Page 42

CHAPTER 1

Laird MacDunn stood near a pole on the verge of rot, the wind blowing ever so slightly against his kilt. His hands gripped the sword beneath his belt tightly as he took in the sight of the world burning before him. The roofs of the houses in the village burned with the ferocity of a rather angry gust of wind.

The fires emanating from the dry fields and the roofs licked at the sky, the smoke rising higher than the flames. He remained still, watching his men look through every burning house, every tavern, every other building with enough space to hide someone. To hide anyone.

For a brief moment, he wondered if he should have brought more men.

He remained still nonetheless, watching, waiting. She had to be here. He was sure of it. He couldn’t exactly explain how sure he was, but he had a feeling deep down in his gut—she was here.

His men continued to ransack the village while he stood watching the rest of the villagers flee from the fire. He didn’t stop them or ask anyone to either. He had more pressing matters at hand.

One of his men, Duncan, exited one of the buildings and walked closer to him. Laird MacDunn remained still, wondering if whatever news Duncan was about to break to him would lift or wreck him.

“She’s nae here, M’Laird. This is the second time we have looked through these houses,” Duncan reported, his voice almost drowned out by the roaring of the fires.

Laird MacDunn looked around, his eyes darkening with frustration. He stared at his other men, who were still looking through the other houses. Then, he stared at the fires and the dirt track Duncan had come from.

“Keep lookin’. She’s here somewhere.”

“M’Laird, we have looked over and over. She’s nae here,” Duncan repeated.

“Well then, look a third time.” Laird MacDunn’s voice was bordering on an angry growl. “The informant said there was a girl her age in the village. She must still be here somewhere.”

Duncan nodded and turned around, heading back to the burning houses along the dirt track, once again leaving Laird MacDunn to his roiling thoughts.

He couldn’t let himself get distracted by the thoughts racing through his mind. Thoughts like what if the informant was wrong . What if there wasn’t a girl her age here, and what if the girl wasn’t his daughter.

He swallowed and leaned slightly against the rotting pole, his eyes peeled for any other sign of movement. She was here.

She had to be.

The sound of Ava’s footsteps echoed through the hallways of the orphanage. One of her hands lifted the hem of her gown, while the other held on tightly to a covered bowl as she hurried past several doors, her eyes on the lookout for someone.

She stopped before one of the doors that lined the hallway and pressed down on the knob. She walked in, her eyes searching the room before her feet could even cross the threshold.

In the room were two girls sitting on the ground. They both seemed to be playing a kind of game and had stopped when she walked in.

Ava threw them a smile and looked around again, thinking her eyes could catch something she must have missed the first time.

“Margaret. Is she here?” she asked the two girls after looking around one more time for good measure.

They both shook their heads.

Ava threw them one more smile and retraced her steps. She closed the door behind her and continued down the hallway. Her heart beat erratically in her chest as she ran, and her body moved with a certain fluidity. She filled out her gown, and the lacing around it wound rather elegantly around her curves.

She ran even faster, silently hoping, desperately praying that the worst hadn’t happened. But then what could be the worst?

She stopped at another door and pressed down on the knob once again before walking in. She found a woman her age—a little older or younger, give or take. She was reading a book to a young girl just like one of the girls she had seen in the room before.

“Sarah,” Ava greeted when the woman’s head snapped up. Her eyes flicked to the child, and she threw her a smile as well. “Jane.”

“Ava? Ye look like ye have seen a ghost. Is everything all right?”

“I’m looking for her. Margaret.”

Jane and Sarah exchanged confused glances, almost like they were thinking the same thing. Then, they turned back to Ava again.

“Who?”

“You know Margaret? The new girl?”

“The frail wee girl who doesn’t speak?” Sarah asked.

Ava nodded. “Do you know where she is?”

“The last I saw her was this morning. She was walkin’ with Henrietta,” Sarah explained.

“And where is Henrietta?”

“Ye’ll find her by the watering hole. If she’s still there.”

Ava nodded. “Thank you so much, Sarah.”

“Didn’t ye say that the girl doesn’t speak?” Jane’s curious voice rose into the air.

Ava’s grip tightened on the doorknob as her eyes darted to the girl. “Yes.”

“If she doesn’t speak, how did ye know that her name was Margaret? How did she tell ye?” Jane pressed.

“She did not tell me. That was the name I gave her,” Ava replied, her voice curt and sharp.

“The name ye gave her was Margaret?” Jane asked, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Yes. Doesn’t she look like a Margaret to you?”

Jane shook her head.

“Well,” Ava murmured, already pulling the door close, a sly smile on her face, “she looks like one to me!”

She kept her tight grip on the bowl as she hurried further down the hall. Her weight pushed her forward, almost giving her more momentum as her loud footsteps continued to echo off the walls.

She walked to the exit, the cold wind blowing against her face as she ran towards the watering hole.

Henrietta, a young girl in her late teens, sat by the broad watering hole, filling the empty pots that surrounded her.

“Henrietta,” Ava greeted. “Have you seen Margaret?”

Henrietta looked up from the pot she was filling and frowned at Ava. “Who?”

“The girl. The new one.”

“Oh. She ran away.”

Ava’s heart sank. “What?”

“No, not like that. She ran to the kitchen. I would have asked what happened, but—you know, I wouldn’t have gotten an answer.”

Ava nodded and proceeded back into the cottage. She headed straight to the kitchen, switching the bowl from one hand to the other.

She found Margaret on the floor, resting against one of the wooden cabinets attached to the wall. She hugged her knees tightly, her deep brown hair cascading down her back.

“There you are,” Ava whispered, finally letting herself take a deep breath. “You frightened me half to death, child.”

Sarah wasn’t exaggerating. Margaret was skinny and slightly malnourished.

“Do you want to eat?” Ava asked, holding out the bowl to her.

Margaret looked up, her hazel eyes scanning the food, then Ava’s hands, and finally Ava herself before giving a brief nod.

Ava sat on the ground beside her and removed the food covering A well-placed piece of wood that masked the entire bowl in the first place. “See, I made your favorite. Bannocks.”

She tore off a piece of the bread and brought it closer to Margaret’s mouth. The ten-year-old ate without protest.

Ava watched her closely, noting how quickly she swallowed the bread. How long had she been hungry?

“Have you been studying the letters I taught you?”

Margaret nodded.

Ava brought another bite to the child’s mouth, which she took.

“And I take it you have been writing them somewhere?”

Margaret nodded and pulled out a piece of parchment from her pocket. She extended it towards Ava, who took it, her eyes scanning the letters the girl had written on the parchment.

Ava looked up at her, a smile spreading across her face. “See? You are getting it, aren’t you?”

Margaret said nothing, only responded with a brief smile.

Ava handed her another bite.

While some part of her did think there was an improvement from the past two weeks when she had first found Margaret—her bruises were almost completely gone, the bags under her eyes were beginning to clear, and the spark was slowly returning to her eyes—she couldn’t help but wonder if there was any more she could have done. Perhaps if she put in more effort, Margaret might have gained some weight and had a less bleak look in her eyes.

Perhaps she would’ve even spoken. Maybe a word or two.

Ava’s mind briefly returned to when Margaret was brought to her two weeks ago for the first time. She was found on the border, wandering alone. She’d looked lost, and Ava had known as soon as she’d seen her that she had to take her in.

People like Margaret were why she had built the orphanage in the first place. It was clear to her back then that the little girl needed a roof over her head and some food in her belly.

“What’s your name, child?” she remembered asking her.

She also remembered receiving no reply. Every word she had said to Margaret ever since had been met with complete silence. The girl had refused to speak two weeks ago when she was found, and she still hadn’t spoken a word to anyone ever since.

“Perhaps later this evening, I shall teach you even more letters and how to write them. How about that?” Ava suggested, studying her once again.

She brought another bite to her mouth, and Margaret took it, a flicker of mild satisfaction crossing her face.

“Would you like that?” she asked again.

Margaret nodded.

Ava smiled and handed her the parchment. “Good.”

She lifted another chunk of bread from the bowl and was about to hand it to her when a loud crash tore through the air.

Her head snapped to the kitchen door, her heart skipping a beat. Margaret must have heard it as well because she followed her gaze.

“What in the?—”

The crashing sound pierced the air again, this time a little louder.

“Get up,” Ava called to Margaret, a sense of urgency betraying her calm voice.

She held the little girl to her side, and they both moved further into the kitchen.

The crashing sound had stopped now, only to be replaced by firm and heavy footsteps. Ava felt goosebumps rise over her skin, but she managed to remain calm. The last thing she wanted was to scare Margaret even more.

The louder the footsteps got, the tighter she held on to the girl.

Soon, the footsteps stopped, and the kitchen door swung open, the sharp snap of its hinges sending a chill down Ava’s spine.

Standing in the doorway was a warrior. A rather handsome warrior with biceps that bulged in the sunlight. He walked into the kitchen, a rather stern glare on his face.

Ava held on even tighter to Margaret and studied the warrior. His torn and bloodied clothes clung to his glistening skin. Ava noticed a few cuts here and there on his chest and the visible parts of his stomach.

His eyes searched the kitchen, taking in the walls, the cabinets, and the bowl of bannocks on the floor, before finally settling on Ava and Margaret. The glare on his face lingered as he took another step into the kitchen, now fully out of the sun.

Margaret tightened her arms around Ava’s waist, radiating such fear that Ava could almost taste it.

“You’re all right, child,” Ava whispered, her eyes not leaving the warrior. “You’re all right.”

For some reason, it was incredibly hard for her to tell if she was reassuring Margaret or herself.