Every spring, Sidra would take Maisie and a handful of flowers to Donella’s grave, and she would tell the lass about her mother, who had been lovely and brave and gifted with the sword. Even though it sometimes left a lump in Sidra’s throat, she would tell Maisie the story of how her father and mother had trained and sparred on the castle grounds, first as rivals but later as friends and then lovers.
“And how did you meet Daddie?” Maisie would always ask, savoring the stories.
Sometimes Sidra would tell her, sitting in the sunshine and long grass, and sometimes she would save that particular saga, which was not nearly as dashing as the ballad of Torin and Donella.
But that was a story for another day.
“What’s that?” Maisie asked, pointing to Jack’s instrument.
“A harp.”
Sidra realized that Jack was favoring his left hand. “Are you wounded, Jack?”
“It’s nothing,” Jack replied, just as Torin said, “Yes. Can you tend to him, Sid?”
“Of course,” Sidra said, reaching for her basket of healing supplies.
“Maisie, why don’t you show your father the kittens?” Maisie was delighted. She took hold of Torin’s hand and tugged him out the back door. With their departure, the house was quiet again. Sidra approached Jack with her basket of salves and linen.
“May I tend to your hand?”
Jack turned his palm skyward. “Yes. Thank you.”
She drew her chair close to his and began her ministrations. Gently, she washed away the sand and dirt and was just beginning to fill the cut with her healing salve when Jack spoke.
“How long have you and Torin been together?”
“Almost four years now,” Sidra replied. “I married him when Maisie was just a year old.” She began to wrap his hand with linen, and she could sense the queries rising in him. He was a wanderer who had just returned home, struggling to arrange the pieces of the isle together. Sidra continued, for his sake, “Torin was first married to Donella Reid. She was a fellow member of the guard. She passed away after Maisie’s delivery.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. It was a difficult loss.” Sidra envisioned Donella and realized Jack was sitting in the ghost’s chair, the sunshine pouring in from the window on the far wall. Before, the light had shone through Donella’s visage, but it gilded Jack now. He looked just like Mirin, Sidra thought. Which meant he must not favor his mysterious father at all. A father the gossips were still hungry to speculate about.
“There,” Sidra said, finishing her care. “I’m going to send you off with this bottle of salve and honey. You should dress your wound morning and night for three days.”
“Thank you,” said Jack, accepting the offering. “How can I repay you for your kindness?”
Sidra smiled. “I think a song would suffice, once your hand has recovered. Maisie would love to hear your music. It’s been a long time since we have enjoyed such a luxury.”
Jack nodded, carefully flexing his fingers. “I would be honored.”
The back door swung open, and the windstorm that was Maisie and Torin returned. Sidra noticed that Torin had a few fresh scratches on his knuckles, from the kittens, no doubt, and a peevish gleam in his eyes. Also from the kittens.
“Let’s eat,” he said gruffly, as if he were in a hurry.
Sidra sat, and they began to pass dishes around the table. She observed that Jack ate very little, that his hands shook, that his eyes were bloodshot. She listened as Torin spoke of the isle and realized that Jack didn’t know any of the current news. He meekly asked about Laird Alastair, about the crops and the guard and the tension with the west.
“I often worry about my mum, living so close to the clan line alone,” he said. “It’s good to hear things have been peaceful here.”
Sidra paused, but she met Torin’s gaze. Does Jack not know …? She was opening her mouth to say it, but Torin cleared his throat and changed the subject. Sidra relented, realizing if Jack didn’t know, it wasn’t her place to inform him, even though she now worried about him finding out later.
As soon as the meal was over, Torin rose.
“Come, Jack,” he said. “I’m heading to the city and can walk you there. Best to see the laird first and then your mum, before the wind carries any further gossip about you.”
Jack nodded.
Maisie began her chore of carrying cutlery and cups to the wash barrel, and Sidra followed the men to the threshold. Jack walked the path through the kail yard, down to the road, but Torin lingered.
“I hope four of those kittens have found their new homes by the time I return,” he said, partly teasing.
Sidra leaned on the doorframe, the wind tangling her dark hair. “They’re too young to be separated from their mother.”
“How much longer then?”
“Another month, at least.” She crossed her arms and met his steady gaze with one of her own. She was testing him, of course. To see when she could next expect him to come to her. To see how much time she had to prepare her argument for keeping Maisie home.
“That’s a long time,” he stated.
“Not really.”
But he looked at her as if it were. “Perhaps you and Maisie can begin to find people who want the kittens.”
“Of course,” said Sidra with a smile. “We will make the most of our time.”
Torin’s gaze dropped to her mouth, to that wry tilt of her lips. But he turned without another word, walking the path between the herbs only to pause at the gate, running his hand through his hair. And while he didn’t glance back at her, Sidra knew.
He would return to her long before a month had passed.
Jack remembered the way to the city of Sloane, even after ten years of absence, but he politely waited for Torin to join him on the road, his stallion clomping behind him. The two men walked in companionable silence, Jack uncomfortable with the way Torin’s garments swallowed him. Inwardly, he grumbled, but he also was grateful. The raiment was resilient against the wind, which was blowing from the east, dry and cold and full of whispers. Jack closed his ears to the gossip, but once or twice he imagined he heard The wayward bard is here.
Soon, everyone would know he was back on the isle. Including his mother. And that was one reunion Jack was dreading.
“How long do you plan to stay?” Torin asked, glancing sidelong at him.
“For the summer,” Jack replied, kicking a pebble from the road. Although he honestly wasn’t sure how long he would be forced to be here. Torin had mentioned that two girls had vanished in the past fortnight, and Jack still didn’t see how he was needed for something like that, as terrible as it was. Unless Laird Alastair wanted Jack to play his harp for the clan as a way to mourn the losses, but Torin said he still had faith the girls would be found whenever the spirits ceased their mischief and surrendered them back to the mortal realm.
Whatever the laird needed him for, Jack would do it quickly and then return to the university, where he belonged.
“You have responsibilities on the mainland?” Torin queried, as if sensing Jack’s thoughts.
“I do. I’m in the midst of my teaching assistance and hope to become professor within the next five years.” That is, if this time away on Cadence didn’t ruin his chances. Jack had worked long and hard to be in the position he held, teaching up to one hundred students a week and grading their compositions. Unexpectedly taking a term off would now open the door for another assistant to steal his classes and possibly replace him.