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Authors: Melissa Mayhue
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Tinkler reached the group and made her greetings, she and Mistress Syrie moved away from the others, their heads bowed close together in conversation.
Fair odd, that. But from what Brie had seen of Mistress Syrie since her arrival at the castle, she shouldn’t be surprised. That woman was fair odd, herself. Every bit as odd as her aunt had been, before she had left to be replaced by Syrie as Lady Danielle’s companion.
Brie would have loved to be close enough to hear the conversation shared by those two, but she had little time to dwell upon that curiosity, because more visitors climbed down from the second wagon. Visitors who did not dress the same as the Tinklers. It wasn’t so much the people themselves that interested her as what they carried. One man held adrum, another a set of pipes and within the blink of an eye, the men began to play while a woman danced behind them.
That was enough for Brie. Down the narrow stairs she ran, not stopping until she reached the edge of the crowd that had gathered. To her disappointment, she’d no more than arrived when the music ceased.
“A taste, good people, only a taste. We’ll share the full of our talents this very night in yer own hall. All we ask is a few paltry coins to cross our palms in payment for the pleasure of our talent.”
Murmurs of the crowd buzzed in Brie’s ears as Laird Malcolm himself made his way through the people gathered around the newcomers.
“Welcome, friends. I’m sorry to say there’s none here what can afford to cross yer palm with anything, minstrel. Though yer welcome to take yer night’s rest within the safety of these walls and we’ll gladly share our evening meal with you.”
“Done!” William Faas agreed. “And perhaps these minstrels who travel with us as our guests will agree to repay your kindness with a few songs!”
It didn’t look as if the minstrel standing next to William was any too pleased with that idea, but the cheers of the crowd perhaps encouraged him to relent.
“As you will it, Master Faas,” he agreed. “Our journey north continues on the morrow only due to your kindness. A small performance for these peopletonight seems a price well paid for the transport you provide us.”
They journeyed north on the morrow? Brie’s mind churned with a fast-forming plan. It was almost too perfect to believe.
North was exactly where she needed to go if she was to avenge her father’s murder.
T en
T ORDENET C ASTLE
N ORTHERN H IGHLANDS, S COTLAND
T HIS WILL NOT do.” Halldor slapped the mare on her hindquarters and stepped back from the stall. “Not at all. This horse is no better than that reject from the peat bogs Ulfr thought to pass off as a sword.”
As promised, Ulfr had provided Chase with new clothing and boots on the first day, soon after assigning them their spaces in the barracks. A weapon and mount had been much slower to come. Days, in fact. And when Chase found the weapon Ulfr had left, even he thought it must be a joke of some sort.
The sword he carried on his back was really a weapon in name only. It looked as if it had been dug up from under a rock somewhere or, as Halldor liked to claim, out of the peat bogs. Rusted and chipped, it would do him little good in battle.
The horse, though, wasn’t all that bad.
“She looks to be a healthy animal.” In much better shape than many of the wild horses Chase had rounded up back in Montana.
Back in another life. The knowledge that Faerie Magic had transported him seven hundred years into the past still rattled his brain if he thought on it much.
He tried his best not to think about it at all. Very quickly, he’d learned that ignoring his past made facing each morning easier. If this was where he belonged, then this was where he’d make the best of being.
No, the horse wasn’t all that bad.
“She’s a gentle one, too,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Halldor’s response was a rude snort.
“Gentle is the last thing you want in
Fair odd, that. But from what Brie had seen of Mistress Syrie since her arrival at the castle, she shouldn’t be surprised. That woman was fair odd, herself. Every bit as odd as her aunt had been, before she had left to be replaced by Syrie as Lady Danielle’s companion.
Brie would have loved to be close enough to hear the conversation shared by those two, but she had little time to dwell upon that curiosity, because more visitors climbed down from the second wagon. Visitors who did not dress the same as the Tinklers. It wasn’t so much the people themselves that interested her as what they carried. One man held adrum, another a set of pipes and within the blink of an eye, the men began to play while a woman danced behind them.
That was enough for Brie. Down the narrow stairs she ran, not stopping until she reached the edge of the crowd that had gathered. To her disappointment, she’d no more than arrived when the music ceased.
“A taste, good people, only a taste. We’ll share the full of our talents this very night in yer own hall. All we ask is a few paltry coins to cross our palms in payment for the pleasure of our talent.”
Murmurs of the crowd buzzed in Brie’s ears as Laird Malcolm himself made his way through the people gathered around the newcomers.
“Welcome, friends. I’m sorry to say there’s none here what can afford to cross yer palm with anything, minstrel. Though yer welcome to take yer night’s rest within the safety of these walls and we’ll gladly share our evening meal with you.”
“Done!” William Faas agreed. “And perhaps these minstrels who travel with us as our guests will agree to repay your kindness with a few songs!”
It didn’t look as if the minstrel standing next to William was any too pleased with that idea, but the cheers of the crowd perhaps encouraged him to relent.
“As you will it, Master Faas,” he agreed. “Our journey north continues on the morrow only due to your kindness. A small performance for these peopletonight seems a price well paid for the transport you provide us.”
They journeyed north on the morrow? Brie’s mind churned with a fast-forming plan. It was almost too perfect to believe.
North was exactly where she needed to go if she was to avenge her father’s murder.
T en
T ORDENET C ASTLE
N ORTHERN H IGHLANDS, S COTLAND
T HIS WILL NOT do.” Halldor slapped the mare on her hindquarters and stepped back from the stall. “Not at all. This horse is no better than that reject from the peat bogs Ulfr thought to pass off as a sword.”
As promised, Ulfr had provided Chase with new clothing and boots on the first day, soon after assigning them their spaces in the barracks. A weapon and mount had been much slower to come. Days, in fact. And when Chase found the weapon Ulfr had left, even he thought it must be a joke of some sort.
The sword he carried on his back was really a weapon in name only. It looked as if it had been dug up from under a rock somewhere or, as Halldor liked to claim, out of the peat bogs. Rusted and chipped, it would do him little good in battle.
The horse, though, wasn’t all that bad.
“She looks to be a healthy animal.” In much better shape than many of the wild horses Chase had rounded up back in Montana.
Back in another life. The knowledge that Faerie Magic had transported him seven hundred years into the past still rattled his brain if he thought on it much.
He tried his best not to think about it at all. Very quickly, he’d learned that ignoring his past made facing each morning easier. If this was where he belonged, then this was where he’d make the best of being.
No, the horse wasn’t all that bad.
“She’s a gentle one, too,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Halldor’s response was a rude snort.
“Gentle is the last thing you want in
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