“Eldest is going to kill her.” Heria trotted to keep up with his long strides. She held her carbine rifle ready, her wide-brimmed hat thumping on her back with each step.

“One can hope so.” He scanned the rolling pasture nervously. This was their main cattle field and thus, thankfully, bare of anything between the height of the short grass and the tall hickory trees. In a single glance, he could see that the pasture was clear of strangers. They would, at least, not be taken by sneak attacks. He looked back at the sprawling stone farmhouse, looking toy-sized on the hilltop.

“‘I was thinking, Jerin, maybe we should just kill this soldier. Hold her under, let her drown, then take her up onto the bank. We’ll tell the Queens Justice that we did all we could, but she died anyway.”

“Heria!”

“We don’t know anything about this woman. She might be a murderer or a husband raider. We can’t just take her into the house, give her access to our men!”

“No! You know what Grandmothers always said; the best way not to get caught for a crime is simply not to commit it. Besides, she probably has sisters, maybe close by. What if they found out we didn’t help her, that we hurt her? They could take us to the Queens Justice and strip the family of all possessions.”

And legally, as a boy, he was a possession. “After we get her to the house,” he said, “you should ride quick to fetch the Queens Justice. Then go on to Brindles’ farm and tell Corelle what’s happened.”

“I should go for Corelle first.”

“There are only four of our sisters at the Brindles’ farm. You saw five riders. We don’t know how many more might be in the woods yet. I’d rather have a troop of Queens Justice here instead of our sisters.”

“Don’t worry. If anyone tries for you, I’ll shoot them.” Heria put her rifle to her shoulder and pretended to shoot it. “Bang!”

Jerin shook his head, wishing their mothers were home, or at least their elder sisters were nearer at hand.