They stopped before a narrow shop with a painted wooden sign swinging above the door. Inside, the air smelled of lavender and dye, bolts of cloth lining the walls in neat rows. Baskets of ribbon spilled across a long table, colors ranging from soft cream to deep heather purple.
Eva’s eyes widened. “Saints preserve us,” she murmured, “it’s like a rainbow’s burst inside.”
Amelie laughed and reached for a coil of pale blue ribbon. “This would suit ye fine,” she said, holding it against Eva’s sleeve.
Eva shook her head, smiling. “It’s bonnie, aye, but I was thinkin’ somethin’ warmer, maybe green, like the hills.”
Neal lingered outside the door.
Eva lifted a length of soft green ribbon, running it through her fingers.
“Jason will like this one for tyin’ the bundle of rocks he collects,” she said thoughtfully.
Amelie leaned closer. “Ye spoil that wee brother of yers,” she teased.
Eva’s smile softened. “He’s had little enough joy, if ribbon and tarts make him grin, I’ll buy the whole shop.”
The shopkeeper wrapped the ribbon carefully as Eva counted out the coins.
“Weddin’ soon, is it?” the woman asked kindly.
Eva felt a flutter in her chest but nodded. “Aye, soon enough, God willin’.” She took the parcel, feeling as though it held more than ribbon alone.
Eva stepped out of the shop with the ribbon tucked beneath her arm, the sunlight warm upon her face.
“Looks like Neal has company,” Amelie teased.
Eva looked toward the well and saw Neal speaking with a young maid with rosy cheeks.
Eva paused mid-step, her brow furrowing as a sound reached her ears. It was thin and broken, carried on the breeze like a wounded bird’s call.
“Amelie,” Eva said softly, “do ye hear that, ’tis a child cryin’.”
Amelie stilled beside her, listening as the sound came again, sharper now.
“Aye,” she said, unease slipping into her voice, “I hear it plain.”
Eva turned toward the narrow space between two cottages, the cry tugging hard at her chest. “We cannae ignore that,” Eva said, already moving, “it might be hurt.”
They followed the sound behind the cottages, the stones damp and mossy beneath their shoes. The village noises faded, replaced by the close hush of laundry lines and stacked firewood.
“Miss, we should fetch Neal,” Amelie whispered, her hand brushing Eva’s sleeve.
Eva shook her head. “Nay, it’ll only take a moment, just a bairn needin’ help. This is me village after all. I've always wandered its paths alone.”
The crying seemed closer now, then abruptly cut off. Eva slowed, her heart beginning to hammer, a prickle crawling up her spine.
“Anyone there?” she called, her voice trembling despite herself.
Amelie stepped nearer. “This feels wrong,” she murmured, fear plain in her eyes.
A shadow shifted, then another, and suddenly men stepped from behind the cottages like ghosts from stone. One man in particular moved toward her. His black hair dusted with grey at his sixty years of age.
“Who are ye? What do ye want?” Eva's voice shook.
“The name's Jack Welsh, and I want ye, lass,” the man said.
Jack’s guards closed in, steel flashing as they moved.
