Chosen by Fire Read online

  “I apologise in advance. I can’t tell what state it’s in.” He took the horses around to a stable at the back of the property, leaving Kaetha waiting by the front door, her bag on her back and the cat in her arms.

  A bobbing light drew closer and she realised that he must have found a lantern in the stables. He felt above the door post, retrieving a large, iron key. Light from the lantern stretched across a stark, bare room as they entered. No furniture, no movement, just an ashy hearth in the centre of the room. She breathed in the musty air. The place was heavy with silence, like a crypt. She could almost feel the memories that clung to the timbers, long undisturbed. Aedan had spoken little of his family but she knew that he was not aware of any still living. Except her, she realised.

  A bittersweet smile touched Aedan’s face. “Well, we’re home,” he said.

  They spoke few words as he lit a fire in the hearth. Fortunately, a small pile of firewood remained beside it. She sat, staring into the flames as he took the lantern up a ladder to a small mezzanine, most likely used as a storage space.

  “Nothing,” he said when he joined her again. “Not a scrap of straw to set your head upon.”

  For days she’d been looking forward to a comfortable bed. “That’s alright.”

  “When I received news of my uncle’s death, I heard that he had, in later years, fallen upon hard times. He must have sold the furniture. He would have done all he could to keep from having to sell this place. It’s not much but it’s been in the family for generations.”

  A sharp thud came from an adjoining room and Kaetha jumped.

  “Hello there?” Aedan called, jumping to his feet.

  Picking up the lantern, he walked to the door, gesturing that she should stand back. When he opened it, there was a scuffling.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Aedan. At first, Kaetha thought he was talking to her. Kaetha peeked into the room. It was a pantry leading into the garden. There were shelves with a few pots and plenty of mouse droppings but, apart from that, the room seemed bare, marks on the floor indicating where a table had once stood. Bending under the lantern, Kaetha saw that there was a lad in a corner of the room, a knife in his hand.

  “It’s alright,” said Aedan. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  Kaetha was more concerned that the boy would hurt them but when she looked at him, she saw fear rather than aggression. His hands trembled as they gripped the hilt of the knife and his round, dark eyes stared with the wildness of a caged animal.

  “You’re safe from us, lad,” said Aedan, holding up his empty hand.

  The boy’s clothes were shabby, his limbs scrawny and there were shadows under his eyes. The cat stood behind Kaetha, ears pricked up, tail swishing.

  “I’m not a thief,” exclaimed the boy.

  “I’m sure you’re not,” said Aedan. “Just put down the knife.” When he didn’t respond, Aedan took his own knife from its sheath. The boy flinched. Then Aedan dropped his knife on the floor.

  “What’s your name?” asked Kaetha.

  He stared at her, pointing his knife towards her now.

  Then she fetched her bag, taking out some of Hetty’s oatcakes and a waterskin. “Here,” she said, holding out them out.

  He looked from the garden door to Kaetha. Then, tentatively, he placed his knife on a shelf and took the waterskin from Kaetha. He drank long gulps, using his sleeve to wipe the water which spilled down his chin.

  “I’d like to know why you’re hiding in my house,” said Aedan.

  The lad tensed and made for the door but Kaetha reached him first and took his hand with gentle firmness.

  “Come,” she said, leading him to the fire. She sat down. “Sit,” she said, and, after some hesitation, he did so.

  “Good. Warm yourself, lad. You’re shivering,” said Aedan. “Will you tell us who you are? Where’s your family?”

  The stranger stared at the floor. “Gone.”

  “Where have they gone?” asked Kaetha but the boy didn’t answer. “I’m Kaetha and this is my pa, Aedan Baird. What’s your name?”

  “My name?” he looked so deep in thought that he did not seem to understand the question at first. “Donnan,” he said, finally.

  “Well, Donnan, it’s late,” said Aedan. “We can talk properly in the morning but now we should get some sleep.” He handed Donnan a blanket. “For tonight, you’re welcome to share our hearth,” he said, laying himself down between Donnan and Kaetha, “and I’m sure you’ll be so good as to leave your knife in the other room.”

  “Aye,” said Donnan. “I will.”

  The fire burned low. Propping herself up, Kaetha looked over at Donnan as he slept. She wondered what had brought him here and what hardships he had been through. He could be about her age, she thought, though whilst he was a taller than her, he looked skinnier, as though he’d not eaten enough for months.

  “Goodnight, Donnan,” she whispered.

  She heard a crash but she knew that this sound was in her head, not in the house. It was just like when she had said Gaoth’s name and had heard the cry of the owl. In her mind’s eye, she saw a window and, peering through it, she saw blood spill over stones. Armed men approached the house and someone grabbed her arm, pulling her into another room, away from the cries and screams outside. Then it seemed as though she was hiding somewhere dark and there was a thud – thud – thud – and a crack as a door was broken down. She heard voices. People pleading, begging, screaming. Then silence. Coward, she accused herself. Then she realised she was not blaming herself for anything. Donnan was calling himself a coward.

  Her heart galloped in her chest as she glanced back at him, hoping that this dream she had accidentally intruded upon came from his imagination rather than his memory. It had seemed so real that she feared it was the latter. For days, she had focussed on her own misfortunes but that night, she dwelt upon those of this stranger.

  Kaetha woke to the sound of charred wood brushing against stone. Aedan was readying the hearth for a new fire. The shutters were open and a breeze sent flecks of ash floating up, swirling like white smoke in the sunlight.

  “Is he still asleep?” she asked. Donnan turned. His pale brow glistened with sweat, his gaze was unfocussed like a drunkard’s and his pupils were big black wells in his peaty brown eyes. “Pa, I think he’s unwell.” Donnan muttered something incoherent and his chest rose and fell faster than she thought was normal. “I think he has a fever,” she said, feeling his forehead. “And look at his hands, they’re trembling.”

  Donnan sat up, curling his hands into fists. “I’m not ill.” He flinched as Aedan swept over to him and put his hand to his forehead too.

  “Does Nannie Hattock still live at her cottage?” asked Aedan.

  “I don’t want you to get her.” Donnan got to his feet, staggering towards the door before falling to his knees.

  “Who’s Nannie Hattock?” asked Kaetha.

  “A healer. She’ll know what he needs,” said Aedan. “Try to get him to eat and drink a little, if you can. I’ll be back soon.” He snatched up his cloak and left.

  She held a waterskin to Donnan’s lips, helping him take small sips.

  “You thought I was a thief,” he muttered.

  “I didn’t think that, you bampot.”

  “A trespasser then.”

  “Well, aye. You were. But we’re not turfing you out, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Not if you need our help.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps you should.” He began to push himself up again.

  “Wait. Just sit for now.” She put an oatcake in his hand. “Eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She shrugged. “You should still eat. Now, I’ll be right back. I just want to check something.” Remembering her father mention the vegetable patch and herb garden, she hastened through the pantry and out through the back door. The garden was a cacophony of leaves tumbling over one another, vegetables, herbs and weeds. She stepped into it, soil damp against her
bare feet. Her hands brushed over leaves of dandelion, beetroot and thyme, pushing them aside to see what else grew there. Pale leaves shaped like tiny pointed slippers caught her eye. Feverease. Gwyn had used this herb in lots of remedies.

  She rushed back with a bunch of it and gathered things from the pantry. She made a fire and set a pot over it. Into it, she poured the last of their water, then bruised the leaves before dropping them in. After it had brewed, she gave him a cup of it.

  “Are you a healer?” he asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  He screwed up his face after tasting the drink. “What’s that?”

  “Feverease tea. It’ll help.”

  He grimaced.

  “Just drink and stop being rude.”

  Hearing the door open, she turned, expecting to see her father. But a woman stood in the doorway, staring at them with large, owl-like eyes. There was a severity to the angles of her features. She wore a neat, plain gown of dark green and a white cloth cap covered most of her hair which was the colour of damp straw. A large dog appeared at her side. The cat hissed at the sight of it, his ears pricking up and his tail puffing out thickly as it swished from side to side.

  “I’ve brought you some bread, Donnan. And water from the well. Who’s your friend?” She narrowed her eyes at Kaetha’s dirty feet.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Mairi. Mairi Dunbar.” The woman peered at the leaves floating in the pot. “What’s that he’s been drinking?”

  “I made him feverease tea. He’s not well.”

  “I’m fine,” said Donnan.

  “You’re clearly not.” Mairi knelt beside him, took the cup and sniffed it. “You’re sure that’s feverease? You shouldn’t go playing around brewing leaves you don’t know are safe, lass, you might do more harm than good. Look how he’s sweating. Some leaves are poisonous you know.” She took the cloth cover from her basket, dipped it in her bucket of water, rang it out and patted it against Donnan’s forehead.

  “Of course I haven’t poisoned him!” She scowled at Mairi. “The drink didn’t cause his paleness or sweating. He woke up like that.”

  The door opened again and in stepped Aedan with an old woman. She cut a striking figure. Her uncovered hair which hung loose and wavy below her shoulders, was threaded with all tones ranging from black to white and her eyes were raven dark. Her clothing looked Edonian, reminding Kaetha of Morwena’s. Over deer hide leggings, she wore a long tunic of muted red, ornamented with shells scratched with intricate shapes. Despite her reliance on a stick, she moved with authority as she walked across the room, carrying a wooden box with a rope handle.

  She sniffed the air. “Feverease?”

  “That’s right,” said Kaetha.

  “Good.”

  Kaetha caught Mairi’s eye.

  “Kaetha is it?” said Nannie.

  “Aye,” she said.

  “Aedan’s been talking about you.”

  “Kaetha, this is Miss Hattock,” said Aedan.

  “But you’ll call me Nannie like everyone else. Now where’s the lad?”

  “He’s sitting beside Kaetha. This way.”

  It was only then, as Aedan guided Nannie closer, that Kaetha realised the old woman was blind. Using her stick to steady herself, she knelt beside Donnan, reached out, finding his shoulders, then felt his head. “So lad, how long have you been unwell?”

  “I’m not. I’ve just not got back to full strength since . . .” he trailed off.

  “Your shoulder’s not been troubling you anymore?” she asked.

  “It hurts sometimes.”

  “Hmm,” Nannie frowned. “You need to look after yourself better. Eat properly,” she said, squeezing his arms. “You’re like to fade away.” Kaetha noticed that the oatcake she’d given him remained untouched.

  “The tea will have helped,” said Nannie. “I can tell your new friend will do you good, lad.” She opened the wooden box, searching its contents with her clever fingers. “Hold out your hands, lass,” she said as she drew out a lidded earthenware pot and took from it a cluster of purple elderberries. These she put in Kaetha’s hands before selecting two drawstring pouches and sniffing each. From one she pulled out a sprig of rosemary and, from the other, some dried chamomile flowers, pressing them into Kaetha’s hands as well. “Well then? Pop them in the pot, lass.”

  “Here’s water,” said Mairi, taking the bucket over to the hearth.

  “Oh, you’re here, Mairi,” said Nannie.

  “Mairi?” said Aedan, having only just noticed her. “Mairi Dunbar?” His wide smile lit up his face.

  Mairi’s jaw dropped. “Aedan?”

  Mairi’s smile softened her features. Aedan and the woman who was once his sweetheart stepped closer together, almost embraced, then shook hands instead. She saw the faint flush of colour in Mairi’s cheeks, coupled with a look of confusion.

  “What’s wrong with Donnan?” Kaetha asked Nannie, in a low voice so that he wouldn’t hear.

  “I can’t be sure,” said Nannie. “Which is most unlike me.” She sighed. “It’s not the first time he’s been like this. Encourage him to eat and get him to drink all of this. It will strengthen him.”

  Kaetha turned her attention to Aedan and Mairi’s conversation. “I make the rent with my washing, mending and spinning,” said Mairi. “I’ve even done a bit of net mending for the Morays and farm work for Ishbel Urquhart too now and then.”

  “Dermid’s still fishing then?”

  “Oh, aye. Spends most of his life on that boat. He’s got three young’uns now. I say young’uns, but the oldest would be seventeen I reckon.”

  Nannie leaned closer to Kaetha. “Mairi found Donnan on the streets, with nowhere to go, you know.”

  “But, of course,” said Mairi in a low voice, overhearing Nannie, “now that you’re back here, we can find somewhere else for Donnan. He could stay at my house if he wanted.”

  “He should stay here. He needs us,” said Kaetha, looking over at Donnan, hoping that he couldn’t hear them discuss him like this. “Pa?”

  Mairi looked at her in surprise, then at Aedan.

  “He can stay,” said Aedan. “If he likes.”

  “I didn’t know,” said Mairi, “that you have a daughter. It shows how it’s been so long since you were here.”

  “And, do you have children? asked Aedan.

  “No,” she said, stroking the dog behind its ears.

  That night, Kaetha lay on a new straw mattress, breathing in the comforting fragrance of fresh rushes and strewing herbs, watching the cat prowling, ready to catch any rodents that got in. Donnan was sleeping heavily at last, his fever gone.

  “Pa?” she said.

  “Aye?”

  She plunged into her question before she could persuade herself not to. “When we were at the inn, why did you say my last name was ‘Baird’?”

  “I thought it would be easiest – raise fewer questions about us – if we seemed to be an ordinary father and daughter.”

  Kaetha was quiet for a while, taking that in. “I see. It’s alright. I’m used to not having a family name.” She pushed down a wave of emotion that swelled within her, threatening to tighten her throat. “I used to be an orphan, Gwyn and Morwena’s ward. Then I became a bastard.”

  “Don’t call yourself that,” he said firmly. “My name is yours if you want to take it. You could be a Baird after all.”

  She was quiet, blinking back tears. A family name meant acceptance and belonging. But did Aedan really want her to be a Baird? How far could she trust him? What if he had known that her mother had been pregnant and still left her? What if he had broken her trust?

  “You can think about it,” he said. “It’s your decision to make.”

  In the silence that followed, Kaetha felt the warm nudge of the cat’s head on her arm and the brush of his tail as he curled up beside her. He needs a name, she thought.

  “We’ll call the cat Kintail,” she said.

  Aedan l
aughed. “Kintail Baird.”

  NINE

  Cannasay

  “The bell’s been ringing for an age. Where’ve you been?” said Kaetha as Donnan appeared from an alleyway on Curing Street, racing up to her.

  “Nowhere,” he replied, catching his breath.

  She raised her eyebrows but he revealed nothing else about what he’d been doing. “Been seeing a lass, I suppose,” she said, grinning.

  “No I haven’t,” he exclaimed. “Why would you think that?”

  She shrugged.

  “We should get going.”

  They set off, chatting as they meandered downhill, through the town. “And that’s the best tavern for ale in all of Mormuin,” said Donnan, gesturing to his left. “Or so Donalt Brewer would have you believe.”

  “Don’t you doubt it,” called the man locking up the tavern door.

  Donnan laughed and Kaetha liked the way it made the skin around his eyes crinkle. It reminded her of Archie. It was good to see him smiling. His strength had returned over the last couple of days and he was able to take to his role of town guide with enthusiasm. “I’ll buy you a tankard after the announcement if you like.” He reached into his pocket but looked disappointed.

  “Some other day,” said Kaetha, knowing he had little money. She linked her arm through his as they continued, the street growing busier with people now, all heading to the beach. “That’s Ishbel Urquhart,” he said, nodding towards a grey-haired, wiry looking woman who was yelling at a man, saying how she wouldn’t buy any more goats from him. “She runs her late husband’s farm – offers plenty of work at harvest time, and that’s Alan Sangster there.” A young man with long, golden hair and a confident stride hummed as he passed them, a small harp and a fiddle strapped to his back. “He travels about the whole clanland with his songs.” The cliff edge grew closer.

  “How do we get down to the beach?” asked Kaetha.

  “It’s hidden from view here but there’s a path cut into the cliff. It’s steep but it’s the quickest way and it’s right by the cairn which I thought you’d like to see.”