Joan was gray-haired and stout, with three dark hairs adorning her chin. She was also the cook, although most of the women pitched in unless they had other duties. Joan was the one who decided who would be doing what. If she liked ye, she gave ye the job ye wanted. If she didn’t like ye, it was best to watch out.
Being the daughter, and now sister, of the chieftain had many benefits. Astrid received first helpings of food, the others deferred to her for decisions over Joan, and she was given first choice whenever new provisions were acquired. Some through battle and some through merchants that traveled from town to town. Items from faraway places like fine silks, exotic lotions, and herbs. Though their visitors were few, she made the most of those purchases and even more of the spoils of war.
“What ails ye that ye’re so droopy with yer work?” Joan adjusted Astrid’s neckline, their eyes locking for the smallest second, before she spoke again. “Ye’re usually such a fine help to me.”
Astrid nibbled at her lower lip, not sure what to say. She was usually talkative with Joan. The older woman was genuinely interested in her and what she had to say. Unlike her mother, who just wanted someone to listen tohertalk. But if Astrid suddenly became quiet around Joan, the woman would certainly notice it. Maybe she would even mention it to Diarmuid when he returned.
“I have my menses.” Astrid looked away.
“And that usually makes ye even more talkative.” The woman knew everything, so of course she knew aboutthat, too. Joan stopped her chopping to put a hand to her hip. “That bread has done nothing to ye as far as I can see.”
Glancing down, Astrid realized she’d been taking out her irritation on the overworked ball of dough. She laughed and scooped it into the waiting pan. Joan grinned as she added the pan to the overloaded hearth.
“Faolán seems quite concerned for ye as well.”
Astrid scanned the area. With the rains outside, there were far more people within than was usual at this time of day. “What has he said?”
The little woman snorted. “That one talks constantly. Who can listen to him?”
She knew without looking that the woman’s eyes were still on her. It was only because Joan was concerned for her, which Astrid appreciated most times. Not this time, though. Astrid need only convince Joan she was fine, and she’d stop worrying.
“Joan, I am—”
“Astrid!” Beibhinn’s sharp voice rang through the hall so loudly that all present ceased talking and turned to look between her and Astrid.
Astrid’s face heated.
“God in heaven, what have ye done now, darling?” Joan’s words were intended for Astrid’s ears alone.
“She does not like my helping with chores.”
Joan winked to her and then crossed to meet Beibhinn, intercepting her before she could reach her obvious target.
“Beibhinn, are ye not feeling well?” Joan asked.
Her mother’s gaze shifted to Joan, her eyes rounding, and she halted. “Of what d’ye speak?”
“Ye look a bit… mottled.”
“I do?” Beibhinn reached up to feel along her cheeks and then her throat.
“Is it yer throat that’s bothering ye then?”
Beibhinn put a hand to her throat as if deciding if she had difficulty swallowing. When Joan’s eyes flashed to Astrid then darted toward the door, Astrid did not hesitate to accept the gift.
“I… I did feel a bit lightheaded this morning.”
The voices faded behind her as Astrid made her way into the yard. She blew out a breath, hands at her hips, and wondered what her mother could be going on about now. But Astrid could certainly guess. She wanted to question her about the ride home with Pádraig. Astrid was thankful Faolán had sent him on his way and her mother had not had a chance to interrogate him herself.
Her mind is too busy.
That’s how Marcán had described Beibhinn to Diarmuid. Was that two summers past? They hadn’t realized Astrid was nearby. It had been extremely hot and the sun relentless, beating down on everyone and everything. Too hot even to cook or to eat. The older men had gone off to hunt in the forest, hoping to find a cool respite. The younger men had been delegated to stay behind for protection. Marcán and Diarmuid were just coming into their own as warriors at the time. Both quite impressive.
Forgotten as usual, Astrid had been lying between the rowan trees and the honeysuckle bush. The bush close enough to surround her with the flowers’ sweet aroma. She had learned to lie perfectly still to keep the bees from her. The scent was intoxicating and the leaves of the bush and the trees offered plenty of shade.
Diarmuid and Marcán had taken off theirléines, clothed only in their shortbraies, and stretched out resting—Marcán on the wooden bench, Diarmuid on the ground.
“I know she’s a foolish woman. Who could believeyewere a Seer?” It was Diarmuid who’d voiced the question, of course. Astrid had often wondered at it herself.
