Page 103 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“Thomas!” he yells over his shoulder. “See! I wasn't lying, there really are Dìdeanair here!” An older boy, maybe ten, runs up behind him, eyes wide.

“Aye, there are,” Garrick says, ducking his head in a bow. The boy kicks his heels together, doing the same. The woman I assumed to be their mother rushes up behind them, using a hand towel to usher them away from the door.

“All right, give them space,” she says. The boys scramble away, and she lets out a huff. “Children, eh? Now, how can I help you two fine men?” she asks. “Are you hungry?”

“Well, since you mentioned it—” I interrupt Garrick’s sentence with a jab to the ribs.

The woman seems nervous, but no more so than would be reasonable when a soldier unexpectedly shows up at your door, let alone two.

“We've been sent by the Cutter," I say, skipping straight to the point. I want to get this over with and get back to my family. “It seems her sister believes there may be some who reside here who are part of ceatharnaich groups.”

The woman’s eyes open wide, and she stiffens. “Here? Why, that's absurd,” she says, placing a trembling hand over her heart. Her fear seems real, and not because she's hiding something. There’s truth to her words, and she’s afraid of being falsely accused. Or at least, I hope.

Garrick nods to me in agreement, and I let out a breath.

“Thank you for your time," I say, bowing. We continue on in the same fashion, going door to door, and the woman’s shock and worry ring true. At every house, I breathe a little easier. These people seem truly shocked by the accusation, and my intuition tells me to believe them. Maybe we’ll escape this day unscathed, without having to dispatch of any traitors.

I knock on the final door, and it opens immediately, as if the residents inside have been waiting. A man and his wife stand together, holding hands.

“How can we help you?” the man asks.

“We've been sent by the Cutter to discern if there are any rebel groups residing here,” Garrick says, meeting his eyes. “Do you know of any?” Both the man and woman shake their heads.

“No. I've not even heard of rumblings. Not a single word.” I hold my breath for a long moment, wishing I still had my dàn of truth, and Garrick smiles.

“Thank you for your time,” Garrick says, and my shoulders fall in relief. Just as we turn, a young man steps out from the back, stiffening when he sees us. His eyes go wide, but that’s not what catches my attention. It's the anger that floods his face the moment he sees us. The hatred in his eyes as he takes in our uniforms. He grits his teeth, his hands clenching into fists.

Garrick doesn't seem to miss it, either, his hand subtly shifting toward his sword, and I hold my breath. The boy is young, maybe sixteen. Likely too wee to be formally involved with any ceatharnaich, and despite my duty, I find I dinnae want to question him. Not when dread is coiling like a snake in my stomach. Have I not committed treason myself by questioning the Cutter? By not reporting Harold’s journal?

Why should this boy be punished for his thoughts, if I havenae been? My heart rate picks up.

I study my friend out of the corner of my eye, watching as he appraises the boy from head to toe, and I hold my breath.

“Right then,” Garrick says, lowering his hand. “Thank you for your time.”

His shoulders are stiff as he turns, leading us back to our horses. My head spins as I follow behind him, remaining silent. What just happened? Had he, like me, been unable to fathom questioning the young man and finding him guilty? He’s only begun to experience life.

At least for today, the boy will live. I just have to hope he’s not the match that will one day ignite a rebellion that will burn this kingdom to the ground.

45

BRENNEN

“Och, I’m glad that’s over with,” Garrick says, rolling the tension from his shoulders as we leave Iomallrùin. “Though someone could have invited us in for a dram after our long journey to protect their village, don’t you think? And why didnae you let them feed us? We’ve eaten nothing but cheese and apples since we left the castle.”

“You think anyone actually wanted us in their homes? Wearing these?” I ask, gesturing to our uniforms.

Garrick puffs out his chest. “Aye. Have you seen my muscles?” he asks, flexing his biceps. “The lasses love a man in uniform.”

I laugh. “Not when the man in said uniform is there to figure out if they’re a traitor or not.”

He waves me off. “I knew we wouldn’t find any,” he says, and I once again wonder if he missed the young man or turned a blind eye. I almost ask him, but stop myself. He’s here to act as Cailleach’s ears.

Though, is it possible I can trust him? I’ve known Garrick for a verra long time, and he is a good man. An honorable soldier, even if he likes to pretend he doesnae care about anything other than booze and women. If he chose not to question the boy, I could confide in him. I consider it for a long moment, deciding I cannae risk it, but I find that even though I cannae speak freely, I’m glad he is the soldier riding alongside me.

It’s the only reason I do not break completely from my fear of Cailleach’s threat. Fear for my family.

For Bea.