Darcy turned to him at once. “How many?”
His frown deepened.
“Near thirty, mayhap.”
“Near?”
A few heads turned as Godwin bristled.
“We know our own children.”
“I’m sure you do. Does one person know all thirty have arrived?”
The room went still. Leofric’s mouth hardened.
“You question our care of our own blood?”
“I question what frightened people do when plans go wrong.”
Her answer came without heat. She crouched near the hearth and reached for a charred stick.
Wystan shifted as she glanced at him.
“If I intended to conquer England with charcoal, I’d have started earlier.”
The boy flushed as a ripple of reluctant amusement went around the room.
Darcy drew a line in the packed earth. “This is the village.” She drew a second line, even more crooked than the first. “This is the forest.”
“That is a terrible map,” I said.
She looked at me for a long moment.
“Do you always make fun of strangers during invasions?”
“Only those who insult my village with poorly drawn maps.”
For the first time, her smile came fully. It changed her face. Not into beauty. She was already striking enough in her strange way, dark-eyed and pale-skinned, with a mouth made more for arguing than obedience. The smile made her look younger, more carefree. I looked away first.
She turned back to the dirt. “The children go here.”
“Aye,” Godwin said.
“Who leads them?”
“Three hunters know the paths.”
“And if one hunter is killed?”
Nobody answered.
She drew another line. “If the main path is blocked?”
“There is another,” I said.
Her head came up. “Who knows it?”
“Many.”
