Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles)

by Amy Rose Davis

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “You’re slowing down.” He sniffed the air. “There’s an apple tree just over there.”

  The tree’s branches sagged with ripening fruit. Connor picked an apple and gave it to her. “It’s not much, but it will help you get to the village.”

  “Thank you.” She bit into it. “Mmm . . . So crisp and sweet.”

  He grinned. “Didn’t you have apples at the sayada?”

  “Not this kind, and not from our own tree.”

  “I’ll pick a few more for you. For later.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Would you?”

  He picked several apples and put them in his pack. “They’ll weigh my pack down.”

  “I’ll carry them.” She held out her hand.

  “No. They’ll just slow you down.”

  “You picked them for me. I’ll carry them.”

  He gave her his pack.

  She moved the apples and smiled when she put the pack over her shoulders. “Which way?”

  They approached a small village as shadows started to deepen with the setting sun. Connor stopped and stared at the rundown buildings along the main street. His chest tightened. In a tree to the side of the road, a raven croaked.

  “A bad omen?” Mairead pointed at the raven.

  Connor flinched. The raven cocked its head and stared at him. Three more landed to share the gnarled branch with the first. “I don’t believe in omens.” He turned to Mairead. Her hair had begun to fall out of its hasty tie, her boots and the bottom of her cloak were wet and muddy, and her eyes were still rimmed with red. “Stay close to me. I’m not sure what this place is like these days.”

  “How long has it been since—”

  “Eight years.” He grimaced at the tension in his voice and hoped she didn’t hear it.

  They entered the village, and Connor put a hand on the small of Mairead’s back to keep her close. She tensed, but she didn’t pull away. Raucous laughter floated out of a tavern, and the streets were sodden, muddy, and strewn with garbage. Connor leaned closer to Mairead. “Keep your hood up.” She pulled her hood further over her head, hiding her face in the shadow.

  The tavern door burst open ahead of them, and two men tumbled into the street. Connor put his hand on his sword, and Mairead gasped. “It’s just a bar fight. We’ll go around,” he said.

  “Just a minute.” She walked to an alley at the side of the tavern and crouched in front of a sick, thin woman huddled in the shadows. The woman wore a threadbare dress, and her unclad feet were covered in the street filth.

  Connor stepped after her. “Saya—”

  “I said just a minute.” She opened her pack and removed the wool dress she’d worn from the sayada. She gave it to the woman. “There are shoes wrapped inside the dress. I hope they fit you.”

  The woman lifted weary eyes to Mairead’s face. “Ye’d do that?”

  “I have no need of these. Please take them.” She held out the dress and shoes and gave the woman the apples Connor had picked.

  “Alshada bless ye, lady.”

  “And you, lady.” Mairead stood and hoisted her pack on her back again. She avoided Connor’s eyes. “What were you saying?”

  He put his hand on her elbow and pulled her away from the woman. She flinched, and he loosened his grip. He directed her around the fighting men and down the main street. “What was that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You gave away a dress and shoes you might need and apples I just picked for you.”

  “You made it quite clear that a woolen dress and sturdy shoes weren’t appropriate travel attire. And I’m sure Alshada has planted more than one apple tree in Culidar.”

  He clenched his jaw to hold back a curse. “Could you at least ask me before you do that sort of thing? What if there had been a man with her who wanted to rob us?”

  She twisted her mouth in a thoughtful expression. “I’ll consider that next time.”

  At the far end of the main street, a well-kept cottage surrounded by a sturdy fence stood out from the rundown village. A path of rough-hewn stones paved the way to a heavy oak door. Candles burned in the windows, and Connor smelled roasting pig. Nice to know some things never change. They walked to the gate, and he stopped. He put his hand on the latch and hesitated. Will they even let me in?

  Mairead waited. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” He opened the latch, walked to the front door, and knocked.

  Memories tumbled out of the house as a plump woman with upswept gray hair answered the door. Her face broke into a wide grin. “Connor Reid. I dinna think I’d ever see ye back this way again.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  She’s exactly the same. “Hello, Aileen.” He returned the embrace and kissed her cheek. “We were wondering if you could put us up for the night.”

  “O’ course, lad.” She put an arm around Mairead and led her into the house. “’Tis a fair long season since we’ve seen ye this way, Connor. Do ye tell me ye’ve finally married?”

  He shifted his feet and cleared his throat. “No. This is Mairead. I’m just escorting her north.”

  “Ach, ‘tis a shame.” She took Mairead’s cloak and pack. “Ne’er mind. There’s room enough for both o’ ye. Call me Aileen, lady. My husband, Donal, will be here for supper soon.”

  Mairead offered a quick curtsy. “It’s a pleasure, Aileen. Please, call me Mairead.”

  Connor pointed at the door. “I’m going out to find some supplies and horses. I’ll be back soon.”

  Aileen took his pack with gentle force. “Nonsense. Ye’ll sit and eat with us first. There’ll be time for all o’ that later.”

  Months of living under Aileen Mac Rae’s roof had taught Connor not to cross her, and the warmth of her welcome brought a hesitant smile. “You haven’t changed.”

  She slapped him on the shoulder. “Telling me ye’ll be going out in the village. Foolish. ’Tis nearly supper. I’d not be a Mac Rae if I turned away a traveler in need.”

  “I’d understand if you—”

  “Ye foolish boy,” she said, her voice tinged with a soft laugh. She put a hand on his forearm. “Ye’ve always been welcome here, Connor. Always.” She squeezed his arm and let out a deep breath. “Come, dear,” she said, turning to Mairead. “Ye need a good freshening up. Let me show ye to a room. The great ogre can carry your pack.”

  Mairead stood with arms folded and head tipped to one side, her eyes narrowed in confusion at the brief exchange. Connor shifted his feet. “Thank you,” Mairead said, turning to Aileen. “I am a bit wet and cold.”

  “O’ course ye are. Traveling at this time of year? It must be a great need.”

  She led Mairead and Connor to a quiet room appointed with a large feather mattress and a ewer and bowl on a small stand. Scented water was in the ewer, and linen towels lay in a tidy pile next to the bowl. Fresh rushes were scattered on the floor. Rough-knit woolen blankets in bright dyes covered the feather mattress, and tapestries warmed the room with rich color.

  Aileen bustled around the room lighting candles. “’Tisn’t much, but ’tis warm and safe. I keep it ready for travelers. Ye never know when some poor soul will need a room.” She pointed to the door. “Connor, ye can take the room down the hall.”

  “No, I’ll stay here. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said when Mairead’s face turned red and Aileen gave him a stern look. “I’m charged with her protection, Aileen. I can’t leave.”

  “She’s safe here, lad. Ye’ll sleep in the other room.”

  “Aileen—”

  “No, there’s naught for it. Ye’ll do as I say or ye’ll sleep in the barn.”

  You’re not exactly in a position to argue about something like this with Aileen, he reminded himself. He nodded. “I suppose the room down the hall is closer than the barn. Very well.”

  Aileen nodded and turned to Mairead, who was studying one of the tapestries. “My daughter made it,” Aileen sai
d. “She’s a weaver in the north. All o’ my children have grown and gone. ’Tis a blessing to have raised them, but they’ve all moved away. I miss them and my grandchildren.”

  “I would think you would move to be closer to them, Aileen,” Mairead said.

  Aileen laughed. “Nae. This is my home. ’Tis enough that they visit their old ma and da every now and then.” She wiped her hands on her skirts. “Freshen yourselves up, now. Supper’s almost ready. I’ll call ye when ’tis time.”

  Connor found the room he’d shared with Aileen’s sons and washed his hands and face. When he was done, he wandered back through the small house, running his hand along familiar walls and doors as memories filled his head. He stopped at the door to her room. Aine’s room. He closed his eyes. What kind of mercy is this that these people would welcome me again? He put his hand on the latch, tempted to open the door, but he couldn’t. The memory of the anger, pain, fear, and still—still—love in her eyes the last time he’d seen her hovered in that corridor. I didn’t mean to hurt you. He leaned his forehead against the door.

  The Morrag tightened his chest. Remember.

  You don’t let me forget. When will I stop hearing the screams of dying men? Or Aine’s sobs?

  She didn’t answer.

  He found Aileen putting the finishing touches on her lavish meal. Fresh bread sat on the long table, and a large haunch of pig rested on a platter, waiting to be carved. A separate platter held roasted red beets, and somewhere, Connor smelled something with pears. Fresh carrots, sliced cheese, preserved meats and jellies—Aileen had left nothing out.

  She handed him a knife. “Ye look much more presentable. Carve the pig, will ye?”

  He reached for a piece of bread. “Even when I’m a guest you expect me to work for my supper?”

  She slapped his hand away from the bread and pointed at the roast. “Ye’ll work and be glad o’ the meal.”

  He took the knife and laughed. “I can’t argue with that.”

  A door closed in the back of the house. “Aileen! It’s not Faltian, woman—why’re ye cooking such a feast?”

  Donal’s voice rang through the house with the same booming echo Connor remembered. Connor’s hand faltered, and he cut a much smaller slice of roast than he intended. A girl’s mother is one thing, but her father? He straightened and turned, preparing to run back to his room, gather his things, and leave in the dark if he had to.

  Aileen called back. “We’ve company, ye great ogre. Alshada must have known they were coming when he prompted me to prepare a feast.”

  Donal entered the room, ducking to avoid hitting his head. His eyes widened, but his mouth broke into a wide grin inside his full gray beard. “Connor.”

  Connor swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and inclined his head. “Donal. It’s good to—”

  But Donal cut off his words with a massive bear hug. “’Tis been too long, lad.”

  Connor tolerated the hug, but when Donal let go of him, he clasped Donal’s arm in greeting. “It has. Thank you for taking us in tonight.”

  “Seems a right fair season since we’ve seen ye. Where ye been, lad?”

  “Freelancing. Spent some time in Espara. I haven’t been this way in a few years.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, the carving forgotten. Ask before the saya shows up. “How are you both? How is Aine?”

  Donal put one hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Aine is well. Just had her third bairn, and living on a pretty farm north of the Wilds. We took her and the babe north after ye left. She married a good man. Took in the first bairn as if she were his own. Loves them all the same.”

  “She had a girl?”

  “Aye. A lovely lass who looks just like her ma. And now she has two boys, too.”

  A girl. “I’m happy for her.”

  Donal leaned to kiss his wife on the cheek. “I’ll wash up, love.”

  Connor turned toward hesitant footsteps in the corridor, and Mairead stepped into the doorway. Her freshly brushed hair shimmered in the candlelight, heavy, honey-colored waves that cascaded almost to her waist. Her green eyes sparkled, and even the rough woolen breeches and linen tunic Connor had given her could not diminish her fair-skinned beauty. This job would be a lot easier if she weren’t so damn pretty. For a moment, he forgot he stood where he’d thought the same thing of Aine once.

  Aileen bustled over to put an arm around Mairead’s shoulders and guide her into the room. “Ye look to be feeling better, lass. Come—sit.”

  Mairead smiled. “I’d be happy to help with something.”

  “Nonsense.” She pushed Mairead into a seat at the table.

  Connor leaned down to Mairead’s ear. “You won’t win against her,” he said.

  She laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “They’re lovely people,” she whispered.

  “They are.” He returned to carving the roast.

  By the time he’d finished, Donal had returned. He carried a small cask and put it down in the center of the table. “Oiska. Can I tempt ye, lad?”

  Connor held out his cup. “I’ve never turned down oiska, especially yours.”

  Donal poured for himself, Connor, and Aileen. “And lady? Care for a bit?” he asked Mairead. “Although I must say, ye don’t look like ye’ve had more than a sip or two in your life.”

  She held up her cup. “I’d love some.” Donal poured, and Mairead sniffed it. “What is it?”

  “Ah, ’tis the water of life, lass!” Donal lifted his cup. “A tribal toast—may the earth’s wings shield you on your journey!”

  Connor hesitated. I’d rather not have anything to do with the earth’s wings. “What about an Eiryan sailing toast? To fair winds and calm seas.”

  Donal’s eyes twinkled. “’Tis all one as long as we drink.”

  Connor laughed. “Indeed.” They all lifted their cups and drank. Connor, Donal, and Aileen watched with mild amusement as Mairead coughed and sputtered through her shot.

  Aileen poured Mairead some water. “Here. Drink. Don’t let these great ogres talk ye into more. ’Tis not for everyone. Oiska bites back.”

  Mairead, her face red and her eyes watering, caught her breath and drank her water. “Strong. Water of life, you say?”

  Connor smirked. “You’ve never tried it?”

  She shook her head and drank more water. Her voice rasped when she spoke. “I was never allowed. It was a sin.” She bit her lip.

  Donal chuckled. “Aye, some say ’tis a sin. But ’tis also said Alshada serves it at his own table.”

  “Perhaps in the great golden city, I will be made of stouter stuff,” Mairead said.

  Donal laughed and offered another round. Mairead declined with a polite shake of her head, but Connor held out his cup for more. “That’s a good batch—one of the finest I’ve ever had. You haven’t lost your knack for it.”

  Donal grinned and pointed to the cask. “Been aging for more’n three years.”

  As the evening passed, Aileen’s good food, Donal’s oiska, and the pleasant conversation conjured memories of evenings Connor spent with the Mac Rae family. Has it been eight years? How did I let so much time go by? How can they still welcome me?

  When he’d eaten his fill, Connor downed a final cup of oiska and stood. “Aileen, thank you for this feast, but I must go into the town and find some horses and supplies.”

  Donal motioned him to his seat as he tamped down a pipe. He fished around in the pockets of his jerkin and pulled out a second pipe, offering it to Connor. “Sit, lad, sit. What’s an evening feast without a pipe to finish it off?”

  “You’ll have me here all night with a pipe and oiska. I need to get supplies. We’ll leave at dawn.”

  “In that case, let us provide what ye need,” Aileen said. “We have much, and we’re happy to share it.”

  Connor hesitated. “I need horses. Do you have some you can sell me?”

  Donal took a long draw off his pipe. He blew out the smoke. “’Tis funny—just today, not a league away, I noticed two
sturdy beasts grazing in the old Kinnon pasture,” he said to Aileen.

  “The one up on the north fork of the stream?”

  “That’s the one. Let me walk right up to them, they did. Looked all over them for a brand, but they have nothing to say where they came from. Seems to me they may be Alshada’s gift to ye, Connor. They’re tied up outside right now, if ye care to look ’em over.”

  Strange. “How much would you want for them?”

  Donal rose, pipe still in his mouth, and waved off the question. “Ach, lad, they’re found blessings. Ye can have ’em. ’Twill save me the trouble of feeding them. Come, I’ll show ye.”

  Connor followed Donal out the back of the house. The moon and the light from the house illuminated Donal’s well-kept animal pens and outbuildings. Several sheep bleated in surprise. “Hush—’tis only me.” They quieted. Donal led Connor around the back of the pen and pointed to two horses eating from a small feedbox. “There. One stallion, one mare. They have the look o’ being cared for, but no markings. I’d return them to their owner, but I don’t recognize them. In perfect health, both of ’em—ye could do no better.”

  Connor ran his hands over both horses’ necks. The proud sorrel stallion tossed his head and whickered, but the palomino mare nudged him for more attention. “What about tack? Do you have saddles, bits, bridles? I can buy them from you.”

  “Ye’re welcome to any tack. We’ll have no need of it.”

  “I’d love to take them, but I must leave you some money for them.” Connor held up a hand to Donal’s protest. “I’ll leave you a generous price. Just hold onto it. If the owner comes for them, you can give it to him.”

  Donal thought it over and nodded. “’Tis fair.”

  A commotion rose from the distant streets, and in the midst of the shouting, Connor heard a quickly muffled scream. He put his hand on his sword, but Donal gestured and sighed. “Nae, lad, ’twill do no good. Ye’ll only get yourself killed.”

  Connor kept his hand on his sword. “This place has changed. Where did all the farmers go? The elders?”

  “The families ye remember moved on. There was an attack after ye left. Slavers.” He paused. “I was glad our kin had moved on. They took the young ones, the strong ones, and left us old folk alone.” He brushed his eyes. “’Tis ugly, this slave trade. Now the town is just a stop for venom runners and slavers.”