“Do you hear that?” she said, whirling to where her cottage smoldered in a heap.
“It’s just the wind, my love,” Hendry Elliott said. He sounded desperate to get her away from the fire and the clan line. “Let’s get you up on the horse now.”
“No, it’s Eliza,” Grace insisted, pushing away from her husband. “Eliza! Eliza!”
The hair rose on Jack’s arms as he watched Grace Elliott stride through the grass, screaming for her missing daughter.
Hendry trailed her, tearing his hands through his hair. “Grace, please. Stop this.”
“Don’t you hear her, Hendry? She’s calling for us!”
Jack listened. He took a step closer to the ruins. “Wait!” he said. “I hear it too.”
Their party fell painfully silent. The wind was gusting, and the fire was still crackling, but there was a small voice, calling in the distance.
Shouts rose. The watchmen had now heard it, or perhaps had seen something.
Grace and Hendry broke into a frantic run to their demolished home. Jack was behind them, the Elliott brothers and the guards in his wake. They darted through the ruins, emerging on the other side of the yard, facing the dark, looming southern sky.
Through the languid dance of smoke, Jack could discern a little girl hurrying down a hill. She was coming from the very trail he and Torin had taken to reach the Elliotts’ croft. The direction of Mirin’s lands. Her brown hair was braided with ribbons, her dress was clean and immaculate, and yet her face was crumpled with emotion as she saw her parents.
“Eliza!” Grace shouted, sweeping the girl into her arms.
Hendry and the two brothers gathered around her, until Jack could no longer see the lass. But he felt the weeping, the joy, the wonder as the family was reunited.
Slowly, he sank to his knees, overcome with the bewildering realization.
A missing girl had been found.
Eliza Elliott had come home on the heels of a raid.
PART THREE
A Song for Wind
CHAPTER 18
Sidra was in a dreamless sleep when she felt Graeme’s hand on her shoulder.
“Sidra, lass. Adaira is here for you.”
She roused in an instant, blinking as she sat upright. Graeme had given her his bed in the corner, while he had been sleeping on a pallet before the fire. Carefully, Sidra walked around the cluttered table to find Adaira standing on the threshold.
Instantly, Sidra knew something was wrong. Adaira’s face was pale and lined with worry.
“What’s happened?” Sidra asked in a wavering voice.
“I need your help at the castle today,” Adaira said. “Get dressed and meet me in the yard. Bring your herbs.”
Sidra nodded, rushing to don her clothes behind the wooden dressing panel. She drew on the same skirt and bodice she had worn the day before, and she noticed her hands were trembling as she knotted her boots.
“Here, lass,” Graeme said on her way out, handing her an oatcake wrapped in cloth as well as her basket of healing supplies. “If you stay at the castle tonight, send word and let me know.”
“I will, Da,” Sidra agreed, thanking him for the breakfast as she walked out the door.
Adaira and two of her guards were waiting on the road, mounted on horses. Sidra approached Adaira and hauled herself up into the saddle behind her. It was awkward with her basket, but Sidra held it close to her side, her other arm wrapping around Adaira’s slender waist.
“What’s happened?” she asked again. Her first thought was that Adaira’s father was about to die, and Sidra sought to prepare herself for that moment.
“I’ll tell you when we reach Sloane,” Adaira replied, urging her horse onward.
The ride to the city felt unbearably long. Sidra’s mind was laden with worry when they reached the courtyard. Adaira helped her down to the cobblestones, and she helplessly looked for Torin. There was no sign of him as Sidra followed Adaira into the hall and down winding corridors, eventually coming to a small private chamber where they could talk.
Sidra stood in a slant of morning light, watching as Adaira poured them each a knuckle of whiskey.
“What’s this about, Adi?” she asked, warily accepting the glass.
“Drink,” Adaira replied. “You’re going to need it.”
Sidra didn’t often partake of whiskey, but she tossed back the burning liquid. Her sight felt sharper, her hearing keener as she swallowed. She winced and set her gaze on Adaira, expectant.
Adaira held her stare, her blue eyes bloodshot. “Eliza Elliott was found early this morning.”
Sidra startled. It felt like the ground quaked beneath her feet as she whispered, “Where?”
She listened as Adaira told her of the raid, the burning croft, and Eliza’s miraculous return. She paced the small chamber, overwhelmed and full of questions that wanted to burst out of her.
“I think the lasses are in the west, Sidra,” Adaira finally concluded. “I think the Breccans have somehow figured out a way to cross the clan line without Torin’s knowledge, and they have been stealing our girls, one by one.”
Sidra halted. The thought of Maisie being held in the west turned her blood to ice. But it made sense, as if the last piece of a puzzle had snapped into place. “It’s why we can’t find the lasses here in the east, isn’t it? They’ve been with the Breccans the entire time.”
Adaira nodded. “And I think the Breccans are harnessing the power of the Orenna flower to accomplish this. Perhaps the flower grants them the ability to cross over undetected.”
Sidra rubbed the ache in her brow. “You still have the flower I gave you?”
“Yes, although I am afraid to consume it and test this theory, as it is the only one we have and my presumption could be false.”
“What does Torin think?”
Adaira hesitated a beat. “I’m not sure yet. But he did mention something odd to Jack during the raid. Torin felt only five Breccans crossing the clan line, but Jack counted twice as many, riding past the valley by Mirin’s croft. It’s apparent that they have some secret way of crossing over now. Five of them drew the watchmen, the guard, and Torin to the Elliotts’, while the rest of them clandestinely crossed farther down the territory boundary and dropped Eliza off.”
Sidra felt a strange tug in her chest to think that the enchantment in Torin’s scar might have been fooling him.
“The raid last night was a power play, but I also believe it was a diversion,” Adaira continued. “The Breccans used it to send one of the lasses back home to us.”
“Why would they reveal their hand?” Sidra asked. “Why not stay silent and continue to steal our girls? Why are they taking our children to begin with?”
Adaira sighed, as if she had been haunted by these very thoughts all morning. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s a clear sign that the Breccans don’t want peace. They want me to strike back and incite a war. I have no choice but to prepare for it now, although I must be very careful. I don’t have irrefutable proof they have the lasses, even though Eliza’s appearance after the raid is remarkable. I need to procure proof another way, and then I think we will need to get the girls safely home before any sort of open conflict happens.”