9
CECILY
They left the road as daylight began to fade.
The fields narrowed into rough paths. The ground was uneven beneath their feet, and Cecily stumbled once, catching herself.
Her shoes were already damp. The fine leather, meant for gentle strolls on her family estate, provided no comfort, and she stopped frequently to rub her aching feet.
“I’m tired,” she moaned after a time. “And hungry. These shoes are falling apart. Can’t we stop?”
Finn didn’t slow. He focused his eyes ahead. “Not yet.”
Lights glimmered ahead through the trees. It looked like a farmhouse, small but solid. Smoke rose from its chimney.
She turned toward it at once. “We can ask for food there,” she said. “I’ll pay.”
She had taken a few steps when Finn caught her arm and pulled her back hard enough to make her gasp.
“Don’t,” he said. “You cannot walk up to a house at night and beg for food. Not here.”
She bristled. “I’m not dressed improperly.”
“That’s the problem,” he said. “You don’t belong, and everyone will see it.”
She stared at him. “We need food, Finn.”
“And you need to stay alive,” he shot back. Then he stopped, breathing heavily. “You haven’t thought any of this through, have you? You’re a young woman of rank traveling on foot, carrying coin, in a time you don’t belong to, asking questions after dark. You’d be noticed. Probably followed.”
His voice dropped. “Taken.”
The word chilled her more than the night air.
They stood in silence for a moment. Then Finn turned away. “Come on. We’ll find another way.”
They walked a long time after that, farther from the road. The land rose slightly into trees and hedgerows instead of throngs of people and tightly packed cottages. Cecily’s feet ached, but she said nothing this time.
At the edge of a field, Finn stopped. “Stay here.”
She stood still and tried not to think about what taken meant.
He moved off quietly, slipping into the dark. Cecily waited, listening. As time passed, every sound in the nearby forest seemed to grow louder.
Where was he? She scanned the dark line of trees, her body tense.
Finn returned without a sound.
He handed her a crust of bread and an apple.
She took it without comment. The bread was stale, and some creature had nibbled the apple, but she ate both. He pulled another half-eaten apple out of his tunic and ate.
As they sat beneath the trees, Cecily studied him. He was younger than she’d realized, yet he carried himself with a quiet confidence that belied his age. There was an educated quality to his speech, a stillness in his posture. He met her gaze and simply waited for her to speak.
“You scared me,” she said quietly.
“Good,” he said. “You need to understand.”
She frowned. “You’re right. I didn’t think beyond escaping Lord Veyron, escaping my time. But yours is a cruel way to teach.”
“I don’t know of a gentle way,” he said. “Not for this.”
They found a spot to rest near a low stone wall, half fallen in on itself. Finn tested the ground, then motioned her down. He took the side nearer the open field.
Cecily lay back, exhaustion pulling at her, but sleep did not come easily. The cold seeped through her clothes, settling deep.
“I’m freezing,” she muttered.
Finn shifted but said nothing.
At last, she slept.
∞∞∞
She woke suddenly. The sun was rising. The space beside her was empty.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or what was wrong. Then she remembered.
“Finn?” she whispered.
No answer.
She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding. “Finn!”
Her voice rose despite herself. “Finn!”
A hand clamped over her mouth and hauled her back against the stone wall. She began to thrash and struggle with all her strength.
“Quiet, brat,” Finn said, his voice low. “Do you want the entire kingdom to hear you?”
She stopped struggling. He released her and stepped back into view. In his hands was more bread, and a pair of sturdy boots, scuffed but solid.
She stared at them. “For me?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“Unless you plan to keep limping,” he said dryly. “Put them on.”
Her hands shook as she took them.
“I thought you’d—” Her voice broke, and she hated that Finn could hear her emotion.
“I will not leave you alone, my lady,” he said with a wry smile. “Children need adult supervision.”
She frowned and almost shot back an angry response, but the words died in her throat. She simply took the boots. They were too loose, but she did not complain.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Finn eyed her boots. “We need to find a cart.”
“For what?”
He looked back at her. “For the machine,” he said. “The one you were never supposed to touch.”