3 FETCHING WINE
TEETH GRITTED, AILSA pushed her way through the curtain that divided the shop and living spaces of their home and let it swish closed behind her.
Brèagha. Calling someone ‘pretty’ wasn’t an insult, although the way he’d said it made her skin crawl. He was mocking her.
She wasn’t pretty. She was unsettling. Strange.
With any luck, her mentor would work quickly, and by the time she returned with the wine, the job would be nearly done. Then, the creep could leave.
Afterward, she could have it out with Kayla—and demand they make some changes.
The back of the narrow stacked-stone building they lived in was even more cramped than the shop, consisting of two narrow sleeping alcoves stuffed with furs, a hearth, and a small square table where they shared every meal.
Taking a wide clay bottle off a shelf, Ailsa tucked it into a linen bag. She then slid a thin knife into the back of her boot; a precaution Kayla had taught her years ago.
Lately, she found the feel of cold iron against her shin comforting.
After that, she threw on her cloak. It was new, a gift from Kayla at the last Mid-winter Fire.
Made of finely woven wool and trimmed in rabbit fur, the mantle was a deep forest-green, her favorite color.
Today she wore a thick, ankle-length moss-green tunic.
Both her tunic and cloak were warm. Just as well, since, although they were now in autumn and nearing Gateway, the air outdoors held a bite.
The last thing she fetched before going outside was an iron lantern with a dish of tallow inside. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she lit the lantern. She then unlatched and pushed open the back door, exiting into the narrow wynd.
It was as dark as a barrow out here, for the Fort Guard didn’t bother hanging torches in back wynds, especially in ‘The Reek’, the fort’s poorest area.
Turning left, Ailsa screwed her nose up. Aye, this tangle of dark, fetid lanes on Braewall’s lowest level was aptly named. The air was heavy with acrid peat smoke and the smell of rotting food, piss, and dung.
She wished they’d move. If they weren’t going to travel, they could at least enjoy the coin they earned.
These days, Kayla had amassed enough for them to buy a roundhouse in the upper levels.
It was less crowded up there, and the air was fresher.
You were also less likely to get pickpocketed or harassed.
However, Kayla dismissed the idea every time she brought it up. She preferred to hoard her coin.
Ailsa’s lips thinned. That was something else that needed discussing tonight.
“Ho, lass,” a gravelly voice greeted her as she walked down the wynd. A moment later, her lantern illuminated a hunched figure swathed in filthy blankets who huddled in the shadows. The stench of stale ale and other vile odors hit her like a wall then. “How about a fuck?”
Ailsa scowled. Beggars were commonplace in Braewall, but this one—a man who’d once served the King of Braewall, but whose love of ale had ruined his career, and his life—had taken to camping just a few yards from their back door. And every time she walked by, he had something to say.
Once, she’d merely shrugged off this beggar’s coarse words, but no longer.
For a heartbeat, she imagined kicking him in the teeth.
Throttling the urge, she stalked past.
Raspy laughter followed her.
The rumble of voices, accompanied by the rise and fall of a gently strumming lyre, greeted Ailsa as she pushed open the wattle door to the ale-hall and stepped inside.
The musty odor of ale and mead mixed with unwashed bodies hit her then, as did stuffy warmth.
Two hearths burned brightly, illuminating the ruddy faces of the men and women seated at long tables inside the low-slung rectangular building.
Indeed, this ale-hall, one of a few throughout the fort, lay a short walk from the shop.
Pushing back her hood, Ailsa hung up her lantern by the door and swept her gaze over the interior.
It had been a while since she’d set foot in here.
The ale-hall, with its suffocating heat and noise, as well as the stares that stabbed into her, made her long to escape.
Nevertheless, she liked the woman who ran this place.
She marked one of the young men seated at the end of the nearest table then.
Rabbie, the carpenter’s apprentice. She hadn’t seen him since Harvest Fire, and her pulse jolted as he smirked before nudging his companion in the ribs with his elbow.
The older man, the carpenter himself, glanced Ailsa’s way before snorting a laugh.
Ailsa clenched her fists at her sides, wincing as her fingernails dug into her palms. They were getting long again; she’d have to file them. If left, her nails grew into wicked points. They’d always unnerved people, Ailsa too, and for that reason, she worked hard to keep them short.
Of late though, they grew faster than ever.
She looked over at Rabbie once more, her lips thinning when she caught his sneer.
You weren’t smirking the last time I saw you, shitweasel.
“Ailsa!” Turning, she found a tall, lean woman, with straw-colored hair knotted at the crown of her head, approaching. Lilias wore an apron over her sleeveless, ankle-length tunic, and a collection of silver and bronze arm rings decorated her pale arms. “It’s been too long!”
Favoring the ale-hall keeper with a smile, Ailsa slipped the bag that contained her clay bottle off her shoulder and handed it over. “Can you fill this with strong wine for Kayla, please?”
Lilias’s lips quirked. “For Kayla? Anything.”
Ailsa huffed a laugh and handed her the bag. The two women had a ‘casual’ relationship of sorts. They were lovers when it suited them, but moons would come and go sometimes before they’d have time for each other. She supposed both their jobs made it difficult.
Following Lilias toward the high bench where various oak casks sat side-by-side, Ailsa waited while she filled the bottle.
As she did so, she took care not to look at Rabbie behind her.
She could feel his gaze drilling into her back.
Instead, she dug into the coin purse upon her belt for two coppers.
Lilias passed back the stoppered bottle then, waving her away when she tried to hand over payment. “It’s a gift,” she murmured, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. She then stepped close. “How is Kayla?”
“Good … just busy.” Ailsa deliberately didn’t say anything about their nocturnal visitors or the illegal work that went on behind closed doors.
She trusted Lilias, yet she couldn’t risk rumors spreading through the fort.
King Niall had been a thorn in everyone’s arse over the past years, drafting lads as young as twelve into his army, but his paranoia about druids made him dangerous to Kayla. And to Ailsa by association.
“She hasn’t been by since spring.”
“We’ve had more folk than ever wanting tattoos. We even have a waiting list now.”
Lilias’s expression sobered. “She works too hard.”
“And you don’t?” Ailsa replied with a snort.
Lilias cast her an assessing look. “You must be close to finishing your apprenticeship?”
Ailsa shrugged, pretending she hadn’t given it much thought, as if she wasn’t smothered by Kayla’s overprotective ways.
Her reaction made Lilias raise her eyebrows. “Don’t you wish to spread your wings a little?”
“Oh, I do,” Ailsa replied honestly. Indeed, she thought of little else these days.
“You could start up your own shop, you know?” Lilias winked at her then. “Kayla could do with some healthy competition.”
Ailsa pulled a face. In truth, she wasn’t interested in opening her own workshop; she had no wish to shackle herself to this way of life the way Kayla had.
“And what about starting a family of your own?” Lilias went on. “Surely, a lad … or a lass … has caught your eye by now?”
Ailsa stiffened. This was the last thing she wished to discuss, especially with Rabbie sitting behind her. His ears were likely flapping. “No,” she replied, cutting her gaze away.
An awkward pause followed.
“Aye, well … there’s time for all of that, I suppose,” the ale-hall owner said finally.
“Aye.” Ailsa stepped back. She then flashed her a regretful smile. “Kayla’s waiting … I’d better go.”
Lilias smiled back. “Tell her that I’ll be closing at the witching hour tonight … if she wants to come by.”
Relieved that the interrogation had ceased, Ailsa took the cloth bag, slung it over her shoulder, and nodded. “I will.”
Outdoors, a high-pitched wind had gotten up. The Whistle’s shrill cry echoed off stone. Shivering, Ailsa drew her cloak close and hurried back the way she’d come. Angry voices—a bickering couple—filtered through a wattle door, and somewhere nearby, a dog barked.
The Reek was never quiet, even in the dead of night. Someone, somewhere, was always awake.
Ailsa retraced her steps through the tangle of dark wynds, grateful for the friendly light of her lantern to show the way.
She’d been short with Lilias, and she was sorry for it. She genuinely liked her. But the woman had been like a terrier after a rat with her questions.
The only conversation she wanted to have this evening was with Kayla.
A short while later, she turned onto the narrow lane that led home.
She and her mentor always used the back door.
The front door led onto a wider street, lined by shops and filled with people during the day.
It was for customers only and always bolted after dark.
Their nocturnal visitors knew to knock six times.
A few yards from home, she passed the beggar once more. “Lass!” he rasped. “I—”
“Shut it, would you?” she cut him off, not in the mood to be messed with. Lilias had delayed her slightly.
Pushing open the door, she let herself in.
“I’m back,” she called out.
No one answered.
Surprised, Ailsa set the lantern down by the flickering hearth and moved across the living space, her boots crunching on rushes. She grabbed an earthen cup for the wine on the way and pushed aside the curtain.
The shop beyond was empty. But that wasn’t all.
A heartbeat followed as Ailsa’s gaze swept the interior, taking in the scene.
The table had been shoved to one side, and the stools next to it, where the customer and her mentor had been seated, were lying on their side. Kayla’s tools were scattered, and the dish of pigment had been knocked over; a dark-blue stain spread across the table.
The door leading out onto the street was still barred, but the customer’s weapons were gone.
And so were he and Kayla.
Ailsa’s heart started to slam against her breastbone. Her mind churned as it tried to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.
There had clearly been a struggle.
Dizziness swept over her, and she clutched the door frame to steady herself.
Kayla had been taken.