“You must,” he interrupted, eyes dark and pleading. “They’ve searched the village. They’ll come for him next. No one can know he is here. Swear you will say nothing.”
Her throat tightened, but she nodded. Without another word, he set the baby on the table, covering him once more with the quilt, the gold thread glimmering faintly through the folds.
“Who seeks him?” she asked, voice shaking.
“Those who would claim England’s crown before the rightful time,” he said.
The baby let out a small cry again, and without thinking, Isolde scooped him into her arms. He was light, fragile, and yet her chest ached with the protective impulse that rose like fire through her veins.
“What is his name?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Alaric. Speak it to no one.”
Before she could ask another question, he turned toward the door. “Wait! Who are you?”
He paused, a shadow crossing his face. “A man who failed once. I cannot fail again.” Then he vanished into the fog, leaving her alone with the child and the ominous weight of his words.
Dawn crept through the cracked roof, weak light spilling across the cabin. Isolde moved as though in a dream, feeding her children, sweeping, preparing simple breakfast, all the while hiding Alaric in a basket under rags and firewood. When he began to wail, she hushed him with an old lullaby. “Sleep now… sleep, little one… sleep.”
The sound of hooves shattered the fragile morning calm. Peering through the narrow window, she spotted four armored soldiers riding between huts, the sun glinting off their mail like steel mirrors. Behind them walked a man in a red cloak, inspecting each dwelling with calculated precision.
They knocked on her neighbors’ doors. One. Two. Sweat pricked her spine.
“Children,” she whispered, voice trembling, “do not speak. Do nothing.”
A heavy knock rattled her own door.
“By command of the crown,” a voice boomed, “open immediately.”
Isolde forced herself to inhale, then swung the door open. Standing before her was a man she had never seen, cloaked in scarlet, eyes sharp and calculating.
“We are searching for a traveler. A knight wearing dark garb. Has anyone passed this way?”
“No, sir,” she said, voice firm, though every nerve screamed. “No one has been here.”
He scrutinized her, then stepped inside, a soldier following. The man’s gaze swept across the cabin, lingering on the simple table, the bread crust, and her children huddled beneath the quilt.