"How long have ye been a cook?" Maeve asked him as he handed her a sharp knife to help with her work. "Ye dinnae often see men doin' this kind of work in this kind of environment. Maybe in the halls of kings."
"This is the hall of a king, even if he's yet tae show himself, remember," he replied with a smile. "And I've been a cook since Cailean convinced me da I wasnae useless thanks tae this leg."
Maeve glanced at it, then quickly looked away.
"It's all right," Ben laughed. "Ye can ask. I was born this way. Me da is one of the soldiers here, me mam a healer. When they realized I came out like this, they kent I'd never be able tae fight for the rebellion, but thought I might become one of its scholars. As I got older, it became plain that wasnae the case. Even though I've had tutorin', I can barely write me own name."
Fascinated, Maeve said, "And so? Ye decided tae be a cook?"
"Me da wanted tae leave me at one of the villages when I turned thirteen," Ben explained. "He found a monastery that would have taken care of me well, and me mam agreed it might be good for me. I didnae want that, though. I wanted tae be part of the rebellion, tae fight for our future, even if I didnae ken how I could do it."
Maeve carefully began to clean the ingredients before her, allowing Ben to go on in his own time.
"It was Cailean who changed their mind. He heard us arguin' about it one night and he asked me da, well, if the lad cannae do the things ye think he's supposed tae be good at, why dinnae ye put a different kind of weapon in his hand? If not a sword nor a pen, what other options are there?" Ben laughed. "And me mam turned tae him and said, 'what's left? A spoon?' And the rest is history. Cailean convinced the council tae let me try out me skills in the kitchen, and it turned out I had a natural flare for it. I'd have never kent it if it wasnae for him."
Marvelling at the story, Maeve counted quickly in her mind. Cailean must have only been around eighteen then, stepping in to stand up for a young boy against a group of adults who no doubt were not so receptive to being told what to do with their own son. "But what made him interfere?" she asked, curious. She'd never in her life had anyone who would interfere like that for her, not until Ann and Eoin had saved her, anyway, or Senan later on.
"It's what he does," Ben said, shrugging. "As long as I've kent him, since I was a wee lad and he was just a wee bit older of a bairn. He comes across as gruff and harsh, but he wants us all tae be together. Honesty, togetherness, dedication, and respect: that's how he says we've managed tae stay afloat all these years."
Maeve was still thinking about Ben's story when she returned to her sleeping hut that night. The whole rest of the afternoon had been a whirlwind of activity; washing and mending clothes with some of the women — or trying to, as she mostly stabbed herself with the needle by mistake — aiding the stablemasters with feeding the horses, and even sitting in and trying to understand the high-level discussions of some of the scholars to the point that her mind was now as tired as her body.
It was a good tiredness, though. The kind of warm, welcome tiredness that she'd rarely experienced in her life, the kind that promised a good, deep sleep. The communal spirit of the camp was inspiring her, filling her with a new kind of hope and joy that she hadn't even known existed until now.
She lay down in her bed, gasping as her muscles groaned from finally being released from their strain. She winced,knowing it was only going to hurt more in the morning, but she couldn't bring herself to be too upset about it right now.
Neither Ferda nor Patty was back in the hut yet, so Maeve had the place to herself. She stared at the ceiling, reflecting on the last twenty-four hours of her life, scarcely able to believe the things that she'd seen and done. Only a few months before, she'd thought her life was over, but now it felt like it might just be beginning.
But through all the day, through all of her activities, she'd noticed an unbroken thread that followed no matter where she went. It was Cailean, of course; he'd been endlessly on her mind since the moment she'd seen him the day before, and the morning's training and the way they'd spoken afterward had only solidified it. She kept thinking back to the things he'd done and said; the way he'd challenged her then helped her, the way he'd looked with his scars glistening in the sun, the way he'd sounded when he'd given her advice, the way he'd felt when he held her hand…
It wasn't just that, though. Every time she managed to tear her thoughts away from him, there was someone else mentioning his name. Ben, telling her the story of how a young Cailean had stepped in and saved him from a life he never wanted. A healer named Georgina, who told Maeve a tale of how Cailean, then just fourteen, had traversed the countryside alone to find a particular rare flower that had saved a man's life. The stableboy, Harry, who'd been full of praise for the way that Cailean treated the horses. It seemed that every time she stopped thinking about him even for a few seconds, someone else had something to say.
The thought made her smile. She'd only known Cailean for a short time, but a wicked little part of her already knew he'd be slightly uncomfortable at the amount of praise going on behindhis back. She wondered what the look would be on his face if she were to tell him.
"What are ye smilin' at?"
Maeve lifted her head slightly from her pillow and saw Ferda entering the hut, smiling broadly. "Good evenin'," she greeted. "I'm nae smilin'. I'm wincin' in pain."
"Och aye!" Ferda said, then laughed. "Darren and Fergus both told me that ye took quite a beatin' today — though I saw ye this mornin'; ye gave as good as ye got, at least at first."
Maeve snorted. "Hardly, but thank ye," she replied. "How was yer day? I thought I'd see ye, but ye vanished after the mornin' duel."
"I did," Ferda agreed. "We went on a short radius mission, that is, we circled the place, makin' sure nobody was comin'. In a few days, I'll set out on a longer journey, but I asked if I could stay around camp for a few days more for now."
"Why?" Maeve asked.
Ferda blinked, obviously astonished by the question. "Tae get tae ken me new friend, of course," she said as though it was the clearest thing in the world. "I believe we were roomed together for a reason. Dinnae ye think the same? I've always wanted a sister, and now with ye and Patty, I might have just managed to get two."
It was a little overly forward, Maeve supposed, but it touched her heart anyway. She liked the slightly quirky way that Ferda seemed to see the world, and she knew that, even if it was a little too much, Ferda's words were genuine.
Genuine was a good word to describe the rebels in general, Maeve was finding. What was it that Ben had said?Honesty, togetherness, dedication, and respect.
Yes, this was the kind of place Maeve wanted to be in. It was the kind of place she'd wanted to be in her whole life.
"I'd like that," she said.
"Good. I kent we'd get on well, Mary," Ferda said cheerfully.
With that last word, the warmth in Maeve's heart shattered and it was as though a spear of ice had pierced her. It was a reminder, too stark, of how no matter how honest and genuine her campmates were, Maeve could never return it in kind. She could never truly be part of this family, never truly earn their trust, because they didn't even know who she was.
