Eithne stilled. Aibreann must have felt the tension in her body because the horse nickered uncertainly. Eithne petted her between the ears to calm her and said, “What do ye mean?”
She glanced at Ivor, but he wasn’t looking at her as he finally replied. “A lass like ye, Eithne, ye need to marry and be happy. If I—”
Before he could continue or Eithne could object, there was a shout from somewhere jarringly nearby. It was a high pitched but weak cry, over and over: “Help! Help me!”
Ivor and Eithne glanced at each other, then Ivor ran ahead, and Eithne slipped off the horse. She tied Aibreann safely to a tree and hurried to catch up. Her heart was pounding in her chest, wildly imagining the horror she might find when she reached him.
She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t to find Ivor crouched down talking to a young boy of maybe six or seven, pale and streaked with dirt and blood and clinging to a ragged doll.
Eithne approached cautiously, not wanting to scare the child, listening carefully to the words Ivor was saying, almost like a lullaby.
“It’s all right if ye cannae tell me yer name yet, lad. I’m Ivor, and me friend Eithne – we’re gonnae protect ye, but ye need to tell me what happened,” he told her.
The boy moved back, clinging to his toy.
“I’m nae gonnae hurt ye,” Ivor continued gently. “I just want to help ye.”
The boy’s eyes – large and blue, Eithne noticed, though much darker than her own – widened. His gaze darted between Ivor and Eithne, and he shrank back a little further.
“Where are yer mammy and daddy, sweet one?” Eithne asked, moving beside Ivor and also crouching down. “Are ye alone?”
The boy nodded mutely.
“Were ye traveling?” Ivor asked him. “With yer parents?”
He shook his head. “We…we were at home,” he finally said with a sob. Eithne was startled; his voice made it evident that this boy was no older than five or six. “Jock and me, we were sleeping, and it woke us up.”
Eithne noticed how his arms tightened protectively around his toy. “Jock is yer doll?” Eithne asked.
The boy nodded, hugging the doll tighter. “He’s a soldier. He keeps me safe when Mammy and Daddy arenae around,” he whispered.
Ivor and Eithne exchanged troubled glances.
“What did ye hear that woke ye, son?” Ivor pressed.
The boy looked at him. “That night, I heard a scream. Daddy came into me bedroom and said that I wasnae to panic. He told Jock and me to go out through the window. He helped us climb out.”
“And where did he go?” pushed Ivor. Eithne gave him a look, reminding him not to be too sharp with the child.
The boy shook his head. “I…I dinnae ken. I think he went back into the main room. I dinnae ken where me Mammy was. And then I heard him shouting. He said run, Callum, run, so I ran as fast as I could.”
“That’s yer name?” Eithne asked. “Callum?”
He nodded shyly.
“How long ago was this? Are ye from near here?” Ivor asked. “Did ye get hurt?”
The boy, Callum, said, “I dinnae ken. At least three days, I think, I dinnae…I’ve been walking alone this whole time. I’m right hungry, sir, ma’am, but I didnae want to stop. I fell…that’s why there’s blood.”
“What’s the name of yer village, Callum?” Eithne asked. He told her, and she turned to Ivor. “That’s not too far from here. What do you think—?”
“Did ye hear anything else, Callum?” Ivor asked.
Callum nodded. “I heard somebody say something about MacDuff. Is that a clan?”
A cold chill ran down Eithne’s spine as she put the picture together at last. She could see it as if she’d been there; in fact, she imagined herself and Ivor as the boy’s parents. They’d probably been sitting just having a quiet night in their front room when Rory’s soldiers had arrived.
Did they refuse to allow the soldiers to commandeer the house? Is that why they killed the wife? Or did one of Rory’s men just desire her for himself?
