Dropping my gaze, I picked a path. I needed to tell him something, but I had no idea what and even the sight of him stole any words I might have.
A shout to my right called my attention. A young boy called in distress and I glanced over. It was Mary and her son. His face was a picture of concern as she limped towards the fire, her own expression a grim mask of pain.
I could help her.
I knew it.
Deep within me a positive affirmation forced me forward. “Mary,” I called, my cheeks blushing slightly knowing Tristram was still watching me. I caught up with her, and before I’d even got close, I could smell the stench of rotting flesh. “Let me look at your ulcer, Mary.”
“No. No, My Lady, it’s fine.” She pulled her skirts tightly around her.
“I insist.”
Her face dropped and she lifted the hem of her dress, revealing an angry red welt across her shin. The skin shone in the dim light as it stretched with the infection and at the centre of the wound sickened flesh festered with a green and black tinge.
“Mary!” I exclaimed. “Why haven’t you shown this to me before?”
For the briefest moment her eyes darted to my face. “You have been busy, My Lady, with your father. Things are changing, I can feel it.”
I looked at her keenly, my own face blushing slightly. “That may be, but I always have time for everyone in this settlement. You should have come to me. What would your Deacon or Isobel do without you if this spread?”
A niggling thought banged at the back of my head…what would I do if I didn’t heal her? It seemed imperative to me that I should, although for the life of me I couldn’t explain why.
“Let’s get you settled, and I shall go and seep the correct herbs.” I helped her to a low stool near the fire and then set about warming water and flicking through my supply of herbs in my belt around my hips. My eyes were drawn to the swirl of my father’s white cloak, and that of others of our order. Their cloaks, red like mine, were gathered around him, and in the midst of it all stood Tristram, his hair glinting with gold. They were circled tight together, their faces grave. All I could hope was that Father was telling them what I’d suggested—that we moved the clan and searched for arable land that would yield us food. A place we could learn where to sustain ourselves. I knew the earth would give us what we needed.
Absentmindedly, my focus still half trained on the chief of our clan and his shining bright hair, I slipped my hand into my herb pouch to seek out the herbs I would need for Mary’s leg.
Then there was nothing. The herbs and leaves stared back at me as I peered at them, but none of them meant anything to me, no name, no recognition.
Herb lore was my strength.
So why was I staring at green leaves and dried petals unable to recall a single plant name?
“My Lady?” Mary called over to me and for a moment I stared at her. She was no one. A stranger. A face. Nothing more.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?” She went to stand, wincing slightly, but I held my hand out to motion her to remain in place.
Turning slowly, I took in the scene around me. Familiar yet strange all at once. The only thing vaguely known to me was the blonde hair and dark flashing eyes, the lips turned down in the corner, the hands clenched into tight fists.
A loud screech of a chicken as it swung by its feet at the hands of a young boy snapped me out of my dream. I glanced down at the herbs while a rush of golden magical vibrancy ran through my veins, warming my limbs and lifting my heart.
I might not recognise a single thing around me but deep within the pit of my tummy, a deep and powerful sense of belonging rooted me into place.
Lifting my hand, I gripped the purple gem at my throat. It’s to connect you.
Of course… it’s to connect me to Tristan, to stop us wanting to kill one another, enabling us to lift the curse and love as we should…
“Mae? My Lady?” I blinked at Mary as she hobbled closer to where I stood.
“Mary?” I stared at her, knowing her name despite not recognising her face.
“Yes, My Lady. Is this not a good time? It’s not a problem?”
A snap of conviction cleared my vision. “No, not at all. You are the guardian. I have to heal you.”
Mary laughed nervously. “The only thing I’m guardian to is those two scamps.” She nodded her head towards Isobel and Deacon. Deacon screeched nearly as loud as the chicken he swung through the air.
I smiled. Within my mind a flickered memory of castle walls, a room thirteen, warm lips and firm hands.
Mae Adams.
It was a fleeting thought, but the tighter I held the purple gem the clearer the name became.
Mae Adams. Tristan Prince. I had to stop us from dying.
The thought chased away as quick as it came leaving me reeling.
“Come, Mary.” I beckoned her over to the stool and knelt at her feet. She blushed furiously as I threw random herbs into the pot of hot water. The herbs didn’t matter, I knew that. The earth at my feet did. The sounds of nature, the strength of the trees as their roots ran through the earth, reaching their powerful fingertips towards me.
Dipping my head so she couldn’t see my face, I placed one hand on the ground. The mud tingled under my palm as though it knew what I needed and was ready
