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“And this attack?” I ask, knowing we have little time for talking.

“He kept it more secretive. I knew he’d been planning something, but it was not until the morning we arrived in Craighcebor, when he instructed me to stay in that blacksmith’s shop, that I realized what was happening. He spoke openly to his sergeant that morn. When I saw my sister’s men, when I realized the attack had been subdued, I’d planned . . .” She looks directly into my eyes. “I’d planned to go to them, to Cettina’s men, when you found me.”

“Why were you there at all?” I challenge.

“Tis as I told you. Whitley did not trust me. He took me everywhere he went. He knew well Cettina had the power to separate us as sure as my father had the power to bring us together. To wed us in the first place.”

I turn from her, mounting and lifting her up to me.

Saying nothing, we continue to ride. Though I would prefer it otherwise, our best course of action is to reach Rimstead. A large enough town to hide, if needed.

“You do not believe me still?”

Since I have no answer to her question, I say nothing. By her stiff posture, I know the lady is frustrated. Which indeed speaks to her innocence.

“You’ve only to bring me to Cettina and she will verify the truth of my words.”

It is not the first time Lady Hilla has said as much. And since I begin to believe she may be an unwilling participant in the vile act her husband attempted to commit yesterday morn, I continue to remain quiet.

If Lady Hilla is innocent, she will indeed be dismayed to learn we head deeper into Meria, away from the border. I’d have brought her to Breywood Castle, to the queen, if not for the fact that we were being pursued.

God, it seems, has other plans for us this day.

Since when do you attribute the will of God to your actions, Aiken?

There are times, though few and far between, I have managed to quite convince myself I am an Elderman in truth. I’ve been too long working for the Prima.

Too long in this role.

6

Hilla

“Hurry,” he says as we dismount and enter the wooden gates of what appears to be a fairly large town.

“Where are we?” I ask for the second time.

And once again, he does not answer.

“Tis maddening,” I say, knowing he hears me as we blend into the others. Between two wagons, one loaded with hay bales and the other I cannot discern, we weave our way down the muddied street. The hem of my gown beyond repair days ago, I lift it now only out of habit.

Well-maintained cobblestones line some of the smaller pathways and the front of each building, forming walkways of sorts. Although it is not yet dark, lit wall torches on every building give the town a welcoming quality.

I look at my companion. Never before have I met a man like Father Aiken.

He speaks so little, I rarely know what he is thinking. I would call him cruel, having taken me and later binding my hands, making for the most uncomfortable night of sleep, save the ones Whitley came to my bed, but Father Aiken is not a cruel man.

Handsome beyond measure, strong and obviously quite capable. Keenly observant and more stubborn than most, from what I can discern, but certainly not cruel. Which is why I’d decided to appeal to him, rather than fight him, this morn, telling him the truth. Surely it would help my cause?

“This way.”

Hurrying to keep up with him, I marvel at how many of the buildings are made of stone. Not just the larger ones, like the manor house at the end of the street we walk down now, but most of them. The butcher’s, the dressmaker’s shop. Nearly every one, stone.

Tis a wealthier town than most.

“To where?” I whisper as I’m nearly knocked aside by a boy chasing his friend. “Where are we?” I ask for the third time. Most often I am able to wear him down with repeated questions. Unless . . .

I stop.