The merchant held up a selection from a small, linen-lined crate. “I can offer a selection of tarts with gooseberries or wild strawberries, and I have two tarts with cherries left.”
Ailith said, “We’ll have two of each.” She handed him the coin while his partner packaged the items in a small, cloth-lined tote. Each one was large enough to feed four people.
Edan leaned close, close enough that Ailith felt the heat of him at her back, her pulse quickening despite her resolve not to retreat. She liked being this near him, liked the quiet strength he carried. Roger claimed a small package for himself while Edan lifted the tote, and they turned back toward the horses.
They had not gone far when the same woman hurried after them, colliding with Ailith and Sylvi hard enough to nearly send them sprawling. Ailith cried out, but Edan was instantly there, solid and unyielding behind her. His arm came around her without hesitation, firm and sure, anchoring her in place. The contact sent a rush of warmth along her arm, settling her nerves even as her heart raced. Roger caught Sylvi, and together they faced the woman.
Her voice trembled as she clutched at Ailith’s and Sylvi’s mantles. “I know you are not from Islay. You must be the ones who have come to help. Please, save them. Please. They are held where the old stones sleep by the western water. My granddaughter. All eight of those sweet bairns. The faeries have them. I am certain of it.”
Edan gently but firmly disengaged the woman’s hands and stepped forward, placing himself between her and the lasses. The movement was instinctive, protective. Watching him, Ailith felt a surge of gratitude and something deeper, something that warmed her from within.
“Here now,” he said evenly. “Leave them be. They are visitors. They know nothing of what you claim.”
She whirled to face him. “And you, step away. They can save them. Someone has to!”
The woman’s weathered face came closer to Sylvi. “You must!”
A younger woman grabbed her from behind. “Mama, leave them be. They know not where our sweet Lizzie is.”
Edan put his arm around Ailith, a gesture both protective and intimately comforting, and picked up the tote, ushering her toward the horses.
Ailith leaned into him, her cheek brushing his tunic, finding solace in the solid wall of his chest.
Roger and Sylvi were right behind them. Sylvi whispered, “I could feel her thoughts. Lizzie is four summers, with brown hair. She’s been missing for six moons.”
Edan said, “You don’t know that.”
Sylvi whispered, “Actually, I do. Where are the old stones near the western water?”
Edan sighed. “A quarter day from here. You won’t want to travel there in the dark.”
“Is she right?” Ailith asked in a hushed tone. “Are there eight missing?”
“Tavish MacKay told me they’d lost three that he knew of, so she could be correct,” Edan replied. “If they’ve lost eight and MacKay’s lost three, that would be three and ten.” Ailith realized he was including his daughter and Milo in that count, though she didn’t mention it.
He stared straight ahead, his face haunted by all he’d heard in the last few days. Ailith met his gaze, a silent promise in her eyes, and squeezed his hand, saying, “Forget about it for now. We’ll consider it on the morrow. Lia will come and we’ll know what to do.”
Edan’s gaze locked on hers. “I hope you’re right. I’m exhausted from all this guessing and wondering and missing my lass. We’ll leave you at the crossing, but I’ll return early on the morrow.”
Ailith stepped toward her horse, her father helping her to mount, while Edan settled the tote in the cart. She and Sylvi were riding together as they had only a few horses. Her uncle had bought a mare to take as a gift to Morgan.
All were silent as they approached the crossing.
Cormac said, “We’re nearly there, and the clouds look favorable. I prefer not to arrive long after the sun goes down. Plenty of deer. Red deer are the most plentiful if you have any hunters.”
Derric said, “Diamond, you have to get us a deer on the morrow.”
Edan rode his horse close to Ailith. “Do you have archers?”
“Aye,” she replied, tipping her head toward Dyna. “She’s one of the finest.”
“A lass who is an archer?” He stared at his brother before looking back at her. “What else is strange about your clan?”
Ailith shrugged, but Tora overheard and snapped, “Naught. We’re hard-working and intelligent, lads and lasses.”
“I meant no offense, lass. We live on Islay and see little beyond our own isle.”
“Mountains?” Connor asked, interrupting—Ailith guessed—on purpose.
