It made her anxious, and eventually she wandered to the backyard, her slingshot in hand.
The sun was at last shining, breaking through the clouds. The light gilded the valley and the river, and Frae watched how the water sparkled as it flowed into the east. She knew she wasn’t supposed to leave the yard, but she wanted to practice before Jack joined her.
She slipped out the back gate and skipped down the hill to the riverbank. The currents were swollen from the rain, and she carefully drew stones from the water. Her target was still sitting in the grass, and Frae began to shoot. She missed the first two attempts but made a hit on her third.
“Yes!” she cried, bouncing on her toes.
She decided she would shoot three more times before returning to the yard and hurried to fetch her stones. Frae didn’t notice the man standing on the riverbank behind her, not until it was too late.
She gasped and froze. The first thing she noticed was his blue plaid. He was a Breccan. The second thing she noticed was his drenched boots, as if he had been walking in the river, and his hand was bleeding.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, taking a step back, heart pounding.
“I know,” he replied in a deep voice. “What’s your name, lass?”
Her throat narrowed. She felt her knees quaking, and she glanced up the hill, where she could just see the roof of her home.
“What’s your name?” the Breccan asked again.
Alarmed, Frae realized he was closer to her, although it seemed like he had only taken one step. She looked at his long, blond hair and wondered if this was the Breccan who had stood in the backyard before the raid. But then she realized this man was bigger, stronger than the one she had seen that night.
“F-Fraedah,” she said, taking a step back.
“That’s a lovely name,” he said. “Would you like to visit the west, Fraedah?”
Frae was truly afraid now. Her hands felt cold, and her heart was hammering so hard she could scarcely breathe. She didn’t know why this Breccan was here, but she wished he would leave, or Jack would arrive …
“I don’t think so,” Frae said, and made to bolt up the hill.
The Breccan’s speed was shocking. He caught her by the arm within seconds, then gently drew her to him.
“Now listen to me, Fraedah,” he said. “If you come peacefully, you won’t be hurt. But I can’t guarantee that if you fight me. So be a smart lass and come along.”
Frae gaped up at the stranger in horror, and then it hit her: nothing she could say would change his mind. He was going to take her to the west, whether she wanted to go or not, and her panic surged.
“Jack!” she screamed, fighting to slip away. “Jack!” She remembered her slingshot in her hand. The stone she held in the other.
Frae whirled and hurled the rock at the Breccan’s face. It smashed into his nose, and he grunted, releasing her. She took that slender moment to run again, thinking she was fast, she could outrun him—
“Jack!” she cried as the Breccan caught her again.
He was no longer gentle. With one hand, he covered her mouth. With the other, he picked her up and began to carry her to the river.
The world felt upside down. Frae flailed, kicking and biting his palm, but the Breccan wouldn’t release her. Her terror was sharper than a knife, cutting her up from within.
She could hear the water splashing as the Breccan carried her upstream. He slid a plaid over her eyes and a gag into her mouth.
She dropped Jack’s slingshot in the river.
“Jack?” Mirin’s voice broke his reveries. She touched his arm. “Jack, what are you going to do with what I’ve told you?”
She was afraid of what the clan would do to her. If the news came to light of her love for the enemy, it would destroy her life.
It would destroy him and Frae.
Jack swallowed, but it felt like his heart was in his throat when he whispered, “I’m not sure yet, Mum.” He looked at Mirin, remembering Bane’s words. “I can’t tell you how I know this, but I was informed that you might know where the lasses are being held in the west.”
Mirin startled. “What? I … I have no idea, Jack.”
Jack decided some tea would help them both get through this conversation. He needed to do something with his hands, and he thought about how to frame his next questions as the kettle boiled. He was pouring two cups of tea when he heard a faint shout.
“Did you hear that?” he asked, setting the kettle down.
Mirin fell quiet. “No, what was it, Jack?”
He thought it might have been Frae, and a chill swept through him as he strode to the window, opening a shutter. He could see the cows in the byre, but his sister wasn’t there.
Maybe she was in the backyard.
Jack began to head to the door when he heard it, clearer this time. Frae was screaming for him, and his blood went cold. He and Mirin both rushed to the garden, but there was no sign of Frae.
“Frae?” he shouted, stomping through the vegetables. “Frae!”
He was almost at the gate when movement in the valley caught his eye. Jack stopped, staring down at the river. Moray Breccan was carrying Frae upstream.
Mirin emitted a shrill cry. Jack’s heart melted, first in shock, then in terrible fury. He felt like he was a breath away from combusting into flames as he darted through the gate, his eyes fixed on Frae as she fought, kicking and flailing.
Jack made it all of three steps before Moray saw him. The Breccan vanished upstream with impossible speed, into the shadows of the Aithwood, and Jack slid to a halt in the grass, stricken.
He was weak and frail. He had no chance of catching Moray before he crossed the clan line with Frae. Not if Moray had consumed one of the Orenna flowers.
I can’t defeat him in my own strength, Jack thought, grief and terror tangling in him, and then it occurred to him like a blinding light.
He turned and rushed back into the garden, grasping Mirin’s arm as she tried to dash past him.
“Find a strip of plaid,” he ordered, dragging her into the house with him.
“What are you doing?” she cried, nearly clawing his face. “He has Frae! Let me go, Jack.”
“Listen to me!” he shouted, and Mirin startled. She fell quiet, staring at him. “Take my plaid and tear it into strips, and then meet me on the hill. I’ll catch him, but you have to trust me, Mum.”
She nodded, taking his plaid when he shoved it into her hands. Its enchantment was completely gone now, and Jack strode across the room to pick up his harp.
Half of the strings had broken, but half were still intact, albeit darkened with soot. Jack tucked the instrument beneath his arm and returned to the backyard, running as fast as his feet and lungs would allow him. He went halfway down the hill and sat in the grass, his hands trembling as he tried to find a way to comfortably hold his twisted harp.
He didn’t know if this would work. He didn’t know what the music would sound like coming from a harp that was warped. He hadn’t even thought about trying to play it again.
But he set his gaze on the river, where it slithered from the Aithwood. Where Frae had vanished into the shadows.
Jack couldn’t afford to let his emotions escape. He had to quell his fear, his anger, his distress, burning deep within him, like salt in a wound.