"Aye. I dae."
"Even though it means standin' in front of a crowd? Teachin' them things they might nae want tae learn?"
"Aye. Especially because of that." Ada lifted her chin. "I'm Lady of Barra now, whether I wanted it or nae. And ladies take care of their people."
Something flickered across Magnus's face—surprise, maybe, or approval. "All right. We'll organize a gatherin'. Tomorrow afternoon, in the courtyard, fer people of the keep and nearbydwellings. I'll make sure the word spreads. And then we can travel tae other villages further on."
"Tomorrow?" Ada's eyes widened. "That's very soon."
"Ye wanted tae be useful. Now's yer chance." Magnus's mouth twitched. "Unless ye've changed yer mind?"
"Nay. I havenae changed me mind." Ada squared her shoulders. "Tomorrow afternoon. I'll be ready."
"Good." Magnus looked back at the training yard where the boys were starting to drift back to their positions. "I need tae finish with them. But Ada?"
"Aye?"
"Thank ye. Fer wantin' tae dae this. Fer carin' about them."
He walked away before she could respond, already calling out corrections to the boys. But Ada stood there for a moment longer, warmth spreading through her chest.
He spoke as though it were unusual. As though most people in her position wouldn't care.
But then, maybe they wouldn't. Maybe most brides forced into marriages would spend their time sulking in their chambers, doing the bare minimum required of them.
Ada had never been good at doing the bare minimum.
The next afternoon, the courtyard was full.
Ada stood on a raised platform, just a few wooden crates stacked together, but high enough that everyone could see her. Mairi stood beside her for support, and Magnus leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching.
Ada's stomach twisted with nerves. She'd taught small groups before—shown other women how to make simple remedies, explained basic healing techniques. But never anything like this.
"Thank ye all fer comin'," she said, and was proud when her voice didn't shake. "I ken ye're all busy, so I'll try tae be quick."
A few people in the crowd nodded. Most just stared.
"As ye ken, over the past few days, many people got sick from drinkin' contaminated water," Ada continued. "And while we've closed the poisoned well, there are other ways sickness can spread. Other dangers ye might nae even realize are there."
She saw skeptical faces. A few people shifting.
Ada tried to ignore the nerves in her stomach and pressed on.
"If there's any doubt about whether water's clean, boilin' it first can save yer life. Especially children and the elderly."
"Also, dirt carries sickness," Ada explained, "and so do unwashed hands. If ye're preparin' food fer yer family, or helpin' someone who's ill, ye need to wash before and after. Every single time. It seems simple, but it makes a real difference."
"Me ma always said water alone wouldnae dae naethin'," a young woman called out.
"Yer maither was right. Water alone is nae always enough," Ada agreed. "But if ye scrub with lye soap, really work it into yer hands, ye're removin' that dirt that carries sickness. Remember, dirt ye cannae see can still make ye sick.”
“Another good tip is tae hang sheets outside after washin', in the direct sun for as long as ye can. The sun kills things we cannae see—mites, spores, things that make us sick. Even in winter, on a clear day, it helps. And open the windows when ye can. Fresh air is important. Stale air trapped in a room with a sick person, that's what spreads illness to everyone else. Fresh air, even cold air, is better."
An older woman nodded vigorously. "Me grandmaither always said the same. Open the shutters, let the wind blow through."
"Aye," Ada said warmly.
A young mother stepped forward, a bairn on her hip. "Me lady, what about the wee ones?"
