A pall of disbelief had settled over Castle Cathan. Just as the spirit of the place had begun to rally, it had been once again been subdued. Ewan had spent much of the night at prayer in the chapel, trying to find some semblance of peace. So far, it had proven elusive.
The ache beneath his ribs remained.
The shock of Elspeth’s—nay, Cristie’s—betrayal still had him reeling. He didn’t know what he felt, since he couldn’t quite settle on a single emotion. He tussled with several, mostly a nauseating blend of bitter disappointment, absolute anger, and immeasurable sadness.
The constant nervousness she’d displayed, the sense of furtiveness he’d felt, even all the questions she’d asked—they now had new meaning. He should have listened to his instincts. The lass had been hiding a secret all along. The mere thought of it pushed bile to his throat. And as for her refusal to consummate the marriage, that also made sense. Obviously, she feared the risk of carrying his bastard. Then again, she must have known that he might well have demanded his marital rights. Which meant she was willing to risk conceiving his child out of wedlock.
Dishonest. Immoral.
Only two of several sad epithets that might apply to the lass.
By Christ’s holy blood, Ewan couldn’t wait to be rid of this false wife. He needed her gone, far away from Castle Cathan. Out of his life forever. Only then might he begin, with God’s help, to look forward once more.
The night had seemed interminable. But, at last, dawn had dragged itself over the horizon, the horses had been readied, and Gabriel had been dispatched to fetch Cristie. They’d be on their way soon enough.
“I’m glad you didnae take her to Lorg Coise Dhè,” Morag said, trotting along beside him. “’Tis too sacred a place for someone like her.”
Ewan frowned but said nothing. He wondered, though, why he’d held back from showing her the hidden glen and his Grandsire’s church. Maybe, deep down, his instincts had kept him from doing so.
“’Tis as well you didnae bed the lass, as well,” Morag added. “Though I confess I’m curious to know why.”
Ewan had been waiting for someone to voice the question. He hardened his jaw. “She wasnae willing, and I wouldnae force her. ’Tis that simple.”
“Oh.” Morag sucked in a breath. “Well, few men would have been as tolerant. ’Tis a blessing you were, and for more than one reason. What if she’d been carrying your bairn?”
The irrelevance of the question riled him. “She isnae.”
“But if she was, would you still be sending her away?”
Ewan threw his sister a hard glance. “If she was, would you still wish to see her dangling at the end of a rope?”
“Dear God, nay.” Morag blew out a breath. “I was angry yesterday and wasnae thinking too clearly. Today, I’m calmer. Well, somewhat, at least. And will you slow down a wee bit? ’Tis no’ a race.”
“The lass isnae carrying my bairn, Morag, so your question has no merit. And I’m hurrying because I’m eager to see her gone from here.” The ache beneath Ewan’s ribs swelled. “Christ knows, I need to be done with this cursed mess.”
Ewan felt Morag halt and paused his own hurried stride, turning to look at her. Her eyes full of tears, she shook her head and steepled her hands, prayer-like, over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Ewan.”
“Och, nay,” he murmured, approaching her. “Forgive me, wee lass. I didnae mean to make you cry.”
She shook her head again and hiccupped on a sob. “’Tis naught you’ve done. ’Tis your pain I feel. You dinnae deserve any of this. I ken you’d grown fond of the lass. I could see it in the way you looked at her. And, in truth, I thought she’d grown fond of you, too. To be so betrayed is unfair, and especially after all you’ve been through.”
He sighed. “And you’ve had naught to deal with, I suppose.”
She tugged at her shawl. “Which is why I dinnae want you to leave. I’m afraid of being left alone.”
“I’m no’ leaving you alone, you bampot.” Ewan brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Jacques will be here, and you couldnae wish for a better protector.” He summoned up a half-hearted smile. “Well, except for me, perhaps.”
She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m no’ afraid for my safety. ’Tis the thought of never seeing you again that I cannae bear. You’re all I have left.”
He groaned. “I’ll be back tomorrow eve, Morag, you have my word. I’m no’ travelling alone, remember? I’ll have Gabriel at my side. Now, come and see me off, and cease worrying.”
And the answer is nay. If the lass was carrying my bairn, she’d be staying here.
They stepped out into a ghostly dawn light and breathed in cool, damp air. The cobbles were dry, Ewan noted, and glanced up at a promising sky.
“At least the weather is agreeable,” Morag said, voicing Ewan’s same thought.
Hammett stood by the gates, where three horses, including the little mare, awaited, saddled and bridled.
“Bonne journée, my lord,” the lad said. “All is prepared, as you commanded.”
Ewan nodded his approval and eyed the saddlebags. “Provisions as ordered?”
Hammett inclined his head. “Aye, my lord.”
“Thank you, Hammett.”
“You’re letting her keep the mare?” Morag stroked the horse’s sleek neck.
“Nay, the mare will be coming back here.”
“Good. I dinnae like to think of her being in MacAulay’s stable.” Morag shifted her gaze. “Here they are.”
Ewan turned and watched as Gabriel and Cristie crossed the courtyard, with Jacques, Duncan, and Father Jacob behind them. It was a silent and sombre procession. Indeed, the only sounds came from the tumble of waves against the rocks and the occasional cry of a seabird.
Cristie hugged a cloth bag to her chest, as if finding comfort from it. Ewan frowned at her scant amount of baggage and wondered at it. Not that she had brought much with her when she’d first arrived.
“I’ll burn the rest of her things,” Morag said, her thoughts apparently following a similar path. “I dinnae want anything of hers under our roof.”
It was a harsh remark, but Ewan chose not to counter it. He well understood Morag’s bitterness. This imposter had betrayed not only him, but also his entire clan. He remained silent as the group approached. Cristie’s face appeared alabaster-white against the darkness of her hair.
Condemned. She looks like a woman condemned.
He shrugged the thought aside and steeled himself against feeling any further pity for the lass. Nothing she had done had been accidental. Her actions had been deliberate. Intentional.
That their union had not been consummated now seemed fated. Perhaps Ewan’s will to abstain had indeed been predicated by a higher power, one that had given him the strength to resist his physical desires. Cristie Ferguson had proven herself to be the Devil’s conduit. A blasphemer and a liar, fooling everyone with her false façade. Her behaviour surely advocated the need for vows of chastity among holy orders.
As for the small voice deep inside, the one suggesting her reluctance to lie with him had stemmed from genuine integrity, and the love he’d seen her eyes had been honest… well, it merited no consideration. None at all.
Gabriel, his expression sober, greeted Ewan with a slight nod. “She is ready,” he said.
Ewan returned the nod and cursed the treacherous clenching of his heart as his eyes met Cristie’s. Their dark depths reflected such sorrow, the shadows beneath them a testament to a sleepless night.
“Ewan,” she said, her lip trembling, “will you please hear what I have to say?”
“Nay, I’ll hear no more of your lies,” he replied, steeling his jaw. “You’ll speak only when spoken to, or if you wish to stop and attend to your needs. And you’ll also address me as Laird. Understand?”
She flinched. “But, if you’ll just let me—”
“If you disobey me, lass, so help me, I’ll gag you. Hammett, help the lady mount up.”
Ewan turned away and swung into the saddle. Then he watched as Cristie settled astride her horse, hooked her bag over the pommel, and arranged her skirts.
“Stay vigilant, Brothers,” Jacques said. “And may God deliver you safely.”
“I’ll be gone by the time you return, Ewan,” Father Jacob said. “So, I’ll bid you farewell now, and I echo Brother Jacques’ sentiment. May God keep you.”
Ewan nodded. “Thank you, Father. You’re welcome here anytime.” He switched his gaze to Morag. “Dinnae give Jacques a hard time, wee lass. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“God willing.” Morag gave him a grim smile, brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “And dinnae forget to say a prayer for Ruaidri when you reach the spot.”
*
They travelled without incident as well as in near—and blessed—silence. Ewan was not in the mood to discuss anything, mundane or otherwise. And Gabriel had always been ponderous, preferring to put words on paper rather than engage in trite conversation. Cristie had obviously taken Ewan’s threat seriously and remained quiet.
Ewan tried not to dwell on his torment. Instead, he forced himself to absorb the natural beauty of his homeland, which always uplifted his spirit as much as any manmade house of worship. More, perhaps.
Clouds threatened occasionally, but held onto their contents as they skittered across the sky. A brisk breeze, fragranced by damp earth and snowmelt, swept along the floor of the glen. The burn serenaded them with its song as it bubbled and danced its way to the sea, and the occasional cry of an eagle pierced the air. They stopped only twice en route, for some personal relief and to stretch their stiffening limbs. Both times, Ewan had helped Cristie down from her mare. To touch her felt torturous, but he couldn’t ask Gabriel to do it. Both times, Cristie had refused food, taking only a drink.
At last they reined in their horses at the foot of the pass. The track ahead meandered upwards like the toothed-edge of a saw. Ewan eyed it with some trepidation, remembering the last time he had passed this way, and the subsequent horrors he had witnessed. At least the snow had gone from the lower slopes, although it still blanketed the peaks, softening their ragged, granite edges.
Now, with another hour of travel to go and most of it afoot, Ewan twisted in the saddle and scrutinized Cristie, who had stayed behind them for much of the ride. Misery etched on her face, she stared back at him for a moment before lowering her gaze. She was clearly exhausted.
“Not once has she complained,” Gabriel murmured, dismounting. “Yet she is obviously suffering.”
Ewan resisted a temptation to counter with a suitable retort. Instead, he merely heaved a sigh and dismounted also, grimacing as his muscles objected.
As he had twice before that day, he approached Cristie and lifted her to the ground, cursing the traitorous physical response that touching her invoked. “We lead the horses from here,” he said, and released her as if scalded. “’Tis too dangerous to ride.”
I look forward to tomorrow, for tomorrow there will come a time when I’ll no longer have to touch you, or to look upon your face and feel this damnable sorrow. God give me strength.
“I understand.” She appeared discomforted and grabbed the stirrup leather as if to steady herself. “If I may be allowed a moment, Laird?”
“Aye, take a wee respite if you wish,” he said, “but we cannae wait too long. ’Tis best to be at the bothy before dark.”
“I doubt she’ll make the climb unaided,” Gabriel observed, as Cristie disappeared behind a boulder to relieve herself. “I suspect she slept little last night, if at all, and she has not yet eaten today.”
Ewan’s mind teetered between sympathy and apathy. Cristie had brought her suffering upon herself, so surely merited little sympathy. He couldn’t help but wonder if her remorse was genuine, or merely a result of being found out.
“What would you have me do?” he said, tasting bitterness. “Carry the lass on my back?”
A brief frown crossed Gabriel’s brow. “I understand your ire, Brother, but beware the contents of your heart,” he said. “’Tis a vessel that sustains malice as easily as compassion, but the former is far more damaging to the spirit. I suggest you refer to the teachings of our Lord, or ask yourself what He would have you do.”
He turned away to loosen his horse’s girth, his quiet reprimand leaving Ewan somewhat chagrined. Of course, he would never physically harm Cristie, nor allow harm to come to her. A blatant display of kindness and consideration, though, was asking a bit much of his injured pride.
“I’m ready, Laird,” Cristie said, behind him.
Ewan suppressed a sigh and took a moment to collect himself before responding.
“You’ll follow Gabriel,” he said, turning to look at her. “Dinnae be afraid to speak out if you need to stop, and should your horse startle for any reason, you’ll let go of the reins immediately. Understood?”
She glanced at the steep, winding track and gave a hesitant nod. “Aye.”
Ewan gestured. “Go ahead, then. I’ll be right behind you.”
Gabriel set a merciful pace, one undoubtedly meant for Cristie’s benefit. All went well till they approached the bend where Ruaidri’s horse had stumbled. Ewan fully intended to pause at the spot and offer up a prayer for his brother’s soul. But at that moment, for some obscure reason, Cristie’s mare shied and stepped sideways, moving close to the precipitous edge. Cristie, caught unawares, stumbled and let out a squeal.
Ewan’s breath caught. “Be still, lass,” he said, his voice calmer than he felt. “Let the horse settle.”
Cristie nodded. “I… I’m fine,” she replied, the ashen pallor of her face belying her claim.
Ewan moved closer. “If you can, hook the reins over the pommel, and then come back here to me.” he said. “Watch your step and dinnae worry about the mare.”
Cristie threw a glance at the edge. “But I dinnae want her to fall.”
“She willnae fall. She’ll follow Gabriel. Do as I say.”
Whispering words of calm to the mare, Cristie did as bidden and then moved back to Ewan’s side, looking up at him with wide, questioning eyes that seemed to seek approval. He resisted the urge to commend her actions and merely hoisted her onto his horse.
Colour flared in her pale cheeks. “Will he be able to carry me all the way up?” she asked, grabbing a handful of mane.
“He’ll manage,” he said, carelessly. “You weigh little and we’ve gone half way already.”
As they moved past the gully, Ewan offered up his promised prayer for Ruaidri. The exercise, however, brought little comfort. Rather, it served to fan the flames of a smouldering suspicion that Alastair MacAulay had indeed been involved in Ruaidri’s demise. Morag was right; the MacAulay’s could not be trusted. The lass currently perched atop Ewan’s horse was proof of that.
Weary of his fluctuating emotions, Ewan endeavoured to soften his shoulders and shifted his attention to their surroundings. Most of the snow lay atop the crags above the pass, though a few errant drifts were scattered here and there, cradled in nooks and crannies where sunlight could not reach. Dusk, meanwhile, had sneaked in like a thief, stealing the light, but apart from an occasional gust, the wind had mercifully weakened.
The climb, thankfully, was nearing its end. Ewan’s legs felt leaden, and his breath billowed in the air. Soon, the path levelled out and Gabriel was able to take the mare’s reins. The solid outline of the bothy, nestled beneath its protective granite overhang, was a welcome sight.
As they reached the shelter, Ewan turned to lift Cristie down. She winced at his touch, her body rigid beneath his grasp, and her teeth chattered as she found her feet. She was obviously cold, Ewan realized. Chilled to the bone, even.
Cursing under his breath, he pulled the blanket roll from the back of his saddle. He shrugged off the temptation to pull her close and warm her body with his. His compassion, despite Gabriel’s short sermon, had its limits. Besides, he mused, the lass had a tongue in her head, and had obviously chosen not to use it. Likely a ploy on her part. An attempt to invoke my sympathy. Women and wile had an alliance as old as time, and he would not yield to it.
Instead, he draped the blanket around her and gave her a reprimand.
“You should have said something instead of sitting up there, shivering.”
Teeth still chattering, Cristie hunched her shoulders and pulled the blanket tight. “I’m fine,” she said, and glanced at the bothy. “B-besides, we’re here now.”
The lass looked far from fine, in truth. Ewan stifled a sigh. “Get yourself inside. There are candles and tinder on the sill. There should be some kindling and peat for the brazier, too, if you care to get a wee fire going. We’ll be in once the horses are settled.”
She sniffed. “M-may I have my bag, please?”
Ewan retrieved it and handed it over. Clutching it to her breast, she hobbled off, a corner of the blanket trailing on the ground.
“She is suffering,” Gabriel observed, clicking his tongue as he led the horses into the dark stable.
“She didnae have to,” Ewan replied. “She could have asked for the blanket.”
“That is not what I meant.” Gabriel tugged the saddle off his horse and settled it onto the nearby rack. Ewan set about attending to Cristie’s mount and waited for his friend to elaborate. The silence dragged on.
“Are you talking about the lass’s conscience?” Ewan demanded at last, with a huff. “She didnae go into this mockery of a marriage innocently, Gabriel. She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“I don’t disagree.” Gabriel grabbed a handful of straw and began to rub his horse down. “But I suspect she was not prepared for the outcome.”
“Och, she must have known it couldnae last.” Ewan felt the familiar bitterness rising once more to the back of his throat. “Alastair MacAulay, curse his balls, had some addled plot in mind, and the lass was a willing part of it.”
Gabriel worked in sober silence for a few moments. “Again, I don’t disagree,” he said, finally, “though I’m not so sure she was ever willing. But that’s not what I meant, either.”
“Then what? Are you implying the lass has feelings for me?” Ewan’s gut tightened. “If that be so, why did she continue with the lie? Because her loyalties have always lain elsewhere, that’s why. I’ll be well rid of her.”
“Will you confront her brother?”
“Tomorrow? Nay. He’ll have his clansmen at his back, and I’m no’ willing to die for this nonsense. ’Tis enough, for now, to drop his wee spy off at the gate. But I’ll be sure to give her a message to pass on.”
By the time they’d settled the horses, night had fallen, moonless and bleak. The wind, still gentle, whistled an intermittent tune. From somewhere in the distance came the mournful howl of a wolf, a sound which summoned up more unwanted images. Ewan gazed out over the darkened landscape, offered up another prayer for Ruaidri’s soul, and then followed Gabriel into the bothy to be greeted by warmth and light.
Still wrapped in the blanket, Cristie sat on a small stool by the brazier, firelight flickering across her face. She glanced at Gabriel, met Ewan’s gaze, and then lowered her eyes. Ewan set the saddlebags down and released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Are you warmed up?” he asked, his tone purposely austere.
She met his gaze again, unflinching this time. “Aye, thank you.”
He gave a single nod. “So now you’ll eat.”
“I’m no’ hungry,” she replied.
Ewan raised a brow. “Perhaps you didnae understand me,” he said, not unkindly. “You’ve no’ touched a morsel all day. You’ll eat, and that’s that.”
Gabriel pulled a bundle from one of the bags and unwrapped it atop the small table. After blessing the contents, he divided them out, handing some bread and cheese to Cristie.
She ate without further protest or comment. Afterwards, hugging her bag and wrapped in her blanket, she curled up on her pallet of dry bracken and fell asleep.
Later, and as he had on many other nights, Ewan lay on his back and listened to Cristie’s soft, rhythmic breaths. Over the past while, he’d become accustomed to hearing the gentle cadence. God help him, he’d even found comfort in it. No longer. Now, resentment soured his thoughts. It irked him that the lass slept so soundly.
She should be tossing and turning, plagued by guilt, and...
Remembering Gabriel’s warning, Ewan closed his eyes and prayed for some peace of mind. He told himself that Cristie’s conscience, troubled or not, had naught to do with it. The lass slept soundly simply because she was exhausted.
As he, too, approached the cusp of sleep, a whisper drifted out of the darkness. “Don’t pray for yourself, Brother,” Gabriel said. “Pray for her. That is where you’ll find your peace.”
The creak of a door, followed by a sudden waft of cold air across his face, roused Ewan from sleep. He sought out the hilt of his sword as he looked to the doorway, where Cristie’s blanketed silhouette stood poised on the threshold as if hesitant to step into the darkness beyond. A moment later, she obviously capitulated to whatever need possessed her and ventured out, letting the door swing shut.
Ewan thought about the wolf he’d heard earlier. The creatures were emboldened at this hungry time of year, driven to recklessness. Unbidden, the image of Ruaidri’s mangled horse came to mind. The scent of the horses alone, he knew, might have drawn them near. He sat up and cast his blanket aside, grimacing at the stiffness in his limbs as he rose to his feet.
“The heat of the Levant had its benefits,” Gabriel muttered. “It helped to keep the body limber, for one thing.”
Ewan’s mouth quirked as he picked up his sword. “Aye, the Highland climate can be harsh on both man and beast, and ’tis the presence of those beasts which concerns me right now.”
He stepped outside and looked about, ears cocked. The chill wind, blowing with a little more vigour than before, nipped at his face. The clouds were threadbare, exposing patches of bejewelled blackness. To the east, a thin ribbon of light stretched across the horizon, promising dawn, but Ewan knew the darkness would endure a while yet.
A footfall to his left had him spinning on his heel. Cristie halted at the sight of him, the look of surprise on her face quickly supplanted by a wary expression.
“There are wolves about,” Ewan said. “’Tis nae wise to linger out here over long.”
“Aye, I heard them earlier.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Th-thank you for your concern, Laird. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“I was already awake,” he said, feeling no guilt in the lie. “Get yourself inside and break your fast. We’ll be leaving soon.”
The descent to the MacAulay glen was easier, the trail snaking downwards in a wide and elongated series of twists and turns. By the time the horses set their hooves onto flat land, the sun had risen, but as yet remained hidden behind the surrounding hills. Sheltered from the breeze by those same hills, patches of mist swirled around them as they followed the trail alongside the loch.
Ewan kept Cristie shielded to his left, by the shore. An attack, though unlikely, would have to come from the stands of birch and pine to their right. Despite Alastair MacAulay’s deception, this was not officially enemy territory, but Ewan’s spine tingled with vigilance nonetheless. He kept his eyes skinned and sword hand at the ready. Gabriel’s quiet demeanour undoubtedly belied a similar attentiveness. His white Templar mantle, ghostly in the morning twilight, would be sure to capture interest if seen.
So far, however, all indications of life had been passive. The pungent aroma of peat-smoke teased Ewan’s nostrils from time to time. Apart from a variety of bird-song, he also heard the distant bleating of sheep and the intermittent lowing of cattle.
At last, as the sun reached its apex, Dunraven came into view beyond the trees—a sombre grey sentinel sitting at the head of the loch. Ewan knew any watchman of worth would see them if they cleared the woods. And any bowman of worth could find his target if they moved much closer.
Ewan reached over and grabbed Cristie’s reins, halting her horse. “That’s far enough,” he said. “You can walk from here.”
Cristie’s eyes widened a little, but she said nothing as Ewan dismounted and reached for her. She slid to the ground but held onto his arms even after he’d removed his hands from her waist.
“Ewan, please.” She clutched at his sleeves, her eyes now bright with tears. “You have to hear—”
“Let go, Cristie,” he said, the calmness of his voice concealing the turmoil in his soul. “There’s naught of any worth you can say to me, but you can tell your brother he’s no longer welcome on MacKellar land. I’ll pray for him, though. You can tell him that as well.” His gaze dropped to her hands. “I’ll pray for you too. Now, let go.”
A sob erupted from her as she released her hold. Ewan gritted his teeth and climbed back into the saddle. “Dinnae forget your bag,” he said, reaching for the mare’s reins.
Tears tumbled down her cheeks as she went to tug the bag free. It jerked out of her hands and fell to the ground, spilling its contents. Yet another hit to Ewan’s heart, since it appeared all she had brought were the gifts he’d given her; the comb, the shawl… and the seashell.
“I h-hope you dinnae mind me k-keepin these, Laird MacKellar,” she said, sobbing as she gathered up the items and pushed them back in the bag. “I v-value them greatly, but I’d gladly g-give them up if you would only f-find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Ewan drew a breath, held it, and clung to his stubborn resolve like a drowning man to driftwood. Christ, give me strength.
“Ewan.” Gabriel’s voice, little more than a whisper, broke through his angst. “Find it within yourself. For your sake as much as hers.”
Ewan released the breath and took another. “The gifts were always yours to keep, lass,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “And you can take my forgiveness with you also. I’ll bear you no ill will.”
Cristie’s dejected expression softened a little. “’Tis more than I deserve. Thank you.” She hugged the bag to her chest. “I shall always treasure them.”
Sniffling, she turned and set off along the trail. Ewan did not need to see her face to be aware of her despondency. It surrounded her like a shadow, burdening her rounded shoulders and hindering her step. Eager to turn away and kick his horse into a hard gallop, Ewan gathered up the reins, but paused as Cristie came to a sudden halt, and spun around.
“Nay!” she cried and, stumbling over her feet, marched back to him. “There are things I must yet say, Ewan Tormod MacKellar, and you’ll hear them, even if I have to scream the words at you as you ride away.” Scrubbing tears from her face, she stood at his horse’s withers and held his gaze, her chin set in a determined line. “What I did was wrong. Very wrong. There’s nae excuse for it, and I’m ashamed beyond words.” She shook her head as tears filled her eyes once more. “But I’m no’ a bad person at heart, truly. I… I didnae think it through. I didnae stop to consider the outcome, so I was unprepared for the consequences, do you see? I never expected to fall in love with the man I was deceiving. And I do love you, Ewan. With my whole heart, I do! No one has ever treated me with such kindness, and I regret deceiving you more than I can say.” A fresh sob escaped her. “I swear I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Please believe me.”
Ewan bit down so hard his jaw ached. A saddle creaked at his side as Gabriel shifted. His friend’s insight had been correct, it seemed.
But, despite Cristie’s professed regret and her declaration of love, there was naught more to be said, no restitution to be made. The sanctity of trust had been violated. And she had not only betrayed him, but also his clan. Ewan could see no way to defend or repair it. Whether the lass spoke true or not, her presence in his life had come to an end.
And it pained him to the core.
“I forgive you all of it, Cristie,” he said, his voice ragged. “Away you go, now.”
Unblinking, Cristie regarded him a moment longer as if committing his face to memory, and then she set off once more. This time, she did not turn back.