Finn was not a fearful man. Very few things unnerved him. One of those things being trips into the village. Any village, really. It never bothered Ethlinn, which is how she ended up running into Ernin more than the rest of the family.
Finn and his father stayed in and around their farm and the surrounding land. His mother and sister frequented town for supplies. Even in Cenn Cora, where he’d finally met men who did not judge him for his father’s heritage, who accepted him as a true friend in spite of their many differences, even there he didn’t dare venture away from the keep. Folk had a way of making him feel less than human when they took a long look at him and saw a foreigner.
As he’d told himself time and again, he could not blame them. It hurt him, yes, but they had no way of knowing his family had settled peacefully, had not taken part in the violence and terror most folk associated with the Ostmen. And it was a reputation well-deserved. That knowledge did little to assuage the sting of abject rejection, however.
“We should head to the carpenter?” Dallan asked as they strode into the center of the small village.
Finn sucked in a hesitant breath. “There’s no harpmaker?”
Dallan snorted in amusement. “Have you seen the size of this place?Villageis a generous term.”
He wasn’t wrong there, and Luimneach was too far a journey for them from Cenn Cora while the trials were underway. Not to mention Illadan’s sudden, odd rule about not traveling too far during the trials. Reluctantly, Finn nodded agreement. “The carpenter it is. If he’s incapable, the bowyer may work as well.”
“You do the talking,” Dallan muttered as they approached the carpenter’s hut. “I’ve no idea where to even begin.”
The carpenter, whom Finn knew as Tómma from Eva’s stories of rebuilding the keep’s kitchen, watched them approach with a wary eye. Finn smiled in greeting, moving to pull his harp from his pack.
“Well met, Master Tómma,” Finn greeted him as warmly as he could, given the glare the man leveled at him. “We’d like to commission a harp, if that’s something you can do.”
Tómma spit on the ground in front of him, still giving Finn and Dallan a dark, sidelong glance. “No.”
A tightness threatened to take hold in Finn’s chest, yet he knew he was overreacting. Likely the man wasn’t denying him personally, though it certainly felt that way.
“Oh,” Finn mumbled, carefully composing his next attempt. He knew Dallan wouldn’t leave the village until they’d foundsomeoneto make the harp. “That’s no trouble. They’re not terribly difficult for a master carpenter like yourself.”
Silence. And a deeper furrow in the obstinate man’s brow.
Finn looked askance at Dallan, who nodded encouragingly. Dallan backed down from no challenge, as far as Finn could tell.
Taking a deep breath, Finn tried once again. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in some way. Lady Eva assured us you were the best at what you do. If you’re uncomfortable taking on an odd project, I’d be happy to sit and discuss the finer points of harp construction with you. We’ll pay you well for your troubles.”
“I said no,” Tómma repeated firmly, irritation clear in his tone. “And my skills are not the trouble. I won’t be making a harp for any Ostman, who’s no business owning or playing an instrument so sacred to the people you’ve slaughtered.”
Stunned into silence, Finn had no chance of stopping Dallan from lunging toward the startled carpenter.
Dallan grabbed two fistfuls of the man’s shirt, picking him up bodily and pressing him against the outside of his cottage. “What did you just say to my friend?”
Undaunted, Tómma continued. “If you’re friends with him, I’d say much the same to you.”
“You cocksure bastard,” Dallan spat, angrier than Finn had ever seen him. “I came here today hoping to pay handsomely for a craftsman’s best work, not threaten one into behaving like a man instead of a pile of shite.”
“Hit me, then, if it pleases you. But I won’t be making anything for a foreign brute and his guard.”
“Dallan,” Finn interrupted, worried it might get out of hand, “we can find someone else. He’s not worth it.” He had expected this sort of treatment. He had never thought Dallan would take up the fight on his behalf.
Still holding the carpenter by his léine, Dallan turned his head halfway round toward Finn. “He cannot insult you thus without recompense.”
“He’s not the first to do so, and surely won’t be the last,” Finn argued resignedly.
Turning back to Tómma, Dallan’s voice grew dangerously low. “I’m not going to hit you old man,” he growled. “I’m going to make sure no one ever buys from a man stupid enough to deny the Prince of Laigin a harp on account of the company he keeps.”
Tómma’s eyes went wide. “The Prince of…” he trailed off, looking first at Dallan, then at Finn, then back to Dallan, swallowing hard and looking rather pale. “My apologies, my lord,” he stuttered. “If you’ll release me, I’d very much like to speak with your friend here of the makings of a quality harp. I’ll have no less for two such—cultured men.”
“There’s more to it than that now, carpenter,” Dallan continued, letting go of the man’s crumpled léine. “I’ll still pay you handsomely for your fine work, but you’ll be taking on a second job in addition.”
“Of course,” Tómma replied before Dallan had finished speaking. “Anything to help you.”
“You’ll be making sure everyone in this village knows that Finn here is indeed an Ostman, and one of the most loyal, brave, and fierce men I’ve ever met. He will soon be one of the king’s Fianna, defending your sorry arse should there be any true threats to your safety. I shouldn’t have to remind anyone of this, as he has done nothing to deserve your insolence. See that it is so.”
