“Can you tell us where it is?” She focused on Tilda, shutting out the others’ nonsense. “All we know is that it’s somewhere up in the mountains. But it looks like there are a lot of those.”

“A … lot of mountains?” Tilda shook her head, sounding dazed. “I think we’d better sit down and talk all of this over. But first …” She glanced at Giles as his stomach let out a loud and unmistakable growl. “Let’s find something to fill that stomach before it starts singing to us, too.”

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Strangers and new surroundings were exactly the distraction that Cordelia needed to get her mind off her own fears. Her triplets followed Tilda’s directions to sit and wait by a small, flickering campfire surrounded by blankets where half a dozen other children slept. Cordelia, though, followed Tilda through the camp, soaking up every new sight and sound along the way. It was all so different from her forest!

Adults bustled and clustered on all sides, talking in worried groups, comforting cranky babies, or—in the case of four of the men—arguing in heated undertones. As she watched, the grouchy one called Hal threw up his hands in visible disgust and stomped off, ducking under the low-hanging branches of the closest tree and disappearing into the deep shadows beyond.

“Where did you all come from?” Cordelia asked, trying in vain to peer after him. Human eyes were so useless when it came to seeing in the dark! “Or do you live here normally?”

“Live here?” Tilda snorted as she slid between two groups of women sitting on the open ground, holding her own empty jug close to her chest. “Does this look like a home to you?”

It didn’t look like Cordelia’s castle, or even Lady Elianora’s cottage. But then, no one here looked the way she was used to. Their clothes weren’t the tunics or armor of the dukes’ soldiers, but they weren’t made of the richly colored fabrics that Alys and Mother had always sewed with, either. They looked rough and plain, and the people who wore them looked as if they’d been tired and worried for a long time.

“No, our homes were stolen by those dukes.” Tilda snapped out her last word like a curse as she came to a halt by a pile of baskets.

The red-haired older girl who sat guard by the baskets, wrapped in a fraying shawl, frowned up at her. “You’ve already taken your share for your family.”

“She hasn’t.” Tilda pointed at Cordelia.

The girl wrinkled her nose in distaste. “They’re not locals.”

“And we’re not dukes or duchesses. We care about people who aren’t our own, remember?” Tilda put her hands on her hips as the older girl hesitated. “They’re children, Margery. Look at them! We can’t let them go hungry.”