Her mind was more agitated than Caber, but Barrow wasn’t in a talking mood. As soon as she reached him, he set out at a faster pace. The swift trot took them across the courtyard and out of Tearmunn’s gates. The horses easily mastered the steep path from the keep into Glen Shiel. Ember could feel the tension in Caber’s muscles. The quick, steady pace of their trot was irritating him.
“When we hit the valley floor, we’ll follow the river to Loch Duich,” Barrow said. “They’ll want to open up, but I’m keeping it to a canter for now. Don’t give Caber his head.”
Ember nodded and Barrow urged Toshach forward. The black stallion leapt ahead, shaking the reins when Barrow kept him from reaching a full gallop. Caber rolled into a canter, keeping close to Toshach. Ember felt Caber champing at the bit, wanting to get control away from her. His ears were up, turned toward her, and she knew the horse was testing her, wondering if his rider matched him in cleverness and skill. She kept a firm hold on the reins, letting her body flow with the easy rocking of Caber’s gait. The stallion snorted a few times, shaking his head, rolling his eyes back, but soon he seemed to settle into contentment as they loped alongside the river. Barrow turned to look at her, smiling when he saw her keeping pace just behind Toshach. He gave Toshach a bit more rein and the dark stallion surged ahead, the canter giving way to a gallop.
Caber tried to burst into a flat run, but Ember held him back. Though he snorted and tugged at the reins, she forced him to speed up gradually. Only when she was sure he was acting with her assent did Ember free the stallion to fly after Toshach.
Barrow glanced back again and Ember offered him a thin smile. It wasn’t only her mount testing her; her teacher was too. She leaned forward, letting Caber race ahead to close the distance between them. When Caber was neck and neck with Toshach, eager to leap ahead, Ember reined him in, working to keep perfect pace, stride for stride with Barrow’s mount.
They rode that way for half an hour. Barrow would make subtle changes in speed followed by sudden shifts in their pace. Each time Ember adjusted accordingly, never letting Barrow catch her off guard. She was becoming appreciative of Caber’s sensibilities. He was sensitive to her mood; his ears were always turned toward her, waiting for a whispered word of encouragement, a click of her tongue urging speed. And she was constantly aware of him. She understood when he wanted to run, the difference between a toss of the head that was frustrated and one that was joyful. She knew to stroke his neck to praise him and the firm tone needed to hold his attention.
When they reached the shores of Loch Duich, Barrow reined Toshach in, bringing them to a trot and then to a walk. Having had their run, the horses were happy enough to take up an easy pace along the lake.
“It seems fighting isn’t the only thing you have a natural talent for,” Barrow said.
“Thank you.” Ember spoke briefly, not wanting to reveal how breathless she was. The ride had been exhilarating, but also hard work. The muscles in her arms, back, and thighs were tight coils, hot and strained from the effort of this riding lesson. Still, proving herself to Barrow had been worth it. And the thrill of riding itself was something she never could have anticipated.
Ember leaned over, resting her cheek against Caber’s mane.
“You’re a good match.” Barrow paused to let the horses drink from the lake.
Ember loosened the reins so Caber could reach the water. “We are.” She patted his neck, finding it damp from the run.
The sky above was heavy with clouds. Streams of mist reached down, finger-like, to grasp the hillsides, which had just begun to glow with the green of spring.
“The loch borders Tearmunn to the west and north. The hills of the glen guard us from the east and south. You’ll have passed the village on your journey to the keep,” Barrow said.
“I couldn’t see anything.” Ember’s face scrunched up at the memory. “I was with my mother and sister in the carriage.”
Barrow looked like he wanted to laugh, but he continued: “The village sits below Tearmunn on the northeastern shore of the loch. They supply us with livestock and trade goods in exchange for our protection.”
“Do they know about Conatus . . . why it exists?” Ember turned in the saddle, squinting to see the cluster of buildings squatting on the valley floor to the north.
“No,” Barrow told her. “They believe us to be knights of a normal variety. The fewer that know our true purpose, the safer we are. If you make visits to the village, it cannot be as a member of the Guard. The sight of a woman dressed as you are would stir suspicion. If you want to travel there, we can make arrangements.”
He patted Toshach’s shoulder. “We’ll take rides out of the keep so you can gain the skills required for battle astride a horse, but we’ll also ride so you’ll come to know the land. This is your home now.”
Wind lashed Ember’s cheeks as she gazed over the rough, gray waters of the lake. She turned, searching the landscape behind her and finding jagged hills. Some were covered in pine; others were bare but would soon blush with heather. Tearmunn lay nestled in a place both severe and beautiful. A gust of wind made the surface of the lake shiver, and Ember thought she heard a cry carried on the cold air.
Without a command from Barrow, Toshach raised his head and began to move on.
“Barrow!” Ember had turned in her saddle. The sound of the cry was closer now. She peered along the shoreline, seeking the source of the keening. A small figure hurtled toward them, flailing its arms.
He reined in, brows lifting in question.
“Look!” She pointed at the runner.
“A villager?” Barrow wheeled Toshach around. His voice grew soft in a way that made Ember’s breath catch. “A child.”
He gave a shout and Toshach reared, striking the air with his hooves. Then they were away, gliding beside the lake. Without the splashes of water thrown up by the stallion, Ember might have believed Toshach’s hooves weren’t touching the ground at all.
Caber threw his head up, prancing in a circle. With a whisper Ember let him run. Caber tore up the ground, flying over the shore. The wind screamed around Ember, pulling tears from her eyes. But she laughed as her heart matched the rhythm of Caber’s pounding hooves.
Though she couldn’t imagine being anything but terrified of two riders bearing down at full gallop, when the child saw that they were coming, he ran even faster. As they drew close, Ember saw that the small boy was about six or seven. He was still waving his hands, and dark liquid spurted into the air with the motion.
They were almost on top of the boy when Barrow reined Toshach in. The knight leapt from the saddle and ran to the boy. Caber snorted and pranced, making it awkward for Ember to dismount. She stumbled away from the horse and found Barrow kneeling in front of the child. He was holding the boy’s left wrist in his hand. The child had a bloody knife clutched in his other hand. Barrow examined the boy’s left hand, and Ember’s stomach lurched when she saw blood pouring from two stumps where his ring finger and pinky had been.
“It took them! It took them!” The boy’s cries were ragged. “They’re drowned!”
“What’s your name, child?” Barrow asked gently, then glanced at Ember. “There are bands of clean linen in my saddlebags. Get some so we can bind this wound.”
“Gordon,” Ember heard the boy say as she rifled through the pack strapped to Toshach’s saddle. Both the horses were restless, moving skittishly on the shore, their ears up and swiveling as if straining to hear approaching danger.
“That’s a strong name for a strong lad,” Barrow told the child. “And you must be strong, for you’ve been fighting. Is that not so?”
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Gordon’s eyes were wide as he looked at Barrow. “One of the knights from the keep. My da says you protect us.”
“Your da told you the truth,” Barrow answered. “Tell me what happened.”
Gordon wailed and Barrow murmured in a voice too low for Ember to hear, but a moment later the child??
?s cries quieted.
Ember returned to them with the bands of linen.
“Who did this to you?” she asked Gordon.
Gordon blanched, his eyes sweeping the rough water. “I had to. It took them. It would have taken me.”
Frowning, Ember reached for the boy’s wounded hand. Gordon sucked in his breath but didn’t cry out as she began to bind his wound.
“You cut off your fingers,” Barrow said hoarsely, and the boy nodded.
Bile rose in Ember’s throat. “Why would you do that?”
“I had to!” Tears ran down Gordon’s pale cheeks.
“Did the beast come from the loch?” Barrow asked.
Ember looked at him sharply. What beast?
Gordon sniffled. “We didn’t know. We didn’t see it come out of the water. Mackie thought it was a loose horse and we’d get a reward if we brought it back to the village. But it was a kelpie!”
Barrow gritted his teeth, swearing. “How many of your friends did it take?”
“Mackie and John,” Gordon sobbed. “They couldn’t get their knives out it time. It took them under and I ran away.”
“You did the right thing, Gordon,” Barrow said. “You were clever and brave.”
“Clever and brave?” Ember wanted to shove Barrow into the loch. Why was he going on about bravery when this child was bleeding all over the shore?
Barrow cut a sharp look at her, making her bite her tongue. “The children were hunted by a water horse. It’s a bad omen that one would prey on a village neighboring Tearmunn. It’s as if the darkness wanted to taunt us.”
“A water horse?” Ember shivered, glancing at the gray waters of the loch. “But they . . .” She’d been about to say that water horses only existed in stories meant to keep children from playing too close to lakes and rivers, but her mind choked off her words. She couldn’t cling to the beliefs that had shaped her life prior to arriving at Tearmunn. She’d already faced a revenant. If Barrow said water horses were real, she had no choice but to believe him.
She crouched beside Gordon. “Why did you cut yourself?”
Even through his tears, Gordon eyed her as if she were a fool. “Everyone knows that once you touch a kelpie, you stick to it. That’s why the others drowned. They didn’t remember their knives.”
“As I told you,” Barrow said. “You’re a clever lad and a brave one. I’ll need you to be brave again. Can you do that?”
Gordon looked into Barrow’s face and nodded.
“The kelpie will be angry that you escaped,” Barrow continued. “It will want to hunt you. If it comes for you, we can kill it and your village will be out of danger.”
Ember’s brow knit together. “You aren’t seriously going to use Gordon as bait?”
Barrow stood up and took her by the shoulders. “You are here to watch and learn. We have no choice but to lure the creature with Gordon’s blood. If we don’t, it will carry more villagers to their deaths beneath the waves.”
Gordon was eyeing Barrow’s saber. “You’ll kill it with that?” He pointed to the sword.
“I will.” Barrow smiled grimly. He turned to Ember. “I need you to hold the horses—they’ll want to bolt when the kelpie comes, and we need them to get us home.”
Ember glared at him. “You don’t think I can fight.”
“You’re a fine fighter, Lady Morrow,” Barrow snapped. “You’re also impetuous and bullheaded. You don’t have proper training or a weapon.”
“I have my dagger,” she argued.
“Stay with the horses,” Barrow said grimly. “I’ll not tell you again.”
She swallowed her next retort but stomped back to the horses, who were tossing their heads and whinnying their anxiety. Taking the reins firmly, Ember watched as Barrow led Gordon to the water’s edge. Her blood went cold when Barrow unwrapped the bloodied linens from the boy’s hand. Gordon stretched his arm out over the water and his blood spilled into the lake.
Holding her breath, Ember watched the surface of the loch, which despite the blustery gale had gone eerily still. Gordon was also standing perfectly still while Barrow crouched behind a boulder on the loch’s edge. Barrow was right. The boy was incredibly brave.
A movement in the water drew Ember’s gaze. The ripple was subtle, but slowly it stretched out over the gray surface like a dark ribbon unfurling. The shadow moved swiftly toward the shore, its shape undulating like that of a serpent.
Toshach and Caber whinnied, fighting to pull free. Ember held them in check, trying to soothe them. The creature’s head broke the surface of the water. At first it appeared to be reptilian, like she’d pictured a dragon, but as it rose, dripping, its features changed. What had been serpent-like became equine. Gordon began to tremble but didn’t flee as a black horse with a coat that shone like sealskin stood facing the boy in the shallows of the loch.
The real horses panicked. They began to squeal and dragged Ember back several steps. She fought to keep hold of the reins. The water horse turned its head to gaze at the frightened mounts. Its eyes were like burning coals. Ember gasped when she saw two pale objects hanging from its dark mane. Gordon’s severed fingers were still clinging to the kelpie.
With the beast’s attention turned to Toshach and Caber, Barrow hurled himself atop the boulder and leapt from the rock. The kelpie, sensing danger, wheeled to face the flying knight. When it pranced, the loch’s water frothed around its legs. The water horse reared, but Barrow’s saber was already slicing down. The curved blade passed through the kelpie’s neck as if it were made of air. Barrow crashed into the water, rolling over and finding his feet again. He whirled to face the beast once more.
Ember gasped when the kelpie struck out with its hooves. Wicked hooked talons protruded from its slime-covered legs. Barrow jumped back, but not quickly enough. The kelpie’s claws tore through his tabard and shirt, slicing into his abdomen.
Large flaps of cloth dropped to the beach, leaving his flesh exposed, and Ember cried out at the sight of blood pouring out of his skin.
“Keep the child safe!” he shouted, not looking at them.
Though she knew he wanted her to stay away, Ember couldn’t stand by while Barrow fought. Her blood drummed in her veins, its beat spurring her to act.
“Stay back and stay quiet,” Ember told the boy, pushing him behind her. As Barrow continued to dodge the water horse’s attack, Ember drew her dagger. Taking aim, she hurled the blade at the kelpie with all the force she could muster.
The creature screeched when the dagger buried itself in the dark hide of its flank. It whirled to face the new attacker, giving Barrow the opportunity to strike. He pivoted, bringing his saber down in a broad arc.
For a moment Ember thought the kelpie had transformed itself into a spirit as a means of defense, that Barrow’s blade had only cut through air and not flesh. But the water horse didn’t turn on him. Its head tipped forward, cleanly severed from its neck, and fell to the water with a splash. A moment later the kelpie’s body crumbled, becoming a heap of seaweed and foam on the shore.
Gordon gave a whoop and ran over to Barrow. “You did it!”
Barrow nodded, laughing when the boy threw his arms around the knight’s broad shoulders. “Without your help I would surely have failed. Yours and the lady Morrow’s.”
The look he gave her was stern. “I asked you to keep out of the fight.”
Ember set her shoulders, defiant. “You’re wounded. I thought I could help and I did.”
“Yes, you did,” Barrow said, wincing as he touched the gashes in his abdomen. The torn flesh wrapped around his lower back like a wicked girdle. “I’m indebted to you for ignoring my order. Though I’d prefer you didn’t make a habit of that.”
Ember laughed, but her smile faded when Barrow dropped roughly onto the stone-covered shore.
“How badly are you hurt?” she asked, kneeling beside him.
“The wound isn’t deep,” he told her. “But water horses have venomous claws.”
Ember’s mouth went dry.
Seeing her distress, Barrow smiled wryly. “Don’t mourn me yet. There’s a salve in Toshach’s saddlebag that will stop the spread of the poison. I’ll need you to get it. The linen bag tied with blue ribbon.”
Ember ran to Toshach and rifled through the saddlebag. She was surprised at the number of parcels Barrow carried with him. Was there a remedy for every injury here? And who had made them?
She found the linen bag and returned to Barrow’s side. He was using his shredded shirt to stop the blood flow.
“Take the jar out and rub the salve into the wound when I take away this cloth.”
Ember nodded; her heart had climbed into her throat, making it impossible to speak.
She was vaguely aware of Gordon perched beside her, watching with fascination as she pulled the clay jar from the bag, opened it, and scooped out a mixture that looked like yellow clay but made her fingertips tingle.
“Do it now.” Barrow removed the tattered cloth and bright red blood seeped down his skin. He drew a sharp breath when she began to spread the salve over the gashes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be. It has to penetrate the wound, so you mustn’t worry about hurting me.” He was propped on his elbows, watching as she scooped more salve from the jar.
Her fingers moved over his abdomen, running across hard muscle between the claw marks. Her pulse jumped wildly each time she touched him, especially when her hand brushed over the depression close to his hip where his skin disappeared beneath the fabric of his trousers.
Suddenly his hand was over hers, pulling it away.
“That’s enough.” His voice was rough, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Thank you.”
He stood up and bound the wound with the remnants of his shirt and tabard.
Without looking at Ember, he said to Gordon, “And now it’s time to get you home.”
He wrapped the boy’s hand in the linen bandages once more.
“I have to take him to the village,” he said, finally returning her puzzled gaze. “Ride to Tearmunn and tell them to send a cleric to meet me. They’ll want to question him further.”