Samuel’s head snapped up. “No, Lady Charlotte, please. Albie wouldnae want—”
“I don’t care what he wants,” she interrupted, already untying her apron and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “I need to be sure he’s all right.”
Samuel hesitated for one last moment—then, finally, he nodded. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, Charlie close behind him.
Samuel led Charlie through the village, his pace brisk but reluctant, as though he wished he could turn back with every step. The further they walked, the tighter the knot in Charlie’s stomach grew. Something was very wrong.
The barn where Samuel’s family had been temporarily housed stood at the far edge of the settlement. It was a sturdy enough structure, but no place for a family to live long term. As they approached, Charlie could hear the low murmur of voices inside, and when Samuel hesitated at the door, she gently pushed past him and stepped inside.
The smell of damp straw and the faintest hint of wood smoke filled the air. It took a moment for Charlie’s eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the gaps in the wooden slats.
Then she saw them.
Samuel’s mother was crouched beside a makeshift bed of blankets, fussing over a figure curled up in them.
Albie.
Charlie’s breath caught in her throat.
His face was mottled with bruises, dark patches blooming across his cheek and jaw. One eye was swollen nearly shut, and dried blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. His lower lip was split, and even as he lay there, his body curled slightly inward, he winced when his mother dabbed a cloth against his skin.
Horror surged through Charlie.
“Oh my God.”
At the sound of her voice, Albie’s mother looked up sharply, her face etched with worry—and something else. Fear. Samuel shifted uncomfortably beside her.
Charlie moved closer, dropping to her knees beside the injured boy. “Albie... what happened?”
Albie turned his head slightly, blinking blearily at her through his one good eye. He managed a weak, lopsided grin. “Naught, Lady Charlotte. Naught to fuss over.”
“Nothing to fuss over?” Charlie’s voice rose in disbelief as she looked from Albie to his mother, then to Samuel, who was shifting uneasily behind her.
Samuel’s mother wrung out the cloth in her hands. “He’ll heal.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Charlie said firmly. “Who did this?”
Albie hesitated, then winced as he tried to sit up. His mother gently pushed him back down.
“Best ye let it be, Lady Charlotte.”
Charlie clenched her fists. “The hell I will! Someone beat up a child, and you expect me to walk away from that?”
“Albie’s no child,” Samuel muttered.
“He’s barely more than a boy!” Charlie shot back.
Albie’s mother sighed, wiping at Albie’s forehead as though she could wash away more than just sweat. “There’s no point in stirring up more trouble, my lady. It willnae change what’s done.”
Charlie stared at her. “You know who did this, don’t you?”
Silence.
Samuel glanced at his mother, then at Albie, then at the floor.
Charlie pressed her mouth into a tight, flat line, then glared at all three of them in turn. “Tell me.”
Albie exhaled a slow, shaky breath. “MacAllister’s men,” he said hoarsely.
