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“Ach, do nae let a man worry you so, lass,” Alesoun says, while inspecting the drying herbs that she has strung along the back of her home.
“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head in denial then crying out in pain when a splinter stabs into my palm. As I try to pull the painful splinter out of my hand, I realize she assumed it’s a man. I turn my attention to her instead. “How do you know it’s a man?”
“Ach, only a man could make a lass as upset as you are.”
I storm off the stool and go to the door. Stopping, I hold my hand up and inspect the splinter then try to push it out.
“It’s not him. I’m not letting him bother me.”
Alesoun looks over her shoulder with an arched eyebrow.
“Aye?”
“I’m not!” I run my fingers through my hair until I hit a knot I don’t want to even try to work out.
Alesoun continues staring, waiting for me to agree. My finger throbs as I struggle to meet her eyes.
“It’s not him.” I pout but I can’t hold the lie. “Well, not only him.”
“Then what else is it, lass?”
I shrug, unable to meet her steady, knowing gaze.
“The other women in the village,” I say. “They all but called me a witch. The one older gal told me that the devil had idle hands or something. Then Duncan asked if I was a witch. Which I’m not. What do I know of witchcraft, or spells, or whatever?”
I wave my hands in the air, but Alesoun makes the sign of the cross, reminding me how serious this subject is to her and the people of this village. How deadly this idea can be in this time where I don’t belong.
I study the splinter that is still stuck, but it does seem to be moving. I press underneath it, pushing and working the skin to try and get it out.
“What do ya expect them to think, lass?” she asks. She comes over and takes my hand in hers, raising it up to inspect my palm. She makes a tsk sound then pulls a small knife from the folds of her skirt, the same one she uses to harvest herbs. I try to jerk my hand back, but her grip is surprisingly strong. “Ach, let me work.”
Gritting my teeth, I look away as she presses the point of the knife into my palm. It doesn’t hurt, but I really can’t stand the idea. A sharp knife poking into my flesh isn’t good at any time or place.
“It’s not fair,” I mutter, trying to push aside what she’s doing to my hand.
“Fair? What ’as fair to do with anything? Try to see what they see. You’re nae normal. You are odd and you were dressed in that outlandish outfit. All that before we even talk about you’re fae touched. Others sense that about you, whether they know that’s what they’re sensing or not, they do.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” I say. “Fae-touched? All I know is you say I am and that I ended up here. Somehow. It doesn’t matter unless I can figure out how I’m supposed to get back home.”
“Home,” she says as a sharp sting pricks my palm. I whimper but manage to keep myself from crying out. “Right. Tha’s one of the things ya need to stop saying. You’re here. Live in the moment. Besides, it’s nae only your strangeness that has them on edge.”
“It’s not? Then what is it?”
“Duncan, of course. Ya like him.”
“What? No. He’s nice, but that’s it. I can’t like him. I don’t belong here.”
“Ya might as well admit as much,” she says. “I’m nae blind. Nor are the women of the village. Why do you think Agnes has singled ya out? She does nae want Duncan making eyes at ya.”
“What, is she jealous?” I scoff. “I don’t want to be mean, but isn’t she a bit old for him?”
“Nae for her,” Alesoun says. “But she’s two daughters of her own and Duncan will make a fine provider for ’em.”
“God!” I regret my choice of exclamation as Alesoun’s eyes go wide and she hastily makes the sign of the cross.
“Do nae take the Lord’s name in vain in my house!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, remorse causing my heart to palpitate. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
