Page 21 of Dorchad

“The widow Eilish sent me to you, Heremon,” she said, abandoning any pretense of haughtiness and attempting instead to appear humble. “I’ve need of some special herbs to heal a rash of ravishment, and shall pay you well.”

His rheumy gaze drifted down the front of her body. “You’ve grandgore, then?”

The snide sound of his voice made her stiffen. “A brigand set upon me in the forest–” Before she could finish he started to go back inside. “Wait. Aye, I do. Give me the cure, please, I beg you.”

He stood and held open the door, and Malvina forced herself to go inside the dark, smelly cottage. Yet as soon as she did the stink vanished, and she found herself standing in a cozy little home with a crackling hearth and a carved wooden table set for two.

“Sit down, my lady,” the old herbalist said, now appearing bathed and dressed in clean garments. His eyes twinkled at her as he added, “We’ll share a brew and speak on your illness first.”

He used some sort of magic to make his cottage and his person seem more or less repulsive, she thought, shuddering over the fact that she didn’t know which was the real man. If she demanded to know the reason for his ruse, he would likely toss her out, so she perched on one of the benches and watched him pour a fragrant, steaming brew into two mugs.

It smelled like a mint tea with spice added, making her nose wrinkle again. “Shall your lady wife join us?”

“I’m unwed, my lady.” He set one of the brews in front of her. “Drink, and ’twill calm you.”

Nothing did that, but she made herself take a sip to appease him. The brew tasted of mint and some delicious peppery herbs, an odd combination that made her tension melt away. She didn’t trust the auldjin, of course, but at least he was treating her as a guest. Most men only saw her as her husband’s toy or a hoor to fack in the shadows.

“My only cure for grandgore shall render you barren, my lady,” Heremon said. “It shall also cause you to fall sick for threeday. You must be certain you desire such before you take it, for you cannae change your mind after. Your husband need never ken.”

For a long moment she was tempted to tell him to keep the medicine and take her chances with Beiste. Yet the prospect of never again worrying about pregnancy appealed to her. Considering the brute who had married her need never know that she was the cause, it might even be amusing to ask him to give her a bairn, if only to watch him fail time and again.

“I neednae bairns, and wish but to live. Give it to me,” Malvina told him.

The herbalist nodded and got up to walk across the room to a large cabinet with many drawers. From it he took several packets, and he did not take care with removing them. Indeed, for a few minutes he slung about his stores with greatly impatient hands. Emptying several ingredients into a wooden mortar, he ground them together with a stone pestle, murmuring under his breath as he did. He then emptied the resulting sparkling mixture into a leather pouch and tied it tightly with a string.

“’Tis best to take them in water at dawn. Drink all down, and an hour after the pox marks shall vanish.” He handed her the pouch. “You shall suffer some belly ache for threeday after, which you may blame on your moon time. ’Twill also keep your husband at bay until the sores vanish on the fourth day.”

For the first time Malvina wondered just who had infected her. Could her husband be the culprit? “What if the sores come back again?”

“Never shall they. Nor shall you give them to your husband.” He looked into her eyes. “You may even go on bedding pox-riddled men. They cannae sicken you with their disease again.”

Her hands shook as she brought out her purse. “How much do you wish for the cure, then?”

Heremon shook his head. “I dinnae desire gold, my lady. ’Tis my duty to aid the afflicted like you.”

Malvina thought him a fool, but at least this way she could put back the coin she’d stolen from her husband’s cache. “Very well. My thanks for your aid, auldjin.”

His thin beard bristled as he gave her an odd, toothy smile. “May the Gods watch over you, my lady.”

Dorchad watched Rebecca turn away and hurry after the maid who had brought her out onto the gallery above the lists. With the men now dispersing and his morning duties finished he could go after the annoying wench and learn why she couldnae keep away from him. Would he be obliged to drag her down to the dungeons and scare her into confessing her secrets?

The prospect of doing exactly that made his body hum with a heated, disgraceful aching that he’d not suffered since boyhood.

He left the lists but went to the one place where Rebecca could not intrude, the garrison hall, and there visited the archive to pull the maps the clan had made of the island before building Gealladh. Because the archive chamber had been kept dry the old scrolls had not yet begun to brown, but the edges had developed cracks from being unrolled and rolled that would soon cause the parchment to crumble.

Why doesnae that wench keep away from me? He couldn’t imagine her reason for spying on and tag-tailing after him.

Stretching out the most detailed map on a scroll stand, Dorchad studied the land features of the island that the clan had occupied more than a century past. At the time, Tair had been seeking a location that would prevent mortals from settling near their planned stronghold. The owner of Loch Caillte had died without a direct heir, and his kin had no interest in relocating to the highlands. After purchasing the loch and its island for a reasonable price, the MacRunes built Gealladh. His memories of that time remained vivid, for he and Sgathan had only just agreed to join their half-brothers to form a clan.

Outsiders shallnae meddle in our affairs any longer, the laird had assured him as the men had begun clearing the center of the island for the stronghold’s foundations. Here we may dwell in peace.

Already realizing the many ways in which their sire’s dark Fae blood had corrupted them, Dorchad had been less convinced. You reckon we halflings shall ever ken such?

If ’tis what we desire, aye. Tair’s gaze had turned faraway as he looked out at the horizon. We maynae live as mortals do, but together we shall find purpose.

It had taken time, and great effort, but eventually the laird had proven correct. The MacRune now lived happier than they ever had in the past, and had purpose and a home that no one could take from them. Only now and then were they reminded that they would never be like the mortals of this realm.

“Chieftain.” Janys appeared beside him. “My apologies again for my misdeeds in the lists.”