"What kind of trouble?"
"The kind that involves Munro realizin' we're watchin' his movements. The kind that ends with our braither in a cell or worse."
Tòrr's hand clenched around the water skin. "He wouldnae be careless enough tae get caught."
"He wouldnae be careless at all. Which means if he's late, it's because somethin' went wrong." Michael pulled his sword from the ground. "We need tae consider sendin' someone after him."
"And risk losin' more men? If Munro has him, sendin' others could start the war we're tryin' tae avoid."
"And if we dae naethin', we might lose Daemon entirely." Michael's voice was hard. "He's our braither, Tòrr. Nae some expendable scout."
"Ye think I dinnae ken that?" Tòrr's temper flared. "Every hour he's gone, I'm thinkin' about what might be happenin' tae him. But rushin' in blind helps nay one."
"Then what dae we dae?"
"We wait. One or two more days. If he's nae back by tomorrow night, we send a small party. Quiet, careful, nae enough tae draw attention."
"And if they find him dead?"
The blunt question hung between them like a blade. Tòrr had no good answer.
"Then we deal with it," he said finally. "But until we ken fer certain, we assume he's alive and capable."
"Ye're puttin' a lot of faith in assumptions."
"I'm puttin' faith in our braither. He's survived worse than Munro's lands." Tòrr picked up his sword again. "Now, are we trainin' or standin' about worryin' like old women?"
"Both, apparently." But Michael raised his blade. "Come on then. Let's see if ye can actually land a hit this time."
They engaged again, harder, the worry channeling into controlled violence. Steel rang against steel, neither giving quarter, both using the fight to burn off the helpless feeling that came with waiting.
After another ten minutes, Michael called halt. "Enough. Ye're favorin' that ankle still, and I've had me fill of beatin' ye fer one day."
"Ye didnae beat me."
"I landed four touches tae yer two. That's a beatin' in any man's count. Mainly because yer mind is elsewhere today." Michael sheathed his blade. "Where are the rest?"
“Should be in gardens."
“We should catch up with them.”
"Open yer mouth and close yer eyes!"
Catherine dangled a berry over Sofia's head, giggling when her sister tried to catch it and missed. The berry bounced off Sofia's nose and rolled into the grass.
“I dinnae see why we’d bother pickin’ berries when the kitchen’s full of sweets,” Sofia continued, popping one into her mouth.
“Because these are fresh,” Alyson replied primly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Besides, ye ate half the kitchen’s sweets yesterday.”
Sofia made a face. “Ye sound like Faither.”
“Because I’ve more sense than ye.”
Liliane sat on the stone bench, watching the sisters play with something that felt like longing. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this light, this free to simply exist without constant worry.
"Yer turn, Liliane!" Alyson tossed a berry her direction.
She caught it on instinct, surprised by her own reflexes. "I thought we were eatin' them, nae throwin' them about."
