walk home that afternoon, Frae finally roused her courage to ask Ella the question that had been hounding her like a shadow.
“What if my da is a Breccan?” Frae kicked a pebble on the road, keeping her eyes on the ground. “Would you still want to walk me home?”
Ella was quiet for a moment, but maybe only because the question had taken her by surprise.
Frae snuck a glance at her. For the past several days, Ella had walked her home from school and the boys had not bothered her again. But there were still whispers and pointed glances. A few times during classes, no one had wanted to partner up with Frae.
“If your da is a Breccan,” Ella began to say, “then yes, I’d still walk you home, and I’d still be your friend, Frae. Do you want to know why?”
Frae nodded, but she could feel her face flush, her relief knotted with shame that she even had to ask this question when no other children she knew did.
“Because your heart is good and brave and kind,” Ella said. “You are thoughtful and smart. And those are the people who I want to be friends with. Not the ones who think they are above everyone else. Who scowl and judge things they don’t understand and throw mud and have cowardly hearts.”
Frae soaked in Ella’s words, which were as warm and soft as a plaid, and she suddenly could walk faster, her chin held higher.
“And,” Ella added with a mischievous smile, “you make the best berry pies.”
Frae giggled. “You could come over tomorrow after school. I’ll show you how to make one.”
“I’d love that.”
They talked about other things, and Frae was shocked by how soon Mirin’s cottage came into view. Getting home had seemed to take no time at all. She waved goodbye to Ella and walked the path through the tall grass and clusters of wildflowers and bog myrtle.
Mirin was waiting for her at the gate, as usual. But this time she had a letter in her hand.
“Your brother has written us,” she said, touching Frae’s hair in greeting. “Come, let’s read it together.”
Frae bounded inside, throwing down her satchel of books. She jumped onto the divan and sat, knees pulled up to her chest, as she waited for Mirin to join her.
“Boots off the cushion, Frae,” Mirin gently chided, and Frae instantly let her feet fall back to the floor. “Would you like to read it, or should I?”
Frae thought for a moment. “You can read it, Mum.”
Mirin smiled and sat beside her. Frae watched, chewing on a hangnail as her mother broke the seal on the parchment and unfolded it to reveal Jack’s handwriting.