But that was nothing. As I wandered upstream a little, holding both girls’ hands, we came across a bloated fox trapped in the stream, the water flowing over its body. The peasants used this very stream to drink from, to wash their dishes in, and if they ever washed their bodies, bathing would be done from here, too. I raced back to Agnes.
“There’s a bloated fox’s body just upstream. You mustn’t use the water until your husband removes the rotting animal from your water.”
Elspeth studied me, her face pinched. “’Tis not necessary, Caitlin. The fox is too far away. There’s no miasma here because the water goes o’er the fox and we can no’ smell the rot.”
I remembered reading about the medieval miasma theory. It was a belief that illnesses were caused by bad air. If something smelled rotten, then breathing in that smell would cause illness. Of course thirteenth-century folk knew nothing about germs. The germ theory was still a long way off.
“No. In the country I come from, we know that if we drink contaminated water we’ll get sick. That fox is rotting and will be contaminating the stream water that your family uses for everything. If you wash your baby’s toilet clothes upstream of where you drink, then you could easily get sick from doing that, too. Mustn’t have human waste in your water.” I knew I was coming across as strident and a know-all but if I kept quiet then all I was really doing was letting Agnes and her girls down. “When we get back to the castle, I’ll send one of Bern’s men down to bury the fox.”
On the way home, Elspeth turned to me. “Do ye realize that everyone thinks you’re strange?”
“I do, but so what? I know things you don’t. Should I keep my mouth shut and let you all get sick over and over again?”
“Of course not.”
“It’s not easy, standing up and making a difference. People hate you for it. But I’d rather be hated than do nothing.”
Elspeth threw her arm around me and squeezed. “And that’s precisely why I’ve taken such a shine to ye, Caitlin. We’ve much in common, ye and me. When ye get to know me better, ye’ll see what I mean.”
I already knew. I might be the laird’s special girl, but that didn’t make me popular in the castle. I was too different, and that difference frightened most of the folk. But Elspeth seemed to like my strange speech and the crazed things I said. And she needed a friend, too.
Another week went by, and as the weeks stretched into months, Bern began to seep into my soul. How would I cope without him now? I hated the idea of leaving him behind, of never touching him or never seeing his face light up again. I relished his kisses, the press of his hungry lips melding into mine. I loved being wrapped in his big protective arms too, and the feeling that nothing in the world could harm me when we were together.
I could tell that I was having a deep effect on Bern also. He watched me, not liking it when I was out of his sight for too long. Once, a whole day passed before we caught up. He found me just before supper time with my new friend Elspeth. Elspeth and I were playing, fussing over a spaniel and her new litter of pups. One of Bern’s men charged into the stable, grabbed me by the arm, and marched me to the laird’s chamber. When Bern saw me safe and sound, he melted with relief. He feared that I’d gone, that I’d somehow slipped away from the guards on the gate and was running toward Doral Castle and my other life. He was right to worry too, because every day I got up and wondered if today would be the day I found the strength to leave him.
I’d been in Tor Castle about six weeks when Bern hunted me down in the castle herb patch and practically carried me to his solar, our solar, as it was now. He put his arm around my waist and lifted me from the ground so that I had no choice but to hang on and be raced to our private retreat. He was burdened with something, troubling news perhaps and needed a sympathetic ear. I knew him well enough by now to be able to read the signs. His brow was heavy, his lips refusing to smile. Castles have ears and many mouths that love to gossip. He bolted the door closed, then turned.
“The king has ordered my men into battle.” Bern pulled me onto his knee. “I fear for the safety of my men. My fighting men are already in a weakened state, not in any condition to take on the Northmen again.”
Panic burst over my body like a bucket of icy water.
“I’ve tried to reason with my king,” he continued, cradling me in his lap, “but the king will not listen. He wants a brutal show of force this time and nothing less will please him.”
“But,” I gasped, “I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. You are important to me.”
Every morning and every night, I told myself that I would leave Bern soon, and that my life would go on without him. But was it true? If he went into a fierce battle, he might be injured and die a slow death. Unbearable. The blood was coursing in my ears, drowning out his words.
He buried his head into my neck. “Ye won’t leave me when I’m away will ye, sweets? I need to know that you’ll be safe. Ye have to stay right here and wait for me, wait till I return.”
“I will,” I whispered, promising without hesitation. If he needed me to be here, then that’s where I’d be. Fleeing home could wait.
He smiled showing me the relief he felt. “Thank ye, my love. Well, I suppose there is nothing else to be done but prepare my men. I shall send them all into the yard this noon and set them to practice their battle skills. My men are skilled warriors already, but the Northmen are naught but barbarians. Bloodcurdling heathens, the lot o’ them.”
Something he said struck me. I tensed, not blinking, fighting to remember. It was that term he used, bloodcurdling heathens. There was a memory there, in my head, an important one. What had I read about “bloodcurdling heathens”? I needed to relax and let the memory surface. I remember being in the university library and reading an article in an academic journal. It was research for my degree. The article was called “Bloodcurdling Heathens” and was about the Vikings and Scots in 1263. That was our year, wasn’t it? I grabbed his arm, my fingers digging into the skin. “What year is it again?”
“1263.” He no longer looked surprised at my questions, or made any sort of cheeky, snide remark. According to him I said strange things all the time and queried routine facts, things a child would know about. But at other times, he claimed I knew more than his scribes and scholars.
If this really was 1263 then I knew what would happen at the end of this year: the infamous Battle of Largs. The article I read wasn’t about Largs though, it was about the clash between the Vikings and the Scots before that famous battle. Good God! I had information that could help Bern.
“What is it? Speak up, lassie. Something has startled you. Have ye seen?”
He was staring into my eyes, and I was staring back, letting him see how deathly serious this was. He needed to listen to what I had to say and believe every word. “Bern, I know what’s going to happen. I know about this skirmish your king is sending you on.”
“Ye know? How can that be? Caitlin, tell me. Have ye seen?” He squeezed my arm, shaking me from my stunned trance. He still believed that I was a seer and I didn’t deny it either. How else was I to share my knowledge?
“Yes, I’ve seen.”
“Well, speak up, lass, what do ye know?”
“You’re being sent to the Hebrides, aren’t you, to Innse Gall, as you call it?”
His jaw fell. He leaned in and whispered in the fiercest voice, in a tone I did not usually hear from him. “Hush, only the king and two of his favored lairds know this detail.” He shook his head. “’Tis mighty strange that a girl from an inconspicuous country, a country so small that no one has heard o’ it, should know what lurks inside the head of my king.”
“Bern, you must listen to me.”
“I can assure ye, young Caitlin, that I am.”
I drew in a deep, stabilizing breath. “You called the Norsemen ‘blo
odcurdling heathens,’ remember?”
“O’ course.”
“The thing is, it’s not the Northmen that act badly this time, in this battle. It’s the Scotsmen. The Highlanders are the Bloodcurdling Heathens. The Highlanders go to Innse Gall, or the Hebrides, as my country calls it, and they burn churches and villages.”
He was barely blinking.
“I’m afraid it gets worse, Bern. The Highlanders kill the women and children there, too.”
Bern thrust me from his chest. “We kill women and children?” His tone was both indignant and annoyed.
I lowered my gaze. “Maybe another Scottish clan kills the women and children. I can’t be sure. There’s more than the Mackenzie clan involved in this battle. But the Northmen’s children do die a bloodthirsty death.”
“Highlanders do not kill children, not even Norse babes.”
“I’m afraid they do this time. Shall I go on? Do you wish to hear it all, or have I upset you too much?”
“Go on.”
“The Highlanders fight with a rage never seen before. They are as brutal as their enemy, even more so. The Highlanders overrun the people of Innse Gall, and you and your men are victorious in this battle. And here’s the best bit: the Norse king, Haakon Haakonsson, hears of your brutality and is furious. His anger clouds his judgment and he makes mistakes. He orders hundreds of his men to sail down from the North and land in the Highlands and kill you all in retaliation.”
Bern sneered at my story, trying to dismiss the bits he found unpalatable. “Hundreds of Northmen will descend on the Highlands; they’ll come to kill us all, ye say? How is that good news, Caitlin?”
I jumped from his knee, annoyed now, too. “It’s very good news because the battle that follows changes history. The Battle of Largs. That is the name it will be known by. This is the battle that rids Scotland of the Northmen for good.”
He thought for a moment or two then pulled me back onto his knee. “But surely that is too much to ask of God? The Northmen gone from Scotland for good? It is the stuff of dreams; tell me ye speak the truth, Caitlin. Are ye sure, my sweet?”
“I am.”
“Dare I believe ye?” he asked himself. “Ye are saying that I must go to this battle with eagerness because I will come home victorious?
“That’s right. You win.”
I cupped my hands around his face. “You must believe me, Bern. Fight like you have never fought before. Go to Innse Gall and anger Haakon Haakonsson. Soon the Northmen will flee from Innse Gill and Caithness and Sutherland and in a few hundred years, you’ll get the last of your remote isles back, too.”
He pushed my dress up past my knees and rested his hands on my thighs. “I want to believe ye, I really do. Your story sounds true enough, I suppose. Why not? Alexander is a smart king, and the Norse influence is waning.”
“I’ll tell you about The Battle of Largs and what King Alexander does later. Just know that, from now on, the Scots beat the Northmen.”
We lay on his bed together, my head nestled onto his chest. He was lost in thought, contemplating what was to come. I knew that, despite my assurances, he still worried about the safety of his men. I had no idea how Bern and his warriors would manage the task ahead. History stated that they slayed Viking women and children and acted like the enemy berserkers they feared so much. The men of Mackenzie Castle didn’t seem capable of that sort of brutality. Bern’s men were kind and generous and quick to help those in need. But I know what I read, and that library journal was a reliable source of information. The best any graduate student could hope for.
Chapter 11
Bern
I watched Caitlin play with her hair. This had to be said so best I stop putting the moment off and spit the words out. I cleared my throat. “This day, at our wee gathering at the loch . . .”
“Emmm. What about it?” she said, twirling one of her braids, looping it back onto her head.
“During the outing, I hope to calm my people’s fears.”
“Fears? About the battle, you mean?”
I looked away. This needed saying, although I doubted the wee girl would take it well. “Nay. My warriors do no’ fear this battle especially, at least no more than any other. The fear I was speaking of, was their fear of ye.”
“What?” she said, spinning around.
“Aye. They all have their theories. Some of ’em are convinced ye are one of the troublesome brownie folk, those that cause mischief and steal hose and wimples and the like while we sleep. Although that is a ridiculous notion if ye ask me. ’Tis plain to see that ye be far too attractive to be a brownie, and too tall besides. Others claim ye to be a fae, and we all know how fickle the fairies can be. One moment they are sending ye sunshine and the next, a thunderstorm. Yet others think . . .”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s more?”
I pulled my old wooden flute out of the chest. I always brought the instrument along on outings, no matter where we went. Few of us could play the flute, so I was proud of my skill. “Others, well, they fear that ye be a witch and don’t shy away from calling ye one either.”
Caitlin pulled a sad face but looked far from contrite. “It’s all right, Bern. No need to fret on my behalf. You mustn’t worry about what others think of me. I’ve never been a perfect fit, anywhere, so I’m used to weathering criticism. There’s not much I can do about it. Besides, as I keep saying, I have to head home soon . . .”
Ah, the opening I’d been looking for. “But there is much ye could do to allay their fears. Mayhap, just for this late noon, ye could blend in and nay startle people with the things ye do and say. Could ye do that for me, wee Caitlin?”
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “I’ll try, if you like.”
I nodded. “That would please me. I’d like to think that, while I’m away fighting, the castle women will take ye into their hearts and keep ye safe.”
She smiled then, and what a blessing it was. “I’ll try to fit in today but only because you want me to. Honestly Bern, I don’t need looking after. I prefer to be the one helping others. Helping makes me feel warm inside.”
“Aye, well, just for this day, how about looking out for me and my wishes. Blend in. Let our women folk see that you’re no different to them. Once they realize that, they’ll embrace ye and all those witch and fae and brownie folk whisperings will die away. And once ye fit in, you’ll nay keep bleating on about leaving.”
“Fine. I’ll blend in. You won’t even know I’m there.”
I had my doubts but her words were welcome.
~ ~ ~
We were all at the loch, lazing around on blankets, supping ale. The wee ones threw their wooden balls, while the older lads dazzled the girls with their kite flying skills. Even the wolfhounds joined us, bounding through the thickets.
I had my flute out and was teaching Caitlin how to make a satisfactory tune. Her efforts were ear piercing at first but in no time, the lass had the way of the instrument. I saw some of the others look on and nod their approval. Aye, ’twas a fine noon in the sunshine, just the sort of memorable time my folk needed before we faced the harshness of battle.
I’d had my eye on the group of four lads kicking stones and tossing sticks at the edge of the loch. That scoundrel, Abe, was of course in the thick of the trouble making, stomping about and throwing pats of wet sand. I’d often looked for mischief myself, at his age. The lads had already chased the lassies around, dangled frogs in folks’ faces and even tossed crabs down a few tunics. And now it was clear to me that that gang of four was brewing more mischief. But with Caitlin at my side, my attention was diverted.
“Ye jest my love, surely? Ye have no’ played the flute before? Can it be true?”
She was belting out a tune now, and if she kept this up, I feared she’d best me in the skill
.
She pulled the flute from her lips. “I’ve played a recorder before but not a flute.”
She was throwing out a song I did no’ recognize. I could see others turn, surprised by her talent, and her remarkable uptake. One minute she was squeaking, hurting our ears, and the next she played a soulful song, one I’d struggle with myself.
“Time we put that flute away, my love,” I said, thinking that if I gave her another half hour on the instrument, she’d be playing better than a traveling minstrel. None of the other women would have been as confident nor as bold, nor as skilled. Caitlin should not have been practicing her fluting skills at our gathering, for all to hear. And worst of all, mastering the instrument in an unnaturally short time, too! I leant over and whispered, “Blending in, remember?”
She rolled her eyes and tossed the instrument at me. Then she stood and stretched her back. “I’m going for a walk by the loch. Will that be an average sort of thing to do, do you suppose?”
I nodded letting her wander off. As soon as she was gone, Gavin came over. “Laird, shall we have a tug-of-war, what do ye say to that?”
We laughed together remembering our age-old contest. Gavin and I were particularly fond of the sport. We yelled out names, rousing up our men, picking our teams. I was about to announce the activity when I heard Caitlin cry out.
“Bern, look,” she said, pointing to the middle of the loch. We all followed her direction, all of us sitting on that grassy knoll, our eyes following her outstretched arm. There, a long way into the loch, we spotted the sinking raft. Straight away I knew that it was Abe on the flimsy, make-shift vessel. Who else would be silly enough to venture far with naught but a hollowed log to keep them upright and out of the jaws of the sea beasties?
Snowflakes in Summer (Time Tumble Series Book 1) Page 10