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“We’ve seen no sign of them close to the village,” Carmag said.
“Then let’s go greet them,” Reeve suggested.
“Poor visibility prohibits that,” Bryce said.
“The same rings true for them,” Reeve reminded. “I say we at least go scout and see if we should prepare to greet or battle.”
“You and Bryce are good at that,” Carmag said to Reeve. “Go and see what you can find out.”
Both men nodded and left the great hall.
Duncan and Carmag wandered away from the trestle table to talk in private, and Mara left after informing them that she better have cook have hot food ready when they returned.
Tara turned to Mercy. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” Mercy said, shaking her head. “It’s strange. I just suddenly feel very tired, as if something is weighing me down. I don’t understand it at all.”
Tara grew concerned immediately. Could her curse have returned, or had it never left?
“I do recall my mother complaining to me that when she carried me, I had so exhausted her that she spent most of her time in bed. I’m assuming it could be the same for me.”
Hearing that made Tara feel somewhat better, for it did make sense.
Mara suddenly appeared with a pitcher of hot cider and a wooden bowl piled with chunks of bread and cheese.
Tara removed her cloak, the fire having warmed her, and laid it beside her. Mercy filled two tankards for them, and they sat side by side, their hands cupped around the tankards, neither saying a word.
Conversation wasn’t necessary. Their thoughts were similar; they prayed that no battle would take place this day.
Mara appeared again, this time with her healing basket. “Just in case anyone should need tending.”
Both women acknowledged her preparedness with a nod though, silently, they continued to worry.
It seemed like forever until a message arrived, the courier out of breath and appearing half-frozen. Mara shoved a tankard in his hands, and he cupped it gratefully and took several sips before he was finally able to talk.
“It’s the Picts.”
“Why are they here?” Duncan voiced everyone’s thoughts. “We have no quarrel with them.”
The courier shook his head, the tankard still at his lips.
“What is it, Robert?” Carmag asked the young man.
He continued shaking his head after lowering the tankard. “The Picts have Trey with them. He’s badly injured.”
“No!” Mara screamed, and Carmag had to stop her from running out of the keep in search of her son.
“He’ll need you.” Carmag needn’t say any more.
Mara took a deep breath and started shouting orders. “I need fresh linens spread on a table and water kept hot.”
The servants nodded and carried out her every command without question and with tears in their eyes.
Carmag and Duncan immediately left the keep to be ready to help with Trey.
Mara turned to Tara. “I saw the clothes you stitched for the babe. You are good with a needle. With Mercy not feeling well, you will help me.”
Mercy tried to protest. “I can help. I want to help.”
