Page 34 of The Shape of Silence

“I don’t know,” she replied hastily, her annoyance evident. “I left the stirrups,” she then recalled, “and whatever else might have been pinned beneath him.”

He nodded, watching her. “We should see to it. Ye can lead me to the horse after ye check yer snares. ’Tis wasteful to abandon guid iron,” he said, appealing to her sense of thrift. He had seen enough beneath her roof to know how she lived. Nothing lay idle without purpose. He’d noticed a cracked bowl had been mended with pitch rather than cast aside, and that there was a bundle of tied bits of cord, too short for snares but kept for some future purpose. Ash from the hearth found use in scrubbing and even the smallest scraps of cloth were folded and saved. She did not discard what might yet serve.

“Fine,” she said and showed him her back once more, leaving him to follow.

He did so, but at a distance, intending to give her some space for a time. He’d been pleased to discover that he moved easier today; he’d fetched and hauled water from the creek, had bent and laced his boots, had even contorted himself in some fashion to change the dressing on his thigh, wrapping it securely around his leg, and hadn’t felt a pinch even half as sharp as the last few days. And while he wasn’t sure if the sewn gash in his leg ached less today or if he’d only gotten used to it, he felt better overall and was pleased for the progress. A wounded and weak man made for a fine victim.

Ideally, he’d like another day or two to recover even more strength, but knew he needed to get word as quickly as possible to any Scots’ patriot about the large force that had walked by him and Avery less than twelve hours ago. He had some idea that he would travel first in the direction of the fight from which he’d escaped, hoping his army might still be about in some fashion. Often enough, when men were lost in such a struggle—and chaotic retreat as they’d known three days ago—a few men were left to prowl the area until all possible hope was lost of finding them. Failing that, Morggán supposed he would have no choice but to head north, seeking friendly territory. He’d already decided that Alaric MacKinlay’s keep would be closest in any northern route. He could rest a spell there and get word out about that English company.

Avery saw now to her traps, one after another, collecting only one rabbit and oddly enough, a squirrel as well. Squirrels were quicker and more watchful than rabbits and seldom blundered into plain loops as she’d set along the runs.

When she’d reset the last snare, she led him along the narrow path that curved along the rise, toward his fallen horse. They hadn’t spoken since they’d set off. The forest was open in this stretch, light filtering down in pale ribbons that caught in her hair and along the edge of her shoulder.

“Ye might have left me,” he said now, the thought having just arrived. “That first day.”

A long moment passed before she confessed without hesitation, “I thought about it.” Her tone was only marginally less brisk than it had been earlier.

“Aye,” he said. “But why did ye nae leave me? Why nae pretend ye saw naught and turn about?”

She kept her eyes upon the path ahead. “I don’t know.” A long pause followed until she said—with resignation, as if she had decided she might as well have the conversation and get it done. “I guess I was too stunned. Like I said, I’ve never seen another person, aside from the man.”

He studied her profile as she spoke. There was truth in it, he supposed, but perhaps not the whole of it.

“But ye thought about it? Leaving me?”

“I did.”

“And what leant ye toward returning?”

She exhaled through her nose. “I... maybe the idea of someone dying when I might have helped bothered me.”

“And now ye regret it?”

She did and she didn’t, was his guess, and for reasons she’d given to him earlier. But mayhap she didn’t want to be rude again, and so she said, “No.”

But then she winced a bit, just barely, as if she immediately felt bad that her voice and tone suggested otherwise. She didn’t fix it, though, didn’t bother elaborating.

“Then I am in yer debt.”

She didn’t turn to look at him, but stopped and pointed ahead, to where lay his dead horse. “I didn’t do it to collect a debt at some point.”

“All the same...” he said and let it trail off as he limped over to his steed.

The horse lay where it had fallen, the earth around it flattened and darkened. Five or six days had passed, and time had begun its quiet work. The hide had tightened in places, the belly swollen slightly, the air around it sour and unmistakable. Flies lifted in a brief cloud when he approached and settled again just as quickly.

He did not linger over sentiment.

He crouched with care and drew the stirrups free from where they had been trapped beneath the animal’s weight, the leather stiff but salvageable. He unbuckled the remaining strap still looped awkwardly along the saddle tree and freed a small pouch wedged beneath the steed’s flank, one he had not realized remained. It held dried grain for the horse and a whetstone wrapped in cloth. Neither should be wasted.

He straightened slowly, the foul odor clinging to him.

Avery had turned and was already walking back by the time he reached her.

“So ye were with yer kin,” he said after several quiet steps, returning to what she had spoken of earlier, “and ye dinna ken what happened, and then ye were here?”

“Yes.”

“And ye recall naught between?”