Page 10 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)
Chapter seven
A few minutes after they started walking, a cart rattled up behind them.
Arick’s shoulders dropped in relief. The woman wasn’t heavy, but he was fatigued from his night in the ocean, and he wasn’t looking forward to carrying her all the way to the city, especially with no boots.
He stepped to the side of the road and waited for the cart to slow.
The pretty little highland pony leading the cart immediately began scrounging for pockets of grass. The driver studied them, a pipe hanging from a corner of his mouth.
“Is it a ride you’re after, then?” he asked around the pipe.
Arick nodded in relief. “Please. We were caught in the storm last night, and Iskarraig is a far way to walk.”
“Aye, it is,” the man agreed, then turned back to face the road.
Arick took that as all the invitation he needed and hurried to the back of the cart.
It was half full of bundles, with just enough space for them to sit with their feet dangling off the edge.
He set the woman down and helped her swing her legs around.
Sitting didn’t seem to bother her, so he hoped the bumpy ride wouldn’t cause her undue pain.
He hoisted himself up beside her. Once he was settled, the driver muttered, “G’wan witcha,” and the little pony trotted off, seemingly unaffected by the additional burden.
Arick thought about striking up a conversation with the driver, but the man was content with his pipe, and the rocking of the cart lulled him into a stupor.
The rich, earthy scent of the tobacco blended with the wild perfume of heather on the nearby hills.
Beside him, the woman held onto the cart rail and stared at the world around them. She gasped at the first real bump, then giggled at the vibrations caused by the wooden bridge that spanned the little creek.
She pointed at the carpet of purple heather as they passed and exclaimed something. Arick wished he could understand her.
“She does speak, then, does she?” the driver commented with no expectation of a response.
A shaggy cow, with long white horns, lowed at them, and the woman watched it until it disappeared from view. After some time, she sank back against the bundles and appeared to doze. Arick contemplated doing the same, but his thoughts wouldn’t rest.
“Were there any reports of castaways out your way?” he asked.
The driver was silent so long he doubted his intention to answer at all. “On the hills, no. I dinnae think there’d be much chance of the storm blowing them that far.”
Arick laughed, but stayed quiet after that.
“Were you heading for the city, then?” The driver asked after some time.
Arick turned around to see the first structures coming into town.
The driver waved with his pipe. “It’s to the right I’m heading, at the wee crossroads.”
“That’s fine, thank you,” Arick replied. “The inn isn’t far.”
“Ach, if it’s to the Coorie Inn you’re going, then I can take you that far.”
“That would be immeasurably kind. Thank you, sir.”
A few minutes later, the cart slowed in front of the inn. Even at midday, the windows glowed bright with flickering lanterns, exuding a sense of warmth and hospitality. The building’s timeworn walls seemed to hold countless stories within their embrace.
Arick jumped down and lifted the woman in his arms. He set her on a bench near the oak door and returned to the cart.
“I’m sorry that I have no coin with me today, but if you find yourself at the castle, tell them Arick sent you, and they’ll see you’re adequately compensated.”
The driver gave him a hard look. “You’re the young laird, then.”
Arick squirmed. His brother was to have been the one to inherit their father’s title, and Arick was still adjusting to the fact that one day it would be his. “You’ve done me a great service, so I see no need for formality between us. You have my gratitude.”
The driver nodded, then removed the pipe from his mouth to point at the woman. “She’s an odd one, isn’t she?”
Arick shrugged, for he couldn’t deny it.
He thanked the man again and walked back over to the woman.
She looked small, sitting under the second story overhang, though there was a wild elegance to her.
Her pale skin and red curls stood out against the dark wooden shingles of the building.
Another cart trundled by, followed by a pair of riders on tall horses.
From the nearby dock came shouts as sailors and stevedores worked on a ship.
He pulled his gaze away. He could ask there later whether anyone had been pulled from the water, but he needed to take care of the woman first.
“Shall we go in?”
The tension in her shoulders fell away as she spotted him, and a slight smile played on her lips. He wondered why everything seemed so new and overwhelming to her, and he made a note to check with the harbormaster about whether any foreign ships had been due to arrive last night.
He lifted her and walked around the side of the inn. Although it wouldn’t be busy this time of day, it wasn’t appropriate for him to haul her through the public room, clad as she was in nothing but a piece of sail.
“Elsbeth!” He called at the back door. “Give a lad a hand, would you?”
“Enough of your hollerin’, I’m coming,” a harried voice snipped in reply.
The door pushed open to reveal an apron-ensconced woman. A tartan scarf covered most of her silver-streaked hair, but flour dusted scarf and braids alike. Her rich brown eyes opened wide when she spotted him.
“Arick, lad, what happened to you?” She bustled him and his burden into the kitchen and motioned to a bench where he could set the woman down. “Is she alright?”
“I think so. She’s not been able to tell me what’s wrong, but her feet hurt when she tries to walk.”
“What do you mean, she can’t tell you?”
He helped the woman settle on the bench and gave her a reassuring smile. “I think she speaks a different language.”
Elsbeth frowned. “How did you find her?”
“On the beach. We were shipwrecked in the storm last night.” He pressed his lips together, still angry that the storm had ruined what should have been a beautiful night. “Have you heard anything?”
Elsbeth stoked the fire and moved the teakettle closer. “Just that seven ships were lost, and who knows how many smaller boats.”
“Was anyone…?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but there were stories all morning of close escapes, and the usual tall tales of dolphins.” She pulled two teacups from the cupboard and set a strainer over one.
“Thomas?”
She gave him a soft look. “If your cousin were missing, you know there’d be an outcry up and down the island, and there’s been nothing. I’m sure he’s fine.”
His shoulders dropped in relief. He lifted the cloth covering the plate of cookies she always kept on the corner of the counter and took two. He handed one to the young woman — he really needed to figure out her name — and took a bite out of the other.
Elsbeth’s cookies were what he considered to be the best baked good in the seven kingdoms. The woman stared at it a minute, then looked at him.
After he took his bite, she nibbled at hers.
A look of concentration pulled her brows down as she tasted it.
Her eyes widened in delight, and she bit into the cookie with greater urgency.
Elsbeth poured the tea, adding honey and a generous helping of milk to each, an indulgence he was sure she only offered due to their disheveled appearances. She handed him one cup, then brought the other to the young woman.
“Arick!” she cried out. “What is she wearing?”
His ears burned, and he hid behind his teacup. “A sail.”
“A sail? You’re telling me you brought this poor creature into my kitchen and you didn’t even think to tell me she needed a dress?”
He mumbled his excuse into his cup. It was snatched from his hand before he could sip the soothing liquid.
“You bring her back to my rooms right this second.”
Knowing he wouldn’t get his tea back until he did, he obeyed. His punishment was being relegated to the kitchen bench as Elsbeth bustled back and forth to her private rooms at the rear of the inn, first with pitchers of hot water, then a tray laden with food.
He sipped his tea, wondering if it was safe to help himself to another cookie.
As he lifted the cloth, he spotted a plate on the kitchen table with a thick slice of brown bread dripping with honey.
Bless the woman. He stuffed a cookie into his mouth, and with a fresh cup of tea and his plate of bread, he returned to his bench.
When he was done, he set the plate and cup on the table and headed upstairs to his own room, where he’d been staying since his arrival in Toravik.
W hatever this round human food was, Sorcha wanted more. With each nibble, the buttery richness danced upon her tongue, complemented by a subtle sweetness. The texture, delicate yet satisfying, melted away in her mouth. The crumbs were the color of sand, but never had sand tasted so good.
Before she could ask for another, the woman started scolding the man, and then she was whisked away to another room.
It took a minute for her to figure out what the woman expected her to do with the hot water and the soft square of cloth, but she found it was soothing to wash away the salt and sand.
The clothing was a bigger concern, as she had no idea how to put all the various pieces on. In the end, the woman helped her, under the impression that Sorcha was too frail to do it herself.
The dress was too big and too short, but the woman tucked and pinned, chatting away as she worked.
Sorcha tried to stand a couple of times to make whatever the woman was trying to do easier, but she kept pushing her back down to sit on the bed.
The only time the woman paused was when she caught sight of the ribbon and pendant around her neck.
She stared at it, then shook her head, continuing on with her administrations.
At last she left her alone with a tray of strange-looking food.