But there had been that one Breccan and his horse, Frae thought with a perplexed frown. What had he been doing? She was certain she hadn’t imagined him.

“And where are you going, Jack?” Mirin asked in a measured tone. As if she felt nothing—no fear, no relief, no worry.

Jack finished knotting his boot tethers. He met Mirin’s gaze from the other side of the room. “I’m going to the Elliotts’.”

“That’s six kilometers from here, son.”

“Well, I’ll not sit here and do nothing. I’ll run there. Perhaps the land will aid me tonight.” He glanced down to the sword in his hand. “Do you have another sword, Mum?”

“No. A bow and a quiver.”

“May I use them?”

Mirin was silent, but then she looked at Frae. “Go and get the bow and quiver for your brother, Frae.”

Frae scampered into the bedroom for the second time that night, her fingers like ice as she found the weapons. When she returned, she saw her mother had knotted a plaid across Jack’s chest, to guard his heart and his lungs. It was enchanted. Mirin had woven it for him years ago, and he didn’t look thrilled to be wearing it until Mirin took a firm hold of his chin—Frae knew that meant she was very angry—and stared at Jack, saying, “You wear the plaid and go, or you don’t and stay here with us, Jack. Which will it be?”

He decided to wear the plaid, as Frae knew he would. She didn’t understand why he hated the enchantment so much, and she brought him the quiver and the bow, her heart hammering fiercely in her chest.

Jack smiled at her, as if it was a peaceful night. It calmed her as he buckled the quiver to his shoulder. He set the sword in her hands. “I’ll return soon.”

And then he was gone. Frae stood by the fire, numb at first until her fear returned, swelling like a wasp sting. The hilt of the sword was warm and heavy in her grip. She stared at it as if she had never seen a sword before.

“Remember the third rule, Frae?” Mirin said as she poured them a cup of tea.

Frae remembered. The rules brought her back to life, and she walked into her bedchamber yet again and found her own plaid, folded on the bench.

Frae returned to the fire and stood before her mother as Mirin wrapped the plaid around her thin body, knotting it firmly at Frae’s shoulder.

“There,” said Mirin. “That’s how the guards wear their plaids too.”

Frae tried to smile, but her eyes burned with tears. She wished Jack had stayed in the house.