Chapter 18
He must find her and stop the wedding. No, he must kill MacTavish before the ceremony. Stay…wait! Maybe it would be best to ask one of the women from the castle on what day the marriage was to happen. Then he could ask Laird Gray to send soldiers and…
“He’s going to cast up his accounts. I’ve never seen a man look so green about the gills!” the tavern keeper yelled out to the patrons in the alehouse. “Get out o’ the way!”
Every man in the room grabbed his mug of ale and dashed to stand against the walls.
They watched as Callum pushed his stool back with a violent heave and lurched for the door.
To a man, they had never seen someone wear such a mask of misery as an expression before.
The poor drunk young warrior looked as if he wanted his life to end.
His dark red hair stood up as if it was being blown by a strong wind, and his strangely slanted eyes seemed to look about him as if he were able to see faerie folk dancing on the tables.
“D’ye seek the latrines, lad?” the tavern keeper inquired in a concerned voice, but was more concerned about the thresh on the alehouse floor not getting splattered with puke. “If ye go out the doors a-and make yer way to the right, ye will find them set along the side o’ the inn yard.”
There were three innkeepers standing in front of him, but Callum could not read the expression on the man’s faces; it was too blurry. “I l-l-love her… How c-could I do that? She’ll hate me fo’ever…an’ I don’ blame her.”
“A woman,” one of the taproom patrons said. “I should have kent well that only a woman would have the power to turn a great man like him into a blubbering mess crawlin’ on his hands an’ knees.”
But one of the men took pity on Callum. “Wheesht, ye carrion crows!” he chided the patrons. “Show a wee bit o’ pity for the lad. Which one o’ ye cannae remember how the rejection of a lady’s favors made him feel?”
He approached Callum slowly, his hands held out in a pacifying gesture. “Ye’re goin’ to feel right peelie-wally on the morrow, lad. What say ye come down the road to me cottage, an’ me wife can fix ye a cordial?”
“He’ll never get that far without casting up his accounts,” many of the taproom customers stated, but they were happy to see Callum stagger out with the man into the night.
The young man’s head would hurt so much tomorrow that he would have a hard time even remembering the name of the temptress who had broken his heart.
The elderly man led the staggering Callum out into the bailey village thoroughfare.
They had not gone far before most of the whiskey came up and out.
The man watched the young soldier spewing out the spirits with an interested gaze and then went to pat him on the back when there was no more danger of his boots being ruined.
“Are ye no’ used to drinkin’ strong spirits, lad?
” he said. “Because that small amount o’ whiskey would nae even make me grandmither dizzy. ”
Callum coughed and retched for many moments. Then he managed to straighten and focus a bit. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and inhaled the fresh air outside the tavern.
“Me mither wouldnae be best pleased to see me in such a state, sir. B-But I thank ye for yer kindness.”
The man led the way, saying over his shoulder, “No offense, lad, but ye’re a bit braw and tall to be worryin’ about what yer mither might be thinkin’ about what spirits ye drink down.”
The kind alehouse patron opened the front door to a small cottage behind the cow byres. The smell of cow was so sharp and heavy that Callum nearly started retching again, but with the whiskey out of his system and the cold night air stinging his face, he was beginning to steady.
“D’ye work with the cows, sir?” he asked politely, scrunching his eyes to try and make everything come into focus.
“Ye could say I do in a small way,” the man replied, pulling a bench out from the table and pointing to it for Callum to sit down. “I’m a tanner, so ye ken now why the smell o’ cows dinnae get up me nose in the same way it does with other folks.”
“Aye,” Callum agreed, “tanning is a fetid craft, but folks must have leather.”
He watched as the man set a small cauldron over the fire, suspended from a hook, and began to boil water.
“I’m that scared to wake me wife,” the man said. “She will nae take kindly to me bringing a green-faced stranger back to our house.”
A tiny woman chose that moment to barge into the kitchen, busily wrapping a tattered dressing gown around her waist, two thin gray braids hanging down her back. “Aye, Tam, ye have that right! What d’ye mean by it? Who is this oaf?”
Her husband gave a rueful grin. “I’ve brought the Green Giant back home for a wee visit, Oona.”
“Oona?” Callum said, and then began talking Norse.
The elderly lady clapped her hands and went to the fire, pushing her husband out of the way so she might set dried herbs and flowers on to stew. “Are you from the lands of my fathers? Why are you feeling so poorly? Ah…a woman—tell me all about it.”
The man gave a satisfied grin and went to sit quietly at the end of the table, looking from their new guest to his wife with an interested air but quite content to not understand what was being said.
After a strong, sobering brew had been drunk and the room had stopped spinning, Callum was able to recount his tale of woe to the Norsewoman.
She shook her head. “Callum,” Oona said, placing her mug down on the table with a small bang, “are you telling me that your mother’s last words to you were for you to survive and look after your brother if it was at all possible, and then you spend the rest of your life dreaming about revenge?
Why? Do you imagine your mother would have wanted you to give up the chance of happiness and love to avenge her death? ”
Suddenly, Callum felt sick all over again.
He could have taken Meria and returned to her father’s estate and demanded her hand in marriage in exchange for training the Calvin men to bear arms. Instead, he had given up a bright future to chase down dead men and those so old they had one foot in the grave already.
“Time and death take care of us all in the end,” Oona said with the same fatalistic Norse practicality Callum recognized from his mother. “But love…love only comes to those who are clever enough to look for it, and when they find it, they make it their priority above all things. Silly man.”
Callum took another long drink of the cordial and held out his mug for another serving.
The Norsewoman gave a deep sigh and poured out more of the brew.
“It is a good thing the laird does not know you speak our language, Cal. Countless fathers and brothers from the northlands have come here trying to get their revenge. They have triumphed up to a point; there are so few soldiers left to defend the castle, if a pirate ship with a dozen crew were to attack, they would stand a good chance of routing the old rat from his bolthole.”
“I don’t care about revenge anymore,” Callum stated firmly.
For some strange reason, he was finding it easier to speak Norse being a little bit drunk than he would have done so if he were sober.
“I want to rescue Meria before she is bonded to him forever. I want to marry a Calvin, not a MacTavish widow.”
Oona reached out her hand and patted his arm.
“You are a lad for making strong sweeping statements, aren’t you?
The girl was a bonded bride the moment her father signed the agreement.
And what if she is already married? You will be doing her—and all of us who live near that cursed castle—a big favor by killing Laird Hamish dead, dead, dead. ”
Her husband spoke up from the end of the table using the language of the Scots.
“If it’s any news to ye, I heard a soldier order a cuirass from the leather maker t’other day, an’ when they were discussin’ its use, the MacTavish soldier told us it was in preparation to attack the Calvin estate.
Apparently, the laird there has no army and hopes to marry himself and his daughter to gain one.
But he’s run out o’ time if he thought to allay an invasion. ”
That made Callum push himself away from the table with an urgent shove, but he was still too intoxicated; the room swam around him, and Oona gestured to her husband to catch the young man before he fell. She went to the door and began to pull on her boots.
“I was once a slave girl at the castle until that weasel Hamish tired of me and permitted me to marry old Tam here. I will ask the women there about what they know with no fear of us being overheard when we speak our language.” She shut the door behind her.
Tam said to Callum, “Oona will be gone awhile to make her visit seem authentic to anyone watching. Best ye lay down by the fire here and have a wee nap. Hopefully ye’ll wake up sober.”
Even in his inebriated state, Callum knew this advice was the best he could get. Thanking the elderly tanner in a humble voice, he threw his cloak in front of the grating and fell at once into a heavy slumber.
Whispers woke him. Giving a loud groan, Callum sat up. “What’s to do?” he mumbled, holding his head, trying to squeeze out the throbbing pain he felt in his temples. “What time is it?”
Tam and Oona came and sat down beside him. The kind lady wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “The marriage happened at daybreak, lad. She is Lady MacTavish. When I left, the wedding feast was nearly done. I heard the laird saying he was not going to wait for nighttime to have the beddan…”
If the old couple thought the young man was pale, they were soon to change their minds when the blood drained out of his face. Callum blanched as he jumped up. “I must stop the beddan! Y’see…”
Tam and Oona exchanged glances with one another. “Och aye, lad,” Tam said, “we ken that Lady MacTavish is no longer a maiden. Ye must make sure Hamish does nae get to the point where he will find out because if he does, yer lady will nae see another sunrise.”
Oona led Callum over to the pail of cold water inside the tiny scullery, saying, “This is not about revenge, lad. This is about saving the girl’s life.”
Callum dunked his head into the water and left it under for as long as he could.
His mind was made up: he would save Meria or die trying.
Lifting his head out of the water, gasping for air, it felt as if he were reborn—reborn to a life free of festering hatred and regret.
He leaned over to Oona and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“D’ye have any more o’ that cordial, madam?” he asked her in Scottish.