“Better eat something. And drink.”

I stayed quite still. There was wisdom in not making it obvious I understood their language. If they thought me some sort of wild girl of the woods, some village idiot, I would be safer. I would not be much of a trophy, or worth a hostage price. After all, I was my father’s daughter.

“Mm.” He scrutinized me as I sat there, huddled in the half dark. Then he tried again, muting his voice so as not to wake the others. “You—food? You—water?” It seemed he had learned a few words in our tongue. His accent was laughable. I looked at him, and he held out a traveler’s cup. I edged away from him, for however kind his words, he was a man, very tall and broad of shoulder, big enough and strong enough to do whatever he liked to me. My fever had come down, but I didn’t seem to be able to stop shaking.

He put the cup on the ground near me, and retreated. When I failed to respond, he tried again. “You—water,” he repeated. “Unless,” he went on in his own tongue, “you feel, like me, that you’ve swallowed half the lake already. You made a good attempt to drown me, I thought.”

For an instant, a most curious feeling came over me, as if we were replaying a scene already a part of my life from somewhere long back, but subtly changed. Then it was gone, and I picked up the cup, annoyed at the way my hand trembled, and drank.

And he was right, I did feel better.

“Good,” he said, not taking his watchful eyes off me. I drank again, my hand steadier on the cup now. In a minute I would try to get up. See if I could walk. If I could run, just for long enough to get away. For the Britons had their own desperate mission. They would not waste time seeking me, they would more likely be relieved at losing their unexpected burden. Then I would…at that point the train of thought reached a blank. I was in unknown territory, without proper clothing, without food or tools or any help. And if I had understood right, a band of armed and dangerous men would be moving swiftly down on us once dawn broke. They’d said Redbeard. Could this be Seamus Redbeard, the father of Eilis? What if I were here, and they found me? There would be men there that would know me, even after nigh on two years. What then? It did not bear thinking of. There would be a swift return to my father’s house, and to the lady Oonagh. The thought made my flesh crawl. That way was all darkness and death, for me and my brothers. I was in danger from both the Britons and their pursuers. I had to get away.

“Here. Eat.” The Briton held out a strip of the dried meat, as if to a nervous dog. I shook my head. “Eat,” he repeated, frowning. His eyes were as blue as ice, as blue as the sky on a frosty winter morning. I was hungry; but not so hungry that I could stomach flesh. Then he was putting the meat back in the bag where it seemed they kept their travelers’ rations, and he was looking maybe for something else, and his eyes were turned away just for a moment. I moved fast and silently, using all the skills I had. Up, across, under the overhang, away—