He hadn’t given himself time to think deeply about what had happened today. He didn’t have the chance until he was walking home to Mirin’s.

He thought about the night of the raid, and he could hear Frae’s voice saying to him in the dark, There’s a Breccan in our backyard. Perhaps the man had come to steal his little sister away, but perhaps he had stood as a sentry over their home, to deflect a raid from descending upon them.

Jack saw his mother in his mind’s eye, remaining on the lands she had earned despite the danger of the clan line that was so close to her croft. He recalled all the times he had asked for his father’s name, and every time Mirin had been unwilling to share even the smallest of morsels about him.

Walking the hills, Jack unsheathed his dirk. The only tangible legacy he now possessed, for he had been given no name, no lands. He had been granted nothing but a lone blade enchanted with truth, as if Jack’s father had anticipated all of the lies and secrets his son would be raised beneath.

Jack would have never believed it possible, not until Torin claimed that Breccans were passing over the clan line without notice, and Adaira claimed they were stealing the girls of the east. If they crossed secretly now, perhaps they had done so then, long ago when Jack’s mother lived alone on the edge of the border.

He had always wondered if he had ever unknowingly seen his father in the city market, on the road, in the castle hall. Jack had always wondered, and those thoughts had fallen on fallow ground over the years, left to rot. But no longer.

He had always wondered why his father had never claimed him. He now knew why.

His father was a Breccan.

Chapter 21

Torin rode back to the croft, eager to see Sidra. The meeting at the clan line had gone better than expected, and this was the most hopeful he had felt in a long time. If Innes Breccan continued to be agreeable and provided them with Orenna flowers, then they would be one step closer to finding Maisie and the other lasses. He could be days away from holding his daughter. Days away from carrying her home.

He just needed to be patient. Torin inhaled, slow and deep, to calm his heart.

He dismounted and left his horse by the gate. It had rained here while he had been away; the front yard glistened in the sunlight. He then noticed that Yirr wasn’t guarding the front door, and Torin felt his first pang of unease. He stepped inside, opening his mouth to call for Sidra.

His voice was still dust in his throat. His wound still ached.