“These are some leftovers from our meal yesterday. My husband, Faelan, decided he dislikes garlic, and I made this bread with garlic, so now it’s all banned from the household. Lorcan suggested you might like it. I also added some clothing my eldest has outgrown. I’m afraid it’s not in the best of shape, but it should be useful enough, even if there are a few spots that need mending.”
She paused again for breath, but Fingin didn’t know how to answer, or if he’d even get a word in edge-wise once she began again. He satisfied himself with a quick nod.
“Well, I must be off before the rain comes back. I hope you’ll come to our roundhouse tomorrow night, as we agreed yesterday. I’ll make a grand feast for us all! See you at midday! We’re around the next river bend, remember!”
And she left.
He stared at the bag as if it would bite him. Bran lumbered up and sniffed at the package, nosing open the fabric. “Something smells strong in here! A good strong, though. Like in the village.”
He didn’t want to touch the bag, but the thought of fresh bread—really, anything but fish—grew too tempting. He rushed forward and grabbed the bag, pulling it into the house and out of the rain.
Inside, he found three threadbare léinte, though the basic construction seemed sound, and two huge loaves of bread, each with cloves of garlic studded in the top. In addition, he found a package of fresh wild garlic and rosemary.
With delighted relish, he broke a generous chunk from one loaf and offered it to Bran. The dog sniffed the treat, pushed it around with his nose before licking it. He ate the chunk and chewed noisily, the gummy bread turning into an unappetizing mess before he swallowed.
“That tastes warm. Spicy.” The dog hiccupped and wagged his tail.
Fingin grinned and inhaled the aroma of his own chunk of bread, savoring the rich scent and warmth. He took a bite, tasting the garlic, salt, and rosemary within the bread. He savored each mouthful, wanting to prolong the wonder.
“She talks a lot, but she brings food. I didn’t like her at first, but now I do.”
Fingin nodded in agreement. Someone who talks so much might be pleasant to be around. She wouldn’t expect him to talk as much. Perhaps he would join them for a meal tomorrow, after all.
He glanced over at his drying fish and remembered tomorrow would be market day.
Chapter Three
Fingin argued himself into going a dozen times that day. And a dozen times, he argued himself back out. Bran, when consulted, enthusiastically supported a venture to Lorcan’s home. The dog had woken feeling somewhat ill, but the nausea soon abated. The illness would have given him an excuse to turn down Aideen’s offer, and Fingin’s natural wariness around other humans kept him from making a final decision.
Instead, he made more twine. Far more than he would need for a while, to be fair. He had braided three large balls of the twine, enough to create a whole new net, if needed. When he ran out of horsehair, he examined the outside of his roundhouse, searching for spots that required repair or rebuilding. However, he maintained his home with meticulous care regularly, so no glaring spots cried out for his attention.
Bran, who had been lounging on the flat rock while Fingin made his rounds, perked his head up. Fingin turned to discover what had alerted the hound. Someone crashed through the brush, and a female voice cursed with a creative flair.
With a quick check to make certain his léine appeared presentable, he stood next to Bran as Aideen’s soft, round form broke through the branches, brushing a stray leaf from her sleeve. She stumbled as she peered into the sun-bright glade, shading her eyes.
“Ah, there you are! Lorcan begged me to come fetch you, as you wouldn’t know where our home stands. Are you both ready?”
It seemed the decision had been taken out of his hands. He masked his sigh and nodded, his hand on Bran’s flank.
Sometime later, Fingin felt relief at how far away the family lived. He had been imagining a throng of noisy, rowdy children invading his quiet solitude every afternoon. However, the roundhouse stood far enough from his own home to keep visits blessedly infrequent.
Strange how he’d craved human companionship when young, but when he no longer fit in, he treasured his peace above all company. Well, not all company. Bran remained a true friend. He glanced at the hound, who had been exploring every side path and strange hummock along the trail. Once, he’d stuck his snout into a rabbit hole and pulled out just as quickly. From his yelp and reddened nose, Fingin figured he’d learned that rabbits have powerful back legs for a reason.
While Aideen chattered the entire trip, he’d stopped listening after the opening sentences. She didn’t seem to require any responses other than an encouraging nod or grunt now and then. However, she began listing names, so he paid attention again.
“Now, Lorcan, he’s my youngest. The baby of the family, without a doubt. He gets some grief from his older brothers, of course, but so do most children. Lugaid is about three winters older than him and sometimes sticks up for him against the other three. Ségán, he’s the eldest. He’s all ready to marry his young sweetheart, and her father has set up a farm for them already. I’ll miss him dearly, but one less mouth to feed is a blessing, make no mistake about that. She’s a sweet girl, but not very bright. Still, she’s got nice, healthy hips, so I expect lots of grandchildren from her.
“Faelan, he’s
