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An island of sorts. Brecc’s words circled Aisley’s head, and her pulse increased. That was it.

“It does sound a bit peculiar,” she admitted. “But I was told it’s worth a visit just fer th’ fishin’.” She was stretching the truth rather a lot, but Aisley had no doubt the men staying with the king had resorted to fishing simply to put food in their bellies.

The elderly woman frowned. “Seems t’ me there’s places closer that would do just as well. The River Sheppey is known fer its trout.”

The seemingly simple task of asking for directions was not going nearly as well as Aisley had hoped. “I shall ’ave to give th’ river a try.”

“You do that.” The woman leaned on her broom looking pleased. “An’ then, if ya still want t’ go down to the levels, you’ll want t’ go east t’ Glastonbury an’ then south till ya see Burrow Mump. Ya’ll know yer close then.”

Relief filled her. “I thank you.”

“I ’ope ya catch a big un, but it might be worth yer while to pick up a rod or net first.”

Aisley’s face flooded with warmth, but thankfully, the accompanying color was hidden by her hood. “Wise counsel,” she said.

With a chuckle, the woman waved her off, and by the time Aisley had turned her horse to the south, the elderly lady was engrossed in her sweeping again.

CHAPTER 24

TIME AND DISTANCE HAD LOST all meaning. Aisley felt as though she had been riding forever, but in reality, the sun was only now beginning its descent behind the peak the locals called Burrow Mump. It had been almost thirty-four hours since she’d last had a meal. Her stomach had long since given up on issuing painful and noisy complaints and had turned to causing her limbs to tremble with weakness instead. Indeed, she was unsure which would finally claim her first: hunger or exhaustion.

Over the noisy calls of the area’s waterfowl, a man’s whistle reached her. It was a familiar tune. One that marked him as Saxon. Desperate for help, she scoured the surrounding grassland. The terrain was too rugged to be considered good pasture for cattle, but stone walls portioned off sections of it, suggesting they were used as animal enclosures. She nudged her horse closer to the wall. The horse nickered nervously, and from the other side of the wall, a large sow raised her head and grunted irritably. Half a dozen piglets took up their mother’s cause, squealing their displeasure.

“Oy!” From halfway across the paddock, a man shouted at the noisy swine. “’Nough of that, ya ridiculous creatures. That ’orse ain’t done nothin’ t’ ya!” He moved toward Aisley, and she reined her horse to a stop. “Sorry fer all the fuss,” he said. “Anythin’ out o’ the ordinary seems t’ set them off.”

“It’s a quiet lane,” Aisley said. “I don’t suppose many pass by.”

The man glanced to his left, where a wooded area appeared to rise out of the marshland. “These last few weeks, there’s been more than ever afore. But not so many that its noticeable to most.” He cracked a smile. “Just the pigs.”

She wished she were in a position to exchange pleasantries with the man and to admire his piglets, but despair was beginning to set in. “I am lookin’ fer Athelney,” she said. “I wus told it wus nearby.”

It was as though a shutter came down over his previously friendly face. “Why would ya be wantin’ t’ go there?”

It was almost exactly what the woman in Shepton Mallet had asked, but Aisley felt sure that this time, a vague response about fishing would not suffice. “I ’ave a message fer someone and wus told t’ take it t’ Athelney.”

“The island’s been uninhabited fer years.”

“So I imagine. But as o’ several weeks ago, some gentlemen took up residence there.”

Indecision flickered in his eyes. “Ya say there’s someone ya know over there?”

“Aye.” She wanted to beg, to plead with him to help a lady in distress, but instinct told her to hold her tongue, to maintain her false identity just a little longer.

His gaze shifted from Aisley to the piece of land. He mumbled something and then turned back to face her. “Yer only chance of gettin’ there is t’ find Edris and persuade ’im t’ take ya in ’is boat.” He pointed at her mount. “The ’orse’ll ’ave to swim behind. The water’s not deep, mind, but it’s too much fer the likes of us.”

“And this Edris, does ’e live close by?”

“Take a left jus’ past th’ big oak an’ ya’ll see ’is cottage. Can’t miss it.”

Aisley wanted to weep with relief. “I’m most grateful.”

The sow’s loud grunt eclipsed the man’s response, but Aisley was already urging her horse forward for what she prayed were the last few furlongs of her protracted journey. She turned left at the large oak tree, and just as the swineherd had said, a small cottage immediately came into view. And seated on a short stool outside the front door was a grizzled old man filleting a fish over a bucket of reddened water. He looked up as she approached.

“‘Evenin’,” he said.

“An’ to you.” Maintaining a colloquial accent was becoming more and more difficult as her tiredness increased. Taking her courage in both hands, she pressed on. “I’m in need o’ someone t’ take me t’ th’ island.”

“Now?”