“I’m sure I can find my way,” Kyra said. “It’s only a block.” The fan lines around his eyes crinkled. How was it even possible this man had never married? “I insist.” She nodded. They stepped into the night, quiet and still, with a moon shining now through the clouds. The streets were wet, reflecting the cold light, and Kyra felt a shiver walk down her spine. For a moment she paused, listening. Far away was the sound of the sea, crashing on the rocks near the shore, but nothing else. A wisp of wind rustled her hair, and she pushed it out of her face. And there was the tree again, so tall and broad and ancient. “I asked the innkeeper how old this tree is, and she said there is a painting that shows it standing in the churchyard more than three hundred years ago.” He raised his eyes to the top of the tree. “Do you want to go sleep there tonight?” Kyra shook her head with a smile, but, surprising even herself, she took his hand. “I do want to go stand under it again.”
