“Lower your arrows,” Torin commanded the guards. “Return to the castle barracks and stay there until you receive further instructions.”
The guards looked pale and astonished, but they heeded the laird instantly. They returned the arrows to the quivers on their backs and departed in a cloud of dust.
Frae shuddered in relief, unwinding her arms from Niall. She stared at Torin, surprised by the dark smudges on his face and garments; he looked like he had been in a chimney. Sidra was at his side, also bearing cinder marks. Frae’s hope lifted until Mirin spoke.
“Laird, Lady. I ask that you please allow this man to remain here with me, safely. He is no threat to the clan.”
“He is Niall Breccan, I take it?” Torin said, his gaze flickering from Mirin to Niall. “Could we come inside and have a word with all of you?”
Frae wondered if that was a good sign or a bad one. Would Torin and Sidra listen to them? She let Niall take her hand, and they followed the laird and the healer into the cottage.
Elspeth must have heard the conversation through the window; she had prepared a spread of tea and refreshments at the kitchen table, and everyone gathered there, the silence tense until Sidra broke it.
“We’ve just come from your cottage in the Aithwood, Niall.”
Frae looked at her father. He raked his fingers through his hair, and he seemed nervous. “It survived the fire?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a relief to hear.”
Torin said, “We wanted to know if you had plans to return there.”
“To my house?” Niall paused, but his eyes went to Mirin. “I had hoped to stay here with Mirin and Frae, along with my mother, Elspeth.”
Frae bit her nails, tasting dirt from the garden. This was it. The moment when she discovered if her father would be allowed to stay with them or not.
“Of course you can stay here,” Torin said, lifting his hand. “This is your family, and you belong with them. But we wanted to ask if we could use your cottage in the woods.”
“Use it?” Niall asked. “What for?”
“We want to establish a trade there,” Sidra replied. “A place for Breccans and Tamerlaines to meet and exchange goods, as well as share meals and stories. A place where peace may be forged.”
Niall was silent for a few breaths. But the color had returned to his face, and a smile curved his lips. “I would like that. You’re welcome to use it however you think best.”
“Thank you,” Torin said, taking a sip of the tea Elspeth had poured. He pursed his lips, and Frae worried that maybe the tea tasted terrible. But then the laird said, “There’s something else we need to discuss.”
Frae leaned forward, waiting. When Torin still hesitated, Sidra cleared her throat. “A portion of the clan line has lost its curse,” she said. “In the place where the Aithwood burned, where Jack sang.”
“Jack?” Frae cried, hopeful. “Will he come home soon?”
Now Sidra hesitated. Mirin grasped Frae’s hand and held it tightly. Frae glanced from her mother to the healer, her heart beginning to pound.
“Where is my brother?” she asked. “Is he with Adaira?”
“I’m afraid that something happened when your brother sang for the spirits, Frae,” Sidra said. “I’m sure you noticed that part of the Aithwood is burned?”
Frae nodded. Of course she had. It was one of the first things she had taken note of when she emerged from the cottage after the storm. Sometimes she could still smell the smoke when the wind blew from the west.
“Did Jack get hurt?” she whispered.
“No,” Sidra replied. “But he went to be with the spirits.”
“What do you mean?”
The adults were quiet, but all of them seemed grave and uncomfortable. Frae’s gaze touched each of their faces, and her heart only beat faster, making her stomach ache.
“Do you mean he won’t be coming back?” she asked.
“No, darling,” Mirin murmured, reaching out to caress Frae’s hair. “But he—”
“He promised me,” Frae hissed. Again, that anger was boiling through her. Anger and something else. It tasted like salt and blood, and she lurched up from the table, yanking her fingers from Mirin’s. “He said he would come back soon. He promised me that he would!”
“Frae . . .” Mirin was saying, reaching for her.
A sob broke in Frae’s chest. She turned and bolted, embarrassed to be crying in front of Torin and Sidra and Niall and Elspeth. She slipped out the back door and ran through the garden, catching herself on the gate. She could hardly see; the tears blurred everything. Eventually she clambered over the low stone wall and stormed down the hill to where the river had been.