Charlotte’s heart stuttered. “Where—how—”
“It’s Maggie’s. Found it hanging on a branch back by the first tree. Figure she left it as an offering for safe passage through the wood like Gran says folks used to. She’s the one what gave it to Maggie. Maggie always liked her stories about the old ways and the Lord of the Wood. Believed in ’em, too.”
Examining the acorn, Charlotte calmed. The chain was thinner than the chain on the acorn Arthur had worn into the forest.
The woman tucked the acorn back into her shirt, catching Charlotte’s gaze. “You seen one before?”
“My father’s.” Charlotte’s eyes prickled. “The Lord of the Wood saved his life and gave him that to remember him by. My brother had it when he left.”
The woman’s lips twisted. “All right, so you know something about the Lord of the Wood. Good. Thought folks on this side of the forest’d know more about him than we do in Port Lorne, seeing as how he’s supposed to live closer out this way, but not a person I could find who’d tell me anything.”
“Seacliff is a superstitious place. It’s bad luck to so much as speak the wood’s name—so people say.” Charlotte had come to believe it over the years, despite her best intentions, but she didn’t want this city woman to think her a superstitious backwater hick. “You’d be lucky to get anyone to tell you a single thing about the wood that wasn’t how to protect yourself from its evils. What’s your interest in the Lord of the Wood?”
“That comes to my point.” The woman nodded back toward the square. “Maggie made it safe to Seacliff, that’s certain. Bess said she left when she meant to. That’s certain, too. But she never made it home. It’s a sure bet something happened to herin the wood, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of her on my way here. I figure, if I can find the Lord of the Wood—if anyone can tell me what happened to Maggie in that forest, it’s him. Maybe he can tell you what happened to your brother, too.”
Charlotte’s breath hitched. She hardly believed in the Lord of the Wood anymore. Arthur was either alive alone in the forest, scratched and dirty and trying to find his way home, or he was dead beneath a tree—perhaps grown over with moss like Brigid Tierney. She shuddered.
“Since I heard about your brother,” the woman said, “I been thinking, the two of us could look for the Lord of the Wood together.”
“Together? What could you want with me?”
“Word around town is you’re a healer, and a damn good one. God knows I could use one. I do all right, but—”
She pulled her collar down. A line of rough stitches sat below her collarbone on the right side. The skin had barely started scarring, pink and puckered. Its edges were an angry red that concerned Charlotte; it might’ve been infected.
She stopped walking, tugging her arm free of the woman’s to yank her collar farther down and examine the wound.
“You do move fast,” the woman drawled, “we ain’t even introduced ourselves yet,” but Charlotte barely heard her.
“Didn’t you use any antiseptic?” she asked in exasperation.
The woman shrugged, batting her hands away. “Didn’t think to bring any. Not making that mistake again. I’m fine, all right, no fever or anything—I’d have a fever by now if it had got infected, aye?”
“How long since you got it?”
“Guess they were right about you being a healer.” The woman tugged her collar back into place. “Don’t rightly remember. Early. I’d found the acorn, so must’ve been three, four days afore I got here.”
Charlotte frowned. “It should’ve healed better than this by now.”
“See?” The woman gripped her shoulder. “We could help each other. You got the healer’s touch, I got the woodsman’s skills—we could find the Lord of the Wood. Find out what happened to our siblings. Together.”
Charlotte faltered. She’d been so focused on the woman’s injury that she’d hardly processed her offer.The two of us could look for the Lord of the Wood together.
She swallowed. “I don’t even know your name.”
Releasing her, the woman held out a hand. “Elspeth McIntire.”
“Charlotte Prentice.”
“There,” Elspeth said. “Now you know my name. How about it, Lottie?”
Just as she’d taken Charlotte’s arm to walk through the village, there she went, calling CharlotteLottieas if they’d known each other for ages. No one but Arthur had called Charlotte that in years. She bristled.
“I can’t. I have children. Without...” Her throat closed around Arthur’s name. “They’ve already lost their father. I’m all they have. If I never came back...”
Her voice wobbled. She cleared her throat.
“Besides,” she said, “you saw how I needed help getting up the hill the other day. I wouldn’t last ten minutes in the wood.”
