And that was okay.
Because I wanted to kill him.
I strained in my seat. My legs, my arms, they all wanted me across the room with my hands across his throat.
“Mae, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I struggled to face Charlie. Her hand crept cross the table, soothing and calm, but I snatched my own away. Philomena held onto my elbow while I vibrated with rage.
“I’ve got to go.” I almost shouted the words. The whole time I tried to raise myself up, all I could think was it would be immensely satisfying to sink a sharp blade into that wide chest.
Tristan Prince watched me rise from my seat, his face etched into a bitter scowl. Using all my strength, I fled past him out into the dark hallway without landing a punch on his jaw.
Somehow, I ran back to room thirteen, following the endless corridors and low ceilings. I burst through the door and landed on the bed.
What was that? I rolled and stared at the ceiling. His dark, furious gaze was burned into my memory. I’d wanted to kill him. To thrust my hand into his chest and rip out his heart.
I must be tired? Must have jet lag?
Either that, or I was allergic to Scotland. Maybe it was a severe reaction to the cabbage? What was his excuse though? Other than being an American-hating lunatic perhaps? I didn’t know. I’d expected the day to be awkward, uncomfortable, and ever so slightly exciting. After all this was my first trip abroad. My first trip anywhere. Then, Tristan Prince had ruined it all with that burning coal gaze and my need to remove his face with my fingernails. That wasn’t in my daily plan at all.
It was as if we were born to hate one another—it was deep within me. How many random guys had I glanced over during the last seventeen years? I’d never wanted to murder one before. I’d never wanted to murder anyone.
I closed my eyes, still seeing his hate-filled gaze. I shuddered and hoped sleep would find me. A chilled breeze slipped into the room and I attempted to free the blanket from under my back to wrap across my chest. The sounds of birds chirping in distant trees lulled me like white noise. Somewhere water ran free and fast. I’d have to ask Philomena tomorrow where the river was…
3
Caledonia
“Mae!” A screech caught my attention, and I glanced up to find my sister running across the camp. She was grinning, her face flushed, but it didn’t stop me jumping to my feet. Alana was the epitome of decorum. So, even her breaking into a fast walk told me something was amiss. A run meant something monumental was occurring.
“What say you, Alana?” I smiled my greeting.
“Agnese is having her baby.” Alana screeched to a halt, flying dust in front of me. I dropped my needlework; it was terrible anyway. I’d only been using it as a distraction from my true job in hand: memorising endless law and scripture. Over and over again I had to silently repeat it. Poking a needle through cotton as a form of distraction seemed to help.
“That’s fantastic.” I smiled, but then noticed the tightening of skin around Alana’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“The baby. It’s not the right way up. It’s been in the same position for a while.”
“Why are you here?” I grabbed her by the arm, spinning her with considerable force, “Get Heather, she will help.”
Alana fought back against my firm push. “You don’t understand, Mae. It was Heather who asked for you.”
“I know nothing about birthing bairns, and I am certainly no Kneel Woman.” I was years away from learning how to coax a new life into the world: bairn, lamb, even pup. And I was glad.
Alana paused, her eyes searching my face. “Heather thinks you do. Come, Mae, please. They are both going to die.”
I grabbed at the cotton dress which hung around my ankles and hoisted it up, flinging back my red robe of learning. Free of the tangle of material around my feet, I was able to make to Agnese’s hut in record time. Alana lagged behind. I may not know anything about childbirth, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me from helping a member of our tribe. Small and close, every member of our settlement was family to me.
Agnese’s screams split the air and I shuddered impulsively, gulping a breath of cool freshness into my lungs as I pushed through the wooden door. A couple of other village women stood by the doorway, wringing their hands. I nodded to them as I swept in. Heather was stooped over the pale generous legs of Agnese. A rancid smell filled the air. I glanced at the bed to find it covered in a nasty green liquid. It looked as if I’d spilled a bowl of herbs soaked in water. I stepped up, holding my breath from the smell of sweat and foul liquid, and touched Heather on the arm. Her tense face relaxed when she saw me, and she pulled me to one side. Another of the village women stepped forward to take her place, mopping Agnese’s brow with dampened linen.
“Thank goodness you’re here, My Lady. This goes very ill indeed.” She muttered silently under her breath and raised her eyes to the roof of the round house. “May the goddess help us in our time of need.”
I held her arm. Her face was flushed, her chest rising and falling, sweat across her brow. In fact, she didn’t look that different to the poor woman on the bed giving birth. “Heather, I don’t know what I can do. My training is incomplete. I know nothing of this.”
Heather stopped panting, her breath becoming calm.
