me like a toy stuffed with sawdust, and William reaches across my lap to push hair from his brother’s eyes.
That leaves Not Miv. She’s playing with a set of metal rings that I’ve seen the steward’s grandson with.
The last time I held my baby sister, I had her on my hip as I slung the leather bucket dripping and heavy up the creekward path for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It did not occur to me to look over my shoulder or I might have seen the thin whispers of black smoke hovering over the next vale. I merely set the bucket by the fire and put Miv in her cradle with a wooden spoon to gnaw. I turned away from her, rubbing my sore arm and thinking how glad I was that it would be Rhael’s turn to carry her next time.
I grab Not Miv under the armpits, tuck her into the crook of my leg, then whip my hands away. My palms are sweaty. My heart racing. But she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t judge me, cold and silent. All she does is drool and bang one ring on another with her little unburned hands.
I close my eyes. I told William I was here, and here’s where I’m going to stay.
WHEN I AWAKEN, NEST IS STANDING OVER ME WEARing a servant’s linsey gown. I startle and try to get up, but William is fused to my side with both arms around my waist. David is curled next to me, and Not Miv lies across my lap.
Nest will be seeing the mongrel dog off its tether. Near her children.
But she sways on her feet. Her hair is loose and stringy, and all she does is hold out her arms like she’s waited an age to do it. I lift Not Miv off my lap, and Nest takes her quick and hugs her hard, one hand on the baby’s head like she’s newly born.
I gently peel William’s arms away and slide out from under both him and David. My sleeve is wet from where Not Miv pissed on me sometime in the night.
“They’re all right?” Nest does not look away from her sons sleeping in a pile, like puppies.
I nod. I roll my aching shoulders and rub my neck.
“You’re sure?”
“I sat with them all night.”
Nest lets out the longest breath and slides down the wall in small, painful movements.
The hall is dim and still. No trestles being set up for a meal. The fire confined and austere. The steward is telling Owain not so subtly that he’ll no longer find this fort comfortable, which means we’re leaving and soon.
The door is open, though, probably left that way by Nest, and outside, Owain moves past in his leather armor, swearing and calling for Einion penteulu to make sure the lads are ready to leave before sunup.
William shifts in his sleep, one hand flailing until it falls on David. He curls close to his brother, his arm across the younger boy’s shoulders. I kneel to retuck his cloak around them like I would for Margred, but Nest makes a fierce little noise in her throat. I pull my hand back. She says nothing else, only fixes me with a steady, narrow-eyed stare.
I am out the door. I don’t even close it behind me.
In the yard, I soak the sleeve of my gown in the horse trough to be rid of the piss smell. The shock of cold water wakes me up right and proper, enough to reckon how much my belly hurts. It’s good that the warband will spend the day on the march. I’m not sure I can be around Owain ap Cadwgan today.
Nest, either.
This won’t be the first time we’ve left somewhere in a rush with no breakfast, but when I turn up at the back door of the kitchen, the steward fills my apron with oatcakes and cheese. I nod when he says I’d best make sure it gets to the right people. I don’t know how to tell him Nest wouldn’t take the keys to Heaven from my rotting corpse.
Outside, under the kitchen’s overhang, I shiver and fidget in the biting wind. My rucksack is in the hall. Where Nest is. Where the little ones are. But I’ve got to pack. I know better than to slow the warband down.
The children will drag the pace, though. They can’t help it.
I’m rushing across the yard and dodging patches of muddy ice and worrying about the little ones