‘Come,’ he told his daughter. It didn’t matter if she could hear him; he spoke as much to comfort himself. Together they tiptoed past the chickens in the yard, slinking low as they approached the stable. Lorn kept one eye on the house as he pulled the wooden door farther open. The darkness of the stable enveloped him at once. Taking a chance, he left the stable door open a bit to let in light, then scanned the interior. He spied hay, some tack on the wall, and a bank of rickety stalls. But no cows, and no goats. A horse that looked as old as the stable clopped at the ground in the closest stall. The other stalls were filled with oxen.
‘Fate above, I don’t believe this,’ groaned Lorn. Stepping into the stable for a closer look revealed a small stool and some farm tools, but that was all. Immediately he realised that the oxen were for working the fields, and supposed the chickens gave them eggs. They must barter for milk, he thought blackly.
‘Blast them. .’
He looked around, out of answers. There was no way he could go on without getting Poppy proper food. If there was milk in the house, he’d have to get it.
‘A thief,’ he snarled. ‘That’s what I am now. That’s what Jazana Carr has made of me.’
He was armed and a good fighter. If they wouldn’t give him food, he would take it. But he knew he couldn’t take his daughter with him, so he found a corner of the stable that seemed relatively clean, kicked a mound of hay into it to make a bed, and set the infant down. He then wrapped her more tightly in her heavy swaddling clothes, pinning her limbs. Poppy squirmed but seemed comfortable enough. With the oxen in their stalls, he knew she’d be safe for a time.
‘I won’t be long,’ he told her. ‘Just sit tight.’
Now free of Poppy, Lorn could move more stealthily. He slunk down low as he left the stable, then crept along the stone fence as he slowly neared the house. The farmhouse was made of the same smooth rocks as the fence, with few windows and a single, splintering door. Most of the windows had been shuttered closed, but the largest one, the one nearest the door, remained open. As he neared the house, Lorn could see figures through the wavy glass. He kept his head low as he drew closer, until at last he found himself against the wall. Quickly he scanned the yard, grateful there were no dogs to give him away. Finally he snuck a single eye around the window frame and peered inside.
There was a woman. And a cooking fire glowing in the hearth. A kettle steamed over the fire. A young boy sat at a table, waiting for food. Bread and cups sat on the table with a pair of candles. Lorn’s heart thumped in his chest. Was there milk in the cups? he wondered. And what about a man? Where was the woman’s husband? She was a small thing, thin and reedy with dark, tied-back hair. Lorn could barely guess her age. Neither she nor the boy had noticed him, so he boldly moved his other eye to the glass, viewing all of the small room. Now he saw a cradle in the corner, and a baby in the cradle. Boy or girl he couldn’t say, but he could tell the child was nearly Poppy’s age.
And then his dark idea occurred to him.
‘Oh, Fate,’ he whispered. ‘Could I?’
There was nothing to be done for it. He’d come this far already. Killing good men and betraying his people hadn’t stopped him. Why then should this? He’d be as gentle as he could, he decided. At his side he wore his sword. He thought about it a moment, then chose his dagger instead, slipping the blade from its sheath. If there was a man inside the house, he would deal with him. If there was more than one. .
There isn’t, he decided in an instant. And the woman would obey him; she had the children to protect. He straightened, crossed the window without being seen, then went to the door. Without pausing, he knocked loudly. Behind the door he heard a surprised commotion. In his right hand he held his dagger, but let it dangle less threateningly at his side. A hush from inside followed. Lorn knocked again, this time more forcefully.
‘Open the door,’ he boomed. ‘I came upon your farm just now and need help.’
Feet shuffled closer. The iron handle of the door turned and the door opened a crack. The little woman with the dark eyes peered out. Her mouth hung open in concern. Quickly she sized up Lorn, but by the time she saw his dagger he’d wedged his foot into the jamb.
‘No, don’t run,’ said Lorn as the woman jumped back. His free hand sprang up and seized the door. The woman backpedalled into the house.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded. Her boy child sprang from his chair to defend her. A bread knife on the table leaped into her hand. Lorn pushed open the door and stood on the threshold.
‘Now we both have knives,’ he said. ‘But I know how to use mine.’
‘Who are you?’ the woman spat.
So far no one else had appeared. Lorn blessed his good luck. ‘I’m a traveller, not from around here. I came upon your farm and saw your lights.’
‘So?’ The woman’s angry eyes glared at Lorn as she pulled her son by the sleeve to get behind her.
‘Put the knife down,’ said Lorn. ‘You cannot harm me. You are alone here?’
The woman didn’t know how to answer. ‘There are men who work my fields. They’ll be back in a moment.’
The waver in her voice told Lorn she was lying. ‘You’re alone with no one to help you, and what I want of you won’t take much time. Put down the knife. If you do you won’t be harmed. Or the children.’
‘Leave my mother alone!’ shrieked the boy.
Lorn stepped closer. ‘Quiet your son.’
‘Don’t you touch him!’ hissed the woman, brandishing her knife higher.
‘Put it down,’ said Lorn evenly. She saw the resolve in his face and was frightened.
‘Great Fate, leave us,’ she pleaded.
‘I will, soon,’ said Lorn. ‘But I have need of you.’
‘Need of. .?’ The woman blanched. ‘No, please. .’
‘Lower your knife and come to the stable with me. I promise you, you and your children will not be hurt, and when you are done I will be on my way.’
Dread suffused the woman’s face. For a moment she was unable to speak. The knife trembled in her grip. Lorn knew what she was thinking and groaned.
‘Gods, woman, I am no rapist. But I am impatient. Now put down that damned knife and come with me.’
Confused, the woman remained still.
‘For the sake of your children, get yourself out here!’
‘All right,’ the woman moaned. ‘All right. Your promise, though — you’ll leave us unharmed? The children especially?’
Lorn’s patience snapped. He walked up to the woman, grabbed her arm and shook the knife from her grip. ‘I gave my word and that is enough for any woman,’ he snarled. Dragging her toward the door, he turned to the boy and said, ‘Don’t run for help. Don’t say a word. Look after the little one.’
The boy stared, horrified. ‘Mother!’
Lorn slammed the door behind him. Outside, he released the woman and pushed her toward the stable. She shivered in the cold. Clearly she didn’t believe his claims, and expected rape. But she was alone and Lorn had the knife, so she obeyed, walking shakily toward the stable with her hand at her mouth. Lorn kept close behind her, hating himself for the fear on her face.
‘Inside there,’ he said, and opened the stable doors wide for her, leaving them that way to let in the most light. Wary, the woman went inside, her arms wrapped about herself. When they were both within the stable, Lorn told her to stay where she was, then hurried to the corner where he’d left Poppy. The infant was still there. She cooed at his touch as he lifted her.
‘A baby?’ The woman was flabbergasted. ‘Is that yours?’
‘My daughter,’ Lorn explained. ‘She’s why I brought you here. She needs you.’