Maeve could tell that there was an answer on the tip of his tongue, and suddenly, she was determined to solve this tiny little mystery at least, even if the greater mysteriousness that surrounded Cailean was thicker and more obscuring than the cloaks they both wore. "Then if ye hypothetically had tae guess why a capercaillie would be a symbol…"
He snorted. "Ye dinnae give up, do ye?" he asked. He patted his horse's flank, then sighed. "All right. Let's say that once, a few generations ago, a man got lost in the woods. He'd been attacked by bandits, and he had nae weapon, nae map, and nae direction or idea of how tae get home. He got turned around and accidentally wandered deeper intae the forest, and when he couldnae find a river to lead him out, he thought that this would be the moment that he would die."
Maeve stayed silent. She did not want to ask any questions and interrupt his story, though she couldn't tell if he was making it up or reciting something from memory.
"Weak, exhausted, and injured, the man sat down on the forest floor and closed his eyes. He kent that soon enough there would be a wild predator who'd come along and find him, and that would be the end of him. In his heart, he thought only of his new bride, whom he'd left alone tae come on this huntin' trip. He hoped she would have a long, healthy life without him, though he mourned that he'd never live tae see his son."
Cailean smiled, and Maeve suddenly realized this was a story he must have heard from someone else, perhaps from a parent long ago. He had a faraway, gentle look in his eyes.
"And then he heard the squawk. When he looked up, there it was: a huge, feathery grouse, a capercaillie, starin' at him from the edge of the treeline. He pulled himself tae his feet, and the creature began tae run — they're not well-flighted birds, ye understand. And because he kent not what else tae do, the man began tae follow the bird, hopin' against hope it would lead him tae water. He knew that he would probably lose sight of it, but somethin' amazing happened. Every single time he stumbled, the bird seemed tae pause in runnin' away, almost as though it were waitin' for him."
Maeve could see it in her mind's eye — the weakened warrior, who looked like Cailean in her mind, and the majestic fan-tailed bird, running through the trees like a creature of the faerie folk. It seemed almost magical. "What happened after?" she dared ask.
"The capercaillie led the man right tae the edge of the forest," Cailean explained. "And it met his eyes and made a low noise in its throat. The man stumbled on until he found the road, and there a kind traveler helped him get home. Soon after, the man's son was born, and the whole family lived good and well for generations after. The man made the capercaillie the symbol of his home, partly in thanks tae the creature who had saved him, and partly a reminder that even the simplest of game birds can be a hero when it matters the most."
Silence followed the story for a few moments. Maeve quietly asked, "Was that yer ancestor? The man in the woods?"
"Mary, it was just a story," he replied with a shrug. "Ye asked, and I told ye. Now, come on, our horses are gettin' impatient standin' around."
Maeve chewed on her lip. Cailean could say what he liked, but it was clear that the pin had been some sort of meaningful family heirloom, and as far as she could tell, he had no family left. "Cailean, about the sword?—"
"Ye're gonnae take the sword," he interrupted. "And ye're gonnae do me one favor in exchange."
His gray eyes met hers, and Maeve's heart fluttered. She took a deep breath and said, "What favor do ye need from me? If it's in me power…"
"Just… beat Darren in a spar," Cailean said. Then his serious expression relaxed into a grin. "I've got an ongoin' bet that I'm more than ready tae win."
Mary's surprised laughter was like music to Cailean's ears. He'd rarely heard her laugh before in the weeks she'd been here, and never so genuinely. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed the sound, and part of him yearned to be the cause of her laughter more often. "I'll do me best," Mary promised, light dancing in her eyes.
Cailean felt his breath catch when she met his eyes. She was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that, but that wasn't what was drawing him to her — not entirely, at least. There was a life to her, a vivacity that had been hiding away and that was slowly spilling out more and more as their training went on. He found himself eager to learn more about her, to spend more time with her, to see her smile and laugh and everything else.
Was that why he had made the decision he had? He couldn't honestly say for sure. It didn't really matter, though.
"Dinnae worry," he told her. "Darren's all show. Ye'll beat him in no time."
Mary laughed again, much to Cailean's secret delight. Then she shook her head and said, "Do we have tae go back tae the camp yet? I… well, ye must at least let me buy ye an ale and perhaps a meal tae make up for all ye're doin' for me."
"That's not necessary," Cailean started.
Maeve held up her hand to interrupt him. "Please. I insist."
There was no real way that he could disagree, not when she was asking him in such a way, and so he found himself nodding and saying, "All right. One drink."
They reached the center of the village a short time later, leaving their horses with the rest of those tied outside the tavern and heading inside. Mary went ahead to find a table, and Cailean moved to the bar to bring them both a mug of ale and place an order for food.
When he returned to the table, Mary was smiling. She accepted the drink with thanks and took an impressively deep swig. "This is good ale," she said.
Cailean laughed. "I'm surprised ye like it. Ferda always makes us buy her wine if we bring her out here. She says ladies dinnae drink ale."
"Good thing I'm nae lady. I told ye that some time ago," Mary replied with a wink.
They settled down across from each other. The tavern was surprisingly lively despite the small size and relative poverty of Broken Windmill; it was the gathering place for most of the village folk as well as a popular spot for travelers who made their way through, not to mention many of the rebels found their way there several times a week. It was small and worn, but still cheerful and clean on the inside, and the tavern owner and his wife were skilled cooks and brewers.
After a little while of light chatting about how training had been going so far, the tavern owner brought out two bowls of stew and placed them before Mary and Cailean.
"Thank ye," Mary said politely, earning a smile from the owner. Cailean thanked him as well, and when he was gone, Mary spoke again. "Ye ken, I used tae work in a place like this."
Cailean blinked in surprise. By her accent, he'd taken Mary for a highborn woman, perhaps the daughter of a rich merchant or maybe a minor laird. "Ye did?" he asked. "Was yer father a tavern owner?"
