“Yes, the Little Folk. Some call them the forest fairies; to others, they are theOld Ones—the small woodland creatures who protect those with a pure heart, such as yourself.”
Maiwenn set her cup down on the small table and assessed the lovely blonde girl. Her pitiful face was badly scratched, caked with dried blood. She would need to clean it and apply some of her comfrey salve. That would be soothing and ease the sting. She had some on her bedroom table.
“You might have spotted them in the forest.” The fairy witch picked up the basket and peered inside at the rustic garland of wild roses. She chuckled at the half-eaten apple and redgroseillesstill in the panier. “It does appear that you enjoyed their gifts.”
The girl’s dark green eyes glowed in the firelight. She nodded emphatically, her blond hair falling over her shoulder, down her arm. “Yes, I did see something in the forest. I felt as if I were being watched—and followed. I even imagined hearing the voices of children whispering in the woods. It must have been theLittle Folkthat you described.”
Maiwenn chuckled warmly. “Indeed it was, child. I am certain they followed you, covering your tracks, and guiding you here to me. They will protect you in this enchanted Hazelwood Forest, as they have me, for many years.”
She removed the garland of wildflowers from the basket, running her bony, gentle fingers over the small pink blossoms.
“InBretagne, these wild roses are calledéglantines.Here in Ireland, they’re called “sweetbriar” or “briar rose”.
She peered at the distraught girl, who seemed a bit more relaxed, snuggled in the warm blanket, comforted by the chamomiletisane. The fairy witch rose to her feet and placed the garland upon Issylte’s head as if it were a crown.
Maiwenn kissed the top of the girl’s head. “The Wild Rose of the Hazelwood Forest,” she mused, a wide grin crinkling her soft, wrinkled cheeks.
She sat down beside Issylte, whose golden hair glistened in the firelight.
“Let me tend to your wounds, dear.I have a healing ointment that will ease the pain. I’ll be right back.”
Maiwenn tenderly washed Issylte’s torn skin with homemade soap made from wild roses and yarrow, sponging it with a soft, clean cloth and warm water from a basin. She meticulously applied the healing salve—a soothing blend of rosemary, comfrey, and cedar—murmuring words of comfort with her gentle, knowing touch.
“Thank you very much, Maiwenn My face hardly hurts anymore.” The princess smiled gratefully and took a sip of hertisaneas the fairy witch cleared away her herbal soap and medicine, pleased that the girl seemed less frightened.
Maiwenn headed to the fireplace, wrapped her hand once again in the thick cloth, and removed a lid from the pot which was simmering over the hearth. A tantalizing aroma wafted into the room.
“Rabbit stew, with fresh herbs and vegetables from my garden—which I will show you tomorrow.” She grinned at Issylte, cocooned in the blanket before the warm embers of the fire.
The old woman heaped a ladle full of the thick stew into two earthenware bowls and placed them upon a small table against the far wall of the cottage, nestled behind the seating area of the hearth.
She then set two spoons, the two cups oftisaneand two goblets, into which she poured some fresh water from a pitcher. She fetched the remainder of a loaf of fresh bread and brought two small jars from the small kitchen, placing them upon the table as well. Satisfied with the simple yet appetizing display, she flashed a welcoming smile at Issylte.
“Come, dear princess, sit here with me. Let’s eat, for you must be famished.”
Maiwenn seated the girl at the table across from her and watched in delight as she dug into the savory rabbit stew.
“Mmmm,” she hummed contentedly. “This is delicious!”
“I am very glad you enjoy it. While you eat, I will tell you a bit about myself so that we can get better acquainted.”
She offered the girl the nutty bread, the pot of fresh butter churned from goat’s milk, and a bit of honey from the small jar. Issylte joyously accepted them all. Maiwenn smiled as the princess buttered the bread, poured honey over the top, and bit into the delicious confection, licking the sweet golden ooze from her lips with obvious glee.
“I have lived in this cottage for nearly forty years,” Maiwenn began, her voice filled with nostalgic love.
“My late husband Pierrick built it for us when we first came to Ireland all those years ago. At the time, King Tuathal—your grandfather—was expanding the castle and had commissioned the construction of the north tower. Since my Pierrick was anexperienced stone mason, we came to Ireland for the stability of the work.”
Maiwenn ate some of her rabbit stew and sipped her chamomiletisane.Her tone became sorrowful.
“We lost our beautiful daughter Solenn and her husband Donall—may the Goddess bless their souls—twenty years ago, when our grandson Branoc was just three years old. We raised him in this cottage with us, and he now lives in the village with his young wife. He comes to visit when he can, chopping wood for my fireplace, helping me tend to the animals. Tomorrow, I will introduce you to my hens and goat, and show you my workshop where I make my herbal tinctures and ointments. I’ll teach you how to make them. And the sweet-smelling soap with wild roses and yarrow.”
She smiled at the princess, who had devoured every bite of the stew and was soaking up the broth with the crust of her bread. Maiwenn sat back in her chair and gazed into the expressive emerald eyes that now beheld her with apparent satisfaction and gratitude.
“Now, my dear, it’s your turn to tell me why King Donnchadh’s beloved daughter was wandering alone—in the dark—in the midst of the enchanted Hazelwood Forest.”
The princess, fidgeting with her gown, told her about the queen’s huntsmen. The orders to kill her and bring back her heart. Maiwenn saw the stark terror on the girl’s face as she described in a quavering voice the malevolent stepmother with black eyes and icy hands.
Maiwenn sipped her tea, staring at the fire. She’d heard rumors in the village that the beautiful young queen was barren. Of course. With the queen unable to produce an heir, the Emerald Princess seated at her meager table had the rightful claim to the Irish throne. And therefore, posed the greatest threat to her stepmother’s feeble grasp of power.
