Page 51 of Connal

I shall train the creature how to serve me well, and set up a prison somewhere I may do my work without fear of discovery. Then we shall go fishing for a half-Fae to join our cause.

Valerie woke in darkness, and yawned as she sat up and pushed the curls out of her face. Someone––Fletcher, probably––had left her a tray of food, which proved to be still warm when she got up to inspect it. She nibbled on an oatcake as she went to peer out the window at the curtain wall. The sun had dropped down to the horizon, and some men were working on filling in a big crack in the battlements. From the scorch marks on the stones around it, Valerie guessed it had been struck by lightning.

The door behind her opened and closed, and steps moved across the floor. Expecting it to be Connal for another round of Wed-me-or-else, she turned around to see Meg crouched in front of the hearth building a fire.

“Hi, there.” She went over to watch as the chamber maid blew on some kindling. “I can do that now, you know, without Shaw helping me.”

The red-haired girl nodded, but still finished placing the splits before she stood. “The laird bid me assure you’re warm and want for naught. I see you found the food I brought.”

“You brought me the food.” With difficulty she gulped down her last bite of oatcake. “Ah, why? That’s not your job.”

“You’ve been married, Fletcher says, and ken something of men.” Meg went over and closed the window covering before she lit a rush in the fire and went around lighting the candles. “I’d speak to one of the older maids, but their parents arranged their matches. Also, none of them much like me because I’m Érieann.”

This was getting very complicated, Valerie thought, but at least she wasn’t trying to poison her. She hoped. “Okay, so what do you need to talk about with me?”

The chamber maid tossed the rush into the hearth and then faced her. “How do you ken if a man’s in love with you? Should the laird do something particular?”

The question was so unexpected her jaw dropped. “You think Connal has fallen in love with you?”

Meg made a rude sound. “No’ our laird. I mention him only as an important man, truly too far above you to even notice you breathe. That sort. Only he follows you and torments you and saves you and offers teach you to swim.”

“I already know how to swim,” Valerie said, confused again.

“No’ you, me.” She put her hands on her hips and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “You’re a teacher. Teach me how a wench may tell when a man loves her.”

“Well, it’s how he treats you, I guess. Shaw can be very friendly…but I don’t think it’s Shaw,” she said as the maid’s expression darkened. “I don’t have to know who it is. A man who falls in love usually wants to be near you, and compliments you.”

Meg shook her head. “He says I’m ugly.”

“Maybe he was joking,” she suggested. “Has he said anything nice to you?”

“He scolds. He bullies.” Meg started pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. “He’s a man that appears at your worst moment and gives you the very breath from his lungs, only you imagine he’s kissing you instead, and mayhap he did, and you cannae sleep nor eat nor drive him from your every thought. Only he says naught of love, and you cannae kill him. That sort of man.”

Fighting to keep a straight face, Valerie said, “Don’t kill him. Ask him if he loves you.”

Meg stopped pacing and glared at her. “What? Why? He should tell me.”

“Maybe he’s shy.” Was it Fletcher? She hoped not for the girl’s sake, because to the seneschal she looked like every other woman on the island: a big blur. “Anyway, you’ll never know until you do, and if you just happen to have any affection for him, then you’ll know if it’s safe to tell him. Can I ask you a question?”

“I’m no’ telling you his name,” the chamber maid snapped.

She would probably die on the rack before admitting who her crush was, Valerie decided. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” Meg folded her arms. “My first moon time came six years past this winter.”

Valerie translated that as her menstrual cycle, and then went still. The girl used a comparative measurement of puberty and time instead of simply stating her age. She doesn’t know how old she is.

“That means you’re probably eighteen or nineteen,” she said casually. “That makes you an adult.”

“A woman, she’s grown as soon as her moon time comes, Mistress,” Meg said. “I’m so old I’ll soon be named a crone. Why do you wish ken?”

“I was just curious. Also, it’s rude to call elderly women crones.” She smiled brightly to remove the sting from the rebuke. “I was your age when I fell in love the first time. It’s crazy and upsetting, and you don’t know what to do with all that emotion. But it can be wonderful, too.” Although she thought she’d been talking about Dale, it was Connal’s face that popped into her mind. She cleared her throat. “Just ask him if he’s in love with you. It’s better to know than to wonder.”

Meg gave her a suspicious look, and then bobbed and hurried out.

Valerie sat down by the nicely-blazing fire, and held out her hands to warm them. “If Meg thinks she’s over the hill, I should be dust lining a coffin.” Again her thoughts returned to Connal. What kind of life could a mortal have with an immortal? As a knock sounded she sighed. “Please don’t be the laird.” In a louder voice she said, “Come in.”

Nyall stepped inside, a steaming mug in his hand. “I reckoned you might enjoy an evening brew, Mistress.”