Chapter 4
Aoife stood, shaken, as Lord Halverton turned and went inside. The crowd thinned as villagers dispersed with backward glances and awkward murmurs.
Her father came to her and pulled her into a rough hug. “You shouldn’t have done that. I could have withstood it.” He moved back to look her in the eye. “We’d have been all right. Your siblings could survive without me, but not without you.”
His voice sounded distant, though he was right in front of her, as if she were hearing him underwater. This could be her last day or her last day of freedom, the last time she’d be in her own house, the last time she’d live with her siblings.
She was running before she had time to think.
By the time she reached the square, her lungs were burning, and the truth of what she’d done had caught up with her.
Her brother and sister were playing with other children in the village square. Aoife dropped to her knees and pulled them into a tight hug.
“What?” Eoin squirmed. “What’s going on?”
Maire wriggled too. “Aoife, I can’t breathe.”
She held them a moment longer, then let go. “Sorry,” she said, forcing a smile. “I needed a hug from both of you.” They didn’t need to know what was going on, not yet.
They exchanged a puzzled look.
“Go on,” she told them. “Go play.”
They didn’t need telling twice. They ran to their friends, laughing easily the way only children do.
Aoife stayed crouched on the ground. A hand touched her shoulder from behind. She stood, turned, and Cormac wrapped her in his arms. She sank into it, breathing in the smell of ash bark and wet leather. It wasn’t pleasant, but she wished she could bottle it all the same.
Cormac broke the hug at last.
“Where’s my father?” she asked.
“He went home,” Cormac said.
She nodded.
His jaw tightened. “This isn’t right. Confinement or death. What sort of choice is that?” He looked at her hard. “I can hide you. We could run.”
“I need time to think.”
He stopped dead. “You can’t be considering it? You can’t go live with that monster, and fifty lashes would kill you.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Perhaps death is better than a life in a cage.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But Lord Halverton thinks he’s given me no choice. I want it to be my decision, and I’m not ready to make it yet.”
He opened his mouth to argue.
“Can we not talk about it?” she asked.
He shut his mouth, eyes full of frustration, and they walked on in silence.
They reached her house, almost identical to Jory’s from the outside, except its roof sagged in the middle. Her father was at the hearth, pouring hot water over dried nettles, making a tea to quiet the stomach, or at least make it think it was full.
The room was dark, smoke-stained, lit only by the glow of the fire.
In summer it was stifling to cook inside; in winter it never gave enough heat.
Still, Aoife loved the personal touches.
A trestle table stood in the middle, its top a single piece of wood her father had spent hours sanding and polishing until it shone.
It was worse for wear now, but in places it was still smooth beneath her hand.
Around it a cluster of mismatched dining chairs, united by the small animals carved into the ears by her grandfather.
On the wall hung simple stitchwork pictures of plants she, her mother, and her sister Bríd had made before her mother, Bríd, and her brother had all been taken by the fever.
It was nothing special, but it was theirs.
Her father sat down at the table and added a shot of whiskey to his tea, one of the few things coin could still buy. Aoife snatched the cup from his hand. “You can’t turn to drink now. You can’t be another Jory. Eoin and Maire are relying on you.”
He sank into his chair. “I don’t know how to keep them alive.” Her father ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t risk stealing again, not after today. My work’s worthless.” He snatched up the bag of coins from the table and hurled it across the room. It hit the floor with a clatter.
Aoife’s chest tightened. In that moment, she knew for certain she couldn’t risk the flogging.
If she died, or was too broken to work, her family would have nothing.
She needed to help them. And the village too.
She didn’t know yet how that was possible, but vile as it was, perhaps getting close to Lord Halverton was the opportunity she needed.
She crouched beside her father. “You can do this. Maire already knows where to forage; I’ve shown her. And Eoin’s brilliant at finding pignuts.”
“I can’t ask that of them,” he muttered.
“We can’t shield them from what’s happening,” she said. “Not anymore.”
Cormac stepped forward. “I’ll help,” he said.
Her father shook his head. “You can’t. You’ve your own parents to think of.”
“You’re family too,” Cormac said.
Aoife reached for her father’s hand, squeezing it tightly, the ridges of old burns pressing against her skin. “It’s going to be all right.”
Aoife rose to her feet and gave Cormac a look that told him to follow. Outside, the air was cool, the evening light fading. Aoife breathed it in, turned to Cormac and smiled.
“Race you to the oak.” Her feet were moving before she had finished speaking.
They had climbed the tall oak on the edge of the fields since they were children, scrambling up through the branches until they could see over the canopy.
“Still think you’re faster than me?” Cormac asked, almost at her heels.
Without glancing at him, Aoife raised her voice so he’d hear. “I was faster when we were ten, and I’m faster now.”
He laughed, deep and honest, and Aoife was reminded it was the man and not the boy running beside her now.
“We’ll see about that.” He put on a burst of speed and overtook her.
Aoife gave all she had to match him. They reached the tree within a second of each other and were soon scrambling up, fighting each other for branches.
The bark was warm beneath their hands, the air full of the scent of moss.
Aoife reached their favourite broad limb first, settling into the crook where the trunk split. He joined her a moment later.
“Told you.”
He nudged her shoulder.
For a while, neither spoke. Below them, the fields spread out in shadow, the last light catching on the river.
Together, they watched the first stars prick the darkening sky.
When the air grew cooler, Cormac shifted, pulling off his jacket and draping it around her shoulders. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing, steady and reassuring.
“When was the last time we came up here?” she asked. They used to climb up here at least once a week, but she wasn’t sure they’d been here at all this year.
“Last autumn,” he said. She looked at him; there was something in his tone, something he wasn’t saying. Aoife studied his face, trying to figure out what was wrong.
“What?” he asked, looking sheepish.
The memory hit her then. “That’s right. The last time we were here was the day you nearly fell out of the tree.”
“I did not nearly fall out of the tree.”
Aoife laughed. “Yes, you did.”
“It was your fault.”
“How was it my fault?”
“Because you were worried about the squirrel’s nest.”
“That branch was precarious. As proven when it snapped under your weight.” Aoife couldn’t help but laugh.
“Aye, and you laughed then as well. Before you helped me.”
There was no point in denying it. “Only because I knew you were fine.”
“I was hanging almost upside down in a tree.”
“Were you not fine?”
He smiled, shaking his head. The evening light caught in his hair. He looked younger for a moment.
“You could have been hurt though,” Aoife said, her mood turning earnest. “It was reckless,” she said.
“I did it for you.” Cormac’s tone was light and jocular still, teasing her. He hadn’t noticed the shift in Aoife’s voice.
“You have to promise me you’ll be more cautious.”
This time he noticed she was serious. He looked at her, smile fading.
“I can’t promise that. Not where you’re concerned.”
Aoife’s breathing quickened as something unsaid hung in the air between them.
“Here.” He slipped something small from his pocket and held it out.
A leather bracelet lay in his palm. The braid was tight and even, every knot made with care.
“I made it for your birthday,” he said. “But I might not get the chance to give it to you then.”
Aoife turned it in her hands, running her thumb over the rough edges. “You’ve been working on this a while,” she said.
He shrugged. “Whenever I had a moment between things.” His voice caught, and she looked up, but he was already looking away.
She held it out to him. “Would you?” She extended her wrist, pulling the sleeve up a fraction.
Cormac looked at her, and she smiled. He took the leather strap and slipped it around her wrist. His fingers touched her skin as he tied the ends together. The heat lingered long after the touch was gone.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, turning her wrist over to look at every intricate knot. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The branches creaked above them, the wind moving through the leaves in slow, whispering waves. The easy warmth between them cooled into silence.
Aoife looked out over the fields, the scattered roofs, the faint glow of the village in the distance.
“I am going with Lord Halverton,” she said at last.
Cormac didn’t move. “You don’t have to. We could run, hide in the woods.”
She shook her head. “No. I realised something earlier. I might have an opportunity here. He can’t be as bad as people say.
Maybe he doesn’t know what’s happening out here, that the entire country is struggling.
He can’t understand we’re all at risk of starving.
He can’t be a landlord without tenants. Who’ll till the fields next year if he lets us all die?
No, Cormac. I think I can open his eyes to what’s going on.
Maybe this is a chance to change all our destinies. ”
His mouth tightened. “No one can change a man like that.”
“Maybe no one has tried,” Aoife said.
Cormac scoffed and turned away, jaw tight. “You’re not going to change him, Aoife. He’ll change you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“When have you ever seen a man like him change?”
“That’s not fair. I don’t know any other men like him.”
“People don’t change.”
“Of course they do. You’re not the same person you were ten years ago. Or are you going to argue twelve-year-old you was just as wise as you are now?”
“Fine,” he said. “Adults don’t change.”
Aoife’s faith in her plan faltered. “Maybe. But what if I’m right? If he’s not what you think? If he’s capable of listening?”
“Aoife,” he said, almost pleading now. “Men like him don’t listen. He doesn’t see you as an equal. He sees you as a pretty thing he wants to own.”
The words hurt more than she expected. “I’ll make him listen.”
“How? Once you’re under his roof, he’ll be the one doing the changing. And he has all the power.”
“I won’t let him change me.” In that moment, her determination was as strong as the iron in her father’s forge. Until she saw the look Cormac gave her, full of pity, and she couldn’t stand it.
“It happens slowly,” he said. “You’ll tell yourself you’re doing it for good reasons. To keep the peace, to soften him, to help your father, the village. And by the time you realise what he’s made of you, it’ll be too late.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, though her voice was quieter now. “I have to believe there’s still good in people, Cormac. If I stop believing that, what’s left?”
Cormac studied her face. “You always think you can fix things,” he said. “And maybe you can. I just wish it didn’t have to cost you.”
She looked at him, her eyes bright. “I’ll miss you.”
He hesitated, then reached for her hand. His palm was rough and warm against hers. “I’d do anything you asked of me, Aoife. Anything.”
She knew he was thinking again about running away.
“I’ll be fine.” She said.
“You’d better be,” he said, trying for a smile and almost managing it. “Because if you’re not, I won’t have any choice but to come get you.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’d expect no less.”
They sat in silence after that, watching the fields fade into darkness. Neither spoke again of Halverton or the future waiting beyond the trees.