‘Were you always so gloomy, old man?’ asked Maeg, growing angry as her good humour evaporated.
‘Not always, young Maeg. Once I was as strong as a bull and feared nothing. Now my bones are like dry sticks, my muscles wet parchment. Now I worry. There was a time when the Farlain could
gather an army to terrify the world, when no one would dare invade the highlands. But the world moves on …”
‘Let tomorrow look after itself, my friend,’ said Caswallon, resting a hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘We’ll not make a jot of difference by worrying about it. As Maeg says, we are growing gloomy. Come, we’ll walk aways and talk. It will help the food to settle, and I know Maeg will not want us under her feet.”
Both men rose and Oracle walked round the table to stand over Maeg. Then he bowed and kissed her cheek. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll not bring gloom to this house – for a while, at least.’
‘Away with you,’ she said, rising and throwing her arms around his neck. ‘You’re always welcome here – just bear in mind I’ve a young babe, and I don’t want to hear such melancholy fear for his future.’
Maeg watched them leave on the short walk through the pasture towards the mountain woods beyond. Then she gathered up the dishes and scrubbed them clean in the water bucket by the hearth. Completing her chores the clanswoman checked on the babe, once more stroking his brow and rearranging his blanket. At her touch he awoke, stretching one pudgy arm with fist clenched, screwing up his face and yawning. Sitting beside him, Maeg opened her tunic and held him to her breast. As he fed she began to sing a soft, lilting lullaby. The babe suckled for several minutes, then, when he had finished she lifted him to her shoulder. His head sagged against her face. Gently she rubbed his back; he gave a loud burp which brought a peal of laughter from his mother. Kissing his cheek, she told him, ‘We’ll need to improve your table manners before long, little one.’ Carefully she laid him back in his cot and Donal fell asleep almost instantly.
Returning to the kitchen, Maeg found Kareen had arrived with the morning milk and was busy transferring it to the stone jug by the wall. Kareen was a child of the mountains, orphaned during the last winter. Only fifteen, it would be a year before she could be lawfully wed and she had been sent by the Hunt Lord, Cambil, to serve Maeg in the difficult early months following the birth of Donal. In the strictest sense Kareen was a servant under indenture, but in the highlands she was a ‘child of the house’, a short-term daughter to be loved and cared for after the fashion of the clans. Kareen was a bright, lively girl, not attractive but strong and willing. Her face was long and her jaw square, but she had a pretty smile and wore it often. Maeg liked her.
‘Beth’s yield is down again,’ said Kareen. ‘I think it’s that damned hound of Bolan’s. It nipped her leg, you know. Caswallon should chide him about it.’
‘I’m sure that he will,’ said Maeg. ‘Would you mind seeing to Donal if he wakes? I’ve a mind to collect some herbs for the pot.’
‘Would I mind? I’d be delighted. Has he been fed?’
‘He has, but I don’t doubt he’ll enjoy the warmed oats you’ll be tempting him with,’ said Maeg, winking.
Kareen grinned. ‘He’s a healthy eater, to be sure. How is the lowland boy?’
‘Healing,’ Maeg told her. ‘I’ll be back soon.’ Lifting her shawl cloak from the hook by the door, Maeg swung it about her shoulders and stepped out into the yard.
Kareen placed the last of the stone jugs by the wall, hefted the empty bucket and walked out to the well to wash it clean.
She watched Maeg strolling towards the pasture woods, admiring the proud almost regal movements and rare animal grace that could not be disguised by the heavy woollen skirt and shawl. Maeg was beautiful. From her night-dark hair to her slender ankles she was everything Kareen would never be. And yet she was unconscious of her beauty and that, more than anything, led Kareen to love her.