Chapter 18
The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon when the village Ronan had been aiming for finally came into view. Elodie sagged with relief. After hours of walking, the sight of this handful of cottages—none of them burned—was like spotting an oasis in the desert.
Smoke drifted lazily from stone chimneys, geese wandered unconcernedly across the village green, and beyond the last houses she spotted exactly what she’d been hoping for—a broad, slow-moving river bordered by a stretch of flat meadow.
Perfect for camping. And a bath. Oh, how she dearly wanted a bath!
As they walked into the village, the locals stopped what they were doing to watch the column arrive. Elodie couldn’t blame them. She guessed that over fifty weary travelers, carrying everything they owned tramping into your back yard wasn’t exactly an everyday sight even in this century.
A burly man emerged from one of the larger cottages and came over. His beard was neatly trimmed, and although his clothes were plain they were better made than those of the others. He hooked his thumbs into his belt.
“What can we do for ye?” he asked. “We dinna normally get so many traveling this road.”
The village was, Elodie noticed, in far better condition than any they’d passed so far. The cottages were in good repair, and the people seemed well fed and clothed. She dared to hope they might be leaving the unrest behind them.
“We’re traveling south,” Ronan replied. “We were hoping to camp by the river for the night before moving on in the morning.”
The headman didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked beyond them at the waiting column.
“That’s a fair number of mouths.”
“It is.”
“Running from something?”
Ronan’s expression remained unreadable. “We’ve had difficult times.”
The man gave a slight huff. “Havenae we all?”
His tone was pleasant enough, yet something about the way he said it unsettled Elodie.
Perhaps it was the way his eyes kept moving, roving over the column.
Counting. Assessing. Years of working with big corporations had taught her that sometimes people smiled while calculating exactly how much advantage they could gain.
She stepped forward with what she hoped was an open smile. “We’d be grateful for just one night.”
The headman’s gaze flicked to her. “And who might ye be?”
“My name’s Elodie.”
He looked back at Ronan. “Yer wife?”
Ronan’s expression tightened. “No.”
“A sister, then?”
“No.”
The man paused, an unreadable look flicking across his face. Elodie felt herself blushing and fought it down furiously. She’d be damned if she’d care what this man thought of her. She lifted her chin and stared at him defiantly.
Finally, the man spread his hands. “We’re not without charity. Ye are welcome to camp by the river.”
“Then ye have my thanks,” Ronan said, inclining his head. “And we’ll be gone in the morning.”
Ronan began to turn away, but Elodie was still watching the headman. “How come you’re doing so well?” she asked.
The man blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Your village,” Elodie said. “It’s the most prosperous we’ve come across all day. I was just wondering how you’ve managed it.”
The man’s expression didn’t change except for a slight tightening around his eyes. “We have our laird to thank for that. He and his men keep us safe.”
Before she could say anything else, Ronan grabbed her arm and led her away.
“What’s wrong?” Ronan asked quietly.
“I’m not sure. He just...” She searched for the words. “Made me uncomfortable.”
Ronan glanced over his shoulder. “Aye. And a benevolent laird seems a story too good to be true in these times.”
“You still want to stay?”
He looked towards David’s wagon. The exhausted children. The elderly people struggling to remain on their feet.
“I dinna think we have a choice. We need the rest.”
She nodded. “Then we’d best get busy.”
The riverside soon became a hive of activity. Blankets were shaken out, cooking fires prepared, water buckets filled.
“Elodie!” A small hand seized hers, and Elodie turned to find Morag grinning at her enthusiastically. “Come on! I want to show ye something!”
Elodie allowed herself to be pulled along the riverbank.
They rounded a clump of alder trees, and Elodie heard voices echoing ahead.
It sounded like children’s laughter, and she soon spotted what was causing it.
A thick rope hung from the broad branch of an ancient oak that leaned over the river.
A stout stick had been tied to the end of the rope as a seat to make a swing.
Half a dozen village children were taking turns launching themselves out over the water before swinging back again, shrieking with delight.
“Oh! I want a go!” Morag cried.
Without waiting to be invited, she joined the line of children waiting for their turn. One of the older girls grinned at her.
“Ye next!”
Morag nodded enthusiastically, grabbed the swing, and clambered up onto the stick seat. The other children gave her a mighty push, and Morag laughed with delight as she sailed high above the sparkling river.
Morag came swinging back and jumped off, landing lightly on the bank beside Elodie, one hand still clutching the rope.
“Here! Yer turn!”
Elodie backed off. “Oh no. I think I’m a bit old—”
“No, ye aren’t!”
The other children immediately joined in.
“Go on!”
“Have a turn!”
“It’ll be fun!”
Elodie sighed dramatically, realizing she wasn’t going to win this argument. “Fine.”
She grabbed the rope from Morag and climbed awkwardly onto the seat. She gripped the rope with both hands. “Not too high.”
The children exchanged mischievous looks. A tremendous shove sent her flying out over the river, and she let out an involuntary squeal. The water glittered beneath her, and the wind rushed through her hair. She swung back, then forward again, and she found herself laughing in pure delight.
For a few glorious moments, she forgot everything. She forgot about time travel and burned villages and politics, and danger. For those few moments she was a child again, and she was having fun.
As the swing slowed, she glanced towards the riverbank. Ronan stood watching, his arms folded. He wasn’t making a very good job of looking stern though, as a smile was pulling at the corner of his mouth. She waved. He rolled his eyes, then turned and walked back towards the camp.
Elodie was just clambering off the swing when one of the village women called sharply. “Oi! Ye lot! It’s getting late. Time to come in!”
The children groaned but didn’t argue, scattering obediently back towards the village, leaving Elodie alone on the riverbank. She sighed, releasing the swing and watching as it swung back over the water, empty this time.
She followed the children back towards the camp at a much more leisurely pace.
It had been a long, exhausting day, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into her blankets and go to sleep.
Although maybe not right away. She and Ronan would have a tent to themselves, and it would be a shame to waste the opportunity...
“Elodie!”
As she left the trees, a woman came racing towards her. Elodie recognized Morag’s mother. Her face was pale.
“Have ye seen Morag?”
Elodie shook her head. “She went back with the other children.”
“No, she didnae. I canna find her.”
A cold knot formed in Elodie’s stomach. “She was just here. She can’t have gone far. Come on, we’ll go look.”
They searched the camp first, looking beneath carts, inside hastily erected shelters, but there was no sign of Morag.
Soon the whole camp was in an uproar as everyone searched the area around.
Still nothing. The search spread through the village.
The locals emerged from cottages and shook their heads in sympathy. Nobody had seen her.
Elodie’s heartbeat quickened. This couldn’t be happening. She’d been responsible for Morag, and the little girl had been right there. How could she have vanished?
Ronan came striding towards her and she ran to meet him.
“Oh my God! This is my fault!”
He caught her by the shoulders. “No, it isnae.”
“But what if she fell in the river?”
“It’s barely knee high. She would be in no danger.”
“What if someone took her? I should have been watching her!”
“Ye canna have eyes in the back of yer head, and she canna simply disappear,” Ronan replied.
He knelt beside Bran and Skye and held out one of Morag’s little shawls that her mother had fetched from the camp. The dogs sniffed it carefully.
Ronan climbed to his feet. “Dinna fash, lass, the dogs and I will find her.”
“Then I’m coming too.”
“Elodie—”
“I don’t care what you say! It’s my fault. I should have been watching her, so I’m coming with you!”
He hesitated, then nodded before turning to Eamon. “Keep everyone here and keep her family calm. The last thing we need is anyone else getting lost. We’ll find her and bring her back.”
Bran gave a sharp bark. Skye’s nose was already to the ground. Ronan gave them a sharp command, and they started forward. Ronan and Elodie followed them out of the village and out into the gathering shadows beyond.
brAN STOPPED SO AbrUPTLY that Ronan nearly walked into him. The big sleuthhound stood in the middle of the narrow deer track, nose pressed to the ground, tail rigid. Skye padded back from the undergrowth before lowering her own muzzle to sniff the earth.
“What is it?” Ronan asked.
Bran gave a low whine.
Ronan crouched and spotted prints in the mud. Morag’s small footprints were easy enough to make out in the soft earth, wandering this way and that as children often did. Beside them, however, were larger impressions. Adult boots. Several of them.
His stomach tightened with dread.
Elodie came up beside him, breathing a little harder from the pace they’d been keeping. “Why have we stopped?”
He pointed. “Morag wasnae alone. She came this way with at least two...” He studied another print half-hidden beneath bracken. “No, three adults.”
All the blood drained from Elodie’s face. “Oh my God. So someone did take her?”