“What happened to yer friend?” asked Maeve when she got to the table.
“Aye, more ale, Lass!” exclaimed one of the soldiers.
“I’m nay here to serve ye ale, Sir. I need to ken what happened to yer friend.”
“They took us by surprise,” reminisced the man.
“Aye, aye, but we havenae time,” demanded Maeve. “He was stabbed, aye? Where was he stabbed and how long ago, and why did ye nay go to the healer, Mr. Hodgkins?”
“Nothin’ to be done,” said the soldier on the other side of the table.
“Plenty to be done,” countered Maeve.
“Let me drink in peace,” said the soldier in the middle, the one with the greenish tinge.
“Another ale,” demanded the first soldier.
Maeve took a deep breath and composed herself. She ran through the events in her head before vocalizing them. “Ye were ambushed by bandits, aye. I presume that ye fought them off or killed them if ye are all still here, but ye,” she pointed to the soldier in the middle, “were stabbed in the side, the left by the way ye are favorin’ it. Ye ended up in this village, and Mr. Hodgkins said that there was nothin’ to be done, so ye ended up in here, drinkin’ yer sorrows until yer friend drops dead.”
The three soldiers looked at her in silence before the soldier on the left said, “Aye.”
“And I suppose that ye ken better?” asked the soldier on the far side.
“Aye, I do,” said Maeve. “Now, let me see the wound before ye really have to drink yerself into an early grave.” Maeve stared them down before adding, “What have ye got to lose?”
The soldier in the middle lifted up his shirt to reveal the festering wound, not even a dressing covering it. “If I had got here sooner, he might have been able to save me.”
Maeve ran from the table, Albie fleeing in fear once more, and up to her room. She rummaged through her bag and grabbed a handful of wilting herbs, along with some vials of black liquid and strips of fabric. In under a minute, she was back down at the table, the soldier in the middle still holding his shirt up.
“Agnes!” called Maeve. “Here, take these herbs and grind them into a paste for me. Add some water if ye need to. Ye! Chew on these herbs. Agnes, a flagon of water too. And ye two, give me some space to work.”
There was a lull in the inn as the two soldiers took orders from the young red-haired woman with the eager blue eyes. The soldier in the middle kept one hand on his shirt, still hoisting it up while he chewed on the herbs. Agnes was soon back with the herbal paste, and Maeve washed the wound before applying the black liquid, followed by the herb paste. The bandages went on top. The soldier would have screamed out in pain during the hasty procedure if he had not been so drunk.
“Nae more ale,” instructed Maeve. The two watching soldiers put down their cups of ale, and Maeve did not have the heart to tell them that she was talking about their friend. “And lots of rest.”
Maeve found Albie at her feet, and she picked him up, walking back upstairs to her room as the patrons watched in silence. When she got back to her room, the hunger in her belly was gone.
“Dinnae look at me like that, Albie, ye ken that I had to help the man, nae matter how good it felt.”
Albie purred and lay back down, and Maeve did the same. The sleep came more eagerly that night, and she did not wake in the morning with the sense of impending dread that had arrived the previous mornings, not knowing where her life was taking her. No, she was woken the next morning by a hammering at the door.
Maeve hastily got up and answered the door, finding one of the soldiers from the night before.
“He’s askin’ for more herbs,” said the soldier with a smile on his face. “It’s actually workin’.”
“We need to take her back to the Castle,” announced a second soldier from down the hallway.
“What, I’m nae a witch,” stammered Maeve.
“What?” asked the soldier at the door. He took one look at Maeve’s grave face and burst out laughing. “Aye, exactly the type of thing that a witch would say.” Another laugh escaped his lips. “I dinnae dabble with witches, and that’s a fact, but I ken a good healer when I meet one. We need a healer at the Castle, so we’ll be takin’ ye there as soon as our friend is strong enough to leave.”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” asked Maeve with a smile.
“Looks like yer choice has been made,” said the soldier.
“I’m nae a witch,” Maeve whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
The Laird
MacPherson Castle, Scotland
“I didnae ask which castle we are going to,” said Maeve. The past two days had been the happiest since she had left her village. The three soldiers had supplied her with more food and coin than she had ever imagined as thanks for helping their friend who was ready to leave for the Castle after two days of rest.
“MacPherson,” said Gregor. Maeve rode on the back of his horse, clinging to the muscular man, Henry and Douglas riding on either side. “It’s nae far.”
“Aye, I’ve heard of it.”
“Dinnae believe everything’ that ye hear,” said Gregor.
Maeve did not know what to make of that. In truth, she had not heard much about MacPherson Castle, even though it lay close to her village. She did not have to wait long to see it in all its glory, if glory was the right word.
The Castle
