"Broken Windmill is me home," Arthur said gruffly, as though he had read her mind. "Me father was born here, and his father, and his father, and so was me son and me grandson, and, God willin', their sons and grandsons. The English may have robbed us of our money and our supplies, but they couldnae take our spirits. They couldnae take our homes."
"Is that why the village is supplyin' the rebellion?" Maeve asked, then bit her lip. She wasn't sure if she should be asking such questions so openly.
But Arthur gave her a small smile and a nod. "I heard the lost prince, the true king, stands amongst ye, or that at least yer council kens where and who he is. When the time comes for him tae retake his throne, then me family and me friends will have it kent that we supported every moment. We willnae kneel tae the False King, nae matter what."
Cailean had a strange expression on his face, but before Maeve could examine it further, he cleared his throat. "Arthur," he said, "I've come tae ye with a commission."
The older man's expression brightened. "Somethin' special, eh? Are ye lookin' for a fine sword for yerself, son? Or is old man Bruce after a replacement pommel for that weapon of his?"
"Nae for me, nor the council," Cailean said, shaking his head. He reached into his pocket and drew out a piece of paper. Upon it, as Maeve saw when she craned her head to look, was a rough sketch of a long, narrow sword. "This was me idea. I want it narrow and agile, with a pommel built for a small hand. The focus should be on bein' quick, nae just hittin' hard."
The blacksmith tapped the drawing. "A fine idea. Ye'll need good quality materials for that; fine, light steel, nae the usual sort." He furrowed his brow. "It will be expensive tae get the materials together and make somethin' so intricate."
"Aye," Cailean agreed gravely. "I was worried about that."
Maeve stood there, stunned, as the realization of what was happening hit her. The sword… such a beautiful, fine sword, would be too small and delicate for most of the warriors who fought in the rebellion. There was one reason and one reason only that Cailean would have brought her with him, but it made no sense. Could this really be… was he really here to buy this sword for her?
"Cailean," she murmured, hoping that Arthur could not hear her. "I dinnae have the funds for such a thing."
"Hush," he told her. "Arthur, how much gold do ye think this weapon will cost?"
Arthur chewed on his thumb for a second in thought, then sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, young McManus, but I cannae give ye this one as I have others in the past, nor take a pittance for it."
He named a number that made Maeve's eyes widen in shock, not because it was unfair but because she figured it would be enough gold to feed every family in the village for a couple of days.
"I understand," Cailean said without blinking. "But I need the sword. So…"
He reached into the deep inner pocket of his cloak and pulled something out, then held it out to Arthur.
Arthur swore, then immediately turned to Maeve and said, "Forgive me crudeness, lady." Then he turned back to Cailean, staring like he'd never seen him before.
"It's forgiven," she replied. "But… what…?"
She finally saw what was in Cailean's hand. Sitting offered on his palm was a small but hefty cloak pin, with a large emblem of a bird intricately designed in its center. Even at a glance, it was obvious that the thing had been created by a master craftsman, made of solid gold.
Maeve moved closer and examined the symbol. It was hard to tell exactly the kind of bird, but she suspected it was a capercaillie, the large bird with a feathered neck and impressive tail that was known as the horse of the woodland. Something vague stirred in her memory at the sight of the symbol, but it was quickly forgotten as Cailean said, "Will this be enough?"
Arthur's eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at the little pin. It was obvious to Maeve that his shock was not just about the physical worth of the jewelry, but whatever it was that the simple capercaillie represented.
"Is this…?" he asked hoarsely.
"I'll give it tae ye in exchange for the sword," Cailean said without flinching. "So long as ye agree tae melt it down at once."
"But…"
"That's the deal," Cailean insisted firmly. "The gold is yers, but the thing must be destroyed. It should be more than enough tae supply what ye need and leave some over for yerself."
"Aye, it should be." Arthur shook his head. "Well, well."
There was a very different expression on his face now, and his voice had become somewhat subdued. Maeve did not understand what had come over the man, but she had the very strong feeling that it wasn't just the value of the gold that was being offered to him. There was a significance here, a real history that, while Maeve might not understand, obviously meant something very important.
"So ye'll do it?" Cailean asked. "Ye'll make the sword?"
"It's for her?" Arthur asked, glancing at Maeve again. He appraised her with an artist's eye, then nodded. "Come, lass. Let's get some measurements, and I'll make it perfect for ye."
Maeve barely understood what was happening, but she obeyed Arthur's orders. While he measured the length of her arm and her height, she could not help but wonder why she was here and what on earth was going on. Why would Cailean do this for her? What had she done that caused this to happen?
When Arthur was done, they followed him into the back room, and Cailean watched like a hawk while the blacksmith melted the pin down. Only when the jewel was completely destroyed did Cailean look satisfied and nod.
