True to his word, he was off at dawn the next day, taking advantage of a lull in the persistent rain. Simon and I had slept better, for he had woken only twice, and there was a little more color in his cheeks. We watched from the doorway as the cart trundled away under the trees.

The morning was peaceful. There was a fine drizzle, on and off, and in between low slanting sunlight, as if the day could not make up its mind to be foul or fair. I tied back my hair and got to work preparing salves from dried lavender. I measured oil and beeswax; Simon watched me. Later, we shared some green apples and a rather hard bannock. Our supplies were indeed in need of replenishment. I wondered if there might be enough flour left for me to bake a few rolls.

Linn heard it before we did. Her ears pricked, she growled deep in her throat. I stared at her; there was no sound from outside. Then, an instant later, the silent message flashed into my mind with an urgent clarity.

Hide him, Sorcha. Now, quickly.

No time to question. I grabbed Simon by the arm.

“Someone’s coming,” I said, “get over to the cottage, quickly. Go in and bar the door.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue. Do as I say. And keep out of sight! Do it, Simon!”

He stared at me for a moment; my face must have been white, for Finbar’s message had the ring of extreme urgency. Linn barked once, twice, then she was out the door and down the track, tail streaming like a banner behind her.

“Hurry!” I half dragged the unwilling Simon across the clearing to the cottage and shoved him inside. And now we could both hear it—the drum of hoofbeats, more than one horseman approaching fast up the track. “Stay out of sight! You’ll be safe here until they’ve gone.”

“But what about—”

“Shut the door! Quickly!” Hoping he would have the sense to obey me, I left him and ran back to the cave, my feet squelching across the two sets of prints in the mud.

I threw myself inside, heart pounding, and only just in time, for there were voices, and the hoofbeats and barking mingled, and three men rode into the clearing: Finbar first, his face tight with anxiety, and two soldiers in field armor, with swords at their sides—my brother Liam, tall and grim; and Cormack, looking impressively grown up.

The dog was beside herself, and as Cormack slid down from his horse her barking reached a pitch of ecstasy. She jumped up, planting her forefeet on his chest, and licked his face with little sounds of delight. Cormack grinned, scratching her behind the ears. But the faces of the others bore no trace of good humor.

Finbar’s eyes were questioning as he approached the cave entrance where I stood. Where is he? But there was no time to respond.

“Come in,” I said hospitably. “Father Brien is away to the village; the cottage is locked up. I’m surprised to see you all—is Father then returned so soon?” I was quite pleased with this speech—unfortunately my hands were shaking with nerves, and I thrust them into the pockets of my apron.