Matthew bumbled in before Cadan could speak. “Now lass, I don’t know what that’s about, but we’d miss you sorely if you didn’t come home.”

Sarah added. “And Martha needs practice and guidance before we’ll be sending her to trade on behalf of the village.”

“And yet you’ll send me.”

Matthew looked confused. “Aye?”

“I’ve barely been here a month. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be buying. Martha loathes me and will go out of her way to make sure I bring back the wrong things, and then it’ll be all my fault when the village doesn’t have what it needs for the winter.”

Cadan said. “You just said you weren’t coming back, so what do you care?”

Eleanor tried not to scream. “I said you don’t WANT me back.”

Cadan shook his head. “I want a willing wife, not one trapped into, and by, her marriage.”

He looked at his slack-jawed audience. “I’ve work to do; I’ll be back later.”

He turned and walked out of the cottage. Eleanor stared at the door he’d closed behind him, her knees turning to water as heaving, choking sobs forced their way out of her chest. “He doesn’t want me.”

Sarah’s arm came around her in a hug that managed to combine affection and exasperation. “He adores you. You both just need a little bit of time to settle and let reason back into your heads. Now come and have dinner, you’ve a long day tomorrow.”

Matthew nodded as he joined them at the table. “And I’m looking forward to hearing about you routing the Stoney Hill people and what you make of the tower when you get back.”

Eleanor frowned. “What tower?”

Matthew said. “There’s an old tower in the woods, just back from the Tradeway junction. You’re going to stop for a look at it tomorrow, see if it’s able to be slept in.”

Sarah added. “An alternative to the farm if they prove troublesome.”

“Why is there a tower in the middle of the forest?”

They both grinned. They’d done it on purpose, brought it up to distract her. She wasn’t sure whether to feel cared for or slightly offended.

Sarah answered her. “It depends on who you’re asking. Most will tell you it’s a watch tower from the days the Tradeway was travelled by bandits as well as merchants. Others will tell you tales of a mage, hiding from the wrath of some powerful foe, and practicing their magical arts for good or ill.”

Eleanor said. “You sound like you’re quoting someone.”

“The castle archivist. He’s a practical man but has a fondness for fanciful stories.”

They kept her busy with plans and preparations for her journey the next day, but Cadan still hadn’t returned by the time she was ready for bed. What work did he have to do in the pitch-black cold of an early winter night? It was an excuse to avoid her.

She woke the next morning with tear-tracks on her cheeks and a warm, dented pillow beside hers.

He was there, helping load the cart, when she joined Evan and Martha beside the mill. Evan nodded in greeting, not friendly, but not sneering. She supposed it was an improvement. Martha ignored her.

She tucked her little sack of food and clothes, and the purse she’d all but forgotten she’d packed all those weeks ago, under the bench and put a foot on the step, ready to clamber up. Cadan’s hands came around her waist. “Why aren’t you wearing your fur cloak.”

Because it would leave him without the warmest blanket on their bed. She shrugged. “This one seemed more appropriate. It’s not snowing that hard.”

She didn’t mention her two pairs of stockings and the sleeveless gown layered under her thickest long sleeved one, much mended after its misadventures at the forest pool. She showed him the pair of mittens Sarah had knitted for Gwen, and her own wonky scarf. “I’ll be quite warm enough.”

He said nothing, just boosted her up onto the cart, and disappeared inside the mill. Evan and Martha took a seat on each side of her, and they set off, ambling out of Riverside Clearing with no one but Tilly waving them off.

They followed the forest path in silence for some time, until Martha said. “Cadan was in a bad mood this morning. What did you do?”

Evan growled. “Don’t interfere in what don’t concern you.”

Martha sniffed. “I just want to know if he’s going to be available again soon.”

Eleanor folded her hands in her lap. Pushing Martha off the side of the cart would delay the journey. She turned her head just enough to be able to look down her nose at the other girl and said. “No.”

Martha tossed her head. “Says you. I say he’ll be looking my way by Winterfest.”

Evan pulled Bashful to a stop. “Either you keep a civil tongue in your head, or you get off and walk home. We have work to do and no time or room for picking fights.”

Eleanor tried to be invisible as father and daughter tried to stare each other down. Eventually, Martha crossed her arms, turned her face forward and snapped. “Fine. I’ll say no more, but I’ll be thinking plenty.”

Evan set Bashful moving again. “That’ll be a change.”

Martha sat forward. “Now you keep a civil tongue in your head.”

This was probably why Lily Smith had stayed at home. Three days alone would be bliss if this was the norm.

They trundled on, pausing only to rest the horse and eat. Around mid-afternoon, Evan said. “Start looking out for anything that might show the way to that tower. Matthew said it was about three horse-lengths in from a split oak.”

Martha pointed. “Is that it?”

It was a split oak, certainly. Evan stopped the cart and they went to investigate. Pushing through bushes, lightly dusted with snow, they wove their way back from the cart track. Eleanor and Martha entered the clearing surrounding the tower at the same time. It was a squat, square structure, built of the local stone, and inset at the top storey, providing an open walkway around it at the same height as the treetops.

Eleanor frowned as she looked. For an abandoned building, it was strangely clear of clambering vines and broken windows and shutters.

Martha was looking in a different direction. “There’s a track there, wide enough to bring the cart up.”

She was right, and it too was unhindered by overgrowth. Eleanor looked around for Evan. “I think there’s someone living here.”

He grunted. “I’m seeing where that track comes out, whether we can bring Bashful up it. You two go knock on the door.”

Eleanor and Martha looked at each other, Martha said. “What if it’s a troll? You shouldn’t be abandoning us.”

Evan shook his head and disappeared down the path. “It’s not a troll. Just knock.”

Martha glared after him. “Fine, but if I’m killed and eaten, you get to tell Mama.”

Evan pivoted on his heel, marched up to the door and rapped his knuckles on the weather-beaten wood. There was no answer.

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