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were windows to the soul, Myrna’s green ones revealed wisdom, generosity, empathy, and something else … something his sister-in-law Brenna demonstrated in abundance.
    Faith.
    “Ever the silver-tongued devil, aren’t you, Brother?” Alyn mumbled, his mouth full of bread.
    Heat rushed to Caden’s face. “Never mind the twit, milady. ’Twas a heartfelt compliment with no ulterior motive … save more of that broth.”
    “Has God gifted all three of your O’Byrne brothers with charm, Father?” Myrna asked Martin.
    The priest looked up from a joint of fowl. “They have their moments.” He stiffened in dismay, putting down the bone. “Forgive me, Milady Myrna. The sight of such good food has robbed me of my manners.” Not willing to take full blame, he shot a reprimanding glance at Alyn, who hopped to attention.
    “Yes, right,” he said, wiping his hands on his tunic. “This isn’t just Myrna; she is the mistress of Trebold and this tavern.”
    Caden recalled an old nobleman, much older than this lady, who offered the hospitality of his keep, such as it was, to the Pendragon. “Lord Malachy is a lucky man.”
    This time color leapt to Myrna’s face. “Nay, sir, Malachy is my brother-in-law. When my husband, Fintan, died, Malachy left the church to help me with Trebold as best he could. But he’s more a priest than laird, I fear. Between us, we’ve managed the land to keep our people fed and pay what we can to King Modred in food rent. Our lot is meager, but enough.”
    Myrna brushed a lock of fading copper hair off her face as though she might again tuck away the pain grazing it. She helped Caden to more bread and broth before continuing. “Many of our people have fled to Wales or Cumbria with the Saxons savaging our borders. So many fields lay fallow, yet God provided us another boon. Our location at the ford is the perfect place for a hostel.”
    “And you don’t fear the Sassenach?” Caden asked.
    Myrna shrugged. “God will continue to provide. Whoever rules the land will take their tolls and need food and lodging, though I’d prefer to serve a Briton king,” she stipulated.
    “ If you live to pay the tolls and run your hostel,” Caden pointed out. Knowing what Saxons did to helpless women, he couldn’t imagine Myrna wanting to live when they were done with her.
    “If not, then I shall see my Maker and have no worries at all.” She twirled the spoon in the broth, at peace with that possibility, judging by the wistful tilt of her lips.
    She wouldn’t think death so grand if she’d been as close as Caden had been to the Other Side.
    “And now God’s answered this lonely widow’s heart-held prayer by sending you.”
    Somewhere in the back of Caden’s throat, the wet bread lodged. The coughing it triggered drove lance after lance through his wound with each strangle of breath. His head grew light, a lack of consciousness momentarily pulling him up out of his misery. When he came to himself again, he was surrounded by Alyn, Father Martin, and Lady Myrna, who looked on the verge of tears.
    “I apologize, milord, if I’ve upset you,” she fretted. “’Twas too soon to heap another burden on you.”
    “She doesn’t want you for a husband, twit.” Concern overrode Alyn’s stab at levity.
    “What then?” Caden managed. Had they left the cursed lance in his back? With every movement his wound felt as though it were still there, being twisted by a vicious hand.
    “God sent you to me to find my lost daughter.” Myrna fluffed the pillow behind his head. “But for now, you need to rest and regain your strength for your mission. Will you take more broth?”
    Caden shook his head. He wanted to know more about this mission. Unfortunately, he was too weary to form the questions in his mind, much less voice them. He closed his eyes like a babe, and the world around him drifted away.

Chapter Two
    Across the fells and moorlands to the east of Lothian, the salt scent of the German Sea and the