Branwyn stood. “Aye, you are verily right. Now you are free to do your will. Go and practice swords with the men, act as if you have a right to be on the field with them. I care not. If your father allows ye to go to war with his soldiers, you will end up like Bevan, dead and lying on a field.” She marched off, not giving Emlyn a chance to retort.

Emlyn sat by the waterfall, miserable and full of woe. She hated being the cause of her friend’s dismay, even if indirectly. Although her friend was distraught and meant not a word of which she spoke. She would have to go and see Branwyn later this eve, after she had time to calm.

When Emlyn reached the keep, she tried to avoid seeing her mother, but as with everything this day, she was thwarted. Her mother stood near the entrance seemingly in wait for her.

“I heard what you did this day and I am not pleased.”

Emlyn stood watching the disgruntlement on her mother’s usually lovely face. She wouldn’t speak for she knew she’d be punished if she did.

“I bid you not to take to fighting with your father’s men and you disobey me yet again. And now the only thing I have coveted in the last few months has been torn to tatters. Aye, your betrothed is dead and I deem you are well pleased with yourself.”

“Nay, Mother, I am not pleased. I am saddened by this news.”

Her mother put her hands on her hips, flattening the material of her gown against her body. She was in a mood and all Emlyn thought of was escaping.

“We shall add that falsehood to the list of grievances you’ll speak with the priest. Aye, for disobeying me, ye shall spend the morrow on your knees, praying for your soul’s redemption. Why can you not do as I ask?”

“I’ve no need of redemption, Mother. I’ve done nothing wrong. Why does everyone accuse me of Bevan’s death? I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t there. He died in battle. I wish everyone would just leave it be, for it matters not now.” Emlyn marched away with angry steps. She made certain her mother heard the thumping of her feet on the wooden stairs and didn’t give a care whether it was childish or not.

When she entered her chamber, she found herself unaccompanied. She was grateful her sisters were not in their bedchamber, for all she was wont was to be alone. Emlyn reached for her pillow and wept. She wept for the sorrow of Bevan’s death, for her friend’s anger toward her, and her mother’s disapproval.

Nothing had gone right this day except for the earlier training session, which was the only thing that brought her joy. If only she could focus on battle tactics and not worry over the insignificant matters of womanhood, she’d be the merriest of all the Iorwerths.

Chapter Three

The Gunn clan only wanted peace and to exist without being embroiled in King Alexander’s political endeavors. Since receiving the king’s missive instructing his laird take as many men to aid the Wales warlord, Llywelyn Iorwerth, the followers trained day and night. All suspected the implications of being given such a directive from the king.

James returned from the Highlands to his friend’s holding by the English border only a sennight prior. There they awaited Grey’s return from meeting with the king to find out exactly what their mission would entail. Before they would engage with the rest of the armies in mid-August, they were given time to get their affairs in order.

James didn’t have any affairs to see to, but there was a woman he wanted to say farewell to. He waited until most sought their beds before trekking to the village where the healer lived. None knew of their liaison, and that’s exactly how James wanted it. For one thing, the woman was feared by the clan, and secondly, short of their diversions in bed, they didn’t really get along.

When he’d first met Muriel, she abhorred his medicinal practices, and still she scoffed whenever he recommended a different way of healing. The woman was of an ancient culture whose practices bordered on barbaric which had been handed down from one generation to the next. He was more astute in his thinking and discerned there were better ways of dealing with such issues.

In battle, he’d tended many a wound. How many times had they quarreled about a certain remedies, he wasn’t certain, and lost count. He didn’t mind their differences when it came to medicinals, because it was in bed where they were compatible. And Muriel damn sure amused him.

James entered the cottage quietly so as not to disturb her, and saw her standing by the hearth. Her red hair glowed from the many candles lit within the small cottage. She’d set them around the two-roomed domain and it was bright. So much so it hurt his eyes.

“The rumor wasn’t false … you’ve returned,” she called over her shoulder, continuing to keep focused on her task. “I heard you came back. What took you so long to come to me?”

“Aye, but I’m here at last. I had duties.” He approached her tables where a good many volumes had been left open. James spied some of the words before she banged them closed. She never allowed him to read the ancient text.

“Not for your eyes.”

He would’ve laughed, but she remained serious. James was comfortable in her abode and made himself at home. Hastily, he removed his garments and pulled off his boots. He kept his braises on for now, not that he was modest, but Muriel was working, and he’d keep the distractions to a minimum. Never would he disturb her when she toiled at her tables. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, because she’d given him a what-for when he had. The woman could be a harridan when she was angered.

James decided to close his eyes for a wee rest until she joined him in bed.

Before he could take rest, he noticed she mixed something. “What are you concocting?” It was rare that she used herbs, for she wasn’t one to use them, and then only in dire situations. He’d caught her a few times and when he’d asked about the remedy, she practically rebuked his interest. James reasoned the woman practiced the dark magic of her ancestors, and decided against judgment. For who was he to do so.

She didn’t look up when she answered, “A salve for the warriors. A good many came throughout the day with bruises and abrasions. Training must be serious for them to inflict such wounds on each other.”

“Aye, we need to strengthen our skills. I’ve a wound you can try it on.”

When she inspected his cut, she gasped. “You should’ve came to see me when it happened. ‘Twill become infected.”

James shrugged his shoulder. “It is but a paltry cut, Muriel, no need for ministrations.”

Duff, his opponent on the field this day, was intent on testing his skill to the limit. If Sean hadn’t called him, he would’ve been paying attention, and easily thwarted his attack. He was wont to draw the wound in his parchments, but it was at an inaccessible spot behind his bicep.

“Don’t move.” She used her fingers to scoop out a good amount of salve from the mixing bowl. With a gentleness he didn’t know she possessed, she applied it to the four-inch gash on his arm.

“Might need the needle.”

He shook his head. “It is not that deep. And besides, your hands shake too much.” James grinned for he hoped she wouldn’t be irked by his jest.

“They only shake around you. Lie on your stomach and let it dry,” she ordered. She went back to her chores, measuring herbs and tapping them into the bowls to make more salve.

James crawled upon the small bed and settled on his stomach, careful not to disturb the salve on his arm. With his eyes closed, he listened to her moving about the cottage. After such a long day of training, he was wont to fall asleep and get as much rest as he could. He’d heard his laird had returned and knew they would leave soon. Before he succumbed to his will, he needed to say farewell.