“Another plaid, in the vein of your others?” Mirin asked, nodding to Frae, who hurried to boil some water for tea.

“No, not for me,” Torin said. “It’s for Sidra.”

Frae listened to Torin describe the shawl he wanted Mirin to weave as she quietly filled the pot and carried it to the hearth. She had taught herself how to move without sound, how to move like a shadow. Her game of stealth ended only when she had to set the kettle on the iron hook and stir the logs, renewing the flames.

The talk began to drift from the plaid to what had transpired a few nights ago. Her mum hadn’t wanted Frae to know all that had happened, but she had gathered bits and pieces of information, puzzling it all together to realize that Maisie had vanished and Sidra had been attacked. Sidra, who Frae thought was one of the most beautiful people on the isle.

The news had strengthened Frae’s fears. It felt like her heart was bruised.

“How is Sidra today?” Mirin was asking.

“She’s recovering,” Torin answered. Frae thought his voice sounded different from normal. Like he was short of breath. “I’m still searching.”

“No trace?”

He shook his head.

The tea prepared, Frae glanced at her mother, who was intently watching the captain.

“About this plaid, Mirin,” he continued with an awkward wave of his hand. “I would like for it to be strong as steel. Something to guard her when I’m away.”

He wanted it to be enchanted.

Mirin glanced at Frae, and Frae recognized it as the sign. The one that meant Frae was to go outside but to stay within the safety of the yard. She quickly filled two cups of tea and set them down on the table between Mirin and the captain, despite the fact neither of them had sat.

“Thank you, lass,” Torin said with a sad smile. It made Frae feel like she was important, and she wished more than anything she could remain in the room and hear the secret Torin wanted Mirin to weave into the plaid.

“I’ll go gather the eggs, Mum,” Frae said and meekly departed, latching the front door behind her.

When she turned to the yard, she saw the dog, waiting on Torin to return. She tentatively stroked its fur before walking around the garden toward the coop.

Jack was in the byre yard, on his hands and knees. Frae ran to join him, her heart lifting. He had been working on the byre most of the morning, resetting stones and reframing the windows, thatching fresh straw for the roof. Frae was grateful for these repairs, because she worried about their three cows not having enough shelter when it rained and snowed. When the wind blew harshly from the north.

“Jack!” she greeted him, clambering over the stone wall.