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Ian went to the stables to tack up the horse and go out riding as far away as the day would allow. He needed to distract himself, to stop this nagging, sucking feeling of guilt and desperation. He hated being almost cruel to Kate. The headache after several days of drinking himself to sleep didn’t help.

He opened Thor’s stall and brushed the animal, then stroked his neck. Thor looked at him with his shiny black eyes.

“Ye lucky beast,” Ian said. “Nae concerns, nae regrets. Just eat yer hay and gallop around.”

Thor blinked and snorted gently, as though asking what was the matter.

The matter was a dark, heavy weight in the pit of Ian’s stomach. He knew in the back of his mind that he’d snapped at Kate with no good reason. He knew he’d behaved like a cold, ungrateful shite. After what she and Manning had managed for the wake, he should have fallen on his knees and kissed her hands. It was she who’d done it, Ian was sure. The spotless great hall, the quick and delicious pastries, the clean cups and plates… Everything had been ready for the guests, neatly organized through and through.

Manning would have never put in that much effort. Cadha didn’t have the physical strength anymore.

No, he knew it was all Kate.

And yet, Ian had hurt her—again. If he’d seen someone else talk to her as he had, the man would lie on the ground with his nose broken.

It was his cloudy mind, he knew, the hangover that made him act out. As well as his worry about the English invaders who threatened to knock on their doors sooner rather than later.

He put on the saddle and the reins, then walked Thor out. Summer was glorious in the Highlands, just like he remembered. It was never as hot as in the caliphate. Rather, the sun was warm and the wind brought the fresh scent of water from the bright-blue loch. The mountains and hills on both sides of the loch were lush with trees and grass.

Ian scratched Thor’s warm neck, inhaling the air.

Since he’d arrived in Baghdad, he’d had the goal of coming home. Once he’d returned, he’d had to bury his father.

Now, for the first time since he’d been sold as a slave, he had no purpose. He could take Thor and ride anywhere he wanted.

Freedom.

He mounted the horse and let him walk out of the yard slowly. He savored every breath, every movement of the animal, the feel of his own body, still aching from the excess of uisge, but free nevertheless.

As soon as they were out in the fields of oats and barley, he spurred Thor, and they flew like a wind.

They passed the village of Benlochy, past the small church. In its backyard, Father had been buried yesterday with the customary wooden plate with earth and salt on it. Earth as the sign that the body would be returned to the earth where it had come from, and salt as the symbol of the eternal soul.

They galloped for a while—Ian didn’t know how long. But with the effort of the exercise, the trees and ground and sky flashing before his eyes, he was able to forget, his mind going pleasantly empty, full of sunshine and wind and the rush of speed.

The only thing Ian wasn’t able to forget, was Kate. But she didn’t bother him. On the contrary, thinking of her brought something soothing and calming to his soul. Like a balm on a ragged wound.

By the time Thor needed a break, Ian had decided he’d apologize the moment he got back. He had been unfair, and she should know that.

He dismounted and led Thor to the loch to let him drink and graze on the grass nearby. The water looked so good, and suddenly Ian wanted nothing more than to plunge into it. Following the impulse, he undressed and walked in. Chill grasped his feet and ankles, the wind refreshing against his bare chest.

Ah, it would be freezing. Better not to wait. On with it.

He advanced even though the cold took his breath away and hurt his skin. He submerged himself completely and felt as if the loch embraced him like a babe against his mother’s bosom. He let the waters of his motherland wash away the horrors of slavery and dissolve the painful memories of every life he’d taken.

He stayed underwater until his chest felt like it would burst, then swam up and gasped in the sweet air. Lightness he hadn’t felt in a long while filled his body, and he wanted to laugh from the pleasure of it.

Voices from the shore made him still, then narrow his eyes. Englishmen, judging by their heavy metal armor. There were three of them. One dismounted, walked up to Thor and looked him over, checking his teeth. He lifted the animal’s foot and looked at his hoof, then nodded with approval.

How dare he look at Ian’s horse as though he was judging its quality? Something dark, ugly, and slippery turned deep in Ian’s gut. Something he’d thought he’d left in the loch. He walked towards the shore, his hands itching for a weapon.

All three of them stopped talking and stared as he approached.

“Hey, you!” one of them cried. “Who are you?”

Ian didn’t stop until he reached the rocky shore.

“I am the owner of that horse. And I will thank ye to get yer hands off him.”