Chapter Three

Lessons ...

Forteviot, Kingdom of All Scots, 853 c.e.:

It had been ten years since Methos had ridden north into the Scots kingdom. As with most decades, he seldom noticed they had passed, until he saw that those around him in this life had begun to grow older. Young Cedric, Lord Strathclyde's squire, had been made a knight. Lord Strathclyde had begun to have more gray in his hair and beard. Methos, of course, had not changed at all. It would soon be time to move on. Indeed, it was probably past time for him to do so.

But before he did, he had a desire to return to the court of Kenneth MacAlpin and see what had become of the elfin child who had stirred memories in him he had long ago forgotten. He had no intention, of course, of interfering... he usually just let pre-immortals be. They were of no consequence to him. But the child had often crossed his thoughts.

Convincing Lord Strathclyde to allow him to be the next emissary to the court... to be allowed to conduct new negotiations, had been the difficult part. He had to appear acquiescent to the idea, but not eager... and he had to make it seem as though the idea had come from someone other than himself. Finally Lord Strathclyde had agreed.

The next problem had been the size of the party. Methos would have preferred to go alone, but once again protocol and manners had interfered. Strathclyde finally agreed on just two servants to accompany him, but he had insisted on the inclusion of his nephew... young Robert Strathclyde, only recently made a squire. So Methos was saddled with two servants he did not need, and a young man whose safety became of prime importance.

"He is my heir, my brother's only son. I hope this journey will be a learning experience for him. I trust you will bring him safely back to me."

Methos had, of course, agreed. It was, in the end, the only way he could get permission to go. And he wanted to go, despite his reservations.

The court had grown in the past decade. If anything, it seemed even more wealthy and stable than on his previous visit. There were more soldiers, more servants; even some of the tall Picts could be seen milling about in the courtyard as Methos' party entered. As before, he quickly assessed all pertinent details while smiling and bowing his way through the pleasantries with the king's herald and then following him into an antechamber. He removed his sword, at least the one for show, and followed the herald into King Kenneth's study.

Kenneth was seated at a wooden table studying some maps and discussing politics and alliances with his brother Donald. He settled back into his chair as Methos approached.

Methos bowed deeply.

Kenneth stroked his gray beard and studied the knight. Did he even recall him, Methos wondered, or was he simply assessing him. Methos said nothing; it was impolite to address the king without permission. He had played the game of politics for millennia. He knew and understood the forms and protocols that had to be observed. He also knew the dangers of breaking them.

Finally Kenneth spoke. "You are welcome here. How has my friend Lord Strathclyde fared since last we spoke?"

"My Lord is well." Methos answered. "He has instructed me to give you this token of friendship." He motioned to Robert who approached and handed him a small chest. Methos took it, opened it for the king to see the fine piece of jewelry the chest contained.

Kenneth looked at it almost disinterestedly and waved for one of his servants to take the chest and set it nearby. He, too, knew the forms and protocols of power. Methos recognized the shrewdness of the Scots king. No wonder he had been so successful in his campaigns and alliances. But, would his kingdom outlive him? Methos had his doubts. Nevertheless, the negotiations might prove an interesting game.

Later that day, having dismissed Robert to check on their rooms, belongings and servants, Methos finally had time to wander about without escort. As the ambassador, he had both more freedom and less. He was far too visible. Everyone at court probably knew he was. But, that very visibility also gave him the ability to wander where he pleased.

There was no sense of her in the outer courtyards where he had found her before. There was only the hustle and bustle of court life. There were children, but not nearly so many as before. Methos approached a lute player sitting on the stone retaining wall of the well. He stood nearby listening to the strains of lilting music as the musician attempted to get a particular phrase just right. The musician looked up at him.

"Working hard," Methos offered.

"Yes, Lord, King Kenneth has ordered special music in your honor for tonight's feast. I fear I may not finish this piece in time."

"I am certain both it and you will be sufficient to the task." Methos smiled at him, then turned and said off-handedly, "There were many more children about when I was here before."

"Yes, but the king has made marriages for most of them as they grew older. He has built alliances among the clans that will last for many years. Most are gone now. Some few are still brought here, but not so many as at first."

Methos nodded, of course... time had moved on. The children he had met were no longer children. They would be in their own homes now... many with their own children. He thanked the musician and continued his walk. It was for the best. The one thing he did not need was to become personally involved. Especially now that it was time he moved on. Yet, he sensed he was disappointed. He had wanted to see her again. He had wanted to see if she still held that spark of magic that had lingered about her. That spark, which had reminded him of the long-forgotten Aja.

He entered the guest hall and was climbing the stairs to the upper floor to find his rooms when he sensed her. She was sitting on a bench beneath a window in the upper hallway. Sunlight poured in about her and glistened on the dust mites in the air. It was as though small twinkling faerie lights kept watch about her.

Methos did not approach, but took in every detail of her. Her dark hair was clasped at the neck and fell straight down her back unbraided. She was still so very small... still so very much a child... albeit one of about fifteen if he figured correctly. She sat slumped in the bench, her head bowed over the parchment she held in one hand. With her other, she was lightly touching it and tracing the letters and words she saw. She wore a dark gray dress with no adornment. Indeed, she wore no jewelry of any sort. Of course not! ... Methos recalled that her grandfather, Fergus McCurdy, had promised no dowry. It would appear that nothing had changed in that regard. She brushed absently at strands of hair which had escaped the clasp and which were falling over her eyes.

At the sound of booted men in the hall, she glanced quickly about her, rolled up the parchment, and hid it quickly beneath her overtunic. She continued to sit as still and as small and as quietly as she could. She seemed to hope no one would notice her.

But she was not so lucky. One of the men sidled over to her, his voice teasing and rough, "Ahh... Little Bird... how are we today?" He settled himself onto the bench next to her.

His companion slapped at him, "Collin... you know the king will have your head if you touch her."

"And will you tell him?"

"Not I, but the walls have ears."

"Ahh... but I am simply greeting the Little Bird... right my girl?"

She did not move but sat trembling on the bench. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be holding her breath.

"Besides," the man continued as he stroked her hair roughly, "she will be mine. No one else at this court would dare make an offer. I have seen to that. Old McCurdy has said he will never offer a dowry. She brings nothing to a marriage except herself."

"Then why take her?" his friend asked.

"Because she pleases me."

From his vantage point Methos knew they had not seen him. He considered making his presence known, but decided it might be better if he did not.

""Collin..." his friend insisted, "we need to go. This is not a good idea."

"I suppose..." he leaned into the girl and whispered in her ear, "Soon Little Bird." Then he rose and the two men went laughing on their way. They had failed to see Methos.

The girl opened her eyes and let out a long breath. Then she pulled the parchment out once more and returned to studying it. Methos slowly and quietly approached. Every instinct he possessed yelled at him that this was not a good idea.

She glanced up at him and gasped, the parchment dropped from her startled hands onto the floor. Methos leaned down to retrieve it and held it a moment, looking it over.

"You read Latin..." he tried to sound casual, pleasant.

The girl shook her bowed head. She clasped and unclasped her fingers.

Methos glanced once more at the parchment, then handed it back to her. She looked around fearfully, then accepted it, rolled it up and once more hid it in her dress. She was clearly nervous.

"My thanks, Sir." Her voice cracked nervously. She rocked back and forth slightly and closed her eyes.

Methos looked about him. "You cannot read at all, can you?"

She shook her head, still rocking.

He thought for a moment, then said casually, "I plan to sit at the well and enjoy the warm sunshine. Sometimes when I sit in the sun, I write letters in the dust. Someone who sat nearby might learn to read if she were interested..." His voice trailed off. When she looked up at him, her green eyes wide in understanding, he smiled warmly, then pivoted about and headed back to the courtyard.

He had sat there for about a quarter of an hour when she joined him. She sat as far away as she could to still be able to see the letters he began to draw in the dust. "These are Latin letters... like on the parchment... do you speak Latin?" She shook her head. "No matter. Each letter can be a number of sounds. Once you know them, and what they sound like, you can sound out groups of them and hear the words you know. Now this is an 'A'." He glanced over at her and was rewarded by a shy smile. She nodded and he continued the lesson.

For the next several days, Methos split his time between his duties as ambassador, his negotiations with Kenneth, and his lessons with the girl. As the days had gone by, she had proven to be a swift learner. By the third lesson, she was already writing out words she knew, excitedly pointing at things around her, saying them slowly, then writing the letters she heard in the dirt. Methos nodded his encouragement. Something of the elfin child of long ago seemed once more to glimmer within her. She would clap her hands in delight as some new word came to mind. Gradually, over the days she had moved closer to him, though she still kept her distance. At last she dared to pull out her precious parchment and sound out a few words written on it.

"Deo... patris... filius... spiritus... sanctus... amen... Father Padraic says these words." She smiled in understanding.

Methos nodded, "It is a prayer for the church service."

"I stole it from him... was that wicked of me?" She looked at Methos seriously. "He never missed it. It was just something he was working on. He dropped it one day when he was crossing the courtyard and I... picked it up..." She grinned and shrugged. "I just never returned it. I wanted to know what it said. I thought if I worked hard enough, the letters would one day make sense."

Methos chuckled, "It was much the same for me when I learned to read."

Their conversation was rudely interrupted by the approach of Collin McClarendon. The girl immediately seemed to go back into her shy shell. Methos straightened and glared back at the bullying Scot.

"This girl will be mine Sir Edward! King Kenneth will soon make his decision. I do not approve of her wasting time in this... this... frivolity!" McClarendon snatched the parchment from her hands and shredded it, flinging the pieces away. The he stomped at the written letters in the dust, sweeping his feet about to erase them. He leaned in toward Methos, threateningly; "She will be mine! She shall marry me! She will bear my children! ... You have no rights here! ... You... have no interests in this matter!"

McClarendon finally allowed himself to be calmed by his companion and led off. But he was still waving his arms in anger.

Methos seethed inwardly. But he knew McClarendon was right. The girl truly was not his concern. Yet her fate seemed a dark one. McClarendon would wed her, ravish her, beat her down, scream at her when no children were ever born, and perhaps, if she were lucky, put her away to die old and alone in some convent for that fact alone. But Methos could not interfere. He would not interfere. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Interference in the fates of pre-immortals was just not something he cared to do. It was his survival that was paramount. If he became involved in this, he might be exposed. And so might the girl... and she was far too young to survive if anything happened to her now. He could see no solution.

He looked back over at her. She had splashed some water on the stone wall and was absently making marks in the small pool of water, gradually drawing the water into symbols. Once finished, she smiled wanly at Methos, "I believe our lessons are finished." She rose and walked dejectedly away.

Methos glanced down at what she had written. Two symbols... as old as time... from the dawn of the world sparkled for a moment in the sun. He touched them even as they evaporated in the sunlight. He rubbed his hand over the stone to be certain no stain of their existence would remain and watched her vanish into the great hall.

***

Methos finally reined in his horse sharply and dismounted. He stomped about in the grass, kicking and swatting at it and the branches of bushes in frustration. He had stomped off to the stables after the altercation at the well, had his horse saddled, and had ridden out of the timber fortress as though the wind itself were after him. He was angry... angry at everything, but mostly with himself for giving in to his anger. Sometimes the old Methos boiled just beneath the surface of his outward civility. Sometimes he still wanted to just lash out at the world and all its injustices. Sometimes he just wanted to... he forced himself to take deep breaths.

He needed to meditate... he needed to find that calm center that would allow him to find some way to control the situation. He dropped to the ground and crossed his legs, attempting to find that inner calm. Time passed and at last he found it. When he opened his eyes, he realized several hours had passed. The sun was already beginning to wane in the west. He needed to get back.

Not only that, but he thought he might finally have figured out a way to foil McClarendon's plans for the girl. It was risky, and it was not something he really wanted to do. But if it succeeded, she might, at least, live to grow up with some bit of joy and respect. Everything hinged on King Kenneth and whether or not he could convince the king of his plan. Kenneth was a shrewd negotiator and it would not be easy.

Methos remounted his horse and cantered back toward the court with a lighter heart and a sense of purpose. Once there he entered his rooms to retrieve the bag of gold coins he had stashed in his belongings. Then he strode confidently over to the great hall to request an audience with King Kenneth. This had to work...

***

Two hours later, King Kenneth sent for McClarendon and the girl. From below, in the great hall, Methos could hear the sounds of preparation for tonight's feast. He stood leaning against the wall of Kenneth's study, out of sight of anyone entering. His posture was not appropriate, but at the moment he did not care.

McClarendon entered confidently. He did not see Methos, nor did the girl when she followed him in. Kenneth stood thoughtfully by a window, but turned and nodded at the pair in greeting. It was obvious McClarendon could hardly restrain himself. It was imprudent of him to speak first, but his question came barreling out. "You have heard then from Old McCurdy?"

Kenneth shot a sharp glance at his retainer. One simply did not address a king without permission.

McClarendon bowed his head, "My apologies your majesty."

Kenneth came closer until he stood before McClarendon. "We have heard nothing recently from Fergus McCurdy, but we do not doubt his denial of a dowry and lands for the girl has changed. The child is likely just one of many from his household. He does not nor has he ever held her in much regard. He has always indicated that her fate was mine to decide. McCurdy believes that only a man worthy of the girl would take her as she is."

McClarendon bowed and spread out his hands, "I am that man my king. I ask nothing but the honor or her hand."

Kenneth snorted and walked over to the girl, "And what about you lass... what do you desire?"

The girl curtsied low, "Whatever his majesty decides." Her voice was quiet and filled with sorrow.

Kenneth placed his hands behind his back and thoughtfully paced back to the window. Nearby, his herald and Father Padraic shifted about nervously. Methos continued to watch quietly, awaiting the king's final decision.

Kenneth turned back to the girl. "And if it were your decision?" He gestured widely. "What do you wish of your life?"

The girl swallowed and gazed at the king nervously. McClarendon cleared his throat. She glanced over at him and her shoulders sagged in despair. "I wish only to be a proper wife your majesty."

"Gods," thought Methos, "what have they done to her."

It has come to our attention," the king continued, "that someone else has expressed an interest in marrying you. Someone who also requires no dowry and no lands." He motioned to Methos.

As Methos stepped forward, McClarendon's anger seemed to explode. "You!" He turned back to the king. "Your majesty, this man is a foreigner... he has no business in the affairs of our kingdom. He..."

"Silence!" Kenneth roared. "Speak out of turn again and we might well take your head and put it on a pike as a warning to others who would dare tell us how to run our own affairs."

Methos smiled.

"Now then," Kenneth looked at the girl and continued softly, "You have a choice girl. Would you choose Collin McClarendon or Sir Edward Gray?"

The girl's face widened in confusion. She looked at each man on either side of her. "I... I... it is truly my choice?"

The king smiled at her and nodded.

The girl turned to face McClarendon. No one had ever given her a choice in anything. She still did not quite believe that the long feared marriage with this vulgar man did not have to happen. If it was somehow a jest of the king, and she chose the other only to be told she must still marry McClarendon, his anger at her would be great. She turned to face Methos. She did not know this man. While he seemed kind, he was an unknown and she feared that there was much about him that was dangerous. And yet... she cocked her head to one side and appeared to be listening to something for a moment. She faced the king once more and said confidently, "If it is truly my choice, my king, I would choose Sir Edward Gray."

McClarendon exploded, "No! My king... your majesty... please."

The king glared at his retainer. "We have suffered your presence long enough. You are dismissed from our sight."

McClarendon glared back, but bowed and left the room.

"I fear Sir Edward, you have made an enemy this night."

Methos nodded. It was to be expected.

Kenneth motioned to Father Padraic to bring the banns. The king settled in his chair and motioned to Methos where to sign. After he had signed, Kenneth did likewise.

"I believe an exchange in promise is called for." Kenneth leaned back in his chair.

Methos laid the heavy leather pouch on the king's table, then pulled a ring from the little finger of his right hand. He took hold of the girl's right hand and placed it on her forefinger. "As promise of a marriage." A marriage, of course, he had no intention of fulfilling. "And you will continue to be her guardian until my return?" He gazed evenly at Kenneth.

"As if she were our own daughter. We swear to you. No man shall touch her. She is your bride when next you come to our court to claim her." Kenneth smiled gently at the girl. "Sir Edward fears you are a bit young for him to marry at this time, but he wished to ensure both your safety and your hand. He must return south on the morrow and you will remain here.

"We are even now having your belongings moved into a chamber closer to our family's rooms. You will sit with them at supper and be a daughter of our household. Now take his hand, girl, and go into the feast. We have held it up long enough."

She smiled and Methos saw a glimmer of joy in her eyes for the first time. She turned toward him and he raised her hand to his lips. He kissed it ever so gently and led her out into the hall.

"You will truly wed me Sir Edward?"

"I have so promised, " Methos answered without commitment. He paused and smiled at the girl. "While I am gone, I have asked the king to find you a proper tutor."

She nodded at him eagerly.

"By the way, since we are to be married," he smiled warmly at her; "I should like to know what to call you."

She laughed, and Methos thought it sounded like tinkling bells. "My grandfather told me, before I came to this place, that people would laugh at my name. 'Your mother,' he said, 'was a foreign-born woman with strange ideas and spoke an alien tongue. Your road will be hard lass, but if a man is truly worthy of you, he will ask for nothing and pay a king's ransom to have your favor.'"

"And what name did your mother give you?"

"Aella ... he said, she called me Aella before she died."

Methos chuckled. "The word for elf... or for faerie."

The girl nodded, "Sometimes I still seem to hear her voice in my head. When I was young, the others thought I was touched. They made so much fun of me I stopped listening to her."

Methos nodded thoughtfully and gently caressed her cheek. "Do you still hear her?"

Aella shrugged and shook her head, "Not so much anymore."

"Do you even remember me from when you were younger?"

Aella cocked her head to one side and pursed her brows. "I am not certain... did I give you flowers once?"

"Methos laughed heartily as he led her into the hall, "Oh that you did, Aella, that you did."

Early the next morning, Methos and his party left. Aella had bid him goodbye, still excited about the change in her status at the court. Already there was a new confidence in her. He held her hands and promised to write to her. He bent down to kiss her gently on the forehead and was surprised when she suddenly stood on tiptoe and his kiss met her lips. For a moment, it seemed to him, that her eyes sparkled a bright green. Methos paused. Then she laughed, clapped her hands together and stepped back. She was still so very young... still so much a child.

He nodded to King Kenneth, trusting that the king was man of his word. Aella would have tutors, status, and protection... anything she wanted... anything she needed. Methos mounted and rode out the gate.

The next problem would be to explain to Lord Strathclyde just how the tenor of the negotiations had changed. His master might not be so pleased at how things had gone. Methos would likely have to remain in his service for some time. He would have to consider aging his appearance. He always hated that. It was so much easier to just "die" and move on.

Methos glanced back at the girl before she vanished to his sight. She still might prove to be a complication he really did not need. And as for McClarendon... Methos had no worries about the mortal clansman. He would enjoy taking his head... not for any quickening... but just to rid the world of him. Perhaps Collin McClarendon would not cross his path again... but if he did, he would regret it. Meanwhile, his road lay before him, and, as before, the girl had stirred forgotten memories of long ago.