“Spite, then.”
“Oh, not spite, exactly. We’re like brothers, me and Donal… I’d no sooner do him any real harm than I’d cut off my right arm. But… well, you’ve seen how stirred up he gets over little things. If anything, I’m doing him a favor. Giving him the opportunity to practice self-control.”
Anna couldn’t help but laugh. She had to admit — the Laird’s temper did make him an amusing person to goad. And Brendan was right about a quick temper being an unhelpful quality in a leader. A bit of practice with difficult subjects might be good for him. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, grinning, and Brendan obligingly poured her another glass of whiskey. They chimed their glasses together.
“To Donal, the idiot,” Brendan said, and the affection in his voice overrode the resentment.
“And to drinking in good company,” Anna added, making eye contact with Brendan. Why not flirt a little? He was handsome, he was clever, and he respected her more than any of the other men she’d met so far. Especially Donal. Though she had to admit… it was hard to tell whether her attraction to him had to do with him, or with how jealous she knew it would make Donal. She had a suspicion that he felt the same way, too. Difficult to trust a man with an ulterior motive… and hadn’t she just been reflecting that romantic entanglements were probably a bad idea, given that she was going to leave the castle soon enough?
Still — she stayed for a couple more drinks, laughing long into the night. And when she rose to her feet, just a little unsteady, Brendan escorted her to the door and bid her farewell with a neat little bow, a perfect gentleman. Overall, not a bad way to spend an evening… especially when she was meant to be a prisoner.
Chapter 42
Anna stole up the stairs to her room, a little unsteady on her feet still but overall feeling much better than she had felt all day. She’d almost forgotten that it was going to be a bit of a trick to get back into her room without alerting the guard but remembered in time to move silently along the corridor. But it turned out she needn’t have bothered — she could probably have moved along the hallway in a set of full plate armor without alerting the guard. His snores reached her from halfway down the corridor, and she suppressed the urge to laugh with some difficulty. There she’d been, fretting furiously about the whole castle being turned upside down in the search for her, and here was the guard, fast asleep. The poor guy, she thought, looking down at him. He’d fallen asleep in a rather uncomfortable position, and his neck was going to be very sore the next morning. She recognized him as one of the men who’d come on the trip to hunt the wolf the night before. So, she moved into her room — then slammed the door, loudly. She heard him swear as he woke up. There. Now he wouldn’t get in trouble for sleeping on duty… and wouldn’t wake in a few hours with a terrible crick in his neck.
She jumped into bed, and within seconds heard the door squeak open again, the guard standing outlined in the doorway. Feigning sleepiness, she sat up in bed, groaning as though she’d been woken from a deep sleep.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing,” the guard said quickly, and she could hear the palpable relief in his voice. “Orders. Go back to sleep.”
“If you say so,” she grumbled, turning over, and heard him retreat to his chair. Good. He was none the wiser — and neither was anyone else about her little trip out and about. And, more to the point, her mission — though unexpectedly complicated — had been an unqualified success. The proof of that was in the iron dirk that was currently digging into her side. She reached down to adjust it, then after a moment’s thought, tucked it under her pillow where she could touch it as she slept. There. Now she wouldn’t roll over and impale herself in the night. She tended to be a bit of a chaotic sleeper when she’d been drinking. She’d had a few glasses of water in between the whiskies in Brendan’s room, so with any luck she wouldn’t be too hungover in the morning. Not that it mattered, she supposed grumpily. It wasn’t as if she had anything to do tomorrow aside from sit in her room and brood. Still, with a weapon under her pillow she felt much better about the whole situation. The psychological reassurance it provided was huge.
Still, it took her a while to fall asleep. She was worried about her future here — about whether she’d even be able to sneak off to find a way back to her time, if she was going to be kept under such close guard. It seemed guarding her was a low-priority task, if they were leaving men who fell asleep on the job with her, so it was possible she could make a bit of a habit of sneaking around… but still, as soon as she got caught, that would be the end of that. And she needed to be free to wander around, to find out what was happening, to learn more about the Fae and how to get them to take her home. She needed to visit those occultists and get their help in deciphering the books of Fae lore… though she was worried about that, having heard what Maeve had said about how unreliable and pointlessly academic the texts could be. She needed practical information, not more waffle about history and mythology.
Her sleep was uneasy, and troubled by dreams… some of them about the inky darkness at the bottom of the Loch, some of them about the glowing ember eyes of the wolf they’d fought, killed and burned, and some of them — pleasantly enough — about spending intimate time with tall, handsome Scottish men. To her amusement, the cast of these dreams seemed to change from moment to moment — one moment she was riding on horseback with Brendan’s strong arms wrapped around her from behind, the next Donal was taking her in his arms and pressing her to the cold stone wall of his quarters, kissing her passionately. She didn’t mind — but she did wake up with a flush of embarrassment across her face. God, how they’d make fun of her if they knew she was so susceptible to their charms…
Eventually, she fell into a deeper sleep than that troubled by her various dreams, and she woke up as usual with the creeping light of the sun through the window. Her head was a little stuffy from the whiskey, but it wasn’t a true hangover… just a bit of dehydration, nothing that a cup of water wouldn’t fix. She poured herself one from the bottle on her bedside table, spotting the embroidery as she did so. Perhaps that would be today’s main hobby — seeing if she could improve her needlework at all. You never knew when these skills would come in handy, after all. Yesterday, she’d resented the idea of being forced to sew to pass the time, but today, with a dangerous weapon stashed safely under her pillow, she was feeling a lot more calm and agreeable about the whole situation.
She sat for a while, happily stitching, until a gentle knock on the door disturbed her. Breakfast, she assumed, getting to her feet eagerly. That would banish the last lingering traces of the hangover for sure. In came Emily, a covered tray in her hands, but she looked a little confused.
“Where’s your guard?” she asked.
“My guard? Is he not there?” Anna crossed to the doorway, and sure enough, the chair by her door was empty. A bathroom break, perhaps? Surely not — the men had more discipline than that, leaving a prisoner unguarded in broad daylight like this. “That’s — very weird. Did Donal have a change of heart or something?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said, frowning. “But he did seem rather busy this morning. When I brought him his breakfast he was already up, on his way to some urgent meeting in a room downstairs with some people from the village.”
“When was that?”
“An hour or so ago.”
“Interesting,” Anna said thoughtfully. Emily bobbed a little curtsey and made herself scarce, and Anna set about her breakfast, thinking hard. Had something happened? Something to do with the wolf they’d killed the other day? She couldn’t imagine what — the creature had been dead as a doornail even before they’d burned its body on the fire. Could there be more of them? Were they a pack after all? They hadn’t hunted as a pack… surely any other wolves that had been there would have intervened when Anna attacked the creature with iron. And where were the guards?
Maeve came by a little while later, seemingly pleasantly surprised to find Anna embroidering in goo
d spirits. She’d brought another basket — more hobbies, Anna wondered? — but it just contained medical supplies. Anna remembered, belatedly, that she had a bandaged wound on her arm. Blair had done such a solid job of cleaning and bandaging the injury that she’d hardly remembered she had one.
“Blair sends her apologies, but she’s too busy to come and tend your arm herself, so you get me, I’m afraid,” Maeve explained with a bright little laugh, carefully unwinding the bandages from Anna’s arm. She sat obediently still — Maeve’s touch was just as light and careful as Blair’s, and she knew she was in good hands.
“Am I still unguarded?” she asked, curious despite herself.
Maeve looked at her sharply. “How long has the guard been missing? I assumed he was only gone for a moment.”
“Since this morning. But aren’t I being a good girl, sitting tight in my little room, embroidering as I wait for permission to leave?”
Maeve laughed, though she tapped her chastisingly on the unhurt shoulder as she did. “Don’t make fun of Donal, you know how he gets.”
“Seriously, though, what’s going on? Do you know anything? Emily was saying that Donal had meetings with villagers early on. It’s not the wolf back again, is it?”
“Nothing like that,” Maeve said, though her face was worried. “I did talk with the Laird earlier.” Strange, that she called her adopted son the Laird sometimes — but then again, she was speaking of official business. Anna supposed it was good to keep a little professional distance from time to time. “Some messengers from the village had come. In part to thank him for banishing the wolf —”
“— they’re very welcome,” Anna interjected, rolling her eyes. “I suppose he didn’t give me any credit.”
“I wasn’t in the room,” Maeve said, patiently ignoring that little jab. “But the villagers say that rumors are spreading that this castle is inhabited by witches. They’ve been spurred on by a group who are staying in the inn, so it’s said.”
“What group?”
“I don’t know. A man called Galen, from what I heard. Some of the servants are a little worried,” Maeve said, her own worry clear on her face. “They have family in the village… they’re worried that they’ll be harmed or bothered because of their connections to the staff in the castle.”
“But surely the village respects the people in the castle? After all, we did take that wolf down… surely they appreciate those services?”
Maeve sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s not quite that simple. Some of the villagers still appreciate what the Sept do, but a lot of them have spent their whole lives mostly untroubled by the Fae. They’re starting to believe that they’re just old wives’ tales… that they’re stories spread by the Sept to justify their continued existence here. And it seems that these newcomers, for whatever reason, are interested in spreading those rumors even further.”
“That’s not good,” Anna said, frowning. “Is the castle well defended?”
“Oh, yes. No threat whatsoever from a little group of men like that — this castle has stood up to armies in its time. But I imagine Donal wanted the full complement of guards up on the wall, hence your own guard’s absence. If I were you, I’d continue to behave as though you’re guarded, though,” Maeve said warningly.
Anna nodded meekly, agreeing — after all, last night she’d stepped out for a couple of hours under the assumption that she was guarded. Pretending there was a guard on the door wouldn’t stop her going where she pleased, that was for sure.
She hissed a little as Maeve eased the dressing away from the skin — the healing salve had dried, causing the substance to stick to the wound. They both looked at it with a critical eye, and Maeve made a sound of happiness in her throat. “This looks like it’s mending well.”
“No signs of infection,” Anna agreed, breathing a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was a life-threatening injury in a time before antibiotics were widely available. She helped with her free hand as Maeve cleaned the wound, making sure every trace of the old salve was removed before applying a fresh coat. It tingled, cool against the skin, and stung a lot less than the first coat had — indication of the wound healing, Anna assumed with pleasure. She’d be back in fighting shape in no time. It had been a shallow wound, thankfully — a deeper tissue injury would have had her out of action for much longer. She’d been lucky. Not that her skill didn’t have anything to do with it.
Maeve made her apologies and left shortly after, leaving Anna with a freshly bandaged arm and a keen curiosity about what was going on in the village. Who were these strangers? Why were they so interested in spreading rumors about witchcraft? And for that matter… were they right that the castle was full of witches?
Chapter 43
Anna considered going for a walk around the castle after breakfast and her visit from Maeve. After all, how else was she supposed to take the removal of the guard from her door other than permission to go where she pleased? But still, something made her linger. Some sense, perhaps, that it would be best do to as Maeve had advised. She wasn’t on the best of terms with the woman at the moment… Maeve was unfailingly polite, but Anna had gotten the strongest sense that she didn’t approve at all of what she’d done with the wolf out in the forest. She must have heard the story a dozen different ways from all the servants — by all accounts, it had been the only thing anyone was talking about for a solid day. So, she must have known Anna was a hero, had successfully rescued the servants from the wolf that was stalking them… and still she disapproved? It was a little sad that a woman who was otherwise so intelligent was so opposed to the idea of a woman doing so-called ‘man’s work’. But she was also a much older woman than Anna, and she knew from grim experience that it was a lot harder to get older people to change their minds. Minds tended to get set in their ways, like wheels in ruts.
That being said — Donal couldn’t be much older than his mid-twenties (she seemed to remember someone saying he was twenty-five — just like she would be in a few months) and he was the most stubborn person in the castle. The servants had all changed their minds about her immediately when they’d seen even fleeting evidence that she knew how to handle herself in a combat situation, why couldn’t Donal — and Maeve, for that matter — do the same? It was frustrating — but she had to force herself not to think about it. It would all be over soon, frustrating as it was. She’d figure out a way out of here sooner or later, beg the Seelie Fae to send her home, and with any luck wake up in her little bed in her own time like nothing had ever happened. Hopefully, she could be deposited in her bed the morning after the night she’d left. That way she’d still have her whole weekend to herself… and her SCA meeting to go to. She’d almost forgotten all her friends there. God, she’d love to be able to show them some of what she’d seen here… but how could she convince them what she’d learned, what she’d experienced, was all real? Perhaps she could say she’d read a particularly detailed book… but then of course someone would ask to borrow it. Maybe she’d just write it all down and publish her own book. Call it fiction… but include nothing but fact.
Going home was feeling like a better and better idea, despite the pang of sadness at leaving behind the friends she’d made. She was in too much danger here… and it was too terrible a place for a woman, overall. Anna didn’t want to live somewhere where her skills were going to be overlooked and ignored so consistently. She was a soldier — she worked best as a member of a team, a unit of people who could rely on each other to become something bigger than the sum of their parts. If she was alone, she was still effective… but nowhere near as effective as her full potential. And it was clear that that was going to be an uphill battle here.
She was picking away at her embroidery — and she had to admit, she was beginning to understand why people enjoyed this hobby. There was something pleasantly mindless about it. It took just enough concentration that the mind didn’t get bored and the hands didn’t get restless… but the mind was also free to wander and thi
nk, tethered only slightly by the activity it was engaged with. It was almost like meditating, in some ways, and she was beginning to feel a lot more peaceful when there was a sharp rapping knock on the door of her room. She called out an invitation to come in, not wanting to put her embroidery down in the middle of a particularly tricky stitch she was trying — but she wasn’t expecting the door to crash open so sharply, and a pile of rags wrapped in a familiar cardigan to shuffle in. Anna dropped her embroidery, her careful stitches forgotten — it took her a moment to recognize the visitor, who took a wide berth around her bed, making a beeline for the fireplace where some embers were still crackling.
“Maggie? Is that you?”
“Young people are always sitting about in freezing rooms,” the little old woman was declaring as she reached into the recesses of her cardigan and extracted — to Anna’s surprise and amusement — a fairly sizable piece of firewood. She dropped it on the fire, and it seemed to burst into life, a wave of crackling heat washing over Anna as she watched. That was strange. Fire wasn’t supposed to work like that. Then again, neither were rags soaked in strange herbal concoctions supposed to magically heal wounds and illnesses overnight. It seemed nobody had bothered to tell Maggie that the things she did regularly weren’t supposed to be possible.
Maggie dragged a chair over to the fire and perched on it, extending her hands to the now roaring blaze and making happy little sounds of contentment. Her presence was filling the room with a strange — though not unpleasant — scent… the scent of fire, of strange herbs, of moonlight and the forest as well as hearth and home cooking. It was a pleasant smell, she decided in the end, but a very strange one. Just what else did Maggie have stashed in the recesses of her cardigan? Probably more supplies than Anna could ever dream of.
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