Page 61 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“T here were a lot of high kings,” Conor said. “Every county had a high king. Clans had high kings. But Ireland overall had high kings that were recognized as the kings of Ireland.”
He was sharpening a blade as he spoke on a bright afternoon, with light filtering in through the canopy above and birds singing overhead. Destry had never seen so many birds shitting all over the ground—and on her, if she wasn’t careful.
Over in the crude stables, the boys were mucking out the dung and putting it into a big pile. A cow and calf milled around the small corral where Mattock’s pony had once lived.
“So this Gofraid guy is the king of Dublin right now,” she said. “But he’s not the king of Ireland?”
“No,” Conor said, pausing. “The one thing you need to know about Irish history is that it’s very complicated. Incredibly complicated. Certain kings descend from certain groups, so the fact that I’m supposed to be the high king of Ciannachta just means I’m another high king in a land that’s full of them.”
“But I’ll bet you make your mark.”
He smiled modestly as she grinned at him. “You’re sweet,” he said, looking back to the blade he’d been sharpening. Then he paused again and looked around. “Is it just me, or do you also feel a sense of… I don’t know… peace around here? There’s something strangely normal about all of this to me.”
Destry was watching the boys clean out the stable. “There’s definitely a sense of peace when weird lizard creatures aren’t attacking,” she said. “Has Mattock said anything to you about his pony?”
Conor looked over at the boys, who were now encouraging Slane to shovel the cow dung. “No,” he said. “But you can tell that he’s sad. He’s over there picking up shit from his dead pony. That has to hurt.”
“He needs a new pony.”
Conor nodded. “I’ll have to ask Padraigan where we can get him one,” he said. “I must admit that I’m eager to go into the village. I really want to see an authentic Medieval village for myself. You know—do a deep dive.”
Destry snorted. “That’s the professor in you.”
“You’re darn right,” he agreed firmly. “It’s a hell of an opportunity.”
“To do what?” Destry said as the mood abruptly turned serious. “Did you ever think about that?”
“About what?”
She sighed and looked at the clothing she was wearing, running a hand over the skirt. “It’s not like you can take this experience back to your students,” she said. “Maybe you clear up some myths or misconceptions, but what do you do with the knowledge? Nothing. We’re stuck here, so there’s nothing you can do with it.”
He looked at her, sensing sorrow and maybe even despair. Something about the way she’d said it gave him a clue that she wasn’t viewing all of this as clinically as he was. Maybe she wasn’t accepting the situation as much as he was willing to. This was his element, or at least he knew a good deal about it, but she knew absolutely nothing. She may as well be on the moon for all she knew about ancient Ireland.
He had to keep that in mind.
“That’s true,” he said steadily. “But until we can figure out a way home, maybe we do something important while we’re here. You said I would make my mark. Maybe you will, too.”
Her brow furrowed. “How?”
He reached out to take her hand, something that came so completely naturally to him. As if he’d done it a million times before in a thousand different lives. Everything about her blended into him, becoming as crucial to his survival as breathing.
“You’re a trained nurse,” he said. “Can you imagine what you could do for these people with your knowledge of healthcare? Think about it, Des. Healthcare in this era was nonexistent.”
Destry could feel him caressing her hand even as she watched the boys in the distance as they carried loads of dung out to the pile.
“You would know more about that than I would,” she said. “But I’m sure they had a lot of holistic methods. Those can be very good.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “And very bad,” he said. “No one washed their hands, hygiene was very spotty, and take something as normal as childbirth—a pregnant woman faced the same odds as a man heading into battle. In fact, women were often given a hero’s funeral if they died in childbirth. The risk was the same.”
Destry could understand that. She knew something of the history of medicine and healthcare as part of her degree, so she knew he was right. “Then maybe the biggest mark I can make is with hand washing and general hygiene,” she said. “But it’s not like it’ll be for the entire world. Just these people.”
“These people who will go on to share the knowledge,” Conor said, blowing at his blade. “Ciannachta is a port city, with ships sailing to parts of the known world. Information can spread, so don’t sell yourself short.”
Destry pondered what very well might be her future in this strange and foreign land. But that brought up a point. “And there’s something else,” she said. “I don’t know this language at all. You’re going to have to teach me enough to get by.”
“I can do that,” he said. “What language did you take in school?”
“Four years of French.”
“Were you any good?”
“Top of my class.”
“Can you speak it conversationally?”
She shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “There’s no chance to do that where I live in California, but I can speak some Spanish. In my line of work, being multilingual is a plus when dealing with patients and their families.”
“Then you can pick up on Gaelic,” he said confidently. “I’ll start with the basics.”
“Now?”
“Can you think of a better time?”
She couldn’t. He put his blade and stone aside, reaching out to take her hand and leading her out into the dirt area beneath the canopy of trees. The corral and barn were to their right, the cottage behind them, and he came to a halt. Releasing her hand, he went off to find a couple of sticks, then returned to her and handed her one of them. Then he smoothed out a big patch of dirt and began to write with his stick.
“We’ll start with some basic words,” he said. “For example, the things around us—the cottage, the barn, the trees. That kind of thing.”
He started to write in the dirt. The boys, who had been watching as soon as he brought Destry into the dirt clearing, gradually set aside their rakes and shovels and gravitated in their direction. Soon, they were standing on either side of Destry, watching Conor write in the dirt. The older boys had some education, but not the manner in which Conor was teaching. They didn’t recognize the letters he was forming. Conor finished with the last word and turned around to see that he had a full class watching him.
He grinned. “Look,” he said, pointing to the boys. “You have three more teachers. We’ll all help you. An cuidich thu i? ”
Will you help her?
The boys looked at Destry, and Slane slipped his hand into hers. She smiled at them, squeezing the little hand in her palm. They weren’t quite sure what Conor meant, but they nodded anyway.
Conor pointed to the first word he’d written.
Bothan.
“That means cottage,” he said. “ Bothan .”
He pointed to the cottage, and the boys nodded, pointing as well.
“ Bothan ,” Destry said. “Cottage.”
“Exactly,” he said. “But it conjugates differently. Just like the English language has different words for a dwelling, like home and house and cottage, so does Gaelic. If you want to tell the boys to go to the cottage, say rach don taigh . It essentially means go the house.”
Destry nodded. “ Rach don taigh ,” she repeated. “I’ll remember.”
He believed her. Something in those bright blue eyes spoke of great intelligence and brilliance. He’d seen it from the start with her. Not only was she beautiful and sensual, but she also had a brain. She was magnificent.
His queen.
The more he looked at her, the more he knew that.
She was his everything.
When the boys realized what he was doing, they jumped in to help. It wasn’t in the writing of the words or even the discussion on how verbs were conjugated or proper grammar. It was much more functional and simpler. They began to point at things and tell her what they were.
Rock.
Creag!
Tree.
Craobh!
And on it went, with Conor explaining the nuances of the words and spelling them in the dirt. Even Slane, the littlest, got into the act, dragging Destry all over the yard and pointing out bugs and leaves.
That went on for about an hour until Conor distracted everyone by taking them back over to the corral, where the little calf was being frisky. He had to take back the lessons or they’d never get anywhere. As the boys climbed into the corral to play with the calf, laughing happily as the little animal butted them, Conor handed Destry a stick and pointed to the dirt.
“Write what I tell you to write,” he commanded softly.
She looked at him curiously. “Like what?”
“Write ‘rock’ in Gaelic.”
She grinned and promptly scratched out creag , remembering how he’d spelled it. He flashed his big teeth.
“Very good,” he said. “How do you say ‘go to the house’?”
Destry replied without hesitation, “ Rach don taigh. ”
Laughing, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “How do you say ‘I love you’?” he whispered.
She paused, pulling back to look at him. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “You never told me how.”
He kissed her before answering. “ Tha gràdh agam ort .”
She repeated it softly. “ Tha gràdh agam ort .”
He nodded. “Very good,” he said. “You are an excellent student.”
She smiled, gazing into his handsome face. “I think it’s more that you’re an excellent teacher,” she said. “It feels like you’ve done this before.”
He started to laugh at her obvious referral to his profession, but then Slane let out a shriek as Mattock teased him about something. In fact, both older boys were teasing him about something, and the adults turned to see what the commotion was about. Mattock had a rock or a stick or something that Slane wanted as he and Devlin passed it back and forth between them.
Conor released Destry and headed in their direction. “Enough,” he said evenly, snapping his fingers and causing an instant cessation of the tussle. Glancing at the sky, he could see that it was at least midday, if not a little later. “I’m hungry. Let’s find something to eat.”
Immediately, the boys began to scramble. “I know, I know!” Devlin said, trying to sprint ahead of his brother back toward the cottage. “I know where the food is!”
The boys were already rushing toward the cottage, except for Slane, who was holding Destry’s hand and sucking his thumb. Conor held out a hand to Destry, who took it, and he led her and Slane back to the cottage, where Mattock and Devlin were already pulling things out of the hearth and out of what was the crude kitchen area. Here they were, back in that little cottage, feeling more comfortable with it, and everything, as the day went on.
At least, that was Conor’s hope. He was trying to orient Destry, hoping it would ease her sense of despair and confusion, and so far it seemed to be working. She seemed to be relaxing.
He just needed to find some sense of normalcy, whatever that happened to be.
Food was normal enough, and one thing Conor noticed was that there were lots of eggs. It seemed to be a staple, and he’d seen the coop near the cottage, filled with little black and white birds. He’d had eggs the night before and also that morning for breakfast, and now the older boys were producing more boiled eggs along with that thick-crusted bread and hunks of tart, heavy white cheese. They’d eaten the remains of the chicken stew for breakfast, so it was just the eggs, bread, cheese, and purple berries that were like blackberries, only smaller and lighter in color. Conor made sure Destry had plenty as the boys put it all onto the table.
“You know,” Destry said as Slane climbed into her lap, settling down with his thumb still in his mouth, “I have been feeling kind of useless, but I think I know how I can help.”
Conor was peeling one of the hard-boiled eggs. “What do you mean, you’ve been feeling useless?” he said. “You’re not useless.”
“Yes, I am,” she said quietly, picking up a piece of the bread because that was all she could manage with one hand with Slane occupying the other. “I mean, you speak the language. You can fight. You understand this world. Honestly, I’m just dead weight right now.”
“You’re not dead weight,” he insisted, eyeing her. “You’re a trained nurse. We just talked about how that skill set is going to be hugely helpful. You know things about medicine that I couldn’t possibly know. I think you can really help people, more than I ever could.”
She shrugged as she took a bite of bread. “Maybe,” she said. “But we’d have to get into a medical situation for me to prove it, and I’m not sure I really want to tempt fate like that. Aside from my medical background, I was thinking that I could do some of the cooking. I’m a pretty good cook.”
“Then it only underscores that you’re the woman of my dreams,” he said, half joking. “Because I like to eat. I don’t think you know that about me yet.”
She laughed softly, watching him shove whole boiled eggs into his mouth. “Actually, I’ve sensed that,” she teased. “But cooking is something I can do. I took some cooking courses because my former fiancé wanted me to learn so I could cook for him. I could make a hell of a good soup if I can get my hands on chicken bones and carrots and celery.”
He nodded as he chewed. “Make stock?”
“Exactly.”
He swallowed the bite in his mouth. “This period in time didn’t have a lot of the food that we consider commonplace,” he said. “No tomatoes or potatoes. No zucchini.”
“That’s okay because I don’t really need those things,” Destry said. “But I do need herbs and salt and pepper. I need onions and garlic, any vegetables we can find, and I can make my own noodles.”
He was quite interested at that point. “What do you need for noodles?”
“Flour, eggs, salt.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He grinned. “Then let’s get you what you need,” he said. “I can kill a chicken for the meat and bones, and onions and garlic were known and used at this time. They were fairly common, so there are probably some around here. Maybe the boys know where to get flour and vegetables, or at least grain we can make into flour. Have you ever done that?”
Destry shook her head. “No, but I’d be willing to try.”
That was what Conor wanted to see—the desire to integrate and at least try to accept and even participate in the world around them.
At that point, he began to speak to Mattock and Devlin as Destry held Slane, who was asleep in her arms by now. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but the older boys were nodding to whatever it was. When the three of them got up from the crude table and began to poke around in the baskets around the hearth, Destry carefully stood up, carried Slane into the other room, laid the child down on the bed gently, and pulled a rough coverlet over him. Silent as a ninja, she backed out of the room, but there was no door, so she shushed Conor and the older boys as they rifled through the baskets.
“If you’re trying to tell us to shut up, say sàmhach ,” Conor told her. “I have a feeling that with three lads, you’ll need to know that word.”
Destry chuckled. “Probably,” she said, looking at what they’d pulled out of the dusty baskets. “I see onions, I think.”
Conor picked one up and handed it to her. “Turnips,” he said. “There are also leafy green vegetables. I think it’s spinach.”
Destry picked up the big bunch of dark green leaves. “Did they have spinach in the Middle Ages?”
He shrugged. “They did, but I don’t know if they had it in Ireland,” he said. “But it’s some kind of edible leaf. There’s also a basket of grain and a bigger basket of oats.”
Destry put the leaves down and looked at the grain, scooping it up and letting it run through her fingers. “Barley,” she said. “I can try to make barley flour. It’s actually good to bake with.”
“That must be what Padraigan makes the bread from.”
Destry brushed her hands off. “Probably,” she said. “Are there carrots in there?”
There were. Carrots, very small onions, and turnips that were wilted. They came across dirty, strangely shaped radishes and a sack of dried green peas. There were also two chicken carcasses, wrapped up in cloth and stored under a table, and an earthenware dish covered with a cloth that Conor discovered to be bread dough, left to ferment. As it turned out, there was quite a bit of food in that crude little cottage.
“She must have a garden, don’t you think?” Destry said once they’d inventoried everything. “She seemed so paranoid about being seen that I can’t imagine she would go into town and shop for this stuff on a regular basis.”
Conor turned to the boys and asked them about a garden, to which they nodded their heads and indicated that it was somewhere outside.
“She has a garden,” Conor said to Destry. “Do you want to check it out?”
She shook her head. “There’s plenty of stuff to use here,” she said. “Do you think she’ll mind?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “She’ll probably appreciate it.”
Destry started to roll her sleeves up. “Then let’s get started,” she said. “I need to find whatever she uses to make flour with. Some kind of stone or mortar and pestle, I would think. Or even just a couple of rocks. Anything hard.”
Conor began to look around him for something like that. “I’ll see if I can find it,” he said. “But remember that this won’t be like cooking on your stove at home. This is like cooking over a campfire. It’s pretty rustic if you’re not used to it.”
Destry shrugged. “If this is where we’re going to live out the rest of our lives, then I need to get used to it,” she said. “If I try to integrate a little, it’ll be easier. Maybe I won’t feel so disoriented. I really need to be doing something productive.”
He was glad to hear that she was being logical about it. “Then do what makes you happy, sweetheart,” he said, a glimmer of warmth in his eye. “I’ll be here every step of the way.”
She gave him a half grin. “To help me grind flour?”
His eyes narrowed, but it was with humor. “Are you telling me that you want me to do woman’s work?”
“I want you to put those enormous muscles to work, big boy.”
He chuckled, pulling her against him and kissing her on the top of the head as she went to work. In fact, she seemed rather eager about it now that she was focused on something industrious, and he let her do her thing.
The first order of business was to find a pot for her stock, and Destry spied a big iron cauldron tucked in the corner of the hearth. It was old and dusty, but after thoroughly wiping it out, Conor hung the thing on the arm over the fire for her because it was quite heavy.
“I need clean water, and lots of it,” Destry told him. “I also need any herbs there might be around here—thyme would be great. Rosemary and dill, too. Anything at all. Do you think the boys would know if any of that is around here?”
Conor brushed his hands off and stood up from the hearth. “I’ll find out,” he said, grabbing Mattock by the shoulder and steering him toward the door. “We’ll go hunt down some herbs and anything else you can use. Will you be okay while we wander around?”
“Of course.”
Mattock opened the door into the yard beyond, and Conor grasped Devlin, leading the boy outside after his brother. That left Destry alone with sleeping Slane.
She had to get organized.
*
Padraigan could smell something cooking.
Approaching the settlement from the west, she could smell it through the trees.
It had taken some fancy footwork for her to return home.
As always, the white witch was terrified that she would be followed from the village. That had been her fear on the first day of Conor’s banishment, and it continued to now. Even though the Ciannachta army had dwindled because of a dislike for their new king, there were still those who served Geric and would know her on sight. The flock of ravens was always a particular threat. The last thing she wanted was to be followed, and any time she went into the village, she always went to great lengths to ensure her safety and the safety of the boys she protected upon her return home.
But there seemed to be more of a sense of apprehension since Conor had returned. Up until that point in time, there had been caution and there had been anxiety, but there had also been hope. Hope that the king would return and restore the land and its people. That hope was fulfilled yesterday, but now, the white witch found herself with a new set of worries.
The fear that the king would be discovered before he could regain his throne.
From the village by the sea, there was a road that went straight west, and it was that road that Padraigan usually took to and from the town. Her little settlement was about five miles from the village, south of the road and buried in an area that most people stayed away from. There were ancient mounds in the area, and the superstitious townsfolk were afraid to venture too far into the verdant and mysterious land, which was exactly why she had chosen it.
Shortly after Conor and Destry had been banished, Geric sent out patrols to hunt for the king’s white witch and his three sons, who were of great concern to him. As long as the boys lived, there was always a chance of rebellion, so Padraigan had learned to hide them well and cover her tracks whenever she was traveling.
She had no reason to believe that she could let up her guard, even a year later.
Therefore, it took quite some time to travel back to her abode because of all the safety measures she had to take. Out of necessity, she had to take the road west, but there were smaller paths that branched off from the road, livestock trails, and she used those to travel. She went south and then west and then south again, and then north for a short way, and then she would pause and wait to see if anybody had been following her. Usually, she would wait at least an hour, and when no one appeared, she would continue west hurriedly.
Today she had followed her usual path—west and then south, and then west again and then south again. She had crossed over streams and through meadows and into thickets that were so dense that it was nearly impossible to break through them. Her little settlement was planted strategically in the midst of several ancient structures, and over the course of the year she had used spells to shield the dwellings from prying eyes.
That did not work, however, with all creatures. That had been demonstrated by the demon that visited them last night. That wasn’t the first time one of those demons had come, but thankfully, they weren’t too frequent, as those creatures had been greatly dwindling in number over the years. They were hunted and skinned. Soon, they would be no more, but it couldn’t be soon enough for Padraigan.
Now that the afternoon was beginning to wane, Padraigan knew that she was close to the cottage. Even though she knew by the landmarks around her, she would have known that there was a home nearby simply from the scent in the air. Somebody was cooking, and she suspected that it was her queen. She had known Etain since they were children, and she knew that the woman was quite conscientious. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. In fact, when she was queen, Etain had taken an active role in managing her husband’s kitchens. Padraigan knew that the queen liked to feed her family well, and even if Destry did not remember her life as a queen, there was something deep inside that did. There was something deep down that was awakening in her.
The smell in the air was evidence of that.
But so was something else.
As Padraigan drew near, she began to hear voices in the bramble.
At first, she was leery and came to a halt. But listening for a couple of moments told her that she recognized at least some of the voices. Then a deeper voice chimed in, and she recognized that one as well. Cautiously, she stepped through the brush and into a clearing that was full of flora and fauna.
It was also full of people.
Mattock’s head popped up as she came through. He was bent over something, as was Devlin, with Conor standing behind them. Three pairs of eyes were suddenly looking at her, and she smiled.
“I see that you are all quite busy,” she said. “Are you hunting for something?”
“Herbs,” Conor said, scratching his cheek where an insect was crawling. “Destry is making a meal, and she asked for herbs. I thought the boys would know where to find them.”
Padraigan’s smile broadened. “I thought I smelled something,” she said. “But our great queen does not need to lower herself to the cooking duties. I will happily continue the task.”
Conor shook his head. “She needs to feel useful,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “We’ve only been here a short time, and she’s still not sure of everything. Feeling useful keeps her mind off our situation.”
Padraigan understood. “And she does not know our tongue,” she said. “That must be very difficult.”
“It is, but we were teaching her some words this morning,” Conor said. “She is very intelligent. She’ll learn.”
“Then let me remind her, great king,” Padraigan said. “Everything she was is buried deep inside her. It is still there, but it must be coaxed forth. When she sleeps tonight, I will sing to her. She will remember that which has been forgotten.”
Conor’s brow furrowed. “Sing to her?” he repeated, but then it occurred to him what she meant. “You mean magic? You’ll cast some kind of spell?”
Padraigan nodded. “The song of poets,” she said. “It will help her remember.”
Conor wasn’t sure what to say to that. He was trying very hard to accept what had happened to him, but when it came to her sorcery, he was still hesitant—even after he saw her transform his sons back into their original state. He accepted what had happened in a scientific sort of way, whatever the explanation could be, but believing it was something pulled out of thin air was altogether different. This king, the one who had been through so much, thought differently from the old Conor.
Padraigan sensed that.
“Let us finish gathering what our great queen needs,” she said, shifting the subject of her sorcery. “What may I help with?”
Conor shrugged, watching the boys pick green plants and leaves out of the earth. “We’re looking for the herbs and anything else she can cook with,” he said. “Garlic, onions… anything like that.”
Padraigan began to plow back into the bramble, pushing it away enough to expose a little patch of earth and what looked like thick grass growing out of it.
“This is where I find much of our food to sustain us,” she said, ripping out the thick grass, which turned out to be wild chives. “Your sons know this, and that is why they have brought you here. I keep a garden of vegetables close by, but for the wild things, we know where to come.”
She was tearing out quite a bit of the wild onions and handing them over to Mattock, who was collecting everything by using the front of his tunic as a basket. “These are leeks,” she said. “There is more over here.”
She seemed to know everything, so Conor followed along as she ripped things out of the earth and put it in Mattock’s tunic-basket. There was feathery dill, spikey rosemary, chives, leeks, and other things to use in a stewpot. She directed the boys to gather certain things, and when Mattock’s tunic was full, she instructed them to hurry back to the cottage so their mother could use the ingredients. She and Conor followed behind at a leisurely pace.
“I wanted to send them ahead, great lord, because I must speak with you,” she said quietly. “I saw Auley. He is coming to see you at dawn on the morrow.”
Conor looked at her. “Auley?”
Padraigan nodded. “Auley Bannan,” she said, realizing he had no clue who she was talking about. “He was the man who commanded your army. No man shouts as loud as Auley. He was much revered by your men. Do you not remember the name?”
Conor was trying hard to. “Maybe it will come to me,” he said. “Were we friends?”
“The closest,” Padraigan said. “There are two more men he is going to seek. One is a warrior who would carry out your orders without question, a man who is more muscle than brains, but he would walk through fire for you. His name is Brone.”
That name didn’t sound familiar to Conor either, but he nodded as if it did. “Brone,” he repeated. “I won’t forget that. You said there were three?”
Padraigan nodded. “The third is your high warrior. His name is Bradaigh mac Neil, and he is the finest warrior Eire has ever seen. He was like a brother to you. I am confident he shall be again. But these men are the most powerful in the kingdom, next to you, and Geric knows this. When you were banished, the three of them chose to flee rather than serve him. They will serve only you. I am certain you can imagine how furious this makes your brother.”
Conor lifted his eyebrows. “I am coming to suspect there is a great deal about me that infuriates him,” he said. “The deeper we get into this… this situation, the more I’m coming to realize how serious this all is.”
“It is, great lord,” Padraigan said firmly. “It is serious, and it is dangerous. That is why we must be so careful with things even as usual as cooking smells.”
“What do you mean?”
Padraigan sniffed the air. “I could smell whatever my lady is cooking even from far away,” she said. “I do not roast meat openly. Other than smoke from the cooking fire, I try not to prepare anything that can give us away.”
Conor inhaled. “I only smell smoke from the fire.”
“I smell boiling chicken carcasses.”
He looked at her curiously. “You do?”
She nodded. “And now she intends to add herbs to that? It will smell also.”
Conor appeared regretful. “I didn’t think of that,” he said. “Should we throw it all out and bury it?”
Padraigan shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “To dispose of it would be to waste it—but we must be more careful in the future.”
Conor understood. Such was the way of his new world.
The cottage was coming into view now. They could hear the boys’ voices because the door was open, and they were clearly excited about their bountiful harvest. As Conor and Padraigan approached, they could see Destry standing just inside the door, taking plants and leaves and things out of Mattock’s tunic. She was laying everything on the crude table as Padraigan caught Devlin’s attention and instructed the boy to feed the animals for the night. As the middle son ran off, Mattock finished cleaning out his tunic-basket and shook it out of any dirt and debris, before going to stand next to Destry as she examined everything on the table.
“This is lovely,” she said, though he only understood her smile. Picking up the chives, she inhaled deeply. “God, what a gorgeous smell. These are spectacular.”
By this time, Conor had entered the cottage, as had Padraigan. He put his hand on Mattock’s shoulder.
“The boys knew just where to go,” he said. “Padraigan called those onions leeks, but I think they’re just chives. I think ‘leek’ is a catch-all term for anything onion.”
“They smell wonderful,” Destry said. “But what’s this?”
She was holding up what looked like a spring onion, and Conor took a sniff. “That’s wild garlic,” he said. “Smell it.”
She did, thrilled with the onions and garlic that had been brought back. She picked through the herbs, rinsing them and roughly cutting them before tossing them into the pot along with the garlic and onions. As Padraigan moved around in another chamber, Destry was in her element boiling the chicken carcasses with the wild herbs. It would make a rich and satisfying broth.
As the sun began to set and the boys went about their chores, including Slane when he woke up from his nap, Conor pulled up a stool next to Destry and watched her as she stirred the boiling stockpot and tended the fire. There was warmth in his expression while he observed as she, in her own words, made herself feel useful.
Possibly feeling as if she’d done this before, once.
Like for him, ancient memories were finally beginning to stir.
“You look very comfortable doing this,” he said softly.
She looked up from putting another piece of wood on the fire. “Do I?” she said, grinning. “I’ve never cooked over an open flame. Not even a barbeque.”
“Why not? I hear they barbeque a lot in California.”
She laughed. “They do, but barbeque is a man’s domain,” she said. “My father never let me when I lived at home, and I just never did it when I lived on my own. This is all new to me.”
“You’re doing a good job.”
She shrugged as she looked back at the bubbling pot. “I hope the stock is good,” she said. “I still need to find something to grind the barley into flour. Maybe Padraigan has something I can use.”
He sat forward on the stool, his elbows resting on his knees. “Speaking of Padraigan, she told me a couple of things,” he said. “The first is that she evidently found one the men who used to serve me, and he’s supposed to be here in the morning. And the second is that she doesn’t cook using anything smelly, like onions and garlic and stuff.”
“She doesn’t?” Destry said, confused. “But that food was in the baskets.”
“I know,” he said. “But maybe she just eats it raw. I really don’t know. She doesn’t cook it because the smells carry, and she doesn’t want the wrong people to find her hideaway.”
It was obvious that none of that had occurred to Destry. “Oh, crap,” she said, concerned. “I didn’t even think of that. Should I dump this out?”
He shook his head. “Finish it,” he said. “She thinks that we’re safe for now, but whatever you make should last us for a few days. No more cooking with smelly things.”
Destry looked around at the crude kitchen and everything in it. “But she made that chicken and barley stew we ate,” she said. “How did she cook the chicken?”
“She probably boiled it rather than roasted it,” he said. “In any case, we need to be careful. Smells carry.”
Destry nodded. “I will,” she said. “I’ll just boil everything from now on, I suppose. But what about stuff like baking bread? That smells for miles.”
“We’ll have to ask Padraigan what she does.”
The last thing Destry wanted was for them to be discovered. Based on what she’d been told, that would be catastrophic, so discovering that even cooking was dangerous for them dampened her enthusiasm to feel useful.
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “But let me get the rest of this out of the way so we have something to eat tonight. Will you ask her about flour or something to grind up the barley with?”
He nodded and rose from the stool. “Sure,” he said. “But one more thing.”
“What?”
“Padraigan says that she’s going to sing to you tonight after you go to sleep and teach you Gaelic.”
Destry snorted. “Seriously?” she said. “So I’ll dream about it and wake up speaking it?”
“Something like that.”
Destry didn’t seem to give too much credence to that. “If true, that would be awesome,” she said. “I’d like to speak to the boys. And I’d like to understand what’s being said. But teaching me in my sleep? I don’t know about that.”
He rested his big fists on his hips. “Why not?” he said. “You saw her make the boys out of dwarves. I wouldn’t discount anything she says too much.”
The smile faded from Destry’s face. “Do you really think she can do it?”
“I suppose we’ll find out,” he said. “If we’re going to live the rest of our lives here, then you’d better know the language.”
He turned to find Padraigan, but Destry stopped him. “Conor,” she said. “Do you really think we’re going to live the rest of our lives here?”
He paused. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said. “For now, we’re here. There seems to be a reason why we’re here. I know it’s difficult to comprehend that we’ve really gone back in time, but for now, that’s where we seem to be.”
Destry took a long, deep breath and stood up, wooden spoon in hand. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Maybe there’s a medical explanation for all of this.”
“Like what?”
“Like we’re both suffering from some kind of hallucination.”
“Just the two of us?”
Destry shrugged. “Maybe being in that mound and then something violent happening has somehow put us both into some state of unconsciousness where we’re imagining all of this. Like a shared dream.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Have you ever heard of anything like that? Ever?”
She shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “But people who take hallucinogens tend to feed off one another and create a kind of shared hallucination. The power of suggestion is strong.”
He didn’t want to completely discount her, but he couldn’t agree with her. “I think that might be a little far-fetched.”
“No more than going back in time,” she pointed out. “No more than the woman in the other room making little boys out of dwarves. This is all far-fetched, Conor. All of it.”
She was getting worked up, and he went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders to ease her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to call you crazy. But I’m not sure a shared hallucination is really possible.”
“Why not?”
He moved his hands down her arms until they came to her fingers. He held them up, kissing them. Even the one still holding the spoon.
“Because this is real,” he said softly, taking the spoon from her hand and setting it on the table. “Your flesh is real. I didn’t imagine or dream or hallucinate making love to you, Des. You are the most real thing I’ve ever touched. What has happened to us is real, and we just have to make sure we survive it.”
Those were the magic words, as far as she was concerned. We have to make sure we survive it.
Destry sighed heavily. “Yesterday when Padraigan was so eager to get us away from the mound, I thought she was crazy,” she said. “But everything that she’s told you… I was afraid yesterday. Today, I’m trying not to think about it, but when you tell me that smells carry and I have to be careful with what I cook, and that there are men out there looking for us… God, Conor, I am fucking terrified. I hate using that word, but I really am. I just want to go home, but we have no home to go to. Right now, this is home, and evidently, everyone around here wants us dead.”
She was starting to get agitated again, and he pulled her over to one of the rustic chairs and sat down with her on his lap.
“Listen to me,” he said quietly, his head against hers. “It’s natural to be afraid. After everything that’s happened to us in such a short span of time, it’s a miracle that both of us aren’t shut up in a closet somewhere, losing our minds. We both acknowledge that this whole situation is terrifying and disorienting, but panicking about it will not solve the problem. I know you get that. Right?”
Destry was verging on tears by this point, but she nodded. “I do.”
“Logic and reason are the only thing that’s going to help. Right?”
She nodded again, reluctantly. “Right.”
He kissed her cheek. “You’re strong,” he said. “You’re strong and resilient. Instead of looking at this as being a terrifying situation, look at it the way I’m trying to look at it.”
“How’s that?”
He squeezed her gently. “That we’re here for a reason,” he said. “You read books about this kind of thing. Fantasy books. You see fantasy movies about time travel. But it really happened to us, which means the universe or God or whatever you believe in has singled us out for something really important. You and me, two people who didn’t even know each other last week. We’re meant to be here, Des. We just have to find out what the reason is, because whatever it is, it’s damn important. Would you agree with that?”
Destry took a deep breath. “I would,” she said. “That all makes a lot of sense.”
“Good,” he said. “So just keep that in mind whenever you’re feeling scared. Something put us here, and I don’t think we’re meant to die. Why put us here just to get us killed?”
She looked at him then. “That’s true,” she said. “But according to Padraigan, there are people out to kill us.”
He snorted softly. “If we can’t outlast or outsmart guys from the Middle Ages, then we’re not worth much,” he said. “We’re smart, educated, and strong. And I know something else.”
“What?”
“That I can’t do this without you,” he said, pulling her close. “I need your strength and your level head. I need the feeling I get when you look at me with a twinkle in your eye. Maybe I haven’t known you all that long, but my soul has. And the memories are coming back.”
She broke down in a grin, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. He gave her a big squeeze, burying his face in the crook of her neck, taking a few moments simply to savor her. It was becoming more natural with each passing moment, the two of them together, in each other’s arms.
What Conor said was absolutely correct—memories were coming back. Their spirits knew one another, more and more by the minute.
Destry finally pulled away from him and stood up. She squared her shoulders and grabbed her wooden spoon again.
“That’s the second time you’ve given me a pep talk like that, and there won’t be a third,” she said. “I’ll be okay. Let me finish what I’m cooking, and tomorrow, your men are coming here. That’s the next step in all of this.”
“It is,” he said. “We’ll find out what’s really going on and what I need to do in order to get my kingdom back.”
Destry smiled again. “Kingdom,” she murmured. “Doesn’t it feel weird saying that? Weird but also… right.”
He nodded as he stood up. “It feels normal,” he said. “I feel like I belong, Des. You will, too. I know you will.”
Destry put her hand to his cheek, watching him kiss it. “I’m sure of it,” she said. “But I know something else.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t do this without you, either.”
He broke down in a grin, pulling her against him and kissing her tenderly. They were interrupted when the cottage door opened and the boys returned. With their chores finished, they were looking for food and possibly entertainment from their father, and begged for stories before the evening meal was served. Conor complied, but not before he asked Padraigan for something to grind the grain with, and she produced a stone bowl and a long stone, items that were well used. Once it was all explained to her, she understood clearly what Destry wanted to do.
As Conor told the boys stories of ancient warriors, Destry and Padraigan made flour and then mixed it with eggs and milk, making dumplings, which were boiled in the stock that Destry had made. Destry felt oddly comfortable with Padraigan working at her side, as if they’d done it before, perhaps countless times. There was a level of friendship there that was difficult to describe, but Destry could feel it. Even if she couldn’t communicate with the small woman, it was as if she didn’t really have to. She knew her.
Once, we were as sisters, Padraigan had said.
Somehow, Destry wasn’t feeling so lost and disoriented after all.
Later that night, after an excellent meal of dumplings, bread, and more boiled eggs, Destry drifted off to sleep with Slane sleeping beside her and the other boys at her feet. Conor, however, deliberately remained awake because he wanted to see how Padraigan was going to sing the song of poets and teach Destry their language as she slept.
He had to admit, he was a little skeptical.
As he stood in the doorway and watched, Padraigan lay down next to Destry as she snored softly, and then began humming a tune that Conor had never heard before. Soon, she was whispering lyrics along with the tune, only Conor realized that she was murmuring incantations—odd, echoing incantations that seemed to come from the very walls, as if the cottage itself was singing. He even put his hand on the wall and, sure enough, could feel the vibration.
It was the strangest thing he’d ever witnessed.
The casting went on well into the night. Conor ended up sitting at the table, listening to the song, but the wait proved to be too much, and he laid his head on the table and promptly fell asleep.
When morning came, he awoke next to Destry with no memory of how he’d gotten there. Padraigan was gone and the sun was peeking in. As he yawned and tried to remember how he’d gotten there, Destry rolled over, stretched, and promptly smacked him on the head. Distressed, she quickly sat up and put a gentle hand where she’d hit him.
“ Tá brón orm, ” she said. I’m sorry.
It didn’t even occur to her she’d said it in Gaelic, but Conor was blown away.
More mystery from a land that seemed to be full of it.