“You’re wrong,” she said, though her voice was quieter now. “I have to believe there’s still good in people, Cormac. If I stop believing that, what’s left?”
Cormac studied her face. “You always think you can fix things,” he said. “And maybe you can. I just wish it didn’t have to cost you.”
She looked at him, her eyes bright. “I’ll miss you.”
He hesitated, then reached for her hand. His palm was rough and warm against hers. “I’d do anything you asked of me, Aoife. Anything.”
She knew he was thinking again about running away.
“I’ll be fine.” She said.
“You’d better be,” he said, trying for a smile and almost managing it. “Because if you’re not, I won’t have any choice but to come get you.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’d expect no less.”
They sat in silence after that, watching the fields fade into darkness. Neither spoke again of Halverton or the future waiting beyond the trees.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Lord Halverton’s coach arrived to collect her. Aoife had packed a small bag with her most precious things: a few of her mother’s books, the pine marten her grandfather had carved when she was a baby, her one spare set of clothes, and select herbs and tinctures for healing. Cormac’s bracelet sat snug around her wrist.
A rap at the door. Aoife’s father opened it to a young soldier with golden eyes. Behind him stood another, older figure, his face turned away, watching the street instead of her. The braiding at his shoulder marked him as a man of rank.
Behind them, Lord Halverton’s coach. The door never opened, but she knew he was inside.
Aoife gathered her siblings close. “I have to go away for a bit,” she told them. “I’ll write when I can.”
They didn’t understand. “When will you be back?”
Aoife swallowed hard. She couldn’t promise anything. Couldn’t even answer. So she pulled them both in, and they clung to her. Tears wet her shoulder. Her father stood behind them, silent. As she rose, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a brief, fierce hug.
“I want you to have this,” she said, holding the dagger her father had made out to Eoin. His eyes went wide.
Maire’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you dying?”
“What? No.”
“Then why aren’t you taking it with you?” Eoin asked accusingly.
“I don’t think I’ll be allowed it. That’s all,” she assured them. “You’ll put it to good use, right?”
Eoin nodded.
Her father gestured for her to join him in the corner. “His lordship is going to expect you to be polite and dutiful. You remember your place and things will go a lot more smoothly for you.”
Aoife had spent her life watching her father capitulate to men like Lord Halverton. Men who would order a sabre and on collection insist they had requested a straight-bladed sword. Men who would require metal work completed in half the time it ought to take. Men who expected to get their own way and never to hear a word to the contrary. Her father had perfected the art of dealing with lords.
“I will,” she said.
Her father pulled her in, wrapping her up in a fierce hug. A few times she thought he might say something, but he didn’t. When they pulled apart, he looked her in the eyes and nodded before walking away. She didn’t need his words.
When she stepped outside, half the village was there, watching the coach at her door. She searched for Cormac but didn’t see him. She wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed.
The older soldier moved forward to take her bag. She recognised him at once: the grey-eyed man who had stood watching when the soldiers cleared the square two days before.
As he fell into step beside her, she asked, “What’s your name?”
He looked startled. “Wiren.”
