Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
For the first time in days, nearly weeks, Ailith slept hard enough to have another dream.
Was it a result of satisfied relaxation, the fatigue of the fight, or the weary realization of the danger she had put herself in? Or all three?
This time, there was no night sky, no swirling stars. Rather, the colors alighted in swathes of orange in a fiery sunset, waving like a flag in the air.
A silhouette walked against the orange. Dream-Eladon? Or someone else? Nay, it had to be her Dream-Eladon. Closer this time.
Yet, why was she dreaming of her? Ailith had found the mushrooms, saved the ones by Dunnottar, and was replanting others.
And she had married William, as her grandmother was supposed to.
Children (yikes! Children!) would certainly come next.
Not yet, as Ailith had recently and thankfully learned since her biological courses had just finished, but eventually.
I have done everything. Why am I still dreaming?
The silhouette turned against the orange, her dark hair billowing in the air, as if to face Ailith.
Still so much to do. Don’t be brash. You must learn which battles to fight. Stay on the path, Dream-Eladon said. I’m coming.
Coming? Why was her Dream-Eladon coming to her? What did she want?
In her dream, Ailith opened her mouth to ask, but the black silhouette faded into the orange, which then faded into black. Ailith’s dream mind tried to chase it, to ask why she was coming or what was needed of her now, but it was gone.
Nestled in William’s warm embrace, she had no more dreams.
Ailith perched on the edge of a wooden chair at the table in her chambers that morning, trying to write with the ink and quill. It was more difficult than it looked in movies and on television. Ailith cursed as the ink splattered into a brownish-black mess.
Though she had apologized again to William that morning and swore not to engage in a fight that wasn’t directly saving her own life, she was still unnerved about both the battle and their conversation.
He had admitted it wasn’t just the fighting, but everything else between the Morays – and now the Keiths – that gave him concern. He also worried that others might challenge her out of spite.
What happens if I cannae protect ye? he had asked in an exasperated tone.
Ailith had to admit these were all valid concerns, ones she hadn’t fully thought out before coming to Teagan’s defense.
Ailith had sighed, curling into the lean hardness of his body before they rose with the day. After all she had put him through, he was still worried about protecting her. What had she, or rather her great-grandmother many times removed, done to deserve such devotion? Such love?
Maybe that was what Dream-Eladon had meant, letting William protect her.
At that moment, Ailith had vowed to do better. To keep his concerns in mind and not jump to fighting unless it was the only option available to her.
And this time, she meant the only option.
In the back of her mind, with Teagan’s abduction by the Keiths, Ailith knew she did have other options, including doing what the young man had done and seeking out William.
Her defense of Teagan had been almost automatic.
Almost. Thoughts of what might happen had briefly crossed her mind before her martial arts training kicked in.
She was a modern woman under the guise of a Medieval woman – a woman raised to stand up for herself.
Her dad had raised her not to rely on anyone.
That was going to be the more difficult task, learning to rely on William so much. Luckily, with every single word and deed, William had shown her that she could indeed rely on this man in a way she had not known possible.
Ailith rubbed at an ink stain on her hand as she thought about William.
As happened more and more as of late, a shivery thrill coursed up her body when her mind turned to him.
What was this type of love? Absolute commitment, pure sacrifice, unconditional love – did such a thing exist in her time? Not that she had ever seen.
In fact, the only thing more difficult than keeping her promise to William was trying to make this quill work.
She shook the tip again, spraying more black dots everywhere.
William had notched it to a fine point with his sgian-dubh, but she couldn’t get the hang of it.
Her poor parchment, rather than a neat list of mushroom locations, was a mess of ink splatters and specks, like some medieval Rorschach test.
She flicked her eyes to the edge of the table.
Three more curling parchments rested within reach, but it wasn’t like she could run out to the corner store and buy more.
Those parchments, though they had seemed ample enough when William had purchased them, now seemed more valuable as she stained this one beyond oblivion.
Maybe she could use the back if the ink hadn’t sunk through . . .
A knock sounded at the door, and as she spun in her seat, Muire and Sine’s faces peeked in. Ailith set her quill to the side and jabbed the topper onto the ink pot. She’d deal with that mess later.
“Are we disturbing ye, Ailith?” Muire asked as she leaned in.
Her rich, golden-brown hair was plaited neatly around her head. Sine’s blonde hair was loose, held back by thin locks at her temples with a bright scrap of cloth.
Ailith shook her head as she rose, wiping her ink-stained fingers on a cloth. “Nay, I was merely, uh –”
Should she tell Muire what she was writing? Or would that be another thing that others considered odd?
Well, it was too late to hide it. They could see she’d been wrestling with the quill. The inky mess was everywhere.
“I am taking notes, or rather, trying. I fear my quill is no’ tipped right.”
Sine moved to the table. Ailith pursed her lips and reached out to stop her, but what excuse might she give? Don’t look at my writing?
Feck.
“Och, Ailith. The ink is too thick. Did the scrivener no’ tell William to add wine to thin it down? Probably no’, the swindler! Hoping ye’d return soon for more ink.”
“What are ye writing?” Muire asked, flicking her gaze from the parchments to Ailith.
Ailith swallowed. “Notes, things to remember,” she answered vaguely.
“Of the puddock-stools?” Sine asked with a slight giggle.
Oh, hell. How much did they know about that? Was she obvious? Or had William mentioned something?
“Um, a bit …”
How was she to answer that?
Sine flapped her hand dismissively. “Dinna fret about your wee toadstools. William mentioned ye have an interest in them. If ye are writing about them, they must be of import. Would ye care for my help with them?”
Ailith’s mouth dropped open. Not only were they not judging her, they wanted to help? They must be cut from the same cloth as her husband!
“Aye, if ye want. ‘Tis dirty work, and ‘tis difficult to find the best places to plant them. And we can only do a few at a time. But I would love the assistance.”
Sine’s warm smile melted Ailith’s heart. She was so much like her brother – earnest and forthright. Muire huffed and sat in one of the overstuffed chairs. Her full, pink lips pouted.
“I feel left out! Father is sending me to the MacIntoshes for a visit. Ailbert is to accompany me.”
Sine giggled again as she stood next to Muire. Ailith was obviously missing something. As neither Sine nor Muire had asked anything more about her mess of parchments, Ailith blew out a silent, relieved sigh and focused on Muire’s news.
“Why are ye going to the MacIntoshes?” Ailith inquired as she sat in the stuffed chair opposite Muire.
Muire blew a short puff of breath upward, making loose wisps of hair dance around her forehead. “I am no’ rightly sure –” she said, and Sine’s tittering interrupted her.
“I am! Father and Uncle Cormag are hoping for another match like ye and William!”
Sine bubbled with giggles as she sat on the arm of Muire’s chair. Muire elbowed her.
“Sine, please!”
“Wait, your father wants to marry ye off?” Ailith leaned forward in absolute seriousness.
If Muire didn’t want to marry, then she shouldn’t have to. But how to communicate that in terms medieval lassies might understand? Or worse, their fathers?
Sine giggled again, and Ailith didn’t miss how Muire suppressed a sly smile and her cheeks stained a flattering light pink. So, not exactly unwanted …
“Aye, a match. The chieftain, or rather, Lucas MacIntosh, had some sons –”
“Some sons? Do ye no’ mean Daric MacIntosh?”
“Sine!” Muire cried as roses deepened the color on her cheeks and neck. Ailith sat back with a smile.
“So, perchance a love match?” Ailith asked. That sat much better with her.
Muire dipped her chin before answering. “Mayhap. More than that, though. The MacIntoshes have been devastated in recent events, and with your wedding and our own funerals, we did no’ have time to reach out.
Father and Uncle Cormag want to use this time now to reach out, offer support, make sure that the clan is on solid footing –”
“And mayhap have ye come home betrothed,” Sine finished, then whipped her humored face to Ailith. “’Tis why Ailbert is to go with. So Muire does no’ come home with a bairn to boot!”
“Sine!” Muire shouted.
Ailith didn’t want to think about bairns. Her inconsistent use of her oil and cloths with William when they were together was a worry that sat uncomfortably at the back of her mind. She changed the subject.
“When do ye leave? How long will ye be gone?”
Muire breathed out and looked relieved to have the subject changed as well. “A sennight at most, I presume. Uncle Cormag wishes to show his support and, I’m sure, make yet another fine Highland marriage alliance.”
“Two birds with one stone, eh?” Ailith commented before she realized the modern cliche exited past her lips.
“What birds?” Muire asked. “I dinna have any birds.”