“Will you bind his ankles to the chair?” Mirin asked, handing her two strips of plaid. “As tight as you can.”
Sidra nodded. “What happened?”
“I …” Mirin paused, laying her hand on her forehead. “Jack is unwell. I had to leave him on the hill, and I need to keep the Breccan under watch until Adaira arrives. Do you mind going to Jack and seeing if there’s anything you can do to heal him?”
“Yes,” Sidra said, her heart racing. She grabbed her basket and returned to the back garden, following the path Mirin and Frae had made dragging the Breccan. She saw Jack lying in the grass, and her fears rose. Every horrible thought was blooming in her mind—a Breccan must have crossed and Jack had fought him and was now critically wounded—and Sidra prepared herself as she knelt in the grass and turned him over.
He had been lying on his harp. The instrument was crooked and burned, as if it had been held over a fire, and he groaned as he settled on his back.
“Adaira?” he croaked, opening his eyes a sliver.
Sidra touched his brow. “No, it’s me. Sidra. Can you tell me what happened, Jack?” She prepared a cloth to wipe the dried blood from his face and fingers. His nails were broken and jagged at the edges. That’s when she knew it hadn’t been a fight but magic that had done this to him.
“The music’s cost was more than I could pay,” he said, wincing as she cleaned his nails. “It’s the same as before. I’m just … exhausted.”
“Jack.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “Don’t scold me, Sidra.”
Sidra held her tongue and worked quickly, full of questions. She made herself focus on the most pressing matter, which was healing Jack. But other thoughts were simmering.
“Can you give me something that will make me hale?” Jack said. He had opened his eyes fully now, watching Sidra prepare his tonic.
She paused, glancing at him.
“I need to appear strong for Adaira,” he explained. “Give me your most potent tonic.”
“If I do that, Jack, it might take you longer to heal,” Sidra warned. “I can give you something that will make you lively, but it will wear off within hours and might make your other symptoms worse.”
“I’ll take that chance,” he said. “Because the truth of the matter is, there’s currently a Breccan in my mother’s house, who may or may not be dead.”
“He’s alive.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Jack said, and Sidra was pleased to hear his dry humor had returned. “Or else I might have forfeited my life for killing the Heir of the West.”
Sidra’s hands froze. “He’s the heir?”
“Yes,” Jack groaned as he sat forward. “He came to steal Frae, and I thwarted him.”
An icy finger traced Sidra’s spine.
It’s him.
The man she had just helped carry into Mirin’s house was the one who had assaulted her on the hill to Graeme’s. Who had stolen Maisie.
“Sidra?” Jack said, concerned.
She didn’t know how long she had been sitting beside him, lost in an eddy of thought. Jack was frowning, watching her closely.
“Moray was the one who attacked you that night,” he whispered.
She hesitated, but nodded.
“That bastard,” Jack said.
Sidra focused on her herbs, preparing one of the brews she had created for the guard to keep them sharp and aware during long nights. “Here, Jack. This will help with your exhaustion and a few of your aches and pains.”
He accepted the cup and drank.
They sat together in the grass, silent for a few moments. Sidra was trying to decide what to do—whether she wanted to speak to Moray or not, let alone look him in the face—and Jack was waiting for the tonic to take full effect. Then Sidra noticed that some color had returned to his countenance—although he was still remarkably pale—and his eyes looked brighter. She was gathering her supplies together when she heard footsteps approaching.
Sidra and Jack both turned to see Frae running to them.
“Jack!” she panted, slowing to a walk.
“What’s happened, Frae?” Jack said, reaching for her. He wobbled for a spell, but only Sidra noticed.
Frae sighed, visibly relieved to see him better. She looked up at him before glancing at Sidra and said, “Mum sent me. The Breccan’s awake.”
Adaira should have known that on the day Torin regained his voice, all hell would break loose. She and her cousin were poring over maps and plans for the rescue crossing when Roban interrupted them with a message.
“I’ve heard your name on the wind, laird,” the young guard said. “It sounded like Mirin’s voice.”
Adaira paused, leaning on her father’s desk. Her heart dropped. If Mirin was summoning her instead of Jack, that meant something must have gone awry. It seemed like every passing day met such a fate, and Adaira wondered when life would feel calm and predictable again.
She and Torin rode to the weaver’s croft with a small retinue of guards. She had no idea what to expect, but it wasn’t to find Moray Breccan bound to a chair in the center of the room, gagged and blindfolded, with dried blood in his hair.
Adaira came to a halt over the threshold so abruptly that Torin stepped on her heels.
Her eyes quickly took inventory of her surroundings. She found Jack first. He was standing by the loom, behind Moray. Sidra was sitting on a stool at his side, as if the two of them wanted to remain out of sight. Mirin was by the hearth, Frae’s long arms wrapped around her waist.
“A word, Jack?” Torin said.
Jack nodded, and Adaira followed the men into Jack’s bedroom for a debriefing. Sidra joined them, and they closed the door, leaving the guards in the common room to watch Moray.
“What happened?” Adaira asked.
Jack began to recount the recent events, but his voice sounded odd, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. Adaira noticed there was a slight tremor in his hands, and his nails were broken to the quick. He refrained from saying that he had played for the spirits, but Adaira knew that was exactly what he had done. He also seemed to be holding something back, breaking his sentences and leaving them incomplete.
“He was trying to kidnap Frae,” Jack finally said, wavering like he was about to collapse.
Adaira reached out to steady him, and Sidra hurried to say, “You need to sit down, Jack.”
“Here, over to the bed,” Adaira said, and together they shuffled him to the bedside.
Jack groaned as he sat. Perspiration beaded his upper lip. “I’m fine. It’s just stifling in here, isn’t it?”
Sidra glanced at Torin. “Will you crack open the shutter? He needs fresh air.”
Torin obeyed, and Adaira felt like she could also breathe a little deeper, now that cool air was trickling into the small chamber.
“Do you think he’s the one who stole the other lasses?” Torin asked in a clipped tone.
Jack hesitated, looking at Sidra. Adaira knew it then. She knew Moray had fooled her, time and time again, and her face flushed.
Torin was the first to respond. He nearly ripped the bedroom door from its hinges as he stormed back into the common room. His rage was like lightning striking the ground, and Adaira had no choice but to chase after him. Her cousin made a beeline for Moray, and before Adaira could command him, Torin’s fist was smashing into the Breccan’s jaw.