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“Take this.” He handed it to Paige. “Keep it well hidden but within reach, should ye need it.”
Her brow wrinkled as she shook her head. “I don’t need that.”
“I pray ye don’t. But until we ken what we’re facin’ down there, I want ye tae have some protection. In case I cannae always be beside ye,” he reasoned.
Seeing her discomfort, he smiled, lifted her hand and placed it in her palm. “If our luck holds, ye can prepare a meal for us, wi’ it. Ye must be starvin’. Ye havnae eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.”
“I’m no hungrier than you,” she snapped as if hunger were a weakness.
He felt better once she’d placed the dirk inside her jacket. But she was right, he considered as they walked together down the slope toward the settlement. He did have a burnin’ hunger. But it wasnae for food. He wanted a life with her, full of promise and possibilities. He just couldnae ken if each step carried him closer to that, or farther away.
Chapter Nine
Taran heard Paige’s nervous exhale as they descended the last of the slope and approached an outer field where tidy rows of low sprawling plants flourished.
By now, several villagers had emerged from their various lodgings, a few women going with buckets to what appeared to be a central well, and others moving with hoes and shovels into the various surrounding fields, working mostly in pairs.
He and Paige merged onto a narrow path between fields that led to the village, like spokes on a wheel. Beyond, within the strange collection of shelters, Taran noted three very small stone structures, another of rough-hewn logs and a few that werenae much more than lean-tos and brush huts. And among them, a single, tall, pointed tent with a thin line of smoke rising from the top.
“Look! That’s a tepee,” Paige said incredulously. “I can’t imagine what kind of bizarre logic brought all these oddities together.”
“Nor I,” Taran muttered, tensing as a man and woman emerged between two dwellings and moved into the field nearest them. “Stay close tae me,” he whispered to Paige.
Carrying a hoe, the man, in loose, white, lightweight clothing veered left, into an adjoining patch of corn. The woman, in a loose top and multi-colored skirt, moved through the low plants with her basket, picking what Taran thought to be squash. Moments later, a small, dark-haired boy raced laughingly into the field, but stopped abruptly, pointing at Taran and Paige.
The woman dropped her basket, and raced for her child. “Mateo!” she yelled, picking up the boy as she ran. “Mateo!”
Emerging from the corn stalks, the man hurriedly shoved the woman and child behind him, ready to defend them with naught more than his courage and his hoe.
“Friend,” Taran called, holding his hands up to indicate he and Paige meant no harm. “Friend,” he called again, knowing that single word sounded foolish, but he had no idea what language they spoke.
The man pointed toward the village, but watched them closely, still guarding his family, as Taran and Paige passed and entered the collection of dwellings.
The haphazardly placed living-spaces were a shocking contrast to the neatly laid out and meticulously tended gardens and fields surrounding them.
“Taran?” Paige whispered, edging closer as a half-dozen people stopped to stare as they moved deeper into the village. A man sharpening shovels inside a shallow lean-to looked them over thoroughly before jerking a thumb toward the last of the structures. There, in front of a wee stone cottage, a lone man of indeterminate age, watched and waited as if he’d been expecting them.
“They’re just curious. I dinnae ken they mean us any harm,” he whispered low so only she could hear.
Three women of various ages and dress, drawing water from the well, scurried to the opposite side of the stacked-stone structure. One of them bravely raised her hand and pointed toward the same old man just as a dark-haired woman with braids emerged from the tent.Tepee, Taran corrected, remembering what Paige had called it. The woman wore heavily beaded, tanned skins and ankle-high hide-boots. Her clothing made much more sense to Taran than some of the strange clothing others wore.
“Isn’t it strange how differently they’re all dressed?” Paige muttered. “Like a jumbled collection of cultures and times. But see how worn some of their clothes are? Closer to tattered. Look out there,” she jerked her chin to indicate a family of four out in a field. “Judging by the woman’s bonnet, the man’s hat and those two girls’ aproned dresses, they just got off a wagon train, or a farm or something. But like…a hundred and fifty years ago. What is this place?” she asked, nervously. “And that woman,” she inhaled, pointing toward the tepee, “is Native American, probably from the same time frame.” She raised her wide violet eyes to him. “How can that be?”
Every resident—man, woman and child—kept wary track of his and Paige’s progress. Each in turn pointed to the old man, ushering them forward on the bare, packed earth.
Uncomfortable turning his back on strangers, Taran calculated how many seconds it would take to pull Will’s dirk from his boot, should the need arise.
No one uttered a word until two adolescent girls giggled, gawked, and exchanged some words Taran couldnae understand.
“They’re speaking Italian,” Paige said, in awe. “And the ones we passed in the field, Spanish, I think. Those two,” she indicated two of the women by the well, “look Scandinavian. And the dark-skinned woman with them could be from anywhere. It’s weird that such a small collection of people, could be so diverse, like a mini melting pot.” She looked around; forehead scrunched. “I wonder if any of them can tell me anything about Austin.”
“I ken we’re about tae find out,” Taran replied.
They’d reached the elderly man who wordlessly stepped aside and waived them through the open door of his small home. ’Twas sturdily made, Taran noted, as he ushered Paige inside. He recognized the traditional drystone method of stacking the stones, used for centuries in Scotland. Hopefully that meant at least one inhabitant here might speak his language and be willing to talk.
In the dim interior, a low fire burned in a central hearth of the modest room, reminding Taran of a smaller version of the blackhouses in Scotland—minus the animals, of course. At least he dinnae see or smell anything beyond smoke and ash. Two high windows let in modest light and wooden benches lined the walls, suggesting this place might double as a meeting house.
“Welcome,” their host said, startling both he and Paige by speaking English. He shut the door quietly and turned to face them. “The people call me Old Man.” He waved one hand toward a wooden bench, and the other toward several furs laid out on the ground, beside the fire. “You may sit.”
