A final, strange owl hoot cut through the darkness, bringing the group onto a narrow, winding path that seemed to lead nowhere. It crushed what was left of Heather’s spirit, for what if Edith had decided not to trust them, after all? What if Edith was protecting herself by leading the group in circles?
“Welcome,” Edith appeared out of nowhere, with her bow slung over her shoulder, revealing a full quiver of arrows that was strapped to her back.
Owen set Heather down, keeping his arm around her waist as she stooped to urge some breath back into her battered lungs. “Welcome to where? I daenae see aught.”
“Then I have done good work,” Edith replied, walking on down the narrow path. She stepped around a mass of tall, overgrown bushes and disappeared once more.
“I think she means for us to follow,” Heather said, rubbing her bruised side as she headed for the spot where Edith had gone. The men followed her more tentatively, with Sawyer and Owen resting their hands on the pommel of their broadswords.
They need not have worried, however, for the tangled bushes concealed a quaint, stone cottage. Slivers of slate roof poked through a canopy of leaves and bundles of moss, which covered the top of the cottage in a rather splendid camouflage. Meanwhile, ivy climbed up the stone walls, adding an additionallayer of concealment from anyone who might get too close to the protective border of bushes.
Heather found Edith inside, rushing around and stuffing belongings into a large carpet bag. The items she stowed away did not make much sense: a book, a few small wooden boxes, a collection of bone-handled dirks, some rolled-up papers, a stack of letters that were bound with a ribbon. Nothing in the way of clothes or provisions, which might have been more expected.
“Apologies for runnin’ like that,” Edith said, once everyone was inside the warmth of the cottage. A fire burned cheerfully in the grate, though Heather had seen no smoke billowing from the top of the cottage. How Edith had managed that, Heather did not know.
Owen moved toward Heather and guided her toward the fireplace, so she might benefit from the heat. “Why did ye nae use the forest path?”
“Soldiers have been pesterin’ me for months, just as William said they might,” Edith explained, as she continued her mad dash to pack her things. “It’s why we chose this cottage. It was me grandmaither’s once, from when she was cast out of the village for bein’ a witch. Ye cannae reach it from the path. Ye have to ken where it is.”
Heather raised her palms to the flickering flames, grateful for the warmth. “William knew you might be in danger?”
“Aye, he didnae want yer faither findin’ out about our marriage, so when I remembered this place, he kent it’d be perfect for us to start our life here.” Edith threw a few odd-shaped jars into the carpet bag and another stack of letters. “If ye hadnae followed me guidance, ye might’ve fallen into the countless traps I’ve set along the way.”
“Traps?” Sawyer choked.
Edith nodded. “It’s the only way to protect meself from them pesky soldiers that keep comin’, but they’ll give up soon enough, once William is home.” She paused what she was doing and smiled so wide, it nearly broke Heather’s heart. “He said he’d come straight to me after the war ended, so it cannae be long now. I heard it was over. That’s why I’ve been guardin’ the entrance to the forest, so I’ll be right there to take him in me arms when I see him, and to stop him steppin’ into any of me traps. Och, can ye imagine? I’ve waited all this time, just for him to die in one of me traps.” She laughed and Heather had to turn her face away.
In the fleeting silence, Heather and Owen exchanged a look, and Brandon opened his mouth as if to say something, but Heather shook her head at him. He fell silent, likely realizing it was not his place to tell William’s wife that her husband was never coming home.
Tears were already in Heather’s eyes as she glanced back at Edith, wondering howshewould feel if someone told her that Owen was dead. It would devastate her, as it would surely devastate Edith.
“William… is dead, Edith,” Heather murmured, feeling the sting of her own grief. At Dunn Castle, she had tamped it down with distractions and growing sensations of love, but now it was all rising to the surface again.
A jar slipped from Edith’s hand and shattered on the floor. “Pardon?”
“He died. Not in battle but by a killer’s hand.” Heather’s voice caught in her throat. “We have been trying to search for the culprit, but we have discovered nothing of merit or evidence. All we know is that he was killed by someone from… his own side, after the final battle was already over. They merely used it as a ruse.”
Edith looked like she was about to keel over. “What? Nay… nay, that cannae be—”
“Och, Lass.” Sawyer surged forward and took hold of Edith, helping her to a milking stool nearby. There, he urged her to sit, though he kept a defensive arm around her.
Owen cleared his throat. “Brandon here was yer husband’s dearest friend. He hasnae rested, tryin’ to find out who did it.” He glanced at Brandon, and it appeared that all former mistrust had evaporated. With a sigh, he added what they knew about the letter that William had left with the priest, and the betrayal that had befallen Brandon, William, and that final note.
“William feared this,” Edith rasped: her shoulders shaking as she crumbled into violent sobs. Her hands came up to cover her face, though it did nothing to hold back the tide of tears.
Leaving the warmth of the fire, Heather went to her sister-in-law and crouched in front of her, placing reassuring hands upon the woman’s knees. “That is why we must take you to Dunn Castle. You will be safe there, but you are not safe here.” She gulped. “Come with me, Sister. Let us take care of you in your grief.”
For a long while, Edith said nothing. She sat there, hunched over, weeping into her palms until she had no more left to spill. Though, morewouldcome in the days that stretched ahead of her, without her husband at her side. There would be no distractions or pleasant feelings to dispel the bitterness of her loss. In that, Heather knew she had been lucky.
“I’ll kill him,” Edith hissed suddenly, raising her head. “I’ll kill that bastard with me bare hands!”
Misery transformed to anger in the blink of an eye, while bitter tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands curled into tight fists, whitening her knuckles, as she shuddered under the weight of her grief. No fire could ease the tremble, for it came from a chill so deep that nothing but time could bring warmth again.
“Who?” Sawyer asked softly. After all, they still needed to know who had done this to William, and Edith was their last hope of finding out some detail they might have missed.
“Who do ye think?” Edith spat. “The bastard who did this to me husband. The bastard who’s broken me heart in two.”
Brandon cleared his throat. “Do you have any notion of who that might be? Forgive me for asking at such a time as this, but we have no further insight.”
