Behind them was Tam, who stopped dead at sight of her, then rushed down the slope in reckless leaps.“You’re here! Eh, thank the good Lord! I was on me way to the smithy, goats and all—”She broke in, with a wary glance toward the brow of the hill behind him. “Where’s Bruman?”“Dead to the world, yonder in the hut.” Tam gave a jerk of his head in that direction. “Sleepin’ off the muxta he dragged back from Torskaal yestereve—spent half the night swillin’ and tellin’ me tales . . . ” Tam eyed her sidewise, his offhand tone at odds with his worried frown. “No truth in ’em, I dessay.”“Truth enough.” She had not noticed Bruman’s face last night among those staring up as she clung to the roof-thatch pinnacle. But he might have heard talk of it at Sorcha the alewife’s—talk doubtless blown out of all likeness to fact by then, with witches and boggarts swarming thick as bees. “I’d best tell you the straight of it,” she said. “That noddy idea of yours—’twas near on the mark after all.
