Page 41 of Tair

The bumpy ride from the loch to the village proved thankfully short, taking them through the trees and along a dirt road to a settlement that appeared picturesque and prosperous. Lucy smiled at the small cottages with their thatched roofs and stone walls, around which all sorts of flowers and vegetable gardens had been planted. Goats and pigs occupied some small pens here and there, and chickens and ducks squawked from huts built against an outside wall. She smelled roasting meat and baking bread, and something like cider.

“This is charming,” she said to the laird as he reined in the horse, and swung off. She would have done the same, but he grabbed her before she could. When he lowered her to the ground he let the front of her body slide slowly against his. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Why should I?” he countered, and then handed off the reins of his horse to the guard, who rode with it to a nearby hitching post. “Here you’re my maid servant. Dinnae speak to me unless ’tis to say aye or no, and call me my lord. Aye, and keep close to me.”

Lucy thought that was all ridiculous, but it would probably be a good idea not to draw too much attention. She followed him at a modest two-step distance, trying to take in everything she saw while behaving like a modest servant. Outside their front doors many of the cottages had tables piled with fruits and vegetables, and as they walked into the heart of the settlement Lucy saw some tents, carts and stands set up on a kind of rough village green. Everyone seemed busy, most happy, but here and there were some gloomy faces. The people selling didn’t look particularly rich, but they were dressed a little better than the villagers perusing their goods.

At the sight of Tair all the smiles vanished, and more than one seller turned their back on him and Lucy as they pretended to be occupied with their extra supplies. Only one big, dark-eyed widow with a crown of messy orange braids who was selling hunks of cheese stepped out from behind her stand and curtseyed to Tair.

“Fair morning, my lord.” She flicked a glance at Lucy before she asked, “How may we serve the MacRune today?”

“I seek someone familiar with local legends, Eilish,” he said. “Particularly those concerning the Fae folk and their treasures.”

“Och, then you’ll wish speak with auld Heremon, the herbalist, my lord.” The cheese seller pointed to a ramshackle cart filled with tied bundles of dried plants at the end of the green. “He’s told tales of the Fae to our bairns for as long as I remember.”

Lucy caught Tair’s arm when he would have walked away, and murmured, “Buy something from the lady, my lord, to thank her for her, ah, aid.”

Eilish’s dark eyes narrowed, but she smiled at the laird when he held out some coins. “I’ve a new batch of black crowdie your cook favors.” She offered him a small crock in exchange, which Tair handed to Lucy. “Tell Ronan if he desires more cheddar, I’ve a batch that’s near finished ageing.”

“My thanks.” The laird nodded as she curtseyed again.

Lucy remembered to curtsey, a bit awkwardly, before she followed Tair to the herbalist’s cart. The old man, who wore a battered felt hat and had a three-foot-long silver beard, squinted at them for a moment before he bowed.

“Laird MacRune, how may I serve?” Heremon asked in a low, rasping voice.

Tair eyed Lucy. “Ask.”

“Mr. Heremon, I wonder if you know, ah, ken any legends about a Fae treasure called the cluet,” she asked, trying to sound as Scottish as possible.

The herbalist frowned. “Aye, a few. Only we dinnae sell stories at market, lassie.”

Thunder rumbled overhead as the laird slapped a bunch of coins into the old man’s hand. “Tell the wench what she wishes hear.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Heremon regarded Lucy. “The cluet, ’tis older than the mountains, and more powerful than the Gods. Some say ’twas the cloak of an ancient immortal, and over time became so soaked in his magic that the cloak came alive, like you or me. To keep the thing from destroying the mortal realm, the ancient cast a spell that made it desire only to fulfill wishes. When commanded, it could change its shape and move from one place to the next to find those worthy of being granted a boon.”

“You make it sound as if it’s a living thing, like a person.” When he nodded she exchanged a look with Tair, who appeared bored but was also listening to every word the herbalist said. “I was told that it belonged to the dark Fae queen.”

Heremon chuckled. “Such a treasure belongs to no one, lassie. The queen stole the cloak. I cannae tell you when, or why, only that she did,” he added before Lucy could ask. “’Tis all I ken of the cluet.”

Lucy recalled how the cluet had shifted into different objects—a shawl and a blanket—and had appeared in both her world and Tair’s. “Could this treasure move through time?”

The herbalist’s smile faltered. “The power of the cluet, ’tis without limits. I reckon it could, if it desired to find someone to give it purpose.”

“Wait here,” Tair said suddenly, and stalked off toward the center of the green.

“Thank you for sharing your stories,” Lucy told Heremon, and then walked out to get a better look at where the laird was heading. She couldn’t see him now, which made her frown.

“You’re a pretty one,” a pimply-faced teenager said as he sidled up to her. “How much?”

“How much for what?” Lucy asked absently as she scanned the area for Tair.

“A romp.” When she frowned at him his expression grew sulky. “If you spread your knees for those MacRune bastarts, you may do as well for me.”

She sighed. “No, I don’t think so. Sod off.”

The teenager’s shoulders drooped, and he trudged back toward a small cluster of other young teen boys, all of whom crowed at him. Some things never changed, Lucy thought, amused.

“Look out.”