“My sister,” he said. “Cecily. She was—Christ, she was nine years old when I left.” “Your sister,” said Jem, and Tessa felt a loosening of something tight around her heart, and cursed herself inwardly for it. What did it matter whether Cecily was Will’s sister or someone he was in love with? It had nothing to do with her. Will started down the hill, not looking for a path, just tramping blindly among the heather and furze. After a moment Jem went after him, catching at his sleeve. “Will, don’t—” Will tried to pull his arm away. “If Cecily’s there, then the rest of them—my family—they must be
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