Chapter 7 #2
William rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. “No’ the best solution, but ‘tis all we can do.”
“Agreed, though I fear we may have made an enemy where we needed an ally.”
They bid Muire and Ailbert goodbye, and Ailith and William mounted his horse, Lugh. The day, starting with such a promise, had soured. They rode northwest in silence, heading past Mowtie toward Teagan.
“Ye ken I would never lay a violent hand on ye, aye, mo ruaidh?” William asked in a contrite voice. “I would sooner have my hand cut from my body before . . .”
He trailed off as Ailith rested a comforting hand on his thigh.
“Aye, William. Ye temper yourself well, especially with problems I bring. ‘Tis one of the reasons I wed ye.”
He was quiet for a few moments, then snorted behind her.
What did he find so funny?
“What are ye about?” she asked.
“Och, just that I’d never risk it anyway. Ye’d knock me senseless with one of your sticks. I’d no have a chance.”
Ailith pursed her lips, not liking that William was making light of a serious topic, but it was probably the best she was going to get in the Middle Ages where violence, including that against women and children, was more rife than she cared to admit.
And at least he had stood up for the woman, even if there wasn’t much they could do about her domestic situation.
She also claimed a hint of pride that the MacDougal men had stood up for her against an abusive man when no one else had.
These were good men, few and far between though they seemed to be.
Too much like the modern age, she thought sourly.
It was the reason her father had first signed her up for martial arts in the first place, so she might have a chance in a fight against an abusive person. Not for the first time, she was grateful her father had such forethought.
Thank ye, Da.
“Aye. Ye’d no’ have a chance,” she agreed.
“Just in case though, I had something made for ye. ‘Twas ready at the blacksmith’s when we were there.”
William slowed Lugh, and she twisted around to see what he held.
“Ye have something for me?”
“Consider it a late wedding gift. I had the idea after our knife practice with my sgian-dubh. Ye wielded it well, but ‘tis no’ a weapon for a lass. I spoke to the blacksmith and had him craft this for ye special.”
As she wondered what he might have made for her, he reached into his pouch and withdrew a knife in a thin leather scabbard. He extracted the slender sgian-dubh, not much longer than the length of her hand, but so finely made she gasped.
The elongated triangular blade was smooth and perfectly shiny – she could see her reflection in the steel.
The handle, however, was a work of art. It was open, formed by a crisscross Celtic knot style–one that reminded her of the embroidery on her wedding gown.
The openness of the blackened hilt made the weapon even lighter, though it was a bit longer than his sgian-dubh.
William handed the knife to her, and she felt the difference in the balance compared to his sgian-dubh. When she held this knife, she could almost hide it in her palm.
She didn’t know what harm she might do with so wee a blade, but between what William had shown her and her own martial arts weapons training, Ailith figured she could do some damage.
“Thank ye,” she breathed out and lifted her face to his.
His blue eyes were winsome, but the rest of his face was grave. This was more than a gift of art for a wedding. He gave her the weapon for a reason. He trusted her enough to use it, but only when necessary, as she had promised.
She leaned into him and kissed him fully. He responded, his lips slanting over hers with vigorous demand. She drew back and looked at the beautifully crafted knife in her hand.
With nimble fingers, he drew her skirts up over her stocking ties.
“’Tis for your protection, your defense, aye.
And should I ever raise a hand to ye, ye have the right to use it against me.
I’d have no harm ever come to ye, including from my own hand.
But use it only when absolutely needed, as we agreed.
Ye keep it here, tucked against your thigh.
That way, if ye need it, ‘tis always on your person. A bit easier to carry than a long staff, aye?”
Though he tried to make light of the exquisite gift, she heard caution tempering him.
Then, never one to miss an opportunity, he brushed his fingertips over the milky softness of her exposed thigh, and a fire ignited behind his eyes.
Then he sighed and grabbed the reins to resume their trip.
Ailith readjusted herself, tucking the knife and scabbard securely in her stocking before sweeping her skirts back down her legs and facing forward.
William slipped his arm around her waist, and she leaned back into his hard chest, grateful that she’d found the man she had, and hoping that the Keith woman had someone to look after her as William did Ailith.
****
Teagan lived just inside the border of Keith lands, and Ailith swallowed hard, not liking the location.
She had wanted to return to the safety of MacDougal lands, and William told her that they were not far from their border.
If that was supposed to calm her, it didn’t work.
The memory of the Keith woman’s stricken face was too fresh in her mind.
Though Teagan’s directions to her home had been vague, William seemed to know where he was going, directing the horse off the main road onto a path she would not have seen but for the fact William turned to it.
“How do ye know the way?” she asked.
William pointed in front of them. “We are north of Mowtie. If we follow this path a wee bit east, we will come to a notable standing stone.”
How did he recognize all this? With all the trees and mountains and valleys, and no developed roads or towns, so much of the landscape looked all the same.
She was going to have to work on her sense of direction, especially if she needed to note where she planted all her mushrooms. She patted her satchel, grateful for her new parchment that would help in that endeavor.
Lugh picked his hooves through the mushy path as the mist caught on Ailith’s hair and skin in a cool film.
William continued confidently until they arrived at a small croft.
It was a cruck house with a thatched roof and a clearing at the front.
A lean-to style barn was at the rear, and several chickens scrambled around rickety goat pens.
The babbling of a brook nearby must be where Teagan got her water.
“Are ye certain about this, mo ruaidh?” William asked. “No’ all strangers are kind, as ye’ve seen.”
“She’s a woman living alone. I dinna believe we have anything to fear.”
As William dismounted in the clearing, Teagan stepped out of her doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. Her deep, orange-red hair contrasted with her pale skin and the muted tones of her croft.
“Welcome, visitors,” she called out, and, for the first time, a smile crossed her lips, exposing a set of strong teeth.
She appeared older than Ailith, yet younger than her father, and Ailith found herself trying to guess the woman’s age again. Trying to guess who this woman was. What was an Irish woman doing living alone in the Scottish Highlands?
“Thank ye,” Ailith answered as she climbed off the horse.
She noticed William’s face as she dismounted, how he scanned the area, the set of his jaw, the way he evaluated their hostess and surroundings. He might have indulged her in this visit, but he remained cautious.
“Did ye find your herbs?” Teagan asked, getting right to business. She waved them into her croft.
Ailith looked at William and tipped her head toward the door. William joined her and ducked inside the cruck house after her.
Teagan’s house was one long, narrow room, with neat bedding and a woven trunk at the far end – her bedroom.
In front of her door sat a table, two tall stools, and shelves, all filled with food, herbs, and kitchen implements – platters, cups, bowls, and a bucket.
Additional herbs and flowers hung to dry from her rafters, adding pockets of color and a heady scent to her dun-colored interior.
Ailith dug out the tiny leather pouch from the herbalist.
“I have bog myrtle, but I did no’ ask after the carline.”
Teagan shrugged one shoulder. “Smart. ‘Twould raise eyebrows for certain.”
“Ye live here alone, then?” William asked, his eyes scanning the room.
Teagan turned her perceptive green gaze to him. “Aye. ‘Tis far enough away from most things that I am no’ troubled by people.”
“Ye dinna have a clan to help ye?”
Teagan snorted. “An Eire lass? With the name of O’Connor? And what use are the Keiths to anyone?”
It seemed she shared Ailith’s opinion of the Keiths.
“What of other clans?” Ailith inquired. “The Grants and MacDougals border these lands. And the Gordons are a wee bit to the south.”
“I do quite well on my own.”
Ailith and William shared a look. Teagan was right – she did indeed appear to be doing quite well.
“Did ye want to see how ye might use the bog myrtle? And did ye bring me the mushrooms?”
“Och, aye,” Ailith responded, stepping towards the woman’s table.
She set the bog myrtle on the tabletop, then dug into her satchel and withdrew a handful of the tiny mushrooms.
Teagan’s eyebrows twitched. “I have no’ seen any like these before.”
Ailith put them on the table with the bog myrtle. “No’ many have. They are rare, and I am working to repopulate the Highlands with them. In fact, I was going to ask ye if ‘tis a place near your croft, one of stones, grass, and heavily damp and shadowed, that these wee puddock-stools might grow?”
Ailith studied Teagan’s face and noted how her eyes flicked from William to Ailith.
“Let us start with the bog myrtle, then ye can tell me about the stools. I have an idea of where these might grow well. If your man would like to check it for ye?”