“What’s with the look of surprise?” Gavin asked.

Siobhan shielded her eyes from a rare unbroken stretch of midday sun as she surveyed the fields near the boundary of her family’s farm. He sat down on the stone fence next to the area where she found Gavin digging.

“I may be at my best in front of an anvil,” he said, “but I’m perfectly capable of working a field when I need to.”

“Sure look, I’m not surprised that you’re doing fine work weeding the fields,” she said. “I merely expected you to do it with a hammer and tongs.”

Gavin chuckled.

“That’s a good sound from you,” she said. “I was hoping it would take less than a week to hear it.”

The sides of Gavin’s mouth flattened. He stooped to resume his work.

Siobhan’s eyes worked past him and rested on her brother. Ciarán never strayed more than 20 yards from Gavin’s side but his reserved, unassuming nature made that distance wider. Her mother chose wisely. She flicked her head forward and to the right. With a nod, her brother eased his way out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” Siobhan said. “It wasn’t my intent to judge. I merely was happy to see a smile on you. Doubly so to hear you laugh.”

Gavin raised a hand toward her without looking up.

“Not at all,” he said. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His hand came back down to work through an especially tough bit of soil.

“Lord knows, you’re not at fault for all this,” he muttered.

Siobhan was sure she wasn’t meant to hear that last comment. How many details of the attack was she missing? All she had to go on was her brothers’ report and the tiny bits Gavin mentioned.

If by “his fault,” Gavin meant that he was working with the perpetrators of the attack he would have left for Dunfanaghy by now, no matter how much Siobhan or her mother protested.

Maybe he was forced into it? she asked herself. It would explain the guilt.

She shook the thought from her head. He wouldn’t remain around those impacted by the loss. Gavin either made a mistake or he’s assuming responsibility out of guilt. Either way, she couldn’t suss it out with a greeting and a smile.

She yelled to her brother across the field with hopes he’d follow her lead.

“Ciarán! Could you use some help out here?”

“Sorry?”

She took a few steps past Gavin toward her brother.

“I was asking if you needed two extra hands to finish the weeding.”

“We’re grand,” he said. “O’Roarke’s been bang on with his work.”

“You could always use more help, right?” she asked.

You buck eejit! she thought. Could you look up at me for a bleedin’ second?

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your own chores,” he said.

"You're in luck!" she said. "I've finished my chores."

She sighed and looked back at Gavin. A small part of her wanted him to catch on to what she was attempting, if nothing else than for him to maintain her esteem in his wit. Instead, he worked down his row with his back to her, the gap between the two of them ever increasing.

“That doesn’t sound right!” Ciarán said. “It can’t have been an hour since lunch.”

Siobhan squeezed the muscles in her face to keep from crying out. She grabbed a loose stone from the fence and hurled it at the ground in front of her brother.

The stone struck Ciarán’s chest off of the second bounce, causing her older brother to yelp out of surprise. She heard a pause in the work from behind her. She had Ciarán’s and Gavin’s full attention now and her only hope was that her brother would understand her wrinkled brow, wide-eyed glare and bared teeth—all shielded from their house-guest’s view.

“Sorry, I stepped on my spade and the handle caught me,” Ciarán said, rubbing his chest. “Right, yeah, we could use the help, now that I think of it. We could finish before dinner.”

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Siobhan turned on the charm and sing-song in her voice.

“I ‘spose I can help you then. How about over there on the far side and work back towards Gavin?”

“Sure?” her brother said. “I mean, sure, that sounds grand.”

Ciarán traded Siobhan’s eye roll with a glare of his own. When she turned to head towards her part of the field, she found Gavin eyeing her through narrowed lids. He shook his head and returned to work.

The first hour was filled with nothing but the sounds of plants tearing and spades piercing dirt. The wind no longer howled in from the bay as it did earlier in the week. It eased milder air from over the peaks of the Seven Sisters and it wasn’t long before Siobhan was in a sweat.

Her eyes often darted to her brother, as if she could will him to initiate a discussion that she could twist into learning more about Gavin. The glances, however, had little effect. She would have to force the issue.

Siobhan was acquainted with Gavin, but until this week they had no meaningful interactions between them. She started with time tested topics—his original home in Connaught, his parents, his larger family. The questions were spaced out at first but as the mood in the field eased she managed to get the occasional follow-up question answered.

She steered the conversation towards his smithy—when did he learn about his legendary ancestor, how long has he lived in Tyrconnell, how locals were treating him. He relinquished each answer easier than the one that preceded it up until she asked the wrong question.

“What’s the one thing you’ve crafted that you’re most proud of?”

Gavin went silent. Siobhan was too far away to notice any subtle expression change, but after a long pause, the break in his voice was unmistakable.

“I’d rather not.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Well, what about something lighter? What do you when all the work is to be done?”

“I draw,” he said. “I sing a little. Anything else I feel like doing. Mostly, I like making things.”

“I’d love to see those drawings sometime.”

“Listen,” he said.

The shake in his voice was gone, but the delivery of his next few lines were uneven and awkward.

“I must tell ya, Shiv—”

“—Siobhan—”

“—sorry, Siobhan, you’re a lovely and kind girl, but I don’t fancy you like that.”

“Sorry?”

She heard a half-restrained chortle from her brother off to the side and in that moment she wished for nothing more than another loose rock in her hand.

“It’s nothing against you personally at all,” he said. “I know there are lords and other sorts of men twice my age that would jump at the chance but that kind of business isn’t for me.”

Siobhan stared at the man, speaking only after she realized that her jaw was hung open.

“That’s not… I wasn’t…”

“I’m sorry,” Gavin said. “I’ve made it awkward. I should go—”

“Houl yer whisht!” she said. “It’s indeed awkward, but not in the way you think! I do not fancy you at all.”

“But all the questions—” he said.

“—were an attempt to ease you into talking about things.”

Gavin stood up and turned his palms to the sky.

“Ah here, so you inserted yourself to get more information from me about the attack?” he asked.

“Again, not in the manner you’re implying,” she said. “I’ve been straight on trying to help you through your pain. I’ve tried to give you space.”

Gavin turned his back to the bay and gestured in all three remaining directions. His nostrils flared. His upper lip curled on both sides.

“Look around you, cailín!” he yelled. “Surely you can try harder to find some more?”

Siobhan caught sight of her brother in her periphery. Ciarán’s gaze never left his work but he raised his eyebrows and bobbled his head. She stood up and bridged the gap between her and Gavin. The finger on her outstretched right hand was inches from the man’s chest. It was all she could do to stop herself from yelling back.

“Cop yourself on, buachaill!” she said. “You’re 24 years if you’re a day—barely older than Cathal. And how much space am I supposed to give after I heard you blame yourself for what happened?”

“You did what?”

“You don’t mutter very quietly,” she said. “What on earth makes you think you were responsible for that?”

“I left them there, for starters.”

“You’d be a poor messenger if you never left the camp.”

“But I wasn’t meant to be the messenger,” he said. “I begged Aoife to let me ride in her place. I’d been crafting and supplying their equipment for years. Over the last few months, I’d begged Niall to let me help them spy on Fomori activity. Like I told yer mam, we saw the largest number of them yet board boats and sail to Tory Island. It looked like big news, and I begged Aoife to let me be the one to tell you all.”

“I understand,” she said. “But even if she rode to us, you’d be dead and it would’ve saved but one person.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, those lads would still have a mam.”

Gavin drew back his lips into a grimace and looked away. Siobhan placed her hand on his upper arm and held it for a moment, releasing only when he moved it. He wouldn’t be the one to speak next. Siobhan eased herself two paces back.

“You still haven’t explained your fault in everyone else’s fate.”

He pointed at Ciarán with the side of his head.

“Your brothers told you what they found at the camp? Everything?”

She nodded.

“Were you aware I came to Tyrconnell with the O’Farrells?”

“I was not,” she said. “I suppose I should have guessed it.”

“I knew them since I could walk; I’d been friends with them almost as long. Some of the first things I ever made were for them. Dermot’s taste in weaponry was fairly conventional. He always preferred longer blades. Fergus, on the other hand, loved using two shorter swords in each hand—not something you see often. Four years ago, I made him this gorgeous pair of blades for his birthday. They gleamed like silver but were twice as strong.”

He gulped and turned his head, keeping his eyes on Siobhan.

“They were the best things I ever made, and I found them last week sticking out of him. My best friend.”

“Gavin—”

“I worked so hard to show them all my quality, you know? I outfitted everyone in that group except Fintan with new weapons, and all of them with new armor. I really thought I did it.”

“What about the wolves?” Siobhan asked.

“I didn’t see any wolves, did I? All I saw were my weapons piercing my friends’ and comrades’ armor—my armor. Indeed, I need to go back to the forge and learn how to make something useful.”

Siobhan lurched toward Gavin and wrapped her arms around him. Above her head, the blacksmith inhaled the bay air with a quick, loud sniff.

“I don’t know how to make you understand that this wasn’t your fault, but I will find a way,” she said.

He reciprocated her hug for a few seconds and then broke the embrace.

“I don’t like your chances,” he said, “but I hope you’re right.”