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églantine

Issylte peered through the thick oak branches which concealed the ivy-covered cottage.

A glow of fire or candlelight illuminated the two windows on either side of the carved wooden entrance door.

Smoke trailed from the chimney of the thatched roof, the enticing aroma of food making her mouth water.

Her scratched face stung as the temperature of the spring evening plummeted with nightfall.

Crisp woodsmoke promised the welcome of warmth as the trail of wild roses beckoned her to the door.

She sheathed the dagger Lord Cian had given her to the strap at her ankle and removed the gold ring from the bodice of her gown. The pulse of the forest pushed her forward. Issylte knocked hesitantly upon the front door.

A white-haired woman with skin like crinkled parchment paper appeared, a wary regard in her seasoned eye. “Yes, my lady? Have you lost your way in these woods?”

Issylte stood trembling on the witch’s doorstep—filthy, exhausted, injured and alone. Radiant firelight emanated from the warm cottage behind the open door. A delicious scent wafted from the simmering pot over the blazing hearth.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” Issylte stammered, glancing down at her feet.

“I was told to come here. That you might help me. To offer you this ring as payment for shelter.” Issylte outstretched her palm, where the jewel glinted in the golden light.

“Please help me. I have nowhere else to go,” she implored the wizened witch.

****

On the other side of the entrance door, Maiwenn’s keen eye took in the fine quality of the girl’s gown, the elegance of her embroidered cape, the courtly manner of her speech.

The fairy witch searched the forest behind the intruder but saw no one.

She opened the door wider, allowing the girl to enter.

She closed and bolted the door and helped the visitor remove her cloak, which she hung on a hook in the corner of the tiny entrance foyer.

Taking the basket from the girl’s hand, Maiwenn glimpsed a glittering gold coronet, adorned with emeralds; a half-eaten apple; some groseille berries ; and a garland wreath of wild pink roses.

She set the parcel down on the table in the small kitchen and led the frightened girl toward the welcoming hearth. She wrapped a warm woolen blanket around her visitor’s shoulders and seated her in a well-worn chair before the crackling fire. The poor girl was trembling.

“Sit down, my dear. You are tired and cold. Warm yourself before the fire. My name is Maiwenn, and you are welcome here in my humble cottage.”

The fairy witch went into her tidy kitchen and lowered two ceramic mugs from her wooden cupboard.

She measured some herbs from a small jar on the shelf, placing the mixture into the two cups.

Wrapping a thick towel around her gnarled hand, Maiwenn lifted a kettle from the fireplace and poured steaming water over the herbs.

She retrieved the basked by the front door and placed it on the table in front of her guest seated before the hearth. Maiwenn then returned to the kitchen and fetched the two mugs. Offering one to the girl, and keeping one for herself, she sat down beside her guest in front of the welcoming fire.

“Drink this, my child. It’s chamomile tea. In my native Bretagne , a cup of herbal tea like this is called a tisane. Its warmth will soothe you, and the herbs will calm your nerves, as you explain to me why the Emerald Princess has appeared this evening at my doorstep.”

The girl looked at her in astonishment. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are, my dear. You are the Princess Issylte, the only child of King Donnchadh. Everyone knows and loves the Emerald Princess. And, it would seem, you are beloved by the Little Folk as well.”

“The Little Folk?” inquired Issylte, sipping her tisane.

The girl seemed to luxuriate in the warmth of the blanket and the fire. Maiwenn smiled inwardly and nodded.

“Yes, the Little Folk. Some call them the forest fairies; to others, they are the Old Ones— the small woodland creatures who protect those with a pure heart, such as yourself.”

Maiwenn set her cup down on the small table and assessed the lovely blonde girl. Her pitiful face was badly scratched, caked with dried blood. She would need to clean it and apply some of her comfrey salve. That would be soothing and ease the sting. She had some on her bedroom table.

“You might have spotted them in the forest.” The fairy witch picked up the basket and peered inside at the rustic garland of wild roses. She chuckled at the half-eaten apple and red groseilles still in the panier. “It does appear that you enjoyed their gifts.”

The girl’s dark green eyes glowed in the firelight.

She nodded emphatically, her blond hair falling over her shoulder, down her arm.

“Yes, I did see something in the forest. I felt as if I were being watched—and followed. I even imagined hearing the voices of children whispering in the woods. It must have been the Little Folk that you described.”

Maiwenn chuckled warmly. “Indeed it was, child. I am certain they followed you, covering your tracks, and guiding you here to me. They will protect you in this enchanted Hazelwood Forest, as they have me, for many years.”

She removed the garland of wildflowers from the basket, running her bony, gentle fingers over the small pink blossoms.

“In Bretagne , these wild roses are called églantines. Here in Ireland, they’re called “sweetbriar” or “briar rose”.

She peered at the distraught girl, who seemed a bit more relaxed, snuggled in the warm blanket, comforted by the chamomile tisane . The fairy witch rose to her feet and placed the garland upon Issylte’s head as if it were a crown.

Maiwenn kissed the top of the girl’s head. “The Wild Rose of the Hazelwood Forest,” she mused, a wide grin crinkling her soft, wrinkled cheeks.

She sat down beside Issylte, whose golden hair glistened in the firelight.

“Let me tend to your wounds, dear . I have a healing ointment that will ease the pain. I’ll be right back.”

Maiwenn tenderly washed Issylte’s torn skin with homemade soap made from wild roses and yarrow, sponging it with a soft, clean cloth and warm water from a basin.

She meticulously applied the healing salve—a soothing blend of rosemary, comfrey, and cedar—murmuring words of comfort with her gentle, knowing touch.

“Thank you very much, Maiwenn My face hardly hurts anymore.” The princess smiled gratefully and took a sip of her tisane as the fairy witch cleared away her herbal soap and medicine, pleased that the girl seemed less frightened.

Maiwenn headed to the fireplace, wrapped her hand once again in the thick cloth, and removed a lid from the pot which was simmering over the hearth. A tantalizing aroma wafted into the room.

“Rabbit stew, with fresh herbs and vegetables from my garden—which I will show you tomorrow.” She grinned at Issylte, cocooned in the blanket before the warm embers of the fire.

The old woman heaped a ladle full of the thick stew into two earthenware bowls and placed them upon a small table against the far wall of the cottage, nestled behind the seating area of the hearth.

She then set two spoons, the two cups of tisane and two goblets, into which she poured some fresh water from a pitcher.

She fetched the remainder of a loaf of fresh bread and brought two small jars from the small kitchen, placing them upon the table as well.

Satisfied with the simple yet appetizing display, she flashed a welcoming smile at Issylte.

“Come, dear princess, sit here with me. Let’s eat, for you must be famished.”

Maiwenn seated the girl at the table across from her and watched in delight as she dug into the savory rabbit stew.

“Mmmm,” she hummed contentedly. “This is delicious!”

“I am very glad you enjoy it. While you eat, I will tell you a bit about myself so that we can get better acquainted.”

She offered the girl the nutty bread, the pot of fresh butter churned from goat’s milk, and a bit of honey from the small jar.

Issylte joyously accepted them all. Maiwenn smiled as the princess buttered the bread, poured honey over the top, and bit into the delicious confection, licking the sweet golden ooze from her lips with obvious glee.

“I have lived in this cottage for nearly forty years,” Maiwenn began, her voice filled with nostalgic love.

“My late husband Pierrick built it for us when we first came to Ireland all those years ago. At the time, King Tuathal—your grandfather—was expanding the castle and had commissioned the construction of the north tower. Since my Pierrick was an experienced stone mason, we came to Ireland for the stability of the work.”

Maiwenn ate some of her rabbit stew and sipped her chamomile tisane. Her tone became sorrowful.

“We lost our beautiful daughter Solenn and her husband Donall—may the Goddess bless their souls—twenty years ago, when our grandson Branoc was just three years old. We raised him in this cottage with us, and he now lives in the village with his young wife. He comes to visit when he can, chopping wood for my fireplace, helping me tend to the animals. Tomorrow, I will introduce you to my hens and goat, and show you my workshop where I make my herbal tinctures and ointments. I’ll teach you how to make them.

And the sweet-smelling soap with wild roses and yarrow. ”

She smiled at the princess, who had devoured every bite of the stew and was soaking up the broth with the crust of her bread. Maiwenn sat back in her chair and gazed into the expressive emerald eyes that now beheld her with apparent satisfaction and gratitude.

“Now, my dear, it’s your turn to tell me why King Donnchadh’s beloved daughter was wandering alone—in the dark—in the midst of the enchanted Hazelwood Forest.”