by Ruby Duvall
“Are ye sure ye’re all right? Ye were bleeding a little,” Iain said. His voice was resonant enough to sound as though he was talking directly into her ear but she knew he hadn’t moved.
Even so, her heartbeat picked up.
“It’s nothing.” She hoped that would be enough of an answer.
After dropping the safety pins into her purse, she picked up the wings and smoothed her hand across them. The frame was intact but the thin material atop it was ripped. The wings had taken a good four hours to make, some of the last hours she had spent with her mother. She stood and turned around.
“I have to get rid of these too.” Her throat started to close up as she imagined having to toss them into a fire. Iain was watching her closely, so she averted her eyes.
“We’ll take care of that soon,” Aili said. “Ye must be hungry. Iain made some pottage. It’s too salty but—”
“There’s also bread from the village and some cheese from our cattle,” Iain interrupted, his face full of annoyance and all of it directed at Aili. They set off for the house. Aili did pretty much all of the talking, though the other three made small comments. Emma kept Iain in her periphery, still uncertain about his temperament.
When his face had been so near to her, she had noticed that he was much younger than his haggard appearance made him out to be. The skin around his eyes was smooth, free of crow’s feet and his wide lips were a healthy color. It was obvious that his nose had been broken once or twice but it was still mostly straight. She hadn’t been able to tell much about the rest of his face due to his bushy beard but his eyes were a rich shade of brown.
She had also seen a deep intelligence in his eyes, which was probably nagging him right now. He would continue to ask questions about her origin until he had a more acceptable answer. She only hoped that she would either have a better lie prepared or be ready to move on before his unanswered questions frustrated him too much.
The closer they came to Iain’s home, the more anxious she became to see the place where she was to live, at least for a little while. She didn’t want to overstay her welcome, intending to make use of Iain’s hospitality only until she knew her next move. For whatever clothing they might be able to give her, she would gladly repay them with labor.
As she was ushered into the house, she was both hoping for the best and fearing the worst—and she knew from her freshman history course that it could be really bad.
The structure was about thirty feet by fifteen. She first saw the fire, which was just to the left of the door but generally in the center of the house. Dug into the ground and surrounded by a ring of rocks, the fire was burning low and kept warm a pot of delicious-smelling soup. The pot hung from a hook suspended by the arm of a stout crane.
She next noticed the dirt floor, strewn with rushes. More sweet-smelling bundles of herbs hung from the wooden rafters, giving the inside a pleasant scent. She had expected animals inside the house but there were no enclosures for them. It seemed they were kept in the nearby barn since the herd was so large.
To the left of the fire sat a table large enough for six people, perhaps eight. The surface was uneven due to warped wood but atop it sat cups, bowls, dishes and beautifully glazed jugs. A couple of dishes held loaves of bread and a bowl held a large chunk of cheese. Against the left wall was a long, open cabinet, filled with more jars, jugs and bags of foodstuffs. Another cabinet sat against the back wall, filled with various tools. Two large wooden trunks sat against the back wall to the left of the cabinet.
The other end of the house was surprisingly barren. A few sturdy but plain stools sat a few feet from the fire. A bed large enough for two adults and a child sat against the right wall. She was afraid to ask if the mattress was filled with bug-infested straw but that he even had a mattress off the ground was miraculous. Closer to the door but against the right wall sat some sort of overturned wooden tub that hadn’t seen much recent use. Various tools and household items either sat against or hung from every wall.
Considering the times, it was surprisingly cozy and tidy. She was ready to compliment Iain on his home when she spotted the sheathed sword hanging from the wall next to the door. Her eyes went wide.
That thing was longer than her arm!
Turning to the four people who were watching her and hoping they didn’t notice the lack of blood in her face, she forced a smile. “It’s a lovely home.”
Both men seemed to relax, as if they had been waiting for some sort of snobbish disapproval but Emma knew very well she had no reason to complain. She actually felt a small wave of relief. She had a roof over her head. That was a pretty big accomplishment.
“Now may be a good time to eat,” Iain said. He gestured toward the table and its twin benches.
“Yea!” the little girl cheered, picking up a doll she had evidently dropped to the ground. She then made her way to the table and climbed onto the bench, though her father stood close in case she needed help. Kenneth sat next to his daughter and Aili pushed Emma to sit on the other side with her. Setting her wings and steering wheel against the wall, she then slid onto the seat and scooted down far enough for Aili to sit next to her.
The old woman was simply beaming. “Is fairy food different?” she asked, gesturing toward the bread and cheese waiting to be consumed. Iain began filling a few bowls with soup and was setting them on the table.
At a loss as to how to respond, Emma once again went for as truthful an answer as she could. “No but we make it a little differently.”
“My mother told me that if I eat in the land of fairies, I canna leave. Does that mean ye canna go back to yer home if ye eat here?” the little girl asked.
“Your mother?” Emma looked at Kenneth, the question obvious. If they were all sitting down to eat, wasn’t the girl’s mother going to join them? The red-haired man looked down at the table and took a deep breath. Iain grew still.
“Beth’s mother died last summer,” Kenneth explained. Instantly flustered, she tried to push past the awkward moment.
“I can’t go back, no matter—” She paused. Sadness pooled low in her stomach, cold and heavy. “No matter if I eat here or not,” she finished. The girl’s eyes went wide and her jaw dropped open.
“Why?” Beth asked in a bare whisper.
“The good folk sent her to us,” Aili said, “and to send her back would be rude. She’s already becoming a woman anyway.”
“Aili, do you live in the village?” Emma asked, hoping to change the subject.
“I do,” she nodded. “I’ve been a laundress most of my life and my husband, God rest his soul, looked after the laird’s herb garden. Ye’d think he’d ha’ smelled better though, God help him.”
Beth giggled. “Dada and I live over that way,” the girl volunteered, pointing in the direction of the other house she had noticed earlier.
“So Iain lives alone?” Emma looked at the tall, serious man bringing over the last bowl of soup. He looked at her when she said his name but he didn’t answer her question. Instead, he leaned to set a bowl of soup in front of Aili.
“Iain’s sweet mother used to live with him but she passed as well,” Aili said.
“He has always been a stag though. I married and settled years ago,” Kenneth added. Iain glared at the other man. He growled something to the redhead but Emma’s eyes bulged as shock slapped her in the face, her attention locking on the word “stag”. She couldn’t say anything for a few seconds.
The stag doth wait in a lush and green meadow.
The stag doth wait? Waiting for her? Was she supposed to stay in Iain’s house? She highly doubted that he would be amenable to a permanent houseguest but perhaps meeting Iain would lead to something else.
A bowl of mystery soup appeared in front of her and she looked up at Iain. He didn’t return her gaze though and went to an open barrel next to one of the cabinets. With a ladle, he poured dark liquid into cups that he brought back to the table.
“What’s that?” Emma asked of A
ili.
“Have ye no’ tried a good cup of ale, lass?” Aili reached for one of the cups that Iain set down and set it in front of her. “Rachel’s ale is some of the best, I say.” Emma swallowed heavily. She didn’t have to drink that, did she?
“Oh! But yer kind prefers milk, am I wrong?”
“Milk?” she asked. Emma didn’t know how to answer that one. She had thought fairies drank nectar, like bees or hummingbirds or something.
“There isna much milk leftover from this morning,” Kenneth said.
“Water is all right then?” Aili asked. Emma nodded, grateful that she didn’t have to drink the ale to avoid insulting anyone. Her college friends would’ve understood but these people didn’t know her.
Iain poured a cup of water for her and sat down opposite Emma on Beth’s other side. They began to eat and Emma mimicked the others, who dipped bread into the broth and ate the rest with crude utensils. They also sliced off bits of cheese and ate it either with bread or by itself.
She supposed the soup—apparently vegetable soup—was a tad salty but she was so hungry that she didn’t care. It was delicious and she only hoped that she ate with enough dignity to avoid the stares that the others tossed at Aili, who talked with large amounts of food in her mouth.
“It’s very good, Iain. Thank you.” Her comment was halfway lost in the barrage of words coming from Aili, who was telling them about the magical properties of different phases of the moon. Iain looked at Emma with some surprise. He then frowned and looked away again.
Chewing on her lower lip, she stared at the half-empty bowl of pottage and poked a bit of onion with the hunk of bread in her hand. Her cheeks were warm with embarrassment. He certainly didn’t take compliments well.
She continued eating in silence and listened to Aili talking about how her neighbors were plotting to kill her.
“I tell ye, ever since that plague, they’ve been eyeing me as though it were my doing. The ungrateful, ignorant bastards,” she spat. Emma nearly choked on the mouthful of broth-laden bread she was attempting to swallow. Iain and Kenneth both sighed. “They lost their darling little boy but this old crone is still around. How could they be so disrespectful to someone older than both of them put together?”
Emma finally swallowed her food. “What plague?” she asked. “It’s not still around, is it?”
Iain and Kenneth regarded her with renewed suspicion, though Iain’s expression was far more frightening. He looked at her as though she were a wolf stealing one of his sheep.
“Ye didna know why we’ve suffered these last couple of years?” the old woman asked, patting the back of her hand. “The Black Death has killed so many. It’s what took Iain’s mother and sister. His sister Gwen was Kenneth’s wife.”
All the blood in her face drained away. Now that was something from history class she remembered.
“Do fairies get sick?” Beth asked in a near whisper. Still reeling, Emma couldn’t even form a single-word answer. The Black Death killed at least a quarter of the population of Europe, if not more. Most likely an epidemic of bubonic plague spread by the fleas on rats, people died within a week of contracting the disease.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she managed to say. No wonder the other end of the house seemed Spartan. It had once held Iain’s mother’s personal possessions. Neither of the men said anything but Aili patted her hand again.
“The Church couldna help. Then a man came through peddling a remedy—”
Iain slammed his hand on the table. “We willna talk about that,” he bit out. For once, Aili quieted and only made a few infrequent grumbles as she finished her soup.
—
Though Emma protested, Kenneth gave her one of his wife’s best dresses and Iain grudgingly said he would give her another of his mother’s to wear when washing the first. Both men then left the house to whatever duties awaited them. Beth wanted to stay awhile longer but her father insisted that she come with him. Aili remained behind to help her dress.
“I have a piece of good linen with me that ye can wrap yer clothes in. Ye’ll want to keep that nice bit of silk, I’m sure,” the old woman offered, digging through her basket. Emma picked up the clothes that Kenneth had left on the bed.
The off-white linen smock didn’t look particularly expensive but she didn’t know what was expensive to a farmer. Its sleeves were rather loose, not as fitted as she might have expected. The deep blue-black kirtle was a woolen, square-necked bodice darted at the waist and attached to a woolen skirt with a straight waist seam. The bodice had lacing in front and the back of the sleeves were open. The skirt, undoubtedly made from the same batch of dyed wool, was constructed of a couple of dozen gores and was hemmed very neatly at the bottom.
“A lovely dress,” Aili said, coming up behind her with the square of linen she had mentioned. Emma nodded, once again moved by the generosity of these people. “Iain’s mother made that for Gwen. I remember helping her dye the wool.”
Shaking her head, Emma gently set the kirtle back on the bed. “It’s not right for me to have this. Iain and Kenneth will be unhappy to see someone wearing it.”
“Dinna worry, dear. They’re nae as foolish as that. Gwen was a touch taller than ye and had black hair like her brother. They willna mistake ye for her ghost. Besides, the dress is just going to waste without a woman to wear it.”
As Emma undressed, she took the opportunity to ask the questions she knew she needed the answers to, such as what duties she would have, where and how to answer nature’s call and most importantly, how to take baths. If she wanted the pink in her hair to fade, she was going to need to wash it out with soap and water—hot water, if possible.
Aili patiently explained everything, though she often went on strange tangents, especially about her bastard neighbors. Emma thought she might wonder why she wanted to take daily baths but the laundress seemed to understand. Aili also offered to come out every day to help cook and do other household chores. Emma had the feeling that such an arrangement would upset Iain but then again, she needed to learn from someone willing to teach her.
After shaking out the linen smock, Aili helped pull it over her head.
“Iain doesn’t like me at all,” Emma observed from inside the smock. When her head emerged, she continued, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to impose on someone who doesn’t want guests.”
“That fool dinna like anyone, lass. That he agreed to let ye stay should be taken as a miracle. I would’ve beaten his head in with my cane otherwise.”
The kirtle was next. Her waist was a little shorter and smaller than Gwen’s must have been but it wasn’t too noticeable. Thankfully, the lacing didn’t have to be pulled very tightly, unlike a corset, so the kirtle sat quite comfortably. Aili then helped arrange her sleeves properly and they were done after only a couple of minutes.
“That looks good,” the old woman nodded, panting just a little. “When it gets colder, I’ll have a wrap ready for ye but ye’ll be fine for now. I know Iain has pelts for keeping warm in winter.” Emma wanted to point out that she wasn’t planning to mooch until winter came around but decided to remain quiet.
Aili’s eyes went to Emma’s head, her thin lips pressed tight. “We’ll need to hide yer hair but only married women and ladies cover their heads,” she explained, pointing at the cloth on her own head. “No help for it though. Let’s see what I have.” Aili turned away and went back to her basket, fishing through various articles of clothing. “Ah! Here we are.” She pulled out a smaller square of linen. It was frayed on one side but it was enough to cover her hair.
They then made a trip down to the creek that Emma had seen earlier. She brought along her handkerchief and mirror to remove her makeup. Aili let her use some sweet-smelling lye soap from her basket and hummed way off-key while keeping her company. The next five minutes were spent scrubbing her face with cold water but the soap helped. When she had finally washed off the last traces of her fairy makeup, she dried herself off with h
er handkerchief and then checked her face in her mirror.
“Does the dress fit well?” Iain’s unmistakably irritated voice asked from behind her. Jumping with surprise, she hastily closed her compact mirror. Standing and turning around, she presented him with a freshly washed face.
—
Kenneth held his daughter in his arms as he and Iain walked toward the former man’s house. After the excitement of meeting a “fairy”, Beth had fallen asleep on her father’s chest.
“I still dinna like this,” Iain complained, glancing distractedly at the large flock of sheep in the paddock between his and Kenneth’s houses. “That girl is a harbinger of ill luck—”
“A harbinger? Iain, really—”
“Aye, a harbinger and we dinna need more trouble, especially with the MacGregors prowling around. Hell, she may even be a MacGregor.”
“How else can ye explain where she came from but that she is one of the good people? Her appearance, her strange possessions, her accent. I have to listen closely to understand her at all.”
“All signs of how much trouble she’ll be,” he said grumpily. He couldn’t help being stubborn. True, she was out of place but he rejected the idea of fairies. Such creatures and stories were for children.
“She was very kind. She even complimented yer salty soup,” Kenneth pointed out. Iain ground his teeth remembering that. She was merely trying to curry favor with false praise. “Perhaps she is a sign of good things to come—not trouble. Still, caution is warranted.” Finally, some sense out of him!
Iain nodded in agreement. “I dinna know if I can sleep in the same room as her. She may take a knife and cut out my heart.”
Kenneth chuckled. “Be reasonable, Iain. Who are ye that she would wish to kill ye?” Iain glared at his brother-in-law. “I would wager that she is even more frightened that ye might do something similar.”
“What is yer meaning?”
“Come now, oh brother of mine. She is a young, beautiful thing. Do ye nae feel any attraction to her?” Iain clenched his jaw tight, unwilling to lie but very willing to punch Kenneth. “Or have I been mistaken this whole time? Do ye fancy yer own sex?” Stopping abruptly, Iain raised his fist. Kenneth laughed and stepped away.