Thief by Linda Windsor Page A

celebration?” she asked, breathless. “I love the dancing and all the food.”
    Sorcha groaned inside.
    “You’ll be home much sooner than that,” Eadric promised. “Three days on my ponies, if the weather holds.”
    “Ponies!” Aine squealed, proudly mimicking a whinny.
    “What if it storms?” Ian held Aine a little closer, concern grazing his young face.
    “I have many friends to offer us shelter along the way for a song and news of the land,” Eadric assured him.
    “Bards are welcome wherever they go,” Gemma informed the lad.
    Ian was clearly impressed. “Maybe I should be a bard instead of a cooper, like my da. I could see the whole world.” Although he’d thought Din Guardi was all there was to it beyond his home when he first arrived.
    “You don’t choose to be a bard, Ian. You’re chosen to be one by another bard who thinks you’ve potential,” Eadric explained. “Then it takes twenty years of studying with the masters.”
    Ian grew aghast. “I’d never live that long!”
    Sorcha couldn’t help but join the others in laughter, but there was no joy in her heart.
    And Gemma could see it, plain as the nose on her face. “What’s wrong, lassie?”
    All eyes shifted to Sorcha, the atmosphere sobering. “Eadric can only take three children with him,” she announced. “One must stay with us until spring.”
    Wynnie caught her breath, her gaze searching Sorcha’s with reluctance, as though she feared to see her name there. Making his thoughts on the matter clear, Ian pulled little Aine so close that she wailed in protest.
    But from the fire where he’d retreated after breakfast, Ebyn jumped to his feet. “Me,” he exclaimed with more fervor than Sorcha had ever seen in the child. “I’ll stay.”
    Eadric clapped Sorcha on the back. “Problem solved. Now the rest of you gather your things. We’ve a long day ahead of us.”
    “Don’t you want to go home, Ebyn?” Sorcha asked quietly while the others scrambled under Eadric’s authority to get ready. That the child would offer to stay was an idea that never occurred to Sorcha.
    Shrinking back into withdrawal, Ebyn shook his head, staring into the fire. “I like it here.”
    Except that here wasn’t going to be here for long. Sorcha was to marry soon.
    She hugged him. “I’m glad you do … but I’m sure in the spring your parents will be even gladder to see you when Eadric takes you home.”
    Again, Ebyn shook his head. Silhouetted against the firelight, his chin trembled. A single tear left a glittering trail in its wake. “They’ll just sell me again.”

    The Crowing Rooster near the market at the mouth of the Oose was packed with patrons. Traveling merchants and seamen who chose to winter over in Din Guardi mingled with the influx of peoples here for the royal wedding under the low-beamed ceiling separating the tavern from the keeper’s living quarters upstairs. While Sorcha tuned her harp, her thoughts centered on the little boy who’d told her so much in those few heart-wrenching words. They’ll just sell me again.
    No wonder he’d said so little about his home life when the other children shared theirs. At least Sorcha had been abducted, even though her parents hadn’t come after her. His parents couldn’t afford to keep him, the youngest of seven children, and Talorc had promised he’d find a good home for the boy. At the slave market, Sorcha fumed. Curse the man! Now she wished Gemma had taken his entire purse.
    But she was grateful that the rest of their precious gaggle was on their way to their homes, where they’d be welcomed and loved. For tonight, Gemma had talked one of the women from weavers’ row into allowing Ebyn to spend the night. They both needed to be at the tavern, where drink was as plentiful as the coins in the purses of the patrons.
    Eadric and his company had no sooner vanished into the early morning mists than a knock came on Sorcha’s door. She’d thought perhaps the bard or one of the