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head and released the lad’s arm. Bryce didn’t know what to make of him. The lad puzzled him. He was intelligent for one so young and inexperienced, though that could be attributed to his father’s roving adventures. The lad surely had seen more than most, who never knew more than the place of their birth. Still, there was something about the lad that had Bryce wondering. He didn’t know what it was, but something was there. Something he should know but couldn’t quite grasp.
    Before the lad moved away from him, he grabbed his chin, regretting his quick action when Charles winced. He hadn’t meant to cause him pain. He just wanted to make certain his wounds were minor.
    â€œThe lip isn’t split bad, but the eye is already bruising,” Bryce said, taking a look at his injuries. “Your foe landed a good blow to your ribs. Does it pain you?” His hand fell away from the lad’s chin, ready to examine his ribs, when Charles jumped back out of his reach, the cringe of pain on his face giving him his answer.
    â€œLet me have a look at those ribs,” Bryce demanded, his hand shooting out and catching hold of the lad’s tunic.
    â€œNot now,” Charles said. “Please, we need to hurry to Elsa’s house and see what I can learn about my da.”
    â€œYou could be hurt badly,” Bryce said with concern.
    â€œNothing’s damaged, just bruised that’s all.”
    â€œI’ll take your word for it for now, but when we reach the croft, I’ll have a look for myself.”
    The lad didn’t protest; nor did he agree. He simply turned and walked off.
    It took nearly an hour’s walk to reach Elsa’s croft, an hour where very little conversation was exchanged, and only one brief stop made. Bryce heard no complaint from the lad—he hadn’t expected to. Charles was anxious to reach the croft and speak with someone who possibly could provide information about his da.
    The croft was visible just over a rise and, on approach, appeared well maintained, not an easy task for a widow all alone. Her fields were tilled, ready for planting, and her kitchen garden was partially in bloom. Freshly washed clothes hung from tree branches, and a most delicious aroma had Bryce’s mouth watering the closer he got.
    A woman thick in size, though not in height, stepped out of the cottage, her smile warm and welcoming. Her gray hair was piled atop her head, and, as she watched their approach, she fought with several stubborn strands that refused to join the captured mass of curls. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips rosy, and her sharp blue eyes sparkled with a youthfulness that had long passed.
    â€œI hope you’re both hungry,” she said in way of greeting. “I’ve got a stew cooking and bread baking.”
    â€œThat’s generous of you,” Bryce said, “though William the bowyer did say you were the charitable sort.”
    â€œWilliam is a dear friend and knows that those in need find their way here and offer to help me in return for my generosity. It is the way of things in the Highlands, is it not?”
    â€œAye, that it is,” Bryce said. “And what is it that I can do for you, Elsa.”
    She was about to answer when her smile faltered, and she stepped to the side of Bryce. “What have we here?”
    â€œCharles scuffled with a lad twice his size,” Bryce said.
    â€œAnd won I did,” Charles said.
    Elsa shook her head and looked to Bryce. “I’ll tend Charles’s wounds and you . . .”
    â€œForgive me, I should have introduced myself. I’m Bryce.”
    â€œWell, Bryce, I think some nice trout would be good with my stew. You’ll find what you need on the side of the cottage by my garden, and a small loch is but a short distance beyond that grove to the west.”
    Bryce couldn’t refuse the woman though he would much prefer not to leave the lad alone with her.