‘She was greatly loved,’ said Ramus. ‘During an outbreak of the lung sickness she and her ladies in waiting worked in a hospital, tending the sick. She was a woman of great courage and compassion.’
‘Compassion is not a word one hears often in talk of my family,’ said Gaise, with a bitter smile. ‘It was good to see you, apothecary.’
Maev Ring closed her book of accounts and replaced it in the bottom drawer of the pine cabinet. There was ink on her fingers and she walked out into the sunlight to draw up a bucket of water from the well. Dipping her hands she washed her fingers, but could not quite remove the stains.
Glancing up at the sky she saw that rain clouds were bunching over the mountains. Shula Achbain emerged from the main building, and curtseyed as she saw Maev. She was painfully thin, but Maev was pleased to see some colour in her sallow cheeks.
‘I have cleaned the rooms upstairs, ma’am,’ she said.
‘I told you to rest, Shula. And do not call me ma’am. I am Maev Ring, a clanswoman by birth.’
Shula gave a shy smile, curtseyed again, and went back into the house. Maev sighed. Shula was Varlish, albeit ‘kilted Varlish’ as the poorer people were known even among their own kind. Even so, it would normally be unthinkable among her people to call a clanswoman ma’am. No wonder Morain and the other Varlish women hated Shula. She had no sense of place. Bad enough, they would think, to marry a highlander, without treating them as your betters. But then Maev knew that Shula’s sense of self-worth was almost non-existent. She had no confidence.
However, questions of Shula’s broken personality were not uppermost in Maev’s mind as she stood by the well. Following the assassination attempt on the Moidart’s life twelve men had been executed – all of them clansmen. This was not in itself surprising, but three of them had been successful businessmen in Eldacre. Maev had known two of them well, and doubted they would take part in any such murderous proceeding. No, their crime had been to be too successful in the Varlish world. One, Latimus Esher, had run a pottery business, his wares shipped as far south as the capital. That burgeoning enterprise was now owned by the Moidart.
Best be careful, Maev, she warned herself. Her own businesses were booming and she had now invested in three cattle farms in the far north. It seemed that anything she turned her mind to became profitable. Already she had more than five hundred pounds in gold hidden in the house.
There was movement on the hillside and, shielding her eyes, she saw Jaim, Kaelin and young Banny returning from the high meadows. Her mood softened as she thought of Jaim. Born out of his time, he was a true clansman – no matter what she said to his face. Strong, proud and angry, his heart fretted constantly against the Varlish yoke. One day his temper would get the better of him and he would do something even more rash than usual and be walked to the gallows.
The thought made her shiver. There had been a time when she believed Jaim Grymauch desired her, when they were both young. She had waited for him to approach her, but he never had. Then Calofair had wooed her. He was a good and kind man, brave and strong. Though she had loved him she had never felt as easy in his company as she did with Grymauch. Whenever Jaim was absent from Old Hills – which was often – Maev would find herself longing for his return. Yet whenever he did come back she would find herself becoming angry with him, often for no reason that she could fathom later.
Kaelin idolized him. For Maev this obvious fact was double edged. There was much to admire about the big man, yet she did not want Kaelin to copy him. The thought of her child with a rope around his neck was more than she could bear.
He is not your child. The thought was a surprising one. No, Kaelin was born of Gian, but Maev had raised him from a babe. I could not love any child of mine more, she thought.