“We’d love to. Thank you,” said Kaetha, following the woman towards the cottage.
“Margaret,” the woman called. “We have guests.”
“I see we do, Asrid.” Margaret smoothed out her wiry, windswept hair, only to have the wind sweep it up messily again.
“They’re travelling south and I told them they could stay the night.”
Margaret looked from Kaetha to Asrid and there was meaning in the brief look the women shared.
“You’re welcome at our hearth,” said Margaret. “Poor wee things. You must be ready for some supper. And you lot can quieten down,” she said, leaning over the pigsty fence. “You’ve had yours.” Asrid rested a hand on the small of her back as they led them into the turf cottage.
Inside, Kaetha was first struck by how warm it was, even though the hearth had burned low. Herbs hung from the ceiling, brushing against Kaetha’s head, reminding her of Nannie’s cottage. Inside, it looked almost like a normal dwelling with its stone base and timber beams, only the walls curved up into a rounded ceiling.
The warm evening light falling through small, horn-plated windows faded to misty blue as they sat together eating mutton, vegetables and dense oat bread.
“Sorry about the bread,” said Margaret. “We used to trade for better loaves in Creagairde.”
“Why don’t you anymore?” asked Mairi.
“Gilroy Baker, a friend of ours, was arrested,” said Asrid. “We won’t buy from anyone else and certainly not those gobshites whose false accusations got him into gaol. He’s their rival in business but, more than that, they hate him. He’s a good, kind, honest man and they hate him.” Margaret patted Asrid’s hand comfortingly.
“Why?” asked Kaetha.
Asrid pushed a piece of mutton around her plate with her knife. “He’s different from them. It started with them mocking him for refusing to visit the vile whorehouses down by the loch. Then they said that he would spend too much time with a male friend of his. Eventually, they said he wasn’t a proper man at all. But you know what? They’re jealous of him. Gilroy’s a better baker than any of them will ever be, he sells more than they do and they can’t stand to see him succeed.”
“They’re malicious,” added Margaret. “They said he bewitched his customers to make his business thrive. Then they started rumours that he would curse anyone who offended him, bring illnesses upon them.”
“Lies,” said Asrid, shaking her head. “They cut him too,” she said, staring intently at Kaetha. You’ll have to be careful as you go through the town. There are a lot of people who could make life difficult for you if they see that mark you bear.”
Kaetha’s hand went to her cheek. “I’ll keep my hood up.”
“Keep your knife sharp, too,” said Asrid.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t go through Creagairde at all,” said Margaret. She smoothed her hair down over her temple and Kaetha noticed that the skin there had a yellowness to it, a fading bruise.
Asrid squeezed Margaret’s hand before getting up. “It’s getting late. I expect you all want your rest,” she said.
Donnan stood, taking a pile of dirty dishes from Asrid. “Why wouldn’t you go through the town?”
A thumping at the door sounded like a battering ram. “Open up!” came a man’s voice.
Margaret gasped.
Asrid put an arm around her. “Stay calm,” she said.
“Unlock this door!” called a second voice.
“Who is it?” asked Donnan.
“Neacel McDonn and his constable by the sounds of it,” said Asrid.
“McDonn?” Questioned Kaetha.
“Thane of Spreidale.”
“This can’t be happening,” said Margaret, burying her face into Asrid’s shoulder.
“What does he want?” asked Kaetha.
“We can’t be sure,” said Asrid, calmly, more to Margaret than anyone else. But—”
“First they tried to mark my face with a blade,” said Margaret, her voice quavering. “Asrid found me in time and we got away. We hoped things would die down if we kept ourselves to ourselves for a while. But they’ve come for us. They’ve come for us, Asrid.” She gripped the table but this did not stop her hands trembling.
There was a crash as someone threw their weight against the door. Pots clattered and herbs swung from the ceiling.
“They don’t know about you,” Asrid said to Kaetha as she swept across the room, hiding their herbs and bottles of home remedies in a wooden chest. “You have to get out, take the back door and hide.”
“What about you?” Kaetha asked.
“No point in us hiding. It would look guilty and they’d find us anyway. Now go. Go while you have the chance.” She snatched the dishes from Donnan’s hands and pushed him back. “Go!”
They rushed to the back door and Mairi fumbled for the handle.
“I’m sorry,” Kaetha breathed, glancing back, her throat closing up. Asrid nodded, then walked over to the front door. Kaetha got a last glimpse of Margaret, chewing her bottom lip, eyes wide and glistening as she took out her spindle and distaff, like a play actor taking up a prop.
Crouching behind the wood pile behind the cottage, they listened to the stomp of boots and the deep, angry voice of a man followed by calm responses. Then a woman’s shriek made Kaetha shiver. It was followed by a clatter and a yelp of pain. Kaetha gripped Donnan’s hand, her heart pounding. The front door slammed like a slap in the face and hollow, muffled sobs sounded through the damp night air.
“Tie these to the horses,” said the man Kaetha assumed was McDonn. “They can run along behind us.”
Damp earth pressed against Kaetha’s forehead as she leant against the outer wall of the cottage. She pushed out the deep breath she had been holding in and let her shoulders sag. They waited there, barely moving, despite the rain that broke from the clouds, soaking them.
“Come on.” Tam’s stony face glowed faintly
