When I entered the dinner hall that night, I found it rearranged, much as it had been for Hall, but this time, with rows of benches for arranged for spectators. At the Hearth was a small stool, and Colum's large carved chair placed to one side. Colum himself was seated in his chair, a warm blanket across his legs, and a small table with a decanter of some kind of spirit, with a pair of goblets nearby. Seeing me hesitate in the doorway, he beckoned me to sit by his side.
"I'm pleased you've come to join us tonight Mistress Claire." He said. I had found that he tended to be much warmer and friendlier on the days after I had massaged his lower back. I knew that I was easing his pain. It gave me some gladness as a healer. We watched quietly as people began to swarm in and out of the hall. Those closest bowed their heads to Colum, and continued on their way. I watched on, pondering on a life with servants.
"You seem unused to servants." Colum noted, and I blushed at how my gaze and focus had been so clearly displayed. "In fact, you seem quite used to working with them."
I looked at Colum, waiting for further comment. When he proceeded no further, I spoke softly. "I've never been afraid of work."
"Aye. With your work ethic, one would think you of their rank. But the servant girls chatter enviously about your unmarred skin, uncalloused hands, and lack of knowledge of some of the simplest tasks. They speak of your willingness to learn and do, but your clearly unpracticed hands at the jobs."
Obviously this was another dig into my past. Trying to figure out where I had come from, why I was here. Perhaps Dougal had been leaning more pervasively on Colum's ear. Or perhaps Colum was just making some observations.
"And? You had already assumed I was of some high standing, by my voice, dress, and decorum."
"And yet, you are unused to servants." Colum repeated. "High born enough to never have suffered childhood illnesses, to not know basic chores, yet not to have servants? It perplexes me greatly." It was indeed an unusual situation when presented in that light. Again, I stuck to the truth.
"My family's estate was not large. But I also wasn't raised there for long. As I've said before - I was attached to my travelling uncle at an early age." I held my breath, hoping the line of questioning would subside. It did.
"Have you ever been to a place they call a desert?" He asked finally, pouring a glass of the liquid in the decanter. I relaxed slightly, smiling, and taking the goblet from him.
"Indeed I have. There are places in this world with oceans of sand, stretching as far as the eye can see. The sand dunes are both deceptively large and small, and they move, some of them quite quickly. Within years, entire towns can be swallowed up by the sands. The ancient Egyptians built entire stone monuments and cities which are being excavated, rediscovered, because they've been swallowed by those dunes. Kings and Pharaohs who built massive monuments and tombs, may be hidden away beneath the stretches of the Sahara. "
"And what are the people like in these places?"
"Very different, and yet the same. They go about the same lives, in the same way. They're dressed with more skin covered than we sit here now, despite the heat, because they use the sweat and hot teas to help cool themselves. They have a circular stone oven which Mrs. Fitz would be shocked at, that can bake bread inside the walls using a small fire and the sun's heat. The cooks have to dip down inside the oven, like scooping water from a well, to slap the bread on the hot stones. The people tend to keep camels instead of horses. Horses are better for short journeys, but camels can withstand the heat, and are specially adapted for sands. They have a rich variety of languages, only some of which I could recognize by ear. Their music is delightful too." I paused, thinking about what I could possibly tell him, when he raised his hand to pause me.
"Please, try the rhenish."
I took a sip. It was fruity and smooth, and delicate, but strong enough to paralyze the vocal chords. "It- hmm hmm - It's delightful."
"You know good wine, though," Colum said, tilting the glass to enjoy the rich fruity scent himself. "But that's natural, I suppose, with your family French. Beauchamp." he said mulling over the French pronunciation. "What part of France do your folk come from?"
I hesitated a moment, then thought, stick to the truth, so far as you can, and answered, "It's an old connection, and not a close one, but such relatives as I may have there come from the north, near Compiègne."
"Ah. Never been there yourself, though?"
"No," I said, eyes closed for a moment while I thought. "I haven't met any of my relatives there, either. I can tell you stories of the dozens of countries I've visited, and almost none of my family. My uncle was not only an oddity, but a rather estranged one."
Colum looked at me searchingly. His eyes were a beautiful soft grey, thickly lashed with black. My gaze flickered past him to the group nearest the fire, where I could see his wife, Letitia, part of a group of several ladies, all engaged in animated conversation with Dougal MacKenzie. I pulled my attention back to Colum and found him gazing abstractedly at one of the wall hangings.
"I think I should like to hear more about your travels, perhaps during my next treatment. For now, you aught find a seat, the festivities will be beginning soon."
I stood, bowing my head to him, and began to place the goblet back.
"Please, Mistress, take your drink. I'll see it's kept full tonight."
Casting a look at the upper end of the Hall, I saw a slender man who must be Gwyllyn the bard, judging from the small harp he carried. At Colum's gesture, a servant hastened up to bring the bard a stool, on which he seated himself and proceeded to tune the harp, plucking lightly at the strings, ear close to the instrument. Colum poured another glass of wine from his own decanter, and with another wave, dispatched it via the servant in the bard's direction.
As I was trying to find a place to remain inconspicuous, but also with a decent seat, I noticed a young woman doing exactly the same. It was Laoghaire. I tried to engage her in friendly conversation, but she answered mostly in monosyllables, blushing and starting when I spoke to her, and I soon gave it up, my attention drawn by the scene at the end of the room. Harp tuned to his satisfaction, Gwyllyn had brought out from his coat three wooden flutes of varying sizes, which he laid on a small table, ready to hand. Suddenly I noticed that Laoghaire was not sharing my interest in the bard and his instruments. She had stiffened slightly and was peering over my shoulder toward the lower archway, simultaneously leaning back into the shadows under the nearby tapestry to avoid detection. Following the direction of her gaze, I spotted the tall, red-haired figure of Jamie, just entering the Hall.
He looked around, and upon spotting me, beelined it to my side. He looked jaunty, pleasant, in a fine mood.
"How you doing?" I asked. "Not gonna lie, you look like you just got laid."
He stopped, staring perplexed at me for a moment.
"Oh never mind. What has you in such good spirits?"
"One of the horses gave birth today. A fine foal, strong and gangly. Ye might come see it if ye've the time tomorrow."
"I've always got time...Unless someone gets critically injured." I amended. "And let's be honest - most of the time that's you."
"Were ye a jester in yer travels Sassenach?" Jamie asked, eyebrow raised. I shook my head, finishing the rhenish in my goblet, and placing it gingerly beside me on the bench. No sooner had I placed the goblet down, I heard a quick sloshing. Looking down again, my goblet was full, and one of the boys - perhaps Owen - was moving away. I picked the goblet back up, and nursed it gingerly in my dress.
Gwyllyn's singing was thoroughly beautiful, and melodious. His steady and calming rhythm was meditative in quality. Unfortunately, most of his songs were in Gaelic, and I looked down at my goblet, idly wondering how many of these I could handle, and still be able to walk back to my room. Two or three at least. I finished the goblet I was nursing over the course of the next song. The next song was in English, and I paid much more attention to that one. The following song slipped back to Gaelic again, and I nursed my goblet again. Jamie turned to me quickly, as though he'd realised far too late - something horrific.
"Ye dinna ken what he's singing do ye?" He whispered. I shook my head lightly, feeling the buzz of the rhenish in my movement.
"It's alright. The music is beautiful. Extremely relaxing."
"I can translate for ye -" Jamie began but I waved him off.
"No no, let me enjoy the experience this time. Besides, I'll be a distraction." I smiled back. Jamie relaxed again, looking toward Gwyllyn again. I, instead searched the room of spectators. I found Murtagh's grumpy frame, looking relaxed. I saw Dougal's equally grumpy, but larger build, looking content. I even spotted a few eyes directed my way. One, was the intent stare of a fair-haired, pale skinned woman with bright eyes, sitting just behind Dougal. She looked intently curious about me, and I was unsettled by her gaze. I felt a small tug, and turned back, to find that one of the castle kids was re-filling my goblet. This time Jamie took notice of it too.
"What are ye drinking?" he asked, peering at the goblet.
"Rhenish. I think, is what Colum said. It's quite good. I've never had it before. It's good." I murmured, offering it to him. He took it with a small smile.
"And how many have ye had?" he asked, taking a small sip.
"Two." I said. "No - three. Is that too many?" I asked gently. "Am I not supposed to?"
I watched Jamie pause in handing back the goblet, and deciding to finish the rest of it himself instead. "It's quite strong. Most people only have a glass or two."
"Ah." I breathed. I leaned close to him. "So for someone who rarely drinks it might be hard to walk soon then, yes?"
He chuckled lightly. "Probably. Do ye need to retire Sassenach?"
"Yeah. Just gimme a sec." I reached down beneath my dress to pull off my shoes, and tucked them into the pocket I had sewn into the underskirt of my dress, with a little difficulty in the dark, with fumbling fingers. Eventually I stood up, Jamie assisting me casually with one hand, but his grip was like iron, in case I wobbled. I walked, with the best of my ability from the hall, and then placed my other hand on the wall. Jamie was nothing but patient with me.
"I'm sorry." I said, almost as soon as we were in the hall.
"Why?" he asked.
"For getting drunk."
"I'm actually rather glad ye did. Ye can never tell a full measure of a person until they're ill or drunk." Jamie mused. "Besides, my mind was racing, trying to remember all the songs, so I could tell ye about them later."
"Was there one about a boat?" I asked. "One of them seemed boaty."
"There was more than one wi' a boat in it." Jamie said, grinning. It probably sounded like something I should ask about but I was busy tracing the wall.
"I'd not noticed ye hid yer shoes." Jamie wondered aloud.
"I'm not completely comfortable in the formal heels. More used to riding boots, or sneakers. Fuck." I muttered as I stepped in something wet. "I hope that's wine." I wandered, less steadily as the minutes went on and my body sensed the presence of a bed, to my room, and Jamie, quite unnecessarily, walked me all the way down into my 'surgery'. I stopped at the table, hopping up, and hiking up my skirt, trying to find my shoes. A few moments of my hands clumsily rustling skirts had Jamie stepping in to assist. He knelt in front of me, perched on the table and suddenly my heart was racing. It seemed like a very lengthy process, as he carefully folded each segment of my skirt back. I felt warm, and flustered. He finally found the segment, and the hidden pocket I had sewn, disentangling my shoes, and setting them to rest on the ground beside me. It took a few moments of him staring up at me, over the folds of my skirt, before he stood again, lifting me gently down.
"Are ye warm enough Sassenach? I've see ye sleep by the fire more'n once." Jamie's eyes
"Tonight, Jamie, I am plenty warm, thank you." I reached for a jug of fresh water I had on hand, and poured myself a glass. "I do, however, feel like I'm going to not be up for running in the morning."
"I've heard about that." He said. "Murtagh says ye run round the lake. Why?"
"It was a habit where I'm from. Lake paths beat treadmills ten to one." I yawned. "Although there are more tripping hazards."
I found myself into my bed, and thinking. "Don't ask about treadmills. It's complicated."
And I believe that was the last thing I managed to say to him, before shutting my eyes for the night.
.
My rise the following morning was not quite at dawn with the rest of the castle inhabitants. I stole a small bannock from the kitchens for breakfast, while Mrs. Fitz assured me that most people hadn't woken either. I went to walk in the garden, my usual running gear (breeches, sneakers, and mens shirt) optimistically on, in case the 'marching band' in my head decided to stop beating. I generally worked in that garden, and I was getting to know it well, other than the stables, it was the only place outside the castle I felt comfortable, and shadow-less. Having found out that I knew something of medicine and healing, the everyday crew, had become more interested in me, and began to ask questions about the ailments of their children, husbands, and beasts, in most cases making little distinction between the latter two in level of importance. Besides the normal questions and gossip, there was considerable talk of the coming Gathering, and often of rumors.
A few of the regular workers were here today. They smiled at my apparently evident hangover, and offered me a plant of some kind to eat to help. I sat, leaning against a wall, and started chewing. I watched the women work, so skilled at even the simplest of tasks - some of which I'd had to learn myself. I knew I had an extensive and odd upbringing, but I had to learn how to do a variety of tasks all over again - because of the updated tools I had enjoyed the pleasure of learning with. Writing with a quil, for example, was taxing, even though my penmanship with pencils and pens was beautiful. The servants and staff found it funny when I had no idea what certain words were, or certain processes, but they were always happy for a helping hand, and after some giggling and quick Gaelic quips, they would switch to English to help me. I tried not to let them get under my skin.
Today though, was a little different. Laoghaire appeared, looking cold, and I wondered it it was my appearance, my lack of contribution, or perhaps a hangover on her end that had her unsmiling. She asked me to fetch a full 'water' bucket from a nearby wall. I crammed the rest of the plant in my mouth, standing up. Trusting the girl, and misjudging the weight of the bucket I was reaching to fetch, I pulled too hard, and muddy water splashed down onto my head, soaking my body, and plastering my shirt to my now fully erect nipples in an embarrassingly revealing way. From the shocked looks of most of the people nearby, and the help and cover they instantly provided I had gathered that it was an accident. But the tiniest part of my brain wondered about ulterior motives, as Laoghaire had disappeared by the time I had a moment to excuse myself to go and get changed.
One of the children, Ellie, came with me, to help me navigate the back passages, in my state of distracting undress. We popped out from behind a tapestry in a corridor near a winding passage that apparently led to my room, and I balked in confusion.
"Ellie, I'm never going to understand this castle." I said. She smiled, partially toothless up at me.
"S'alright Mistress. We're near water after all." She said, as some means of explanation. I didn't ask for an explanation, just followed her direction. Halfway to my room, I bumped, quite literally, into Dougal Mackenzie. I threw my hands back to catch myself, but he was faster, pulling me up against him. He looked down at my state of wet and revealing clothing, and I stared defiantly up at him. He let go, a little too late for comfort.
"Fell into the lake on yer run today?" He asked scornfully.
"Something like that." I smiled, "Thank you for catching me."
"I'd been meaning to talk with ye. Gathering's coming up. Many a man'll be drunk, and probably injured. Ye may want to stock up yer surgery." He continued staring at me, directly in my path. I heard an echoing voice somewhere nearby, and Dougal stepped to the side, out of my way.
"Thank you, for the advice. Once I'm changed and dry, I'll work on that."
It was on one of the herb and fruit-picking expeditions in the orchard, gardens, and forests that I first met Geillis Duncan. I had my ususal shadow, but my leash was getting much longer. I was working by myself, quietly. I had found a small patch of Ascaria beneath the roots of an alder, I was hunting for more. The scarlet caps grew in tiny clumps, only four or five mushrooms in a group, but there were several clumps scattered through the long grass. There were also some interesting looking white capped mushrooms on a tree nearby. I was plucking and collecting, when a quick voice rang out.
"Those kind are poison," it came from just behind me. I straightened up instanntly thumping my head smartly on a branch of the tree I had been crouched under. As my vision cleared, I could see that the peals of laughter were coming from a tall young woman, perhaps a few years older than myself, fair of hair and skin, with the loveliest green eyes I had ever seen. She was the lady who had stared at me last night at Gwyllyn's concert.
"I am sorry to laugh," she said, checking I was alright. "I could not help it."
"I imagine I looked hilarious," I said rather ungraciously, rubbing the sore spot on top of my head. "And thank you for the warning, but I know those mushrooms are poisonous."
"Och, you know? And who is it you're planning to do away with, then? Your husband, perhaps? Tell me if it works, and I'll try it on mine." Her smile was infectious, and I found myself smiling back. I explained that though the raw mushroom caps were indeed poisonous, you could prepare a powdered preparation from the dried fungi that was very efficacious in stopping bleeding when applied topically.
"Fancy that!" she said, still smiling. "Since we're trading information, did you know that these"—she stooped and came up with a handful of tiny blue flowers with heart-shaped leaves—"will start bleeding?"
"No," I said, startled. "Why would anyone want to start bleeding?"
"To get rid of a child ye don't want, I mean. It brings on your flux, but only if ye use it early. Too late, and it can kill you as well as the child." She said, looking carefully at me. She reminded me of a cat, seemingly friendly, but possibly moments away from scratching or hissing. "The girls in the village come to me now and again for such things, and sometimes the married women too. They say I'm a witch," she said, widening her brilliant eyes in feigned astonishment. She grinned. "But my husband's the procurator fiscal for the district, so they don't say it too loud. I'm Geillis. Geillis Duncan."
I knew I was going to like her.
"People seem to think I might be something of the kind as well. Though I've not got the protection of a husband. Claire Beauchamp."
"Oh I know who you are. There's been much talk about you all over town. There's plenty of trouble we could get in together then. Tell me, what're ye collecting?"
We spent the rest of the day, filling up my two baskets of useful herbs and plants, and discussing storage and preservation options. By the time I got back to my room, my back was stiff. I spent a few minutes on the floor, stretching it out with some yoga, before I moved on to organizing my stock. It was only at the chiming of the clock that I realised I was supposed to be at Colum's door, for a massage session. Somehow, even with barely anything on my plate, I'd still lost track of appointments.