“This is your brother?”

“One of them,” I managed, my voice coming out in a sort of squeak. Simon loosened his grip a little. “Finbar saved you. He brought you here.”

“Why?” The voice was flat.

“I believe in freedom,” said Finbar with admirable steadiness. “I’ve tried to right wrongs where I can. You are not the first I have helped in such a way, though what became of them afterward I do not know. Will you let my sister go?”

“Why should I believe you? Who in his right mind would send a little girl into his enemy’s arms, alone except for a doddering cleric? Who would turn traitor to his own family? What sort of man does that? Maybe you have a troop of warriors, there in the trees, ready to take me and finish what they started.” Simon’s voice was under control, but I could feel the tension in his body, and knew staying upright and holding me must be agony for him. He would not last much longer. I spoke to Finbar directly, without words, mind straight to mind.

Leave this to me. Trust me.

Finbar blinked at me, relaxing his guard for a moment. I read in his thoughts an anger and confusion that I had not seen in him before.

It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s him.

I have never been prone to the weaker characteristics of a woman; in fact, despite my small size and apparent delicacy I am a strong person and able to endure much. I should never have thought myself capable of such a deception, and I risked much in my guess at Simon’s probable reaction. But at the time, it was the only thing I could think of. So I gave a slight moan, and buckled at the knees, and it was to Simon’s credit that he dropped the knife and managed to catch me before I hit the ground. I kept my eyes firmly shut, listening to Finbar making noises of brotherly concern, and Simon regaining his weapon and warning my brother away. Then Father Brien’s voice—alerted by the noise, he was at my side quickly and wiping my face with a damp cloth that smelled of lavender. Opening my eyes cautiously, I met a very wry expression on the good father’s face. He didn’t miss much.

I turned my head one way. Finbar sat exactly as before, cross-legged, bolt upright, his expression well schooled. I turned my head the other way. Simon was very close, his back against a large stone, the knife held loosely between his hands. I felt he had been watching me, but now his eyes were turned away, toward the trees. I did not like the look of his skin, which was showing that sweaty pallor that I’d hoped was gone for good.

All four of us were apparently at a loss as to where to go next. The problem was solved unexpectedly by the wolfhound, Linn, who had tired of her rabbit hunt, and now hurtled toward us out of the forest, ecstatic to see so many friends at once. First she leapt on Finbar, planting her feet on his shoulders and washing his face with some vigor. Then she bolted over to me, careless of my apparently delicate state of health, and planted heavy feet on my stomach in passing. She circled Simon, quivering with anticipation, but careful, still, not to hurt him.