The Captive Heir

Chapter Five

Marie was dismissing a camp sentry who had come to make his report when Elisabet rounded the trees that hid their hammocks from view.

"You're back early," Marie said, the slightest lift to her brows barely hinting at surprise.

Elisabet shrugged and climbed into her hammock. "I was bound to improve with a little practice," she said, throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the light. The rain was just beginning in a gentle mist, but she could wrap up in her blanket and avoid the worst of it.

Marie was quiet just long enough that Elisabet began to drift off, then said, "I know they helped you."

Elisabet groaned silently. Apparently Marie was in the mood to talk. So much for a nap.

"Who helped what?" she said, her voice muffled under the blanket.

"Caleb and Fitz. With the dishes."

Elisabet sat up cautiously, ready to deny everything. "They didn't help me at all," she said, looking over the edge of her hammock. "I did it all myself."

Marie did not look angry, or even annoyed. She wasn't even looking at Elisabet. Her focus was directed on a pile of wool in her lap, which she appeared to be sewing.

"The three of you came back ahead of schedule, soaking wet and in surprisingly good company for two guards watching a hostage. I'm no dragon, but I can infer the obvious."

"They didn't want to be caught in the rain, so they made me go faster," Elisabet insisted stubbornly. "And then they had a quick wash in the river. That's the only reason they were wet."

The ghost of a smile flickered. "Caleb having a bath two days in a row?" Marie glanced up at Elisabet briefly. "You are a good influence." She did not look fooled.

"Why would they help me?" Elisabet tried to scoff. "I'm just the prisoner. You know Fitz would never lift a finger to aid me."

Marie squinted at the wool she held, adjusting it slightly before continuing. "Caleb still has enough of a heart to make him a liability. As for Fitz..." She shrugged slightly. "We will have to see. I should have expected this," she sighed. "My father told me Mackays were skillful at manipulation."

"Your father Longheirce." Elisabet could not keep the skepticism from creeping into her voice. She had seen nothing that could prove Marie's claim of familial relation to the man.

"My father Ewan Longheirce," Marie confirmed, snipping a thread neatly.

"Funny how my mother never mentioned him having a child in along with his band of outlaws," Elisabet said, hanging over the side of her swing to talk.

"That's because he didn't," Marie said calmly. "When he was banished from Citak, he was forced to abandon his wife and year-old daughter. Cut off from us, and we were forbidden to ever attempt to contact him—or even venture into Esre." She rethreaded her needle and set to stitching again. "It was your father's idea to begin with, you know."

"He said something about it, years ago," Elisabet said quietly. "About how it was his fault Longheirce had become a bandit."

"Mm, yes," Marie said, nodding. "His plan, his idea, yet he alone was granted pardon. And he was the one who didn't bother to defend my father when the king banished him. I'm told my mother died of the shame."

Elisabet caught her breath, dismayed. To have grown up without mother or father? She could not imagine the trials Marie had faced from the very beginning of her life.

"I'm lucky I don't have any memories of her," Marie said steadily. "I feel worse for my father, who didn't hear the news for months."

"What happened to you?"