Emer’s clan was against the match. They set Cú Chulainn impossible tasks, but of course, he being a Gaelic hero, was able to do them. While he was off doing these quests, Emer’s clan sent her off to be married to some other man. But when the man heard Emer was in love with Cú Chulainn, he ran away. I suppose he thought it wasnae a good idea to marry an impossibly strong hero’s betrothed.
When Cú Chulainn came back to claim Emer’s hand in marriage, the castle she lived in was fortified against him. The clan tried to keep him out, but he did the usual hero stuff – stormin’ the castle walls, knocking down the clan soldiers, abducting Emer from her tower, and stealing all their treasure while he was about it.
When Emer saw Cú Chulainn prove his prowess and love like that, she agreed to marry him then and there.”
Emer had stopped picking flowers while she listened to Caillen’s story. “Is that a real tale, or did ye just make it up now?” she asked him, one eyebrow cocked with interest.
Caillen raised his hand as though taking an oath, “I swear it’s a true tale told round these parts – I thought ye’d like to hear it because the lady’s name is the same as yer own.”
“Thank ye, Ididlike hearing it – and ye told the story as well as a bard!” Emer said with a twinkle in her eye, “Ye must have heard some fabulous reports and legends on yer travels.”
“That I did, lass,” Caillen said, his eyes glittering devilishly, “I’ll tell ye some more if ye show me which flowers ye pick, but now I want to ken the ones ye choose for yer own perfume as well as the one ye’re makin’ for yer sister.”
Emer had never had a man interested in her receipts for soaps and perfume sticks before. And Caillen was such good company over and above their common interests. She beckoned him to join her, and he cheerfully jumped off the felled tree log and went to walk through the glade with her. She chatted to him in an artless way, as though he were a friend of long-standing; the sylvan setting was too unaffected by castle etiquette for them to be formal with one another.
“I make soaps, pomades, scented toilette waters, as many concoctions as I am able. It has long been a passion of mine, even though on the farm we didnae need to hold perfume up to our noses to hide bad smells-like the folks have to do in Edinburgh town-I always used to look at nature’s floral bounty and wish I could keep it in a bottle with me forever. And so I taught meself how to!”
Caillen was listening carefully, thoroughly enjoying himself, “I watched me mither make cordials when I was a bairn, is the process similar?”
“Aye,” Emer nodded, “the methods are the same, but the rules are different. Back at the castle, Cook treasures her citrus fruits for fruit pies and flavoring. I take the peels and pith when she does nae want to use it to make candied peel because they are one of the secret scents used in perfume.”
“Secret?” Caillen asked.
“Aye, the craftsmen who create these highly desirable items are hardly likely to want simple country folk to steal their enigmatic receipts! They leave us maids and housewives to make our rose waters and leave it at that.”
Caillen chuckled, saying, “Alright, go on.”
Emer counted off the scents on her fingers, “I’ve said citrus, then there are aromatics, such as lavender and lemongrass,” she did not notice Caillen shift uncomfortably when she said that, “those scents are very dominant and are often the first impression ye will have of a perfume someone is wearing,”
“I ken that well enough,” Caillen muttered under his breath.
Emer continued, “then there are florals, such as rose and lilac, next comes greens, evocative of grass and springtime tree leaves, followed by fruits and spices-strawberry and apple or clove and cinnamon.”
Emer stopped as she bent to pick some moss campion from a tree trunk and hold it to Caillen’s nose, “Then there are the woody scents: moss, cedar, pine, patchouli. And finally comes the balsams, like the exotic fragrance of vanilla or resin. Woody and balsam scents are the ones that linger in the nose, memory, and heart. If a maiden wears an evocative fragrance which scents the air and enters the soul, stories say it can be enough to tempt a man to desire her most fiercely.”
She stopped to bend and pick her final flowers, then straightened and smiled at Caillen, “Consider yerself initiated into the mystery of perfumes now!”
“The only perfume mystery I’m truly interested in, Emer, is what goes into the making of one o’ yers?” Caillen had to know the scent that haunted his dreams at night. Even after so many weeks since that one stolen kiss on the night of the feast, he was still able to close his eyes and instantly be transported back to the dark room by his memory. The heady scent of the woman; the soft, pliable lips, startled at first and then instinctively responding to his touch; the warm, feminine feeling of the girl’s body pressed against his own-one fragrance could trigger his recall into a subtly erotic response. Caillen was not sure if this was because the scent belonged to Emer, or because Emer belonged to the scent! But whichever attraction had come first, Caillen did not care. He was infatuated with the result.
She walked back to where Menzies was tethered and carefully tipped the flowers and herbs from her skirt into the saddlebag. When she did this, her petticoats were exposed for a moment, and Caillen was able to see the material was darned and patched in many places and her dainty leather boots were worn and scuffed.
When Emer was satisfied the flowers were safely stowed away and would not be crushed on the ride home, she began walking back to the folly and sat down on one of the white stone steps. There was a pillar on either side of her, and the tableau she presented to Caillen made him wish he were a painter.
“I dinnae want to bore ye, Caillen,” she said as he came to sit next to her, “Tellin’ ye the source of some o’ me perfume ingredients necessitates going into me family’s roots. It can only be dreary work listenin’ to someone drone on about relatives one has never met.”
“Nay, dinnae think me so shallow, lass!” Caillen protested, “I’m interested in learning about yer family. When all is said and done, two of the Wylie family are living under me roof, so it behooves me to ken everything I can, at least as far as ye and yer sister go.”
Emer gave a wistful sigh, “Tell me to stop when ye’ve heard enough. The answer to both o’ yer questions-to ken me perfume ingredients and me family-ye should understand me mither’s faither, me grandfaither, Grandpère Bourgine, was from Paris. He was a traveling merchant. Bringing gewgaws and fallals to small villages where the inhabitants might otherwise never be able to see such finery.”
She gave a small smile, “That was how me parents met-apparently ‘twas love at first sight. Mither never crossed the channel seas back to Paris. She must have really loved faither to give up her home, her faith, and her land. Grandfaither would visit once a year, and every time he would bring Davinia and me some exotic ingredient or trinket. Davinia loves to bake, so grandfaither would bring her mace, cloves, cinnamon, plums, and sugar loaves. That was what brought her to Maclachlan keep. Her pies were so well-liked by the local chieftain, he sent her here with a letter of recommendation.”
“Yer grandfaither sounds like a generous man,” Caillen said. He had plucked a stalk of grass from the lawn and was chewing the end of it while lying back against one of the pillars.
“Aye, he was,” Emer replied, “when he discovered me love of perfumes, he would bring the rarest ingredients for me delectation. When ye smell them, Caillen, yer mind is transported to spice markets far beyond our friendly shores. They evoke images of sultry seraglios and rooms heavy with the smoke of incense, places where ye can imagine women lying on silken sheets and page boys waving peacock feather fans above their heads to keep them cool.”
Caillen and Emer lay with their backs against the white stone pillars, fleeting images of oriental splendor and rooms redolent with perfume and smoke wafting up to the ceiling in their thoughts.
“And which one did ye use for yer very own?” Caillen wanted to know.
