And right she was, but as many times as she’d heard Moira spout her wise words, several days out from market day Keila always lost sleep. And every time, they always managed to have everything prepared, baked, packed and loaded ready to sell.
‘Is Rory here?’
‘Aye. Showed up at dawn and ate the oatcakes I fixed for him. There’s more there,’ she said, indicating a stack of oatcakes on a platter in the centre of the table. ‘If you’re hungry.’
Knowing Rory had arrived at his usual time made Keila’s next breath an easy one. His involvement always reduced her workload by half.
‘And Mac?’ It was rude not to ask and Moira would think something was wrong if she didn’t.
‘In the stable with Rory.’
‘My thanks, Moira.’ Another rush of relief swept through her, though this time she wasn’t certain why. Having Mac around was only costing her more sleep. ‘I’ll eat after I’ve done the second straining.’ She started for the door, but seeing the single raised-brow look from Moira made her take a step toward the table and snatch an oatcake from the platter. With a smile for Moira, Keila continued outside.
***
After the third and final straining, a task that seemed to have taken longer than usual due to her attention being fixed on the stable, or more precisely, what the two men inside the stable were doing, Keila deposited the yeast she’d extracted using the finely woven cloth into the cauldron ready for when she returned from market, and began making the next brew.
She tipped back the jug she’d used to transfer the ale into the six wooden casks and tasted the latest batch. Closing her eyes, she dragged in a long slow breath, the hint of sweet heather honey filling her nose and mouth, capturing her senses.
For the first time in days, Keila was sure they’d have everything done and ready to pack and travel to market. The journey to Mortlach took a full day and they’d set out before dawn the following day. But an unwanted yet persistent thought kept finding its way into her head.
If Mortlach Inn was the inn Mac had visited before he was attacked, how was it that he’d ended up on her doorstep, yet had no memory of getting there? There were untold dangers for any traveller who didn’t know their way, more so for someone who had been beaten so badly they’d lost their senses for a time, along with their memory. Why hadn’t he fallen into a deep ravine or a loch, never to be seen again?
As she had throughout the day, she shoved the troubling questions aside. How he’d arrived at her door wasn’t her concern. She’d cared for him and tended his wounds. Surely she’d done enough without getting too deeply involved?
She opened her eyes and stood, casting a final look over the casks that needed to be loaded onto the cart. But not until all the other goods had been loaded, for the inn was the first stop they made when they arrived in Mortlach.
She left the ale shed and stopped to peer up at the sun. The shining orb had begun another day’s downward slide, but a few hours of daylight still remained. More than enough to get the cart fully packed. Keila headed for the stable, a sense of anticipation quickening her step. She told herself it was due to the relief that they were on target and she hadn’t yet seen Rory today. But deep down she knew the thought of seeing Mac caused the fluttering in her belly. She even tried to convince herself her haste was due to her need to check his stitches and apply a new lot of salve.
But deeper down, she knew the truth. Mac awakened curiosities she’d never suffered before and they called to her, yet threatened everything she held dear.
The scent of hay and horses greeted her as she entered the stable via the single door at the nearest end. The sound of masculine voices speaking in low tones floated on the still air. She hoped Rory was having a good day, for his sake and for Mac’s. Experiencing Rory’s forgetfulness and repeated conversations could be difficult and confusing for anyone for the very first time.
Keila had only been ten summers when she’d come to live at Drummin House. Rory had stopped by and asked her name and what she was doing there. He’d then asked her the same questions every time he dropped by and then one day he didn’t ask. Whether it was the constant repetition of hearing her name, along with his daily visits at dawn, which helped to remind him she didn’t know. But Rory had eventually remembered both hers and Moira’s names and continued to visit them at dawn, most days.
A bout of Rory’s grunted laughter reached Keila and her lips curved at the joyful sound. Curious to know how Mac had drawn it out, she continued through to the other section of the stable and found Rory standing in the cart and Mac standing on the stable floor, passing the older man baskets of vegetables.
Mac bent to reach for the next basket, but stopped and straightened when he saw her. In spite of the muted light, Keila witnessed the smile fall from his face. Her stomach tightened. Was he disappointed to see her when she’d foolishly anticipated seeing him? Not that she would admit such a thing. And not that it should matter to her if he was.
With a tilt to her chin, she turned her attention to his injuries. Time had reduced the swelling about his eyes and mouth considerably, but the bruises had only darkened, splashing his face with colours she’d seen in the sky and on the heather-covered mountains.
‘Keila.’ Her name was accompanied by a nod.
She returned the greeting. ‘Mac.’
‘Ah, lass, ’tis good to see ye.’ Rory looked down at her. ‘How’s the ale?’
‘I’m pleased to say the ale is strained and stored and is ready for loading.’ A smile lifted her lips as she looked up at the older man who’d become dear to her heart.
‘There was never any doubt ye’d get it done.’
‘I wish I shared your certainty, Rory.’
‘Come now, lass. Have ye ever failed to have it done on time?’
Keila’s smile grew as she remembered having this conversation every month before market. ‘Nae.’ Rory wasn’t alone in repeating himself.
‘Then nae more needs to be said.’
Keila searched the cart’s contents and spied the herbal pots and the baskets of vegetables they’d already loaded. ‘It seems you and Mac have had a successful day, too.’
‘Aye, thanks to Mac we’re almost done loading. Only the ale casks and then the loaves tomorrow before ye leave.’
The heaviness forcing her shoulders toward the ground lifted at Rory’s words. ‘Thank you, Rory. I could never get everything done in time without your help.’ She lowered her chin and met Mac’s gaze. ‘And my thanks for your assistance, too, Mac.’
‘It’s the least I can do, Keila.’ He pressed the pads of his fingers against the spot beside his stitches. ‘And I’m not one to sit idle.’
Keila stilled at his comment. ‘How do you know? Have you remembered something else?’
He lowered his arm and frowned. ‘I just know.’
Keila stared at Mac as she tallied her growing list of his traits. He had a sense of humour, was patient with Rory, was good with horses and liked to be busy. Why she was listing his attributes she had no idea. She refocused on his wounds. ‘I hope you haven’t done too much too soon.’
‘I’ll survive.’
‘I’ll see to your stitches again before you find your bed.’ With a nod to each man, she hefted her skirts and left the stable. As she scanned the garden beds that held the next lot of vegetables to be pulled for market and the seedlings for the next, her mind was firmly fixed on where they’d be by this time tomorrow. The sky looked clear and no troublesome clouds hovered on the horizon. Thankfully it appeared last night’s rainfall wouldn’t be repeated again tonight. Though it had spared them having to water the vegetables, the trip to market was always more pleasant when the weather stayed fine and dry.
This market day they’d have the greatest amount of goods to sell since the end of last autumn. They usually only had four casks of ale, but this time they had six. And that wasn’t counting the two tubs she’d set aside for their own consumption. She couldn’t wait to leave.
/> Keila pushed through the door into the kitchen just as Moira turned out a steaming loaf from the tin. The warmth and the smell of freshly baked bread crowded her senses and she paused to breathe it in. ‘It smells wonderful in here, Moira.’
‘It’s just bread, Keila, and nothing special.’ Moira turned and reached for another tin, tipping its contents onto the table beside the others. ‘That’s the last.’ She wiped her forearm across her sweat-beaded brow. ‘And the vegetable stew is ready to serve.’
‘Thank you, Moira.’
‘Your smile tells me you’ve finally realised all will be well for this coming market day, just as I told you it would be, this time and every other.’
‘I know, Moira,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But it’s been some time since I had another here to worry over.’
‘I hope I’m not the cause of your concern.’
Keila turned about at the unexpected masculine voice behind her. The frown she’d witnessed inside the stable again creased the tanned flesh between Mac’s brows. She stared at him, wondering how she could answer his question honestly.
‘I worry over anyone who is injured.’ She wanted him to believe he was no different to anyone else. ‘And thanks to your assistance, we are ready for market.’
He stared at her as if weighing his response. ‘As I said, helping you prepare for market is the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me. But I can’t impose any longer.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Keila pressed her lips together, but it was too late. She’d already blurted her disappointment. She glanced away but found Moira’s disapproving gaze.
‘I need to go to Mortlach Inn. I believe I’ll find the answers I seek there.’
‘You want to travel to Mortlach with us?’ They never travelled with anyone.
‘It seems a sensible option—’
‘There is nae room in the cart.’
‘I’ll ride Demon.’ The crease between his brows deepened.
She was quickly running out of reasons why he couldn’t, or rather why he shouldn’t travel with them. If Mortlach Inn was indeed the inn he’d left moments before he’d been attacked, of course he needed to go there. But not with her. For the sake of those she cared for, she couldn’t afford to be involved. She couldn’t risk her home.
She loathed changes that weren’t of her own making. From the day she was born, too many people had set her path for her. They’d fulfilled their duty and shuffled her along to the next.
‘’Tis too soon. You shouldn’t be riding yet.’ Mac looked at her through eyes she had only recently discovered were blue. ‘Only a madman would ride such an animal. Rory could have been killed, and you’re already injured.’ She searched his bruised face that hosted every colour of the rainbow.
‘I appreciate your concern, Keila, but I’m more than fit to ride.’
He wasn’t listening. He’d already made up his mind. Her chest tightened. ‘Very well, but know this.’ She lifted the pot of salve she’d used on his stitches previously and pushed it into his hand. ‘I’ve patched you up and refuse to waste my time doing so again.’ Keila turned about, giving him her back, as if she didn’t care what he did or what happened to him.
Chapter 8
The sun hadn’t begun to nudge the half-moon from the sky when Keila walked out into the night, carrying a basket filled with loaves of brown bread. The loaves would be two days old by the time they sold, but Keila had learned that many people had little to eat and bread filled many a growling belly.
In all the places she’d lived as a child, she’d never suffered the pain of a pinching belly, but she’d seen hollow-cheeked children of similar years to her, clinging to their mother’s tattered skirts, their watery eyes peeking at her. At the end of market day, the loaves they hadn’t sold were left for those who had no coin to buy them or had naught to trade.
The single stable door opened with a creaking groan loud enough to wake the creatures in the small cluster of pines nearby. She stepped inside to the feel of warm, still air and the smell of horse and hay. Keila lowered her burden to the earthen floor, and by the moonlight filtering in through the open door, she found the flint and lantern and struck a flame.
As she lifted the lantern high, the stable came alive, splashing the cluttered shelves, bowed with their burdens on one wall and the partially loaded cart with a pale muted light. A soft whinny, quickly followed by another, let her know that Mist and Nettle were awaiting her. Her smile slipped at the thought of Mac’s wild horse waiting too.
Keila placed the lantern on the highest shelf, left bare for such a purpose, and lifting her basket, headed further into the stable. She reached the end of the cart and added the basket of loaves to the goods Rory and Mac had loaded the day before. She retrieved the three carrots she’d placed in the basket and then turned and walked toward the double doors at the far end, stopping when she reached the stall Mist and Nettle shared.
‘Rory will be here soon to see us off.’ He always saw them on their way before market. Well, when he remembered. She fed them a carrot each, and withholding the last, turned to peer into the furthest stall. The last empty stall. Where was Demon?
She hurried to the front of his stall and found the gate closed and latched. She turned about and searched the dimly lit stable, but found no sign of the wild beast. Keila placed the treat on top of the barrier’s wall and strode to the double doors. With practiced ease, she raised the wooden beam braced across both doors and set it aside before pushing the doors wide.
The night’s cool breath once again washed over her face and neck. She welcomed the feel of it as she scanned the moonlit surroundings for any sign of Demon. She saw none. Her heartbeat quickened. Now she wished she had looked in to see if Mac was awake before she’d ventured outside. If he was still here.
Had Mac fetched his horse and ridden away sometime during the night? Had he been offended by her refusal to patch him up again and he’d simply left? Or now he knew where he needed to go for answers, he’d upped and gone without saying goodbye?
Keila had experienced many partings during her early years and shed more than a well full of young tears as she’d farewelled numerous relatives she’d gotten to know and grown to care for in the two years she’d spent with each of them. They’d then packed her off to live with the next. Aunt Mae and Uncle Nab, Aunt Cora and Uncle Seumas, Aunt Beitiris and Uncle Ennis and lastly Aunt Fiona and Uncle Tomas. And though she dreaded saying goodbye to anyone, she’d forced herself to suffer through them for she’d learned they were a part of life.
There were only two occasions when she hadn’t said goodbye and both were out of her control. How could she have farewelled her father when he’d died from the ague before she was born? And lastly, Keila had drawn only a few breaths of her new life when her mother had died, holding her daughter but once.
Pain pricked her heart for the mother she never knew and for the children of her own she’d never have. Keila turned her empty gaze to the bend in the River Livet where they collected water, and a slight movement from within the small cluster of pines had her blinking the moisture that had suddenly gathered from her eyes.
The unmistakeable shape of a man broke apart from the last tree and stopped in front of a horse. The beast’s head lowered as the man’s hand stroked its neck and nose and before she could stop herself, Keila added the gift of taming wild beasts to Mac’s growing list of traits. He hadn’t gone. She held still, and through shining eyes watched the touching scene for a moment more.
Did Mac have a home? Was someone looking for him? Missing him? Was there something he should be doing? All questions she had no answers for and neither did he. But he hadn’t left yet and was still likely planning to travel with them to Mortlach. As concerning as that was, at least she’d have the chance to say goodbye.
The distinct sound of someone clearing their throat startled her. She turned and found Moira standing close behind, her all-seeing gaze upon her.
‘Is all well, lass?’
‘Aye.’ She glanced at the woman who knew her better than anyone else. ‘I was just enjoying the last of the night and watching out for Rory.’
‘Mmm! And do you think he’ll be sailing down the Livet to get here?’
‘Of course not,’ Keila said, knowing the older woman was wise to exactly where her gaze had been fixed. ‘But with Rory, we never really know.’ Her lips trembled into a small smile borne of relief that Mac hadn’t gone, Moira’s wisdom and the image of Rory sailing toward them.
‘True, lass. True. But this time he won’t be keeping us guessing.’ Moira nodded at something behind Keila.
She turned and could just make out Rory’s outline among the rest of the dark’s shadows. He’d come to help load any final goods onto the cart before promising to watch over Drummin House. Keila wasn’t sure what he could do to protect her precious home, but Rory liked knowing he put her mind at ease while she was away.
As Rory drew closer, she could see his half-filled sack tossed over one shoulder and knew it contained the baskets Netti made from heather twigs and the reeds Rory collected from the river. Keila sold them at market and used the coin to buy any goods the couple needed, like honey for the delicious gingerbread treats Netti made for them to eat on the journey. But it was the random glint of moonlight on something else he carried that had Keila straining forward to see more clearly.
‘Have ye lasses naught better to do than watch a fine figure of a man going about his business?’
‘If I see a fine figure of a man anywhere in these parts I’ll be sure to let you know,’ Moira said. ‘It’s nae you we’re interested in, but what you’re carrying.’
Keila always enjoyed their witty exchanges, but in this instance her curiosity far outweighed her pleasure. ‘What is it, Rory?’
He stepped into the barely there circle of light thrown by the lantern on the shelf, and releasing an exhausted sigh, lowered his sack to the ground. ‘I thought this might be useful on yer journey to market.’ He unravelled the cloth and revealed a long sword of steel. ‘Such a beauty.’
The Rogue Page 8