Jack stood silent for a moment, overcome.
A smile teased Torin’s mouth. “You expected me to oppose you?”
“Yes,” Jack confessed. “I know it seems that I’m abandoning the clan and my duties.”
“Don’t worry about what others are going to think. But I suppose I should ask you how and when you plan to depart.”
“I’ll go by river,” Jack replied. “As soon as I can.”
“Meaning today?”
“Most likely.”
“Eager, are we?” Torin countered.
“I’ve been away from her long enough, I think,” Jack said.
Torin held his gaze for a beat, but nodded. “I sense there’s nothing I can say to hold you back. Not even how foolish this is, to cross over without alerting Adaira.”
“My correspondence with her has been closely monitored. Nothing I write to her is private.”
“Yes, Sidra told me,” Torin said. “And you still think it wise to take Adi by surprise with your arrival?”
“I’ve written her a letter in code,” Jack said. “I think she’ll be able to read between the lines and know I’m coming to her.”
“You’ll leave it all to that chance then?” Torin crossed his arms. “What if Adaira doesn’t get your letter, or your ‘code’ is so subtle she doesn’t realize it means you are physically coming to her? What then?”
“Then she’ll be surprised to see me,” Jack said. Before Torin could retort, he added, “And I’d like for you to write a letter of my intent. I’ll carry it with me in case I do run into trouble.”
Torin frowned, but he reached for a piece of parchment on the desk and began to write a—lamentably—crooked message. He let Jack read it. The letter was succinct yet practical, stating that Jack had arrived in the west to reunite with his wife, Adaira, and bore no ill will toward the Breccan clan.
“Good,” Jack said. “Can you seal it for me?”
Torin seemed a bit annoyed, but he heeded Jack’s request, sealing the letter in wax with his signet ring.
“Anything else I can do for you, Bard?” Torin drawled.
Jack shook his head, but then caught himself. “Will you keep an eye on my mum and sister while I’m away? They’ve managed just fine without me the past eight years or so, but I’ll be worried about them regardless. I don’t know how long I’ll be away.”
Torin’s mood turned somber. “Don’t worry. Mirin and Frae will be looked after. And I want you to write to me, as soon as you reach Adaira in the west, so none of us worry about you.” He paused, as if he wanted to say more.
“I’ll send word.”
Torin remained quiet, pensive.
“What is it?” Jack prompted, his patience beginning to wane.
“You know that you don’t just need my permission to leave,” said Torin.
Yes, Jack knew. He sighed.
He still needed to speak with Mirin.
He found his mother at home, the croft habitable once more now that the fire had returned to the hearth. Mirin stood at her loom, weaving. The cottage was quiet, the air full of spinning dust motes and the golden scents of parritch and warm honey. Frae was gone for the day at the school in Sloane.
“Don’t tell me another cow has gotten into the garden,” Mirin said, her attention focused on her work.
“No,” Jack said. “I’ve come to ask you about my father.”
Mirin’s fingers froze, but her eyes darted across the chamber to meet his. He thought she might brush away his questions; she had done so for years when he was a boy, when he had been desperate to know who his father was and why he was absent. But Mirin must have seen the determination in his stance and his distant gaze, as if he were halfway to the west.
She rarely stepped away from her work, but now she left the loom. “Sit down, Jack,” she said, busying her hands with preparing a pot of tea.
Jack sat at the table, patiently watching her. She poured them each a cup before taking the chair across from his, and he noticed she looked pale and exhausted. It was all those enchanted plaids she wove, and he resisted the temptation to glance at the loom.
“What do you want to know?” Mirin asked.
“What his name is to begin with.”
She hesitated, but her voice was clear when she spoke. “Niall. Niall Breccan. He took the clan name when he was appointed Keeper of the Aithwood, as a measure of his fealty.”
Jack thought about that for a moment, mulling over his father’s name. Niall Breccan. “And you said he lives upstream, not far from you?”