Try not to look nervous,” Terix said, leading a donkey by its reins.

“Me? I’m as calm as a forest pond on a still summer day.”

“You’re tracing your spirals. You only do that when you’re nervous.”

I flattened my hand against my thigh. “They don’t know that.”

“And you’re sweating.”

“I’m naturally warm.”

“They won’t know that.”

“They won’t be close enough to notice.” I hoped. I called Bone to my side and patted him, taking comfort from his solid, doggy warmth.

The night had brought cold air, and this morning the grass was edged with frost. We had packed up our donkeys while Marri looked on, a plaid wrapped around her shoulders, an odd expression on her face as if she wanted to ask us something but couldn’t decide. In the end, she’d only wished us safe travels.

Our breath hung in the air, our noses ran, and the chill seeped up under my skirts, making me wish I had a pair of baggy breeches like the Briton men wore, with leather bands crisscrossed around their ankles and calves. My fingers were already stiffening with cold, despite my damp underarms.

Movement would warm me. Running, especially, if it came to that.

But if it came to that, the last thing I’d be worried about would be chilled legs.

A shepherd had already led a flock of sheep through the compound and out through the gate; we followed the wide, dark path their hooves had made in the frost. The moisture clinging to the grass darkened the hem of my green travel gown and weighed it down, the fabric slapping against my ankles. Yes, baggy Briton breeches would be an improvement.

We approached the sloping ramp through the gate. Two men kept guard on the rampart above, and one young warrior leaned against the open gateway, smothering a yawn and gazing blankly out at the countryside below; he was one of the men I’d pushed to his release last night. I pulled the hood of my cloak up over my hair, as if that would in any way disguise me. I kept my face lowered, hoping that if I didn’t look at the guard, he wouldn’t look at me.

Terix passed by him first. The guard scratched at his mustache, then frowned at his fingernails, examining what he’d gathered.

I followed with Bone and my donkey, watching only the ground; the guard’s feet didn’t move. The hairs rose on the back of my neck, and I got an itchy feeling between my shoulders, certain that he was about to call out or grab me. A few steps more, and I was past him; a few more, and we’d reached the bottom of the ramp and started on the path that wound down around the hill fort.

A giddy excitement rose in my chest. They hadn’t stopped us! Mordred must not have given orders that we were not to leave. Our suspicions of him had been groundless; of course, we were free to go. Didn’t he value independence above all else? His forceful invitation had been just that: an invitation from a crude man.

I felt ridiculous. All that worry, for what?

A shout came from the ramparts. Another. A word that may have been “Halt!”

In front of me, Terix flinched but didn’t turn. I did the same, hurrying forward, hoping that the shout was for someone else. Pretending I didn’t understand, even as my giddy excitement was twisting into queasy fear.

There was a soft whistle past my head and then a dull thunk. An arrow quivered in the dirt an arm’s length away. My heart jumped into my throat.

Terix looked over his shoulder at me, the question in his wide eyes. Run?

I shook my head. We were too close. They had arrows, horses, hounds.

We stopped and looked up at the guards. “Is there something wrong?” Terix called out in Gaulish.

The guard from the gateway ran toward us, his sword out and his teeth gnashing out harsh words. He grabbed my arm and jerked me away from my donkey. Bone snarled and prepared to lunge.

“No, Bone! No!” I shouted. I didn’t want to give the warrior an excuse to hurt him. Bone kept growling but stayed put; Terix put a hand on the back of his neck.

Mordred wanted us to stay, so stay we would.