Chapter Seven
She was back.
It was nearing the evening hours as Emllyn sat upon the chair that had been brought to her chamber that afternoon by one of the raggedy male servants, along with a table to go with it.
It seemed that, bit by bit, the room was becoming more furnished and Nessa, Enda’s silent daughter, had even brought an armful of willow branches and tossed them onto the floor around the bed.
The smell of fresh cut branches filled the room.
But then, Eefha returned and the entire room smelled like her shite pipe again.
So she was back.
After a morning of reflecting on the fact that she’d lost her innocence to the Irish rebel and had actually enjoyed it, Emllyn had mercifully been alone to ponder that very fact.
Hours of sitting and dwelling on a situation that had quickly veered out of control and how she’d done nothing to stop it.
Her body had betrayed her and her mind had gone along with it, but it left her in a peculiar situation.
Devlin was her captor. He was her enemy.
But he was also something else.
She wasn’t sure what that was… yet.
Before she’d had time to really think about it, the furniture had started coming.
Food came. Eefha appeared and after that, she thought of Devlin no more.
She decided to go about her business, which happened to be trying on the garments Eefha had given her.
In fact, she was rather excited to try on the new clothing.
Her first order of business was to sort all of the items out and she took to the task eagerly.
When all was said and done, with everything, including the garments Enda had brought her the day before, she had two shifts, three surcoats, a red silk robe that had beautiful gold stitching around the edges, a cloak, three belts that were made from various metal links or fabric, two pairs of leather slippers, and a leather sack that contained a bone comb, fine strips of cloth that were meant to tie off hair with, some kind of pomade in a small, heavy clay pot that smelled of rosemary and mint, and a very lumpy white hunk of what she assumed to be soap that smelled of pine, she thought. There were even flecks of green in it.
In all, it was an interesting horde, and Emllyn was quite pleased with all of it.
Enda had left her a pitcher of water and a bowl earlier; she used the water to work the soap bar up into a reasonable paste just to make sure that it was, indeed, soap.
The pomade in the pot that smelled of rosemary and mint seemed to be something to soften the skin because she rubbed it on her chapped hands and it soothed them nicely.
Next, she tried on the fine white shift and pulled another surcoat of white wool over it.
It was very warm and fit her rather well.
A belt of green silk with tassels draped around her waist. Thrilled that she finally had clothes that fit, and decent clothes at that, she proceeded to comb her hair with the bone comb and braid it.
A heavy, silky reddish-blond braid draped elegantly over her right shoulder.
One of the belts seemed to have an issue with the weave so she sat in the chair again and tried to fix the problem.
All the while, she kept glancing over at the stool next to the hearth where old Eefha sat.
The woman was staring into the flames, puffing away on that stinky pipe.
Emllyn found her attention increasingly on the silent old woman and she eventually lowered the belt to her lap.
“I am not entirely sure if you can understand me,” she said politely, “but I want to thank you for what you have given me. You are very kind. I realize I am the enemy and you could have very well disregarded me, but I am grateful that you did not.”
The old woman puffed and puffed, seemingly ignoring her.
Emllyn wasn’t sure what more to say because the woman clearly didn’t understand her.
Maybe she’d lost the ability to communicate normally long ago, speaking strangely as she did.
With a sigh, perhaps of some regret that the woman didn’t understand her gratitude, she returned to the belt repair and murmured a song from her childhood simply to pass the time.
“‘Though oft of Fairy Land they spoke,
No eerie beings dwelled therein,
’Twas filled throughout with joyous folk
Like men, though freed from death and sin.’”
She continued to hum the tune and muttered a word now and again as she worked on the belt. She was about to start on the next verse when, from across the room, she heard another voice.
“‘And sure those bards were truest knights
Whose thoughts of women high were set,
Nor deemed them prizes, won in fights,
But minds like men’s, and women yet.”
Emllyn’s head popped up after the first few words were sung, realizing the old woman was doing the singing in her raspy, ancient voice.
It was a common enough song but somehow, in those verses, meant they were speaking the same language.
They both knew the same song. When Eefha finished the last word, she continued to stare at the fire and puff on her smelly pipe.
Emllyn watched her closely for some kind of additional response but there was none.
Then, she ventured softly with the last verse to see if she could elicit the same reaction as before.
“‘In forms like those men loved of old,
Naught added, nothing torn away….’”
Emllyn trailed off, waiting to see if old Eefha picked up the queue. It took several long moments but, eventually, the old woman finished the song.
“‘… The ancient tales again are told,
Can none their own true magic sway?”
When she finished the song she paused and puffed her pipe before very slowly turning to Emllyn.
Their eyes met and, for a moment, they simply stared at one another.
There was something warm in the air, perhaps a measure of understanding.
Then, Emllyn broke out into a timid smile.
This time, she was sure the old woman smiled back.
And then she went back to smoking her pipe.
Emllyn laughed softly and returned to finish her belt but she felt, in that moment, as if she had accomplished something.
Somehow, in the verses of that old song, she and old Eefha had communicated.
It was progress. As she worked with the knots on the belt that needed mending, the chamber door rattled violently.
Startled by the loud burst, Emllyn nearly dropped the belt. Heart pounding in her throat, she didn’t move; she sat and waited for something else to happen. It wasn’t long in coming.
“Open the door, wench!” came a booming bellow. “Open it up or I’ll break it down.”
Emllyn was terrified. She sat, rooted to the spot, too frightened to even open her mouth. She simply sat there, hoping whoever was demanding entry would go away. But he banged on the door again, louder than before.
“Open this door, I say!” he yelled. “Open it or I shall beat you severely when I get into the room, and trust me when I tell you that I shall get into the room.”
Jolted out of inaction, Emllyn began looking around frantically for a weapon of some kind.
She wasn’t entirely sure the old bolt would hold and wanted to make sure she could protect herself.
As she bolted from the chair and began searching the room for something, anything, to protect herself with, Eefha quite calmly stood up from her stool by the hearth.
Emllyn was in the process of inspecting the chair she had been sitting on, undoubtedly to use it like a club, as the old woman headed for the door.
Emllyn had her back to Eefha, unaware that the old woman was calmly moving for the bolted panel, and she was further unaware that the woman had unsheathed a sharp dagger buried in the folds of her robes.
Emllyn only realized the old woman had moved when she heard the bolt unlatch.
As she turned in horror, convinced she had just been betrayed, the old woman pulled open the door and plunged the dagger into the man standing on the landing outside.
As quickly as she had buried the blade in his flesh, it was with equal swiftness that she removed it.
Frederick looked with shock at the wound in his gut. He stumbled back, howling, as he slapped a hand over the bleeding puncture. Seeing that it was Eefha who had stabbed him, his features contorted with pain and surprise. But the old woman simply lifted a clawed hand in his direction.
“Of great woe, for that cry is of thy own foolish mistake,” she said ominously. “Beware the protection dear of the fairest lady. In the next, thy life is forfeit.”
Frederick sagged against the corridor wall, his expression wrought with disbelief and agony.
She had plunged the blade into the curve of his torso and he was bleeding fairly profusely, but he knew from experience that it more than likely wasn’t a mortal wound.
Still, it hurt a great deal and needed to be tended immediately.
More than his shock, he was bloody well furious.
“Why did you do that, you foolish sow?” he demanded.
Eefha didn’t say another word. She shut the door in his face and threw the bolt. Then, quite calmly, she returned to her stool and sat. All the while, she had been puffing steadily on the shite pipe. She never missed a puff.
Emllyn was stunned. She could hear Frederick on the opposite side of the door, cursing and grumbling, and she kept waiting for him to kick the door in and kill both her and Eefha.
But he never touched the door; he cursed steadily and loudly and eventually his voice faded away.
That was how Emllyn knew he was leaving; eventually, he simply faded into silence.