Chapter 10
Ada always enjoyed coming to the alehouse.
The tables and benches were set close together, so there was every chance of one conversation spreading to become one huge debate, open to all of the alehouse patrons to have their say.
It was an exciting place for a young maiden to be; every male for miles around always visited the Calvin Castle alehouse when the sun began to head west. She would not be a normal girl if she did not take some comfort from all the attention paid to her by some of the young men at the alehouse.
Who needs that great brute of a man? Calvin? Lachlan? I care no’ what he calls himself. I hope he eats a magical mushroom and chokes!
But the image of his dark red hair and ocean-colored eyes haunted her.
If she heard a loud shout of laughter coming from one corner of the room, she would twist her head around to see if it was the man she liked to call Calvin.
If the person laughing had long, dark red hair falling behind his shoulders in a wild tangle, Ada’s hopes would soar, only for them to crash back down again when she saw the person’s face: he was no Calvin.
He was not darkly handsome enough! And besides, Calvin was back at the Castle, brooding over her suspected treacheries…
“Whatever is on yer mind, Ada?” Eliza Wodenhelm, Ada’s oldest friend and one of the few people who had never teased Ada about her mother’s age, wanted to know the reason behind Ada’s distracted concentration.
“One moment ye’re smilin’, and the next, ye’re frowning as if a goblin spit in yer ale. Tell me, what’s troublin’ ye?”
Ada’s frown deepened. “Och Liza! Awa’ wi’ ye! Are ye jestin’? A man died in me lap today!”
The maiden nodded. “Och aye, there’s that, to be sure.
But the man was elderly enough for his heart to give out for the tiniest stress an’ a nightshade berry has been harvested by mistake and baked into a pie more than a few times before.
It was the auld scrivener’s bad luck he was no’ strong enough to shrug off the dastardly effects like some o’ the braw lads standin’ around in the alehouse this evening.
Come now, let’s ask the peddler to play us a tune on his pipe.
We must dance away the sorrows of the day! ”
Eliza, pulling Ada by her hand, pushed her way to a small space by the hearth, where there sat an old peddler who knew how to carry a tune on the pipe he carried everywhere with him.
“Play a tune for the lassies!” A young farmer’s son flicked a penny toward the peddler. “An’ dinnae stop ’til their petticoats rise above their ankles!”
There was much cheering and whistling at this command. A few more pennies landed at the peddler’s feet as he brought the reed pipe out of his hopsack and began blowing on it.
It was all it took for Ada to leave her sorrows and worries behind.
With Eliza as her partner, she could dance the night away.
It was not yet late enough for the sun to set behind the sloping green hills that rolled off to the west. In the golden light of the dying summer’s day, Eliza and Ada danced a jig together beside the unlit hearth, clapping their hands and kicking off their shoes to make their feet lighter.
It was a charming sight, one girl so fair and the other with hair so fiery red there was no need to miss the flames that would normally be licking in the fireplace.
Ada’s braids fell loose, allowing her long straight hair to flow like lava down her back.
Their audience of young men was captivated by the two girls twirling around and laughing. It was considered to be a fine way to celebrate the scrivener’s industrious life—to do all the dancing and drinking the poor man had denied himself during his life.
“The youngsters need to let off some steam,” the alehouse keeper told his more elderly patrons. “We have had an entire afternoon of worriting about a dratted poisoner being on the loose. This evening is time for the young’uns to make merry.”
A young man bowed in front of Eliza. She curtsied and allowed him to take her hand to dance a jig.
Ada stood aside for the couple, clapping her hands loudly and whistling when the couple did a particularly fine flourish with their hands or feet.
She glanced over at the cluster of young men by the hearth and noticed a few of them whispering behind their hands with one another and then glancing over at her.
It could only mean one thing: one or more of them were summoning the courage to ask her to dance.
The blacksmith’s daughter drew her betrothed onto the floor, and a few more couples joined the jig. The sudden crowding of the dance floor gave Ada the opportunity to begin sidling away before a young man asked her to dance. It was hot, and she was blown. That could be her excuse.
“Don’t stop,” a familiar deep voice said behind her as a large, firm hand gripped her waist. “Ye make such a pretty picture dancin’ by the fireside.”
She whipped around, not ready to forgive him.
“Beware! Ye’re such a brave warrior ye’re afeared o’ a wee lass stickin’ a mushroom in yer food!” Ada said in a scornful voice, “Go awa’ with yerself, Calvin. I’ll have none o’ ye!”
And, as if she wanted to prove her point, Ada walked up to the blacksmith’s apprentice, saying, “Come twirl me around the floor in a jig, Danny. I’ll no’ take nay for an answer.”
The blacksmith’s apprentice’s mouth gaped, and all of the young men standing around him hooted and whistled.
Ada held her hand out to Danny, and they walked to the middle of the revels.
Ada clapped her hands against her slim thighs, and the blacksmith’s apprentice did the same.
The next thing, they were off, circling the small dance floor where some of the patrons had pushed back the tables to give the dancers more room.
With her hair licking and bouncing around her knees, Ada was a spectacular sight, but she never paid much attention to her outward appearance; her life was too busy for such vanities.
It was the height of summer, her blood grew warm inside her, and her plaid kirtle—the same one she had shed on the command of the laird’s grandson earlier that day—spread out like a butterfly’s wings around her legs.
She did not glance over in Calvin’s direction; Ada was having too much fun to bother her head about the man.
He was suspicious and rude and bad-tempered.
Fie on him, and may he return to his northern castle soon so that he may sit and brood there in peace!
Seeing that the healer’s daughter was in the mood for a dance and some fun, when the piper took a break to drink the many mugs of ale that had been bought for him, over a dozen youths clustered around Ada, begging for the privilege to be her next dance partner.
“Hoots, lads! Ye’ll be the death o’ me, I’m that thirsty! Dancin’ is just as much work as pipin’, ye ken!”
On hearing these words, a fight immediately broke out amongst the young men. Who would be the one to fetch the divine Ada a drink? Who would be the next lad honored with a dance? Who would get to walk her home in the evening’s gloaming light afterward?
The blacksmith’s apprentice took it upon himself to make Ada’s mind up for her.
“Come an’ have a drink with me, Ada, then we can dance a wee bit more before I walk ye home!”
Several young men had a problem with this scheme.
“Ye selfish bustert!” the baker’s son snarled. “Why don’ ye just bite off the girl’s arm? Then she will have to come to ye whenever she wants to drink or dance or take a stroll with any other o’ us lads!”
Danny, the blacksmith’s apprentice, jostled the baker’s son with his shoulder.
The baker’s son would have none of it and lashed out with his fist. The blow missed Danny’s jaw but managed to give him a severe punch in his ear.
Clutching his earhole and staggering back, the blacksmith’s apprentice lowered his head to charge at the baker’s son. He never made it that far.
The two youths were picked up by their rumpled collar scruffs and lifted high enough so that only the toes of their boots were touching the floorboards.
“Say yer apologies to the fair Ada, an’ don’ forget to add yer farewells to her too.”
When all the two young men did was gobble in outrage, their collars were shaken so hard their eyes spun around in their heads.
“Make yer apologies for yer brash behavior whilst there’s still enough air in yer lungs to do so.”
The grip on their necks tightened. Danny and the baker’s son squawked out a few words that might have been sorry, but there was also a good chance they were begging for their lives too.
They were dropped, and the moment their feet touched the ground, they dashed out of the alehouse as if the devil himself were after them.
When Ada looked around, all the other lads had scattered to the four winds, gone to hide in the darkest corners of the room.
Ada sniffed, tilting her chin up at the laird’s grandson.
“I could have handled that meself, Calvin.”
“I have nay doubt that ye could,” he replied, “but I wanted to show off me great strength an’ size to ye so that ye’d agree to allow me to walk ye back home in the gloaming.”
The cheeky grin that accompanied this request melted her heart. Calvin could be so charming when he wanted to be. She laughed. He was somehow even more handsome when he was in a teasing mood, and there was nothing so romantic as walking in the twilight of a summer’s evening.
“Very well, but I warn ye: one word about me tryin’ to poison someone at the high table, an’ we’re through!”
“Forgive me, lass.” He was speaking in earnest now as his warm hand propelled her toward the counter, where two tassies of whiskey perched.
“What would ye have me do? One moment ye’re tellin’ me how much misery a mushroom can cause, an’ the next thing there’s one lyin’ under the table where a gentleman cocked up his toes. ”
Her face was slick with sweat, and she flung a damp strand of hair back over her shoulder, standing on tiptoes so that only the laird’s grandson could hear her words.
“Please tell me what I might do to alleviate yer suspicions from me mither an’ me, Calvin!
Are ye aware of how difficult it is to kill someone by using such a method?
The dosage, the method of delivery, the weight an’ height of the victim—all these things come into play when someone is targeted to die in this way. ”
His hand went around her waist again as he pulled her closer.
“Aye, lass. Me grandfaither told me. But ye must ken when a fellow gets a prickin’ in his thumbs, he must nae avoid the instinct.”
She pulled herself out of his grip. “Ye can avoid that instinct when it comes to me an’ me mither, Calvin!”
A few people standing by stopped talking so that they might hear what the healer’s daughter was berating the laird’s grandson with this time.
“Is it yer wish that ye watch as me mither an’ I are slowly lowered by a rope into roilin’ oil? Is that what ye want? Think about that next time yer delicate sensibilities get piqued by a mushroom!”
He grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her close to him again.
“Wheesht! Ye step outside the boundaries of what I find acceptable when ye bruit such things in public, girl!”
Ada struggled to free her wrist from his strong grasp. “Nay! Let me go! I do an’ say whatever I like!”
When he released her, she staggered back, not expecting him to obey her. Ada rubbed her forearm, frowning at him.
“Thank ye,” she muttered. “I prefer to be free.”
His face was hard to read as he leaned against the counter, pushing a tassie of whiskey toward her.
“I only wanted us to drink to one another’s health, Ada. I was nae askin’ for the world.”
Ada felt contrite immediately. She was so used to getting her own way when it came to men and life in general that it riled her when events and actions did not abet this.
Ada took the wee glass he pushed toward her, saluted him by raising her hand in the air, and then quaffed the drink down.