Jack only spun on his heel in the dirt, lifting a forefinger to his lips.

The first rule. Don’t make a sound.

Frae swallowed the knot in her throat and watched as Jack silently stepped through the garden, searching. She strained her eyes in the dark as she watched him, anxious until she heard Mirin’s soothing voice speak behind her.

“It’ll be all right, Frae.”

She jumped and turned to see her mother directly behind her, her eyes wide as she, too, watched Jack move through the garden.

“I saw a horse and a man in the yard,” Frae whispered, and Mirin’s gaze flickered down to hers. “He was a Breccan.”

“Just now?”

“A few moments ago, Mum.”

Mirin stepped closer and laid her hands on Frae’s shoulders, and it made Frae feel safer. They both continued to watch Jack walk the perimeter of the yard and Frae finally noticed it—the gate was sitting open, groaning in the sudden gust of wind. That was one of her final chores of the day—to ensure all of the gates were closed.

“The gate!” she cried just as Jack approached it. “Mum, the gate’s open!”

“I see it too, Frae.”

“Jack will close it, won’t he?” Frae said, but then to her horror, her brother stepped through it, and she realized he was about to walk down the hill, out of sight. “Jack! Jack! Come back!”

She was screaming and didn’t even know that she was until Mirin knelt and framed Frae’s face in her cold hands.

“We must be quiet, Frae. Remember the rules? Jack will be fine. All of us will be fine. We are safe here, but you must be quiet.”

Frae nodded, but her breaths were rapid again, and she felt light-headed.

“Come, let’s make a cup of tea and rouse the fire while we wait for your brother.” Mirin shut the back door, but she didn’t lock it, and Frae felt torn as she followed her mother to the hearth.

Mirin threw a log on the coals and stirred a tired flame to life. Frae struggled to put the tea leaves in the strainer and carry the kettle to the hearth. The water was just beginning to boil when Jack returned, bounding in through the back door, his hair tangled, his face flushed. There was a wild, angry gleam in his eyes.

“Jack?” Mirin prompted.

“I counted ten of them,” he said, grabbing his boots. He stood on one foot and struggled to knot the tethers up to his knees. “They’re riding along the valley floor by the river, following the tree line to the north. To the Elliotts’ croft, I believe.”

“Are they going to come here, Jack?” Frae asked, tremulous.

“No, Frae. They’ve passed us by. We’re safe.”