Page 30 of No Place in Time

“I’m going back to Marrowden to get more work,” he whispered to her as she slept. “I won’t be long.”

Finn let his gaze linger on Cecily’s upturned face for a moment, her closed eyes, then he bent, kissed her lightly on her cheek, and left.

18

CECILY

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Finn was gone when she woke. For a moment she lay still, listening for his breathing in the dark corner of the shed. She heard only the wind battering the boards and a soft drip somewhere near the roofline.

Before he left, he had bent toward her sleeping face and kissed her gently on the cheek. Or had she dreamed it? She put a hand to her cheek. She wanted to believe it had happened.

She opened her eyes and stared at the slanted ceiling. The pine needles Finn had spread beneath her crackled when she shifted. Then pain drove up her forearm like a spike, sudden enough to make her dizzy. Her arm throbbed in time with her heartbeat. The skin around the wound felt stretched too tight. She flexed her fingers, but the pain made her stop.

Finn had left food. A heel of bread wrapped in cloth, and a strip of dried meat, tough as leather. Beside it sat a small wooden cup with a little water left in the bottom, glazed with ice.

Cecily sat up slowly. The sling held her arm against her chest. The cloth rubbed the swollen skin and made her wince. She adjusted the knot with her good hand, more carefully this time.

The knife lay beside her, where Finn had placed it.

There was snow outside, thin patches in the shade of the trees. She went to the doorway and crouched, scooping a handful into her mouth. It helped take the edge off her thirst.

When she straightened, the world swayed slightly. She steadied herself with her good hand against the doorframe and waited until the unsteadiness passed.

She listened: a branch crack, the rustle of something small in the undergrowth, wind moving through the bare tree branches.

The sun was high by the time she stood, casting thin strips of light through the walls. She took a few steps, testing her legs, and stirred the dead embers of the morning’s fire. Her legs felt unsteady, and her arm throbbed with each movement.

She went to the doorway and looked out. The shed sat at the edge of an old field, half reclaimed by brush.. From where she stood, she could see patches of brown grass and brambles tangled low to the ground.

If she stayed inside and did nothing, she would be safe, or at least safer. If she went out, she might find food.

She picked up the knife and slid it into the fold of her dress at her waist, where her hand could reach it quickly. It felt awkward, but it made her breathe a little easier.

“I’ll be quick,” she said aloud, as if Finn could hear her.

She wrapped the thin blanket Finn had purchased around her shoulders and stepped out into the cold. The air burned her cheeks. She moved slowly along the edge of the field, keeping the shed behind her and to the right, always in sight.

She remembered what Finn had done the day before, turning over logs, scraping away soil. She tried the same, but it was harder with one arm. She knelt, braced herself with her good hand, and pried at a fallen branch. It rolled over, revealing nothing but damp ground.

She moved on, trying another spot. Her knees sank into the wet grass. The cold seeped through her dress. When she leaned forward, pain flared in her arm and made her grit her teeth.

Just a little longer, she thought, as if speaking to Finn. I’ll be careful. The thought helped steady her hands.

She found a handful of nuts under leaves near the base of a tree, small and damp but edible. She gathered them with her good hand. It felt like a victory. Then she stood and turned back toward the shed.

That was when she saw the man.

He was not close at first. He stood near the far side of the field, where the brush thickened. He swayed slightly, as if the ground beneath him were unsteady. She might have missed him if he hadn’t moved.

Cecily froze.

He was tall and thin, wrapped in a tattered cloak that hung off one shoulder. His hair was matted, and his beard was untrimmed. When the wind shifted, the smell reached her, sour ale and old sweat.

He looked at her and smiled.

“Ho there,” he called, his words thick and raspy.