“You arepositive this stuff really works?” Trulie peered down into the linen pouch at the tiny heart-shaped seeds. “I just grind some up, mix with water, and drink it?”
“Yes.” Granny nodded as she shook a knobby finger at the small cache of seeds. “Just a dab in water is all you need but be certain the seeds are well crushed or they won’t work.” Granny turned back to the worktable and stacked several small wooden bowls. “Oh, and Trulie...” Granny turned back. “When you start running low, you will have to jump back to the beginning of the first century to gather more from the Mediterranean stash. The map is drawn out in my journal. You won’t have a bit of trouble finding it.”
“The first century? Seriously?” Trulie drew the string around the neck of the seed bag and secured it with a knot. “It would be just as easy for me to hop back to Kentucky and get birth control there. The last time I spoke with Kenna through the fire portal, she said she could make any appointments I needed. Why can’t I get these seeds any closer than the first century? And in the Mediterranean?”
Granny wiped her hands on the front of her apron and shook her head. “Silphium is much more effective than wild carrot seeds or Queen Anne’s Lace. But the plant became extinct by the end of the first century—greed and climate change.” A hopeful grin brightened her face as she patted Trulie on the arm. “But with any luck, you and Gray won’t decide to wait too long to start having babies. I am certain you won’t need to make a trip back to Kentucky or the first century.”
“Uhm. . .” Coira cleared her throat. “What else do ye recommend to make sure a bairn doesna take seed?” The maid’s freckled cheeks flamed with scarlet patches of red. “Mam died when I was too young to learn of such things, and none of the serving maids can decide what works best.”
“Don’t have sex,” Granny said with a stern look over the top of her glasses. “That is the surest way not to get babies.” She turned from the table, squared off, and drew herself up as though she were about to make a speech.
Trulie tucked the pouch of seeds into a drawer and closed it with a loud bang. “It’s okay, Granny. I’ll talk to Coira about it later. I can’t sit through that lecture again.”
The chamber door rattled on its hinges as someone pounded on the other side.
“My goodness. Keep your britches on.” Granny patted her sleek gray hair and grumbled under her breath as she toddled across the room at a fast clip, then yanked open the door.
Tamhas stood with both hands propped atop his staff, his eyes sparkling with the smile hidden in his beard. “I thought ye all would wish to come and give Aileas a proper farewell. After all, ye may never see the poor woman again.”
Trulie winked at Coria. Tamhas was right. She wouldn’t miss Aileas’s going-away party for anything in the world. “So, she’s all packed up and ready to go?”
He nodded as he held out his arm for Granny to take. “Aye. Her servants have placed the last of her trunks in the carriage. All that remains is the Lady Aileas herself.”
Kismet and Karma bounded out the door ahead of everyone. Trulie couldn’t help but laugh. Even the animals wanted to see Aileas gone. Trulie hurried to catch up with the group. Tamhas’s stride was long and sure for a man his age. His staff gracefully thumped along beside him. Granny nearly skipped at his side. Trulie looped her arm through Coira’s and giggled at a sudden vision of them all skipping down a yellow brick road. It was amazing how much Aileas’s departure made the keep seem like a brighter place.
“But you know, I heard they can’t find Fearghal.” Granny’s chuckling revelation floated back to Trulie.
“What do you mean they can’t find him?” Trulie hurried to catch up with Granny and Tamhas.
Granny shrugged. “Ask Coira. All the serving girls are chattering about it. They said no one has seen him since he got booted out of the hall for being such an ass.”
“Do ye think the chieftain had Fearghal gutted and hung out to dry?” Coira’s eyes danced at the possibility.
“Coira!” Granny skidded to a stop and whirled around to face them. “Do you have to be so graphic? Crime-a-nitly, child! Where did you learn such a term? You sound like a twenty-first century redneck bragging about the deer he just shot.”
“Mistress Trulie said...” Coira clamped her mouth shut and cast an apologetic look in Trulie’s direction.
“Gray didn’t say anything about having Fearghal punished.” Trulie made a mental note to speak to Coira later about what should or should not be shared with Granny. “All I know is that Aileas is getting sent to some distant cousin in the lowlands. The place sounded like a convent or something.”
Coira’s grin widened. “Aileas would make a much better monk than a nun.”
Even Granny snickered this time, before clearing her throat, grabbing Tamhas’s arm, and proceeding down the hall.
Her interest piqued; Trulie attempted to bring the focus of the conversation back to Fearghal. “So, what do you think happened to him? I mean, really. Is there any gossip about where he might be?”
Coira frowned as she hooked her thumbs into the front placket of her apron. “Nay. ’Tis verra strange. Master Fearghal never strays far from his mother.”
Trulie stretched to better see as they came to the end of the corridor and passed through the arch leading out into the bailey. Shimmying sideways, she kept close to the wall. Quite a crowd had gathered to see Aileas leave.
An enclosed carriage waited with its lacquered door propped open. A scrawny lad balanced on top of the pile of baggage secured with a rope. The worn leather trunks and lopsided bundles bulged at an ungainly angle on the iron platform attached to the back of the carriage.
Trulie studied one of the longer, linen-wrapped bundles lashed across the very back of the wagon. Maybe Fearghal was in there, rolled up like the cowardly slug that he was. She looked closer and reached out with her senses. No. That wasn’t him. Whatever it was in that roll didn’t emit an aura.
The murmuring of the crowd became louder as Aileas emerged from the keep and paused on the wide stone step. Trulie felt a confusing twinge of sympathy for the woman. It was more than obvious that Aileas had been weeping. Her red-rimmed eyes were even more bloodshot than usual, and her pockmarked nose was red and dripping.
Aileas pulled a crumpled wad of cloth from her sleeve, pinched it up against her nose, and blew so hard the sound echoed through the courtyard. As she shoved the handkerchief back into her sleeve, she looked around, stopping when her gaze fell on Trulie.
Trulie stared back, unblinking. She refused to be the first to look away.
