The woman gave a silvery laugh which sounded far younger than her white hair suggested. ‘What need have I for gold?’ she asked in Gaelic. ‘The only thing it calls to is thieves and rogues. Keep your money. My hospitality is not for sale.’
She picked up a willow broom and began sweeping.
‘We’re happy to work. There must be some jobs we can do in exchange for a night’s lodging.’
‘I’ve a strong back,’ Sandulf added in Gaelic. ‘Your firewood runs low.’
The woman stopped her sweeping. ‘You interest me, Northman. You’ve managed to spot my firewood running low without seeing my pile of logs.’
‘I find most women on their own are in need of more firewood.’
‘And other things besides, hey?’ The old woman cackled.
‘I always seek to discern a woman’s needs.’
The woman looked him up and down and then glanced at Ceanna. ‘I can see you do. How do you know I am on my own?’
‘You did not call for your man when you spotted us.’ He gestured towards the cottage. ‘There are a few things which need fixing on the roof and walls, jobs which you would soon set any able-bodied man who lived here to do as you don’t appear to be a woman who would suffer idle folk.’
‘Aye, you might be right about that.’
Ceanna held up her palm and caught the splash from a raindrop. ‘It looks like rain and we have travelled far today. I am willing to help clean the house. I can churn butter and sew a fine seam.’
The woman tilted her head to one side and examined both Ceanna and Sandulf. ‘Let me see your hands.’
Ceanna held out her hand.
The woman took it and ran a finger down the palm. She rocked back on her heels. ‘You have done some work in the past, but these are the hands of a lady. I see the signs of blisters.’
‘I’ve never been one to allow the servants to work while I rest.’ Ceanna jerked her head towards where Sandulf stood next to Vanora. ‘I’ve given all that up.’
The elderly woman’s eyes widened. ‘For him? I can see why that might be appealing.’
Ceanna felt a tide of red flame mount her face. It was beyond her to explain that she and Sandulf were merely travelling companions. ‘Will you be able to accommodate us?’
The woman threw back her head and laughed. ‘Aye, my lovely. I can do that. Particularly as your man is willing to split a few logs for me in exchange. I’ll admit to finding it harder and harder. And that there dog will be content with a bone, I trust.’
‘What does she want?’ Sandulf asked. ‘She speaks a little faster than I’m used to.’
‘For you to chop wood. She needs the firewood more than the gold or other jobs, particularly as you are with me.’
‘Tell her that I will consider it an honour for such a lady.’
The woman’s withered cheeks burnt rose. ‘He is from the North. I can scarce understand his accent, but he is a feast for the eyes. And he no doubt charms the birds from the trees.’
‘He means no harm.’ Ceanna hoped her voice sounded steady. ‘Not all of them are bent on destruction.’
The woman pondered thoughtfully. ‘True enough. The dog must stay outside. Cats and an owl make their home with me.’
Ceanna motioned to Vanora to lie down outside while the woman instructed Sandulf where to find the axe and how much wood she wanted chopping. His eyes widened slightly at the size of the log pile, but he started swinging the axe straight away.
A fine stew stood bubbling on the hearth. Everything about the cottage was neat and tidy. The scent of drying herbs filled the air. A black cat opened one eye when Ceanna entered, rose and twined her way about Ceanna’s ankles. She bent down and stroked the silky fur. The owl flapped down and watched, then flew out the door. The woman beamed her approval.
‘You keep the cottage very well,’ Ceanna said in the silence which followed.
‘It suits my needs. Some come to seek me out because they think I can cure what ails them.’
‘Can you?’
The woman shrugged. ‘I help more than I hurt. My animals let me know who to help and who to hinder.’
‘I am grateful they approve of me.’
‘A fine man, your Northman,’ the woman said as she set out several wooden bowls on the table.
‘I like to think so.’
‘Worth hanging on to by my reckoning. When you have lived as long as I have and have buried five husbands, you get to know these things instinctively.’
‘He has proved useful. He helped me to cross the Awe when I panicked.’ Ceanna concentrated on the bubbles popping in the stew. The words sounded mealy-mouthed, but she didn’t want to go into the full story.
‘He cares about you. I could see it in his eyes. He’d have got down on his knees to beg for shelter for you. The good ones are few and far between.’
Ceanna gave a large huff. Cared about her? He barely knew her. She turned away from the stew. ‘We...that is...’
‘I know what it is like, my dear, when you’re young and life calls to you.’ The woman’s smile grew and it was clear that enlightening her as to the true state of affairs was not going to do anyone any good. ‘It reminds me of my third husband. We ran away together. We’d have been happy except...’
‘Except what?’
‘He died too soon. Before I ever let him know how happy I was.’ Her voice broke on the last words. ‘It is why I have learned about herbs, so I can help instead of being a foolish woman, wringing my hands.’
Ceanna put a hand on the woman’s elbow. ‘I’m sure he knows now.’
The woman dabbed her eyes and gave a loud sniff. ‘Do you think so? That gives me comfort. I’ve been thinking so much
