Reece took the cloak, with some reluctance, then threw it around his shoulders.
‘I doubt Oran will mind,’ she remarked, approving of the fine noir, damask cloak, now draped on her father’s muscular frame. ‘However, I do want it back.’
‘It fits you well,’ said Onóir, admiring her husband.
‘A little too large, perhaps,’ he grunted.
‘Nonsense!’ said Onóir, dismissing him. ‘’Tis a perfect fit, and should someone question your identity—’
‘It is the least of my concerns,’ he stated.
‘We will say…’ Rosalyn paused for thought, chewing on her lip, ‘you are… a long-lost cousin of mine.’
Reece slid his eyes towards her, while Onóir nodded in agreement. ‘Surely that is what they all say,’ he stated, bemused.
‘’Tis none of their business,’ Onóir returned. ‘Although… I suspect you will attract the attention of the young lasses; they see the Fair as an opportunity to catch a husband. So, be on your guard!’
Mother and daughter laughed out loud. Unimpressed by their shared amusement of him, he stared at his wife, demanding her attention. She stopped, realising he had failed to see their humour.
With his piercing eyes fixed lovingly on hers, he kissed her tenderly. ‘I am husband to only one,’ he told her.
Rosalyn pursed her lips, fighting back the tears lurking inside, then looked away, feeling intrusive of their private moment.
Taking his scarred hand, Onóir smiled, returning the kiss. ‘I never doubted for one moment you were dead. To be handed this time with you again, has made the stolen years melt away. The happiness and contentment I feel, compares to no other. It is a feeling I will take with—’
‘You must come with us!’ he blurted. ‘I have decided.’
Behind his back, Rosalyn was shaking her head, silently telling her mother “No!”.
Onóir closed her eyes.
‘Should I go with you, Reece, the precious time you require for your task will be disrupted by my presence. You have a duty to fulfil; Oran depends on you. We all do, and I will hear no more of it.’
He opened his mouth to protest.
‘But… I will gladly accompany you to the Fair,’ she added. ‘I wouldn’t miss it.’
Onóir gave quite the convincing performance that all would be good. But, despite it, Rosalyn felt the aching of her parent’s saddened hearts.
Reece looked sharply towards the window, detecting the distant sound of Rave’s excitement on her return home. ‘Asai and Eleanor are back,’ he announced.
Rosalyn joined her father, peering out; she saw nothing. Reece smiled as he listened to their conversation.
‘Where?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes, as she opened the window further. She moved to question him again, when Rave suddenly came into view—on the path’s bend—racing towards the house. Together, they observed the two approaching figures engaged in conversation. Rosalyn saw her daughter’s eagerness in the lively gesticulation of her hands and her animated chatter. Now and then, Asai stole an interested glance, staring into her eyes for a fleeting moment. He paused when Eleanor laughed out loud and pointed at Rave. Reece grinned.
‘What amuses you?’ Rosalyn quizzed.
‘It seems your dog has kept you busy during her younger years.’
Rosalyn threw a confused look at her father.
‘It is, I confess, amusing,’ he said.
‘You can hear their conversation?’
‘Clearly,’ he replied. ‘The peace and quiet here makes it easier.’
‘We must be mindful of what we say in future,’ said Onóir, winking at her daughter.
‘Indeed!’ Rosalyn returned, keeping a fixed eye on Eleanor. She noticed how the Samurai towered over her daughter—in a protective way—clinging to her every word. The two hesitated, catching each other’s keen look. Rosalyn caught the awkward exchange—that of a couple who had suddenly become aware of each other.
‘My interests are the same as yours,’ Reece informed her, truthfully. ‘Asai is a good man. It is the first time I have seen him smile like that. It is a wanting smile—not a forceful one.’
Rosalyn beamed with approval. But her moment of possibility was soon overshadowed by their grim reality. In a matter of seconds, the fading dream slipped from her thoughts.
‘They have no future together,’ she stated, flatly.
Onóir closed her eyes, knowing her daughter was right.
‘Then I intend to give them one!’ Reece’s declaration was defined and intentional.
The two women cast him a wary look.
‘I intend to give us all—’ He halted. The continuous, methodical sound that had been in the background of his mind, had now ceased.
‘Rave!’
Gill’s authoritative voice echoed as he summoned his dog. The hound ran towards him, then paused, looking back at Eleanor and Asai. Contemplating her choice, she threw one more glance at Gill, before returning to the couple. Feeling betrayed, Gill stormed off, leaving the axe embedded in the remaining piece of log.
‘I will not tolerate jealousy in this house!’ Rosalyn cried, ready to follow her son.
‘Wait!’ Onóir called.
‘Did you not see the way he scrutinised them, maw?’
‘Do not judge him,’ said Reece. ‘I sensed no jealousy.’
‘You must remember,’ Onóir continued, ‘he has had his sister’s company for nearly seventeen years. They share a special bond which is about to be snatched from him. I suspect he is frustrated by their impending separation.’
‘That maybe so,’ Rosalyn returned, ‘but you must remember what is being taken from him. He is about to lose the future he’d planned with Meghan. I fear there is an underlying jealousy, when he looks at Nori and Asai.’ She moved to leave.
‘The transition he is experiencing now is like no other,’ Reece reminded her. ‘As eager as you are to see him, I urge you to remain. Be patient with him.’
‘Reece has a point,’ Onóir agreed. ‘He will calm soon enough.’
Rosalyn watched Eleanor at play with Rave, while witnessing the captivating smile on Asai’s face. The Samurai was clearly intrigued by her every movement. His interest in her daughter was sincere. ‘Then they will stay here with Tam,’ she decided. ‘I want to avoid any confrontation, which might arise in public. However, Gill still comes with us!’
Strained by the extra weight he had to bear, Farrow dragged the large cart along the dirt-track, towards the burgh of Balloch. With a little encouragement from Rave, Gill urged his father’s horse up the incline, before leading the steed down into the village.
Rosalyn gasped at the throngs of people that had already accumulated.
‘We’ll have missed the memorial service,’ she remarked, glancing up at her son, who still remained peeved in his silence.
The usually, sleepy village was flooded with young and old—everyone with a plan in mind: to hook or tender. The intention of the day was not to leave empty-handed, whether it be with horse or potential husband. Regardless of which, the Fair held a purpose for one and all, however, Rosalyn and Onóir were no fools; they were aware of the shrewdness of those hell-bent on a bargain.
The heaving numbers forced them to slow their pace as they made their approach—Reece, making it his business to keep a vigilant eye. As he did so, he saw hostility in the faces of two individuals, their envious eyes regarding Farrow as the carriage trudged by.
‘Just ignore them,’ said Rosalyn, smirking at their resentment.
Unable to proceed through the mass of lively people, they finally drew to a halt.
Only one thing dictated the numbers attending—the weather. Rain had threatened, but the wind carried the heavy clouds up into the Highlands, letting the warm, autumn sun cast its welcoming rays over the burgh.
Hordes of travellers continued to pour onto land from the ferry, placing increasing pressure on Mr. Walker—the ferryman—who had luckily hired the usual extra hands
to deal with the masses.
‘I think it will be the largest one, yet!’ cried Onóir, trying to be heard, over the hum of excited voices.
Gill rose to his full height, searching through the crowd. Then, catching a glimpse of Heckie Grant, he jumped from the cart—without a bye or leave—commanding Rave to watch over it. Rosalyn glared after her son as he disappeared towards the Ferry Inn. She rose, tempted to call after him, but was thwarted by a voice of wisdom.
‘Leave him!’ Reece suggested, offering Onóir his hand to help her down. But when his wife dismissed his gallantry, Rosalyn found her smile again.
She had noted the glow of youth in her mother’s face, since the arrival of their house guests. It seemed as though the love of life had rejuvenated her, making all the difference, giving her renewed hope for some form of remission. Every time her parents shared a certain look—the kind only measured by true love—she felt a pang of loneliness and longed for her husband.
Beckoning her parents to follow, she casually strolled on, taking in the atmosphere. Every now and then, Reece regarded the crowd, in the hope of catching the watchful eyes.
He still sensed nothing.
Perhaps, Oran imagined it, he thought, doubting the Warlock’s words.
The annual Balloch Fair was finally underway. The smell of bread and cakes mingled with open stoves, filled with fresh meat, cooking slowly. As the rising smoke danced gently on the breeze, it attracted the high noses of hungry dogs, lurking about for scraps; they were rarely disappointed. The mixed aromas, however, barely masked those left by the increasing population of horses. Reece winced at the overpowering stench.
Oblivious to the goings-on of their peers, groups of children ran from stall to stall, trying to decide what candies to spend their precious coins on—the sugar-sweet tablets being their favourite. Reece spotted a young boy swipe a sizable piece, while his accomplice distracted the stall owner. He smiled when the two made their swift getaway, unnoticed. He’d forgotten what it was like to experience the normalities of a mortal’s life. How easily they moved with the luxury of a freedom he had been denied. He felt restless in their comfort of it, asking himself: would he ever enjoy its simplicities again? But his thoughts kept returning to the matter at hand. He knew Onóir was ill—gravely ill—despite her vain efforts to conceal it. The little warning glances she had displayed towards Rosalyn were far from inconspicuous. But the one thing he did not know: how long she had left.
‘So far, so good.’
Rosalyn’s voice roused his thoughts back to them. He looked at her with absent eyes and a blank expression.
‘No one is staring at you,’ she added, noting his confusion.
‘Why would they do that?’ he replied, frowning. ‘Have I not concealed my weapon?’
Onóir rolled her eyes at their daughter; it was apparent Reece was unaware of his striking looks. Even in the brightness of the watery sun, his eyes stood out like emeralds.
‘I think you will find I am not the only stranger here,’ he remarked.
Rosalyn paused on his words, surveying her familiar surroundings. The Fair lured traders from far afield, and because of the wealth it invited, their origins were no longer questioned. She had not noticed it before, until he pointed it out.
‘You look, and yet fail to see,’ he said pointing with his chin.
She stared at the peculiar faces, interwoven with the crowd, wondering exactly where they had come from.
‘Do you think it is one of them?’ Onóir suggested.
Reece slowly shook his head. ‘I confess, I—’ He stopped, listening, then turned to his daughter. ‘Someone is calling you.’
Rosalyn stood on the tips of her toes, straining to see and hear above the rumpus, unable find the face she sought. Reece pointed towards the Inn, where she finally glimpsed the hands of Blair Grant, waving frantically and mouthing her name. With little effort, Reece encouraged his wife and daughter to join their neighbour, vowing to return.
‘Do you have the means to purchase?’ Rosalyn quietly asked him.
‘Sufficient ones,’ he replied, feeling the presence of the small, leather pouch concealed inside his belt.
‘Ask for William Woodford. You will know him by the honesty in his eyes; there is no greed in them.’
He watched as Rosalyn aided Onóir away, waiting until they were out of sight. Content, he turned his back to wade through the mass of people in search of the trustworthy face.
Reece felt the heat of the sun on his skin, thankful that its threatening energy proved no danger. It prompted a thought; Magia Nera can only travel by night. He knew the sun’s rays were the dark Warlock’s lethal enemy, restricting L’Ordana’s movements, should she be on their trail. He was certain of it. But, for now, he detected nothing sinister, giving him some relief.
He felt a sudden shove from the flowing crowd and looked around; it appeared to have doubled in size. He then thought of Tam. The Highlander would never have survived the growing numbers; the temptation would have been too great. How fortunate for them, he thought, then realised Rosalyn was right, when she insisted, he remain at the house.
Reece moved forward, briefly checking the sword hidden beneath the cloak Rosalyn had lent him. He could almost feel Oran’s presence from its luxurious fabric.
Searching through the crowd, the surge of voices—embroiled in on-going conversations— were deafening to his ears: children playing noisily, while dogs joined in their games; bidders secretly outbidding each other, before trading commenced; women calling for their children, then scolding them on their reluctant return.
Where are their fathers? he wondered, then grunted. Taking refuge at the Inn, no doubt.
Young, local women beamed widely at him, making determined attempts to flirt with the eye-catching stranger. He smiled wryly back at them; it was not out of politeness, but a feeble attempt to look normal. He found it increasingly distracting.
Feeling an element of discomfort, he blanked it from his mind as best he could. It was then—through the brief clarity he was allowed—he sensed a familiar yet unknown presence. He lingered on its movements, uncertain, until it lost itself to the surrounding hubbub of the fair.
A sudden thought occurred to him, prompting him to remove the leather pouch from his person; there were bound to be pick-pockets—not that they would succeed in prizing themselves of his means. He felt the pain of his guilty past as he checked its contents. Inside were some of the spoils of battles they had fought for the Sorceress. He had accepted Asai’s refusal to acknowledge the precious gems. But despite the Samurai’s disapproval, Reece saw their necessity, should they escape. He recalled his colleague’s reply:
“When I look at them, Reece-san, I do not see precious stones, only the blood of innocent victims who were prized of their wealth, and their lives. Use them as you see fit, but do not ask me to participate.”
Although the feeling of guilt usually passed, it seemed to cling to him now. He had been aware of his human emotions resurfacing, since connecting with his family—and it troubled him, leading him to suspect: it could be the cause of his downfall?
There can be no room for weakness, he quickly reminded himself, aware of the detrimental effect it could have, should he give in to his emotions. Reece knew, he could not let them influence the task ahead, or he may be unwilling to proceed with it. This was not his only concern; he would also have to keep an eye on Asai—the one he truly relied on. The subtle signs were already there—Eleanor being the notable one.
An honourable man for my granddaughter—had the timing been right, he told himself, deciding it was for the best they were leaving soon.
The piercing sound of a bell, announcing the official start of trading, beckoned him to join the proceedings. After several enquiries—followed by curious glances—he found William Woodford, surrounded by conflicting faces, ready to part with their money.
Reece stood a good head above his competitors, his intense stare catching the attention of the h
orse trader. It was true to say, there was honesty in William’s methods and, having seen the contents of the unassuming leather pouch, the trader happily parted ways with four of his finest steeds.
Pleased with the quality of his purchases, Reece returned to their cart to find Rave on full alert, snarling at any passers-by who came too close. But there had always been a rule of trade; “What’s purchased, will not fall into the hands of another at the fair”. Rosalyn’s words had tried to reassure him after he had voiced his concerns. However, he maintained his misgivings.
‘Watch over them, Rave,’ he said, tying the steeds to the cart.
The hound wagged her tail, only too eager to oblige. For a moment, he held her gaze, his instincts telling him she trusted him. Then, without thought, he smiled, letting his hand glide slowly over her soft coat before rubbing her ear. The dog responded playfully, leaning towards him.
It was then Reece realised what he had done.
‘No room for weakness, Rave’ he whispered, removing his hand. ‘A change of plan,’ he uttered. ‘We leave at first light. Some things are for the best.’
Turning on his heel, he made way to the Ferry Inn. The wide door was open, welcoming all visitors to enter, and sup. He looked up, observing the oversized axe above the door, as if daring any poor soul to remove it. He could tell by the effects of nature, it had not been touched in years, inviting him to muse over its curious history.
From the outside, he could see the public house was heaving with life. Voices in fine tune sang along with a bagpipe and two fiddlers. People were in high spirits as the warmth of the day stretched out into what would become an unusually close and sultry night. No doubt the landlord would be wringing his hands at his tidy profit.
As he stood in the doorway, he observed the scene before him with reservations. Heavy tobacco smoke filled the air while women mingled with drunken men in search of a husband… or perhaps another’s.
This is where my granddaughter works? he thought, observing food being washed down with copious amounts of ale and whisky. Struck by a fleeting memory, he wondered what it would be like to indulge in the gold liquid again; it had been a long time. Compelled by the thought, Reece whet his perfectly formed lips—the idea of it finally enticing him over the threshold. But as he placed one foot over the next, he froze.
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