by Jane Stain
Alasdair smiled at the girl and held her hands. “Lovely Annis. Emily here needs tae share yer room for the next moon or sae. She saved my life, sae be good tae her, aye?”
Annis smiled at him and said something in Gaelic.
“English, please, for oor guest.”
“Och, aye, Uncle.”
“There’s a good lass.” He smiled at Annis one last time. “Emily, let Annis show ye tae her room. Ye wull fund yer actors in the courtyard. Dall and I wull see ye at mealtimes.”
Emily tried not to trip on her way out, staring at Dall for as long as she could, and smiling because he was staring back. When she could no longer see Dall, she finally turned to her new roommate.
“Say, Annis?”
“Aye?”
“Where do we lasses relieve ourselves? I know the men probably pee on the outer wall of the castle.”
Annis showed Emily to an empty room with a hole in the floor and then to her sleeping room—and then promptly left—probably to go tell the other women about Emily’s theory on where the men whizzed.
Emily used the hole in the floor—right after she closed the door, whipped out her phone, and took pictures of it. Vange was not going to believe this.
And then she went to Annis’s small stone room. It had a tiny third-story wind opening that looked down into the courtyard, two cots, and a large wooden cabinet. She took advantage of the privacy—first to wash her hands with soap and her damp dish towel, and second to look at her phone screen again before she shut it down to conserve the battery, mounted it with the solar charger, and used the ‘brooch’ the two formed to pin her cloak at her throat. She thanked her hippie grandma again for leaving the cloak in the attic at her parents’ house. The shutters were drawn, and there was no glass in the wind opening, of course, so the room was a bit chilly on this Scottish May morning, let alone the courtyard.
Yes, just as Emily thought, there was a second line to the last-minute text Siobhan had sent. Her breath caught in her throat when she read it:
Beware: If you join with him, then you will be stuck there.
Kilchurn Castle courtyard was an awesome place for putting on a play. It resembled the models of William Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre that Emily and her classmates had built out of Popsicle sticks, based on old etchings. The second and third-story rooms like Annis’s were reached by an outdoor system of wooden walkways that would serve remarkably well as seating.
Emily had no illusions about why they were rehearsing inside the castle walls rather than out on the hillside: they were much safer from raiders inside the protection of these walls. Still, smiling a huge smile as she gazed up at those wooden walkways, Emily saw theater balconies. She wondered if maybe the Globe Theatre would be modeled after castle courtyards such as this one. It was weird to think The Globe hadn’t yet been built, but Shakespeare wouldn’t be born for another twenty-six years…
Her biker-archers snapped her out of her daydreams.
They didn’t realize everyone in the whole castle could see them here. Or they didn’t yet care. Two had tried to light cigarettes and three had tried to look at their phones. It had been tempting to watch and see their reactions when they realized there were no cell towers in 1540, but so not worth being burned as witches if the people of this time saw the anachronisms.
Emily had to find a solution to this right away.
Using gestures in case English was not widely understood among Clan MacGregor, she asked a passerby if anyone in the castle had an extra pipe. In trade, she gave him a handful of her candies wrapped in the wax paper—making sure not to give him her magnifying glass or her Diva cup. He came back a few minutes later with not only a pipe, but a leather bag of tobacco, and the smokers were happy.
Most frustrating of all, the gang loved the idea of putting on a play with so much sword-fighting in it, but no one wanted to be Juliet.
“But I don’t want to play a girl.”
“Fine, then don’t,” Dog said. “Someone has to though, because Emily’s right: women in this time don’t go on stage. Didn’t you see any of Short Shakespeare’s shows?”
“I’ll do it.”
Everyone looked around, unsure who had spoken.
“Over here,” said the smallest biker archer there, with a tentative hand raised.
Dog turned to him. “Mike, I can’t even imagine you up on stage you’re always so quiet. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Mike stood up, faced the rest of them, held out his hands dramatically, and started reciting Juliet’s lines like a pro, in a loud falsetto voice:
O Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name.
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
Everyone clapped and cheered—not only them in the courtyard, but people stopped on the wooden walkways and leaned out of wind openings to clap and cheer.
Like a born showman, Mike bowed to the cheers. He even kissed his hands and blew kisses to the people who had stopped on the wooden walkways. Some of them laughed and caught the kisses.
Emily stood there clapping and cheering right along with everyone else. “Well, we have our Juliet.” she announced to everyone. That got more cheers. She waited until the audience sensed the preview was over and went back to their business, and then she said more quietly, “Way to go, Mike.” She shook his hand, then turned to the others. “I’m guessing no one wants to play the nurse, either?”
None of her biker-archers met her eye, not even Dog, who generally was staring at her whenever she looked.
“Very well. Mike, can you handle playing all the female parts against yourself?” Emily suspected that Mike had been a star in high-school drama, but from her teacher-training classes, she knew better than to bring that up in front of his fellow gang members.
Mike outdid himself. Not so loud this time so as not to attract an audience, he gave them the scene with not only Juliet and the nurse, but also Juliet’s mother, and he played all three parts.
With a huge grin and a ridiculous bat of his eyes, Mike recited the nurse’s lines in a gravelly falsetto that was so different from his Juliet voice, Emily would have thought it came from a different actor if she hadn’t been able to see Mike:
Now, by my maidenhead at twelve years old,
I bid her. What, lamb. What, ladybird.
Where is this girl?
Mike returned to his Juliet voice and added a skipping movement, which was both sweet and hilarious at the same time:
How now, who calls?
Saying only the best and most necessary lines like Short Shakespeare had, Mike then gave them a very serious, ‘prim and proper’ Lady Capulet in his own tenor voice:
Think of marriage now, Juliet.
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
“What happens next?” said one of the biker-archers.
All the rest of them were mesmerized by Mike’s performance, too. Emily went up and shook Mike’s hand again, then held it up as if he had won a prize fight. “Give it up for Mike, you guys.” The biker-archers all clapped and cheered. Several patted Mike on the back.
Emily gave them as long as it took, knowing that applause would be all the payment Mike got—and that his performance would make or break the show.
She took advantage of this opportunity to talk with Dog in private.
“Dog, why did you guys follow us here? And don’t tell me you didn’t know what would happen when you ran in and touched us.”
Dog smiled at her with mischief in his eye. “We knew you two were coming back to old Scotland. We figured it out. We just thought it would be fun to come along, and so far, it is.”
All Emily could do was sigh and shake her head, so that was what she did.
Glad she had thought to bring much more water-purifying iodine than she would need for herself, she also used this opportunity to ask a passerby where the actors might get water to drink.
>
Laughing, the kilted man took her to the castle’s front gate.
Emily laughed, too. Careful as always to tell only the truth lest a lie tangle her in its web, she explained, “We arrived in the dark. I had no idea this castle sat on the bank of a huge lake. I take it this is fresh water and not seawater, Mister _?”
He nodded, still laughing a little. “Ewan.”
“I guess you know I’m Emily. Will you show me the best place to draw water, Ewan?”
He sobered a little. “Aye, but ’twould be best if yer men came along, lass. The MacGregors and the Campbells hae many enemies, sae we bring up as much water as we can, whene’er we gae doon.”
Idly wondering who the Campbells were, Emily went and got the actors. Ewan got several buckets, and they all went down to the lake. Their guide pronounced it ‘loch’. While they were out on the castle’s large grassy peninsula, Emily saw cattle grazing.
Once they were back inside, Ewan showed them where to dump the water into a cistern, and he explained that was where they got water after dark and when the castle was under siege. When he said ‘siege’, Emily pictured the castle courtyard full of cattle, imagining a hundred or so would fit.
Her bota bag was already full of good water from home, but she had noted the men all had tankards, but nothing to fill them from. She whispered about this to Dog, and he promised to spread the word: don’t drink the water unless either you draw it yourself from the loch or Emily has treated it with her iodine powder.
After thanking Ewan, Emily took the area of the courtyard that Mike had used as a stage.
“Next, we cast the sword-fighting parts,” she announced.
Of course, everyone wanted one of those parts. The bikers argued among themselves about who was the best fighter, even resorting to pushing and shoving before Emily put her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and whistled.
“Fwee.”
They all stopped and turned to her.
“Thank you for turning to the whistle. So long as you always do that, I think we’ll be able to get this play ready in two weeks,” Emily said, reminding them they didn’t have all summer to squabble—and feeling just a little amused at how juvenile these big muscular men were. How about that: she was gaining actual hands-on teaching experience in the most unlikely of places. She would be ahead of her classmates when their practicum started this fall. Too bad she’d never get credit for it.
Seeming to get the message, the guys relaxed a bit.
Emily looked them over, hoping to find at least two swords among them. Thankfully, she did. Pointing to those two guys, she said, “You and you, come on up and give us a mock sword fight.”
When they did, she saw just how much work she had cut out for herself.
Helping them memorize their lines was going to be the easy part.
Feeling like something between a teacher and a prissy kid sister, Emily took the guys down to the loch again just before lunch—to draw a bucket of water for hand washing. She noticed that none of the locals were washing before the meal. She also knew that infectious diseases were the main cause of adult deaths in this time period.
As soon as she took her place next to Dall on the bench at the long crowded lunch table, he said softly to her, “I did na truly believe ye were their teacher until I saw ye with the actors this morning, lass.” His eyes were amused, yet impressed and respectful.
“I do not lie,” she declared to him heatedly, yet just as softly as he had spoken. She cringed a bit after she said it. Her declarations of honesty often got her ostracized. But rather than regretting her impulse as she usually did, she was glad she had said it.
“I believe ye.”
And there it was. He was smiling at her. She smiled back at him, and the contentment on his face appeared to deepen. She was getting lost in his eyes... Their smile had become so familiar to her over the past six weeks that she almost forgot where they were right then, almost forgot that so far as Dall knew at the moment, the two of them had only just met five hours before.
But unlike at the faire—just the night before to Emily—the two of them weren’t cuddling while they sat. They were close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, but they were back to not touching, which was almost unbearable to her. They weren’t whispering secrets into each other’s ears, nor smiling when their eyes met over private jokes.
Feeling someone else’s eyes on her, Emily looked around until she realized Eamann was at the table too, giving her that hard knowing stare as if to say, “Heed Siobhan’s warning. We’re serious about that.” She quickly glanced away, resolving not to look at the man again until July 19 came and it was time for her and Dall to go back.
Someone came to fill Emily’s tankard, and she was relieved to see it fill with beer rather than water. Few germs could survive in alcohol, so she didn’t have to worry about treating it under the table. She held up her beer. When everyone else held theirs up, Emily caught Dog’s eye, said, “To your health.” and took a long drink.
“Aye, to your health,” said everyone else. Many also crossed themselves before they started eating.
Dog nodded and drank, and so did the other actors. Thankfully, where this beer was strong on taste, it was weak in its alcohol content. Otherwise, Emily imagined the bikers would have been useless all afternoon, and they needed every possible minute of rehearsal over the next two weeks.
“Wull ye pass the butter, lass?”
Startled out of her reverie, Emily looked over at the amused face of the woman who had spoken.
“Of course.”
Emily was reaching for the butter when Dall’s hand collided with hers. It was just a brief touch, and then he let her be the one to pick up the butter, but as usual when they touched, imaginary sparks flew between them. Just being there, he made her feel even more alive than she had in the courtyard, teaching her actors how to stage fight.
Inevitably, their touch made her eyes meet Dall’s. His eyes searched hers, looking for the depths of her being. She tried her best to tell him with her own eyes that they had already done this part, they were already past the flirting stage and into the cuddling stage. She knew she was being silly to try, but she did anyway.
All that happened in just a second, and then Emily passed the butter to the woman sitting on her other side.
“Here you go.” She smiled at the woman in what she hoped was a friendly way.
The woman winked at her.
Emily gave the woman a nervous toothy grin in response.
The woman elbowed Emily.
Looking around the table, Emily saw that all the women and most of the older men knew what was going on between her and Dall. They all gave her knowing looks and friendly smiles. At least they approved. She did not want to be on the bad side of these tough real highlanders. Even the old women looked like they could take her in a fight.
Relieved, she saw that the meal was cooked: a stew of some sort. It tasted good: beef, cabbage, carrots, onions...
But Dall was making conversation with her. “What wull the play be aboot then, lass?”
This question roused the interest of everyone at the table—including, Emily noted with amusement, the actors. She put on her teacher hat and did her best to keep them interested.
“Romeo and Juliet is a story from Italy. It’s about two families who are at war with each other. A boy from one family and a girl from the other family get married in secret, which just causes more fighting.”
General nods of understanding followed.
“Aye, that it would.”
“Nay son o’ mine wull gae skulking off tae marry.”
“Especially na tae a Menzies.”
“Aye.”
They were all pounding on the table.
Dall touched Emily’s arm to get her attention, and she almost didn’t hear him, she was so busy being buzzed by the contact.
He said, “It does sound like a good story, lass, but why dae the two young ones marry in secret? Why dinna the
y tell anyone?”
This was one of Emily’s favorite questions in all of literature, so she warmed to it.
“Ah, I’m glad you asked that. The reason is that they are selfish and immature little brats, these children Romeo and Juliet. Their families are wealthy, you see, so the children wish to make a show of pleasing their parents, but to still be together—and Juliet’s father has promised her to his friend Paris.”
“Wull,” said Dall, looking Emily in the eye, “this Romeo then should stand up tae his Juliet’s father. Should tell him plain that he and Juliet wull be marrit. Make their oon way, and forget aboot her father’s wealth.”
“Aye,” said the man across from Emily.
“That be the right of it,” said Alasdair, and everyone nodded.
“Yes, that is what Romeo should do,” said Emily, “only remember, the play is about how he and his bride Juliet are selfish and immature. Instead of making a home for them, Romeo marries and has the pleasure of Juliet’s bed in secret, thinking to avoid the work of providing for his bride, letting her instead remain in her parents’ home.”
“Och. Tis na wonder ye call the lad a boy and na a man.” Dall slammed his hand on the table. “A man provides for his wife,” he said with his eyes searching Emily’s.
She did her best to open them up for him and let him see how much she really did understand and want to be part of that way of his thinking. They sat there once again lost in each other’s gaze for a moment.
The discussion had intrigued everyone, though, and for the most part they were supportive and even started offering to help make the production a success.
“It sounds verra good.”
“Indeed, it does.”
“Hae ye need o’ any props, lass? I hae a robe that wull dae wull for the Italian father.”
“Aye, I ken the one.”
“We hae a few more o’ those one-handed swords they use in Italy, as wull.”
“I hae a dress for the Italian daughter.” This older woman looked askance at Mike and grinned, thrilled when she received a grin from him in response.
