Misfortune of Time: Druid's Brooch Series, #6 Read online

  Étaín stamped her foot and let out an inarticulate cry of frustration. “Stones and crows. So we may have to wait until spring?”

  He shrugged as best he could in several layers of furs. “I recommend we wait at a somewhat warmer location. Or we can just come back another day. Or we can hunt him down, wherever he may be, though I would argue against that option as the least likely to be successful.”

  Étaín chafed at the delay, but she could do naught about it now. “Let’s find a place to stay. Since Maelan won’t be around to recognize me accidentally, we might find lodging in the village. I saw at least one guesthouse. Perhaps there are more.”

  He arched one eyebrow, one side of his mouth turned up in a smile. “How shall we pay for such lodgings?”

  She frowned, her brow wrinkling. “Fair point. I hadn’t thought so far ahead.”

  “Yes, Étaín, I realized that. However, your intrepid hero has, in fact, thought so far ahead. I discovered a small chapel in the village, one in need of a priest. Did I ever tell you I’m a full priest as well as a monk? I can fulfill many of the needed services. They’ve not had anyone there for some winters so I won’t be stepping on anyone’s toes. There are living quarters attached.”

  She stared at him. “You want to work as a monk with another man’s woman in your living quarters? Odhar, even for Hibernia, that’s flouting canon law rather strongly. It will get you excommunicated.”

  He chuckled and put his hands on her shoulders. “Not in the slightest, my dear Étaín. No one here knows I’m a monk, nor that you’re married to Airtre. Priests in Hibernia are still allowed to marry, though the pressure from Rome has been increasing in recent winters. One Benedictine monk claimed any married priest became an adulterer since he first married Christ.”

  Étaín opened her mouth to object, but closed it again. No one here could say otherwise.

  “Very well. We shall try that. What if Maelan returns? He’ll know we aren’t wed.”

  Odhar laughed. “Isn’t that exactly what we’re waiting for? Once Maelan returns, we’ll no longer need the charade.”

  She frowned, considering the implications. “So you would hold Mass, perform sacraments, and all the usual priestly duties. What shall I do?”

  “Relax? Enjoy life for once?”

  After letting out a short, sharp laugh, Étaín crossed her arms. “Relax? There’s food to prepare, clothing to sew, and a house to clean.”

  “There’s your answer, Étaín. I am glad to hear you argue, though. You are far too meek, Étaín. You need to stand up for yourself more often.”

  She sighed. “If we finally find Maelan, I’m certain you’ll get your chance to cheer. I may not succeed, but there will definitely be an argument.”

  “Are you willing to tell me yet why you are so desperate to find him?”

  Étaín shook her head. “Not yet, Odhar. Give me time.”

  He hugged her tightly. “As you wish, Étaín. Now, shall we go assess this chapel? I only saw the outside, and it looked cozy, but the walls were stone, and they should cut down on the winter winds.”

  * * *

  The transition from itinerant monk to local priest became surprisingly simple. Odhar entered the hillfort and requested an audience with Chief Toirdelbach Ua Briain. He asked for and was granted, residence in the chapel. The chief even offered him a stipend for food and supplies, which Odhar gladly accepted.

  He returned to an anxiously pacing Étaín to describe the encounter. She’d waited at the chapel door for his news.

  “It worked! We can move in right away. I will tell you, though, the old chief is not looking well at all. He practically needed to be propped up in his seat by his wife and eldest son, Tadgh. His other two sons, Murtough and Diarmait, stood by, looking proud and sullen in turns. I also saw Liadan.”

  “Liadan? Isn’t that Maelan’s wife?” Panic gripped Étaín’s guts. She suddenly imagined her grandson’s wife denouncing her as a witch, a daemon, the devil himself. She stepped backward until she butted up against the wall of the chapel. She had difficulty pulling a full breath.

  “Étaín? Étaín come inside. Let me find you a bench. You’ve gone pale, and not from the cold.” He bustled her into the chapel and found a bare wooden bench along one wall.

  With numb detachment, Étaín noted the unadorned, square room with dressed stone walls and a single stone altar on the east end. Late morning sunlight streamed in through the windows, showing beautiful, subtle color shifts in the stones. She stared at them for several minutes before Odhar returned with their pack and piled his own fur cloak over hers. He made her drink from the wineskin and she swigged without thinking. She thought it would be cider. The good, imported wine tasted much stronger than she had expected.

  After she coughed several times, Odhar snaked his hand under her double cloak and rubbed her back. It soothed, but she didn’t know if it helped her cough. Still, she managed a weak smile at his solicitous efforts.

  “It’s a lovely chapel, Odhar.”

  He glanced around for the first time. “It is, isn’t it? Certainly more simple than grand, but God needs no grandeur. His own son had been a simple carpenter, so why would he want gilt and gaud? Come, let’s explore our living area.”

  He led her carefully into the small roundhouse in the yard behind the chapel. It nestled under the shelter of an enormous yew tree, with hundreds of vine shoots anchoring its branches to the ground. It practically cradled the older roundhouse in bare branches. In the summer, the place would be delightfully surrounded by leaves.

  Even in winter, though the roundhouse looked barren and cold, it seemed inviting. A stone table stood to one side and two sleeping alcoves partitioned along the edge. While nowhere near the size of the place she owned near Cluain Mhic Nóis, this place would do. She’d had enough with luxury for a while.

  Étaín decided to enjoy simplicity and joy while she may.

  Odhar sat her down on a rickety stool near the empty hearth. “Now, Étaín, what took you so suddenly? Were you ill?”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I had a momentary fear that Liadan would recognize me, foolish as it seems. That she became a banshee, screeching accusations at me until the village became a mob… with torches… and…” Her breathing sped up again, and Odhar hugged her.

  “Stop, Étaín, stop. It’ll be fine. Liadan is a lovely young lady, and not given to hysteria in any form. She’s a full warrior, though she prefers tracking. Warrior women are not prone to whipping up mobs into frenzies.”

  He held her at arms’ length, and she found solace in his kind eyes. They were an intense brown, the warm shade of a summer doe. She nodded. “I’m better. I don’t know what’s coming over me.”

  “You’re just a stranger in a strange place, and reacting to your uncertain future. I know it’s unsettling.”

  She shook her head. “No, Odhar, it can’t just be that. I’ve been in new places so many times in my life, it’s an old routine by now.” It must be her impending talk with Maelan which kept upsetting her. The potential for her own instant death might be exactly what kept throwing her into hysterics. She wouldn’t tell Odhar that, not yet.

  She needed to get hold of herself and her reactions. She owed it to Odhar to at least appear to be the dutiful, efficient wife.

  Étaín glanced at Odhar, who now assessed the thatch for holes. Would she be happy married to him? Would she enjoy being his lover? He treated her with kindness and respect. He made her smile. She’d married for less than that in the past. Would she grow to love him?

  Then again, Airtre had been kind and made her smile, many years ago.

  It certainly didn’t matter to her he had over forty winters and she only appeared to have thirty. In truth, she had many more lifetimes. If it didn’t bother him, it shouldn’t bother her.

  They hadn’t exchanged more affection than hugging or holding hands. She wanted to wait to see if she would live after the transfer of the brooch before she got his hopes
up… or hers.

  With a deep breath, she stood, hands on her hips. “There is much we must do to make this place livable, if even for a short time.”

  While peering at a rotted section of the wattle wall, Odhar chuckled. “Indeed, there is. Even with the stipend the chief gave me, there is no way we’ll afford much. What should our priorities be?”

  “I don’t want to do any major repairs unless the structure is at risk. We can do with sleeping in our furs. Food and drink are necessary, and a few utensils for cooking. What will you need to perform your priestly duties?”

  “Not much aside from patience and my stole. I haven’t any holy water, but that’s not something you can get at the village market anyhow.”

  She giggled at that, and before she knew it, Odhar swept her up into his arms, whirling them around until they both grew dizzy.

  “I love to hear you laugh, Étaín. Have I told you that?”

  Someone cleared their throat. Étaín had been looking into Odhar’s eyes so it could be neither of them. She gasped, and they both turned.

  The young woman in the doorway stood tall with dark hair and pale skin. She looked powerfully built and had piercing gray eyes. She raised one eyebrow. “Am I interrupting? I apologize. I’d heard I‘d find the priest here?”

  Odhar extracted his arms from around Étaín and smiled, walking toward the visitor. “Indeed you can! Liadan, yes? Do come in. I apologize for the paucity of the welcome. We’ve only just arrived ourselves, and have much to do to make this into a welcoming home.”

  Étaín put on her public face and smiled at the woman. So this was Maelan’s wife? He certainly chose a strong woman. Beautiful, muscular, and confident. She moved like a huntress, full of grace with no wasted movements. Étaín liked her already. Her previous apprehension flew away like owls in the night.

  With an appraising eye, Liadan took in the bare details of the roundhouse, nodded once, and chose a small bench to sit upon. Her back remained straight, and she looked between Odhar and Étaín expectantly.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry. Liadan, wife of Maelan, may I present Étaín?”

  He didn’t introduce her as his wife. That made sense, though. Even if they pretended to be husband and wife to the village, Maelan’s own wife would need to know the truth.

  Étaín held out her hands in greeting, palms up. “Please, be welcome in our home, Liadan. Drink of our ale and eat of our bread with the blessings of our Lord.”

  The other woman covered her offered hands, palms down, and smiled. Not a warm smile, but a shrewd one. Liadan glanced at Odhar and quickly back. Étaín saw the considerations rolling through the young woman’s mind.

  Should they tell her about Étaín’s relationship with Maelan? She had no idea if she might trust this woman with such a secret. For now, they must keep it close, at least until Maelan reappeared.

  “How can I help you, Liadan?”

  This made Liadan glance down at her feet in an uncharacteristically shy gesture. She looked up again, first at Étaín and then at Odhar.

  “I need your blessing, Father. I’m trying to conceive, and haven’t yet succeeded. We’ve been married for nearly two winters, and I’m growing desperate with worry.”

  Étaín smiled. “I shall leave you two to discuss your private issues. I’m off to the market for much needed supplies.”

  Odhar looked relieved and fumbled in his cloak. “Oh, here, take this.” He pulled out a small leather pouch which clinked.

  Étaín took the offered object and looked inside to find several metal disks. She shook the pouch several times. After beckoning Odhar over, she whispered. “What are these?”

  “Coins, Étaín. Since the Ostmen started using them, they’ve come into fashion instead of bartering.”

  “Coins? But I’ve never used coins. How am I to understand what they’re worth?”

  He frowned and pulled one out, a small silver coin with a head on one side and a cross on the other, both surrounded by letters. “This is a silver penny. It should buy about fifteen chickens. Two will buy a decent knife.”

  After juggling the pouch again, she gasped. “There must be at least ten of those in here! This is a princely stipend!”

  Odhar laughed. “That’s to keep us for a full moon, Étaín. It will go soon enough, so be canny in your purchases today.”

  Still looking into the pouch with amazement, Étaín left the roundhouse.

  She stumbled a few steps before she came to her senses and closed the pouch. She secreted it inside her cloak and Étaín looked around, trying to determine where the market might be.

  If the town held a market today, it should be on the main street near the hillfort gate. The gate stood just around the palisade from the chapel, so she walked around the wooden poles until she found the main road.

  Winter didn’t offer good weather for markets, but every moon, traders still gathered to sell their wares in the larger villages and towns. From the empty space before her, no market gathered today. The main street remained bare save for a few straggling warriors, a woman selling bunches of dried herbs from a large basket, and a runner lad on a mission.

  She should have asked Liadan where more substantial food might be obtained. Perhaps this woman would help.

  As Étaín approached her, the woman looked up, startled. She clutched her basket more tightly and drew her ragged cloak about her. Confused, Étaín considered her own appearance. Did she look menacing somehow? Étaín still had Odhar’s second cloak on, but it shouldn’t make a difference. She didn’t look particularly ragged or angry. She walked forward several more paces.

  The herb woman glanced to either side of her and backed up two steps. She hissed in a low tone. “I see you, woman. You are not hidden from me!”

  Étaín stopped again, holding her arms out with empty palms. “I mean you no harm, herb woman. I sought food to purchase. Can you direct me to where I might find some?”

  With a narrowed gaze, the old woman said, “I have honored your kind all my life! You have no call to haunt me!”

  Did the woman believe Étaín to be some sort of Fae? “I’m just a woman like you, looking for food. Perhaps there’s a baker near? Or a butcher? I’d love to buy herbs.” After remembering the pouch Odhar had given her, she took it out and shook it. “I even have ‘coins’ to pay with.”

  Before Étaín could stop her, the woman ran. She ran faster than Étaín would have given her credit for, considering her age. Rather than following her, she sighed and looked down the main road. Perhaps someone else would help her.

  Most of the roundhouses along the road appeared to be private residences, though she noticed a blacksmith near the end. The tink tink tink punctuated billows of acrid smoke. She circled to the work yard and saw the large, muscled man sweating in his workshop, despite the chill wind.

  He paid her no attention, concentrating on his project. The metal burned white and red as he hammered the slag away, patiently shaping the knife into a usable shape. When he finally doused it in a barrel of water, billows of steam enveloped his face, and he examined his handiwork with a satisfied smile. He finally noticed Étaín waiting in his doorway.

  “Welcome to you, good woman. How can I help you this day?”

  He spoke with an odd accent, clipped and rough. His fair hair and skin made her think he might be an Ostman, but she couldn’t be certain. Regardless, she needed information he might have.

  “My husband and I just arrived in town, and we need to buy supplies. Food, utensils, and tools. I see you have hooks and a cooking pot. How much would those be?”

  He glanced around at the items hanging from his rafters and touched a huge cooking pot with a raised eyebrow.

  “No, the smaller one, please. We’re but two people.”

  He lifted the small pot from its hook and brought it to her to examine. The piece had been expertly crafted with no thin spots. When she tapped on different parts of the bowl, they all sounded the same, and the handle seemed evenly made. She broug
ht out her pouch and nodded, waiting for his price.

  “Two pennies and I’ll throw in four S-hooks. Do you need a frame?”

  She considered that. A tripod frame would be best for holding the pot, though in a pinch she might cook with the pot nestled in the coals. That increased the chance of breakage, though, and limited what she cooked. If they moved on after this, she might bring the pot and tripod. If, on the other hand, she perished… regardless, the purchase would not be wasted.

  Étaín had bartered for goods all her life and could do so her sleep. However, trying to determine a fair price using these coins remained a mystery. If a penny bought fifteen chickens, though, a cooking pot would be worth about forty chickens, and therefore should be at least two pennies, if not more. Maybe. She nodded tentatively.

  “Two pennies and a half, then.”

  She frowned. It seemed a fair price, as far as she had reckoned, but how would she pay a half penny when she only had whole ones?

  He laughed. “New to coins? Hand me three coins, and I return a clipped half-coin to you.”

  “Clip the coins? Will that not ruin them?”

  “Not in the slightest. They still hold the value of the metal. See? I’ve several half pennies here and some quarters.” He held up a small bowl filled with shards of metal, their imprint still strong.

  As they completed the transaction, Étaín asked, “And where might I find food and other supplies? I asked an herb woman, but she ran off rather than answer.”

  He guffawed, slapping his thigh as the sound ricocheted around the workshop. “That would be Mad Meagh. She sees the Fae, so must have thought you were a vision.” After squinting at her, he said. “You’re pretty enough, but I see no horns.”

  Étaín smiled. “Fae don’t have horns. That’s devils you’re thinking of.”

  “That must be it. If you want meat, there’s a man just two roundhouses down who has many barrels of dried fish from a trade venture gone bad. I’m sure he’ll be happy to unload some. He might have winter cabbage, too. His name is Rognr, and he’s an Ostman like me.”

  “So you are an Ostman? I wondered from your speech.”