Frae was dreaming of chocolate cake and snow when she heard the hooves in the garden. A horse was stomping through the vegetables, its noble neck arched, its nostrils flaring with breath like clouds. At first, Frae thought the horse was part of her dream—she had always longed for one, despite Mirin insisting the chickens and the three cows were more than enough animals for them—until she startled awake.

She opened her eyes to the darkness and listened. She could hear Mirin’s soft, deep breaths beside her, but there . . . just beyond the bolted shutters, to her left. A horse whickered.

She sat forward, the blanket tumbling away from her shoulders. Without a sound, she stood and walked all the way to the bedroom door. She unlatched it very quietly and slipped into the common chamber, where the hearth embers still glowed and Mirin’s loom sat in the corner like a dark, slumbering beast. She made to go to Jack’s door but then paused, thinking she had better check and make sure a horse was truly in the yard before she woke her brother.

Frae crept to the back door. There was a small iron grill with a sliding panel built in the upper wood—a peeping window—which was a little too high for Frae’s line of vision, but if she raised up on her toes, she would be able to see out of it. She held her breath, her hands suddenly clammy as she worked to unlock the narrow panel, sliding it back until she could taste fresh air and see the constellations glittering like crystals in the sky.

She raised up on the balls of her feet and peered through the narrow opening.

She saw the horse instantly. It stood only a stone’s throw away, grazing in the garden. It was huge and beautiful, tacked with saddle and bridle, the silver buckles winking in the starlight.

Then it must have a rider, she thought, her eyes sweeping the garden.

He could have been a statue standing in the herbs, etched in moonlight. He stood facing the house, staring in Frae’s direction.

She dropped down, heart beating wildly in her chest, but then realized he probably couldn’t see her, not through the dark shadows that draped the backside of the cottage.

She dared to peep again.

She couldn’t fully make out the features of his face, but she saw the woad tattoos that marked his forearms and the backs of his hands. She saw the plaid that was draped across his chest and knew it would be blue in color. A sword was sheathed at his belt.

Frae panicked and slid the panel. It shut with a click, a quiet sound but in that midnight moment it was horribly loud to her and she cowered, slowly backing away from the door.