March 9: 9 Days to Festival
Fiona and Sunny left the cottage with knapsacks on their shoulders and muslin bags to store their plants and herbs. As they strolled into the wooded area at the edge of Fiona's property, Sunny glanced over at her great aunt. "I don't know what else could be going on that mama could be so dodgy about. It couldn't be any more serious than you are growing illegal substances in your flower garden."
"Depends on whom you're talking to," Fiona replied with a nervous laugh.
Sunny smiled and looked up into the trees that grew high above. The sun filtered through the leaves, creating intricate patterns that shifted constantly in a dance of light and dark. "For instance?"
"Aye," Fiona said, then stopped and pointed up into an oak, "There's some mistletoe. If I remember rightly, I'm a little low."
"How will you ever get it? It's so high up," Sunny murmured, looking up through the branches at the clump of green.
"Oh, it will come down," Fiona replied with a smug smile. "It always does."
Sunny laughed and wagged a finger at Fiona. "You're evading the subject."
"No," Fiona replied softly. Together, they continued down a faint trail into the deeper parts of the forest. Fiona wondered how much she could tell Sunny to satisfy her without revealing the one thing Maire had forbidden her to say. "Well, let's see; there has been a -- medicine woman -- as you called us -- from the Dannan family serving Ballencoo since before recorded history. The art is passed from generation to generation. The properties of plants and how to use them to heal the sick have been taught to each woman, and each woman contributes her learned knowledge to the next medicine woman.
"And it's all recorded in those books and passed down to the next healer to use as a reference," Sunny said.
"Aye, and as each healer made discoveries and improvements on the mixtures of medicines that were recorded for the next healer to draw on when it came to be her time to serve," Fiona told her. "When your grandmother and I were old enough, we started to learn from our mother. Colleen was very good; it came naturally to her. I, on the other hand, had to work at it. Eventually, it became easier, but nothing like the way it came so easily to Colleen."
Fiona stopped by an elm and pointed to the lichen growing at the base of the tree. "This is a good lot; let's collect this."
"How do we harvest it?" Sunny asked, pulling a muslin bag from the knapsack she carried.
Fiona reached into the pocket of her leather apron and pulled out a small, curved knife. The blade was shaped like a half-moon, like a tiny sickle, and looked very old, with a bone handle. Fiona held the knife up as Sunny flipped open her sketch pad and pointed her pencil at the intriguing blade.
"Very unusual-looking blade," Sunny commented. "What's the handle made of?"
"The handle is made from a boar's tusk."
"Must have been one big pig!" Sunny exclaimed as she watched Fiona deftly cut the grey-green lichen from the tree without damaging the bark. With quick, clean strokes, Sunny sketched Fiona's hand holding the knife. "What happened with grandmother?"
"Well, I believe that Colleen realized that if she assumed the role of healer, she would never leave Ballencoo," Fiona said. "She wanted to travel and see the world. Once you become a healer—well, you are forever tied to Ballencoo."
"I don't think I understand," Sunny replied as she finished the sketch and tucked the pencil behind her ear. She slipped the travel sketch journal into the outside pocket of her knapsack. "She couldn't have gone to college or traveled?"
Fiona moved to another elm and began to remove the lichen from the bark. "Nae, when Colleen left, she not only broke a deeply rooted family tradition, but she also broke with village tradition." She paused her task and smiled faintly at Sunny. "I suppose it is hard to understand the idea of being bound forever to one spot."
Sunny frowned as she thought about her grandmother wanting to be free and independent. It was probably in the early 1920s when her grandmother was around eighteen or nineteen and eager to experience the excitement of city life in London. Fiona seemed to follow her thoughts. "Colleen definitely wanted no part of the traditional life here in Ballencoo. She left and went as far away as she could. She was gone for four or five years before she ever came back to visit. She'd never stay very long; maybe a day or two, and then she'd be off without a word to Mother or me."
"Why?"
Fiona sighed deeply and looked around. "She thought if she lingered too long, she would be forced to stay and never leave."
"That's strange," Sunny murmured. "Did she really think your mother would lock her in the cellar and make her stay?"
Fiona chuckled. "Never, Mother; but there were some who thought she should have done exactly that and made Colleen stay."
"Wow, that's amazing," Sunny said. "How did you feel about all this? You were even younger than Grandma when she left."
Oh, I was angry at first, but then I realized if I didn't take on the role of healer, my mother would have to keep going until she died. When she was gone, no one would be there to help the people.
Sunny frowned slightly. "That was selfish of grandmother to put that responsibility on you – you were only, what, only sixteen?"
"Aye," Fiona replied, "But even then, I could see how very important it was to continue."
"I guess that explains some things," Sunny said, "But there's more -- something that you're leaving out."
Maire is the same way, you know," Fiona continued as if Sunny hadn't spoken, "Colleen instilled the same deep fear and suspicion in her. I'm just glad she decided not to keep you away.
Sunny nodded and frowned as she thought of her mother. "She told me that the two of you spoke that night; did she tell you what made her change her mind and send me here?"
Fiona lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug and shook her head. "I believe it was because you were so upset, and she didn't know what to do to help you."
Sunny nodded. "That's true; she couldn't help me; no one could help me. I felt that the world had ended," she said.
"And now?" Fiona asked.
Sunny smiled grimly. "Well, the world didn't end, and I survived. At the time, I surely didn't think I'd ever be able to get past the anger. I'm just glad she finally decided it was best for me to be here."
They moved on to another tree, deeper into the forest. "Would you like to try to harvest this bit?"
Sunny studied a patch of lichen and took the curved blade Fiona offered. Sunny carefully pried the lichen from the tree trunk with nimble fingers, then slid the curved blade between the bark of the elm and the lichen, slicing it away in a large clump. Sunny handed the lichen to Fiona and asked, "How did I do?"
Fiona examined the tree and nodded appreciatively. "Very good, you left just enough to sprout again – that's the way your great-grandmother did it."
"There's more you're not telling me," Sunny said, as she looked at the tree where she had harvested the lichen, then turned to Fiona with mildly accusing eyes. "I just can't imagine why."
Fiona opened her mouth to respond when a figure appeared from the dense forest growth and stepped onto the path just ahead of them. "Good afternoon, Fiona."
Sunny turned and looked. For a brief moment, her eyes seemed to go unfocused. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. Fiona recognized the man instantly! While she was thankful for the distraction, this wasn't a situation she would have wished for in a thousand years! She quickly began to think of the fastest way to get Sunny and herself away from Nicodemus Fury. "Rom, we heard you were in Ballencoo this season. You are looking well."
He inclined his head toward Fiona. "Thank you. You as well." Fury pointed to the muslin bags Fiona held. "Out collecting, I see."
Sunny continued to study the infamous Nicodemus Fury with keen artistic interest. Fury had high cheekbones and aristocratic features. He was tall, slim-hipped, and lean, looking like a man who was still very athletic. Sunny frowned. He had to be close to Fiona's age, but as he walked from the trees to stand on the open trail, he looked like he was not much older than his thirties! That was impossible!
"Aye," Fiona replied. She looked beyond Nicodemus to the men standing in the shadows. "We are collecting what we can. My great-niece is helping me."
His dark, smoldering gaze fixed on the young woman standing on a rise beside a stand of elm trees. Nicodemus looked at Sunny with sharp interest. "So, this is Colleen's granddaughter?"
Fiona nodded. "Siobhan O'Neil."
Nicodemus nodded in a solemn greeting, then slightly turned to the men behind him. He made a subtle gesture, and they quietly disappeared into the shadows.
Sunny looked at Fiona, who continued with the introductions, "Siobhan, this is Rom Fury."
Nicodemus chuckled softly. The sound of his laughter sent a chill down Sunny's spine. It was rich-sounding and carried an odd, smoky layer that felt mysterious and hinted at danger beneath the softness of his laugh. It was impossible that Nicodemus Fury looked so young! Looking at him made her feel dizzy. Whether he noticed her reaction or not, Sunny couldn't tell. "It has been a very long time since I heard anyone refer to me in that way." he then looked at Sunny. "It is an honor to meet a Dannan's daughter."
Thank you," Sunny replied.
"What is your familiar name?" Nicodemus asked, looking at Fiona. "As I remember, all the Dannan women have familiar names."
Fiona smiled faintly. "Yes, we do," she said, glancing at Sunny and pointing to herself. "Occasionally, though not as often as when I was young, I am still called Skye, and Siobhan is known as Sunny."
Nicodemus looked toward Sunny and said, "Of course."
Sunny asked, "Will you be at the festival, Rom Fury?"
He gave her an appraising look, and she dropped her eyes to her sketchbook. "I will be there - Your captain and I have business."
"You mean Hugh?" Sunny asked, looking up at him again. "He's going to buy your horses?"
"Not buy," Nicodemus told her, "But we do have plans."
"Hugh has worked very hard to preserve the breed," Fiona responded.
"I hope to help improve his stock," Nicodemus replied, then turned his head toward the sounds coming from the woods behind him. He cast a look back at Fiona and Sunny and smiled apologetically. "That will be the rest of Gabriel's guardsmen coming to check on my whereabouts."
Fiona's brows rose in surprised interest. "How is Gabriel?" she asked.
Fury lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug. "Gabriel is---Gabriel, steadfast and true."
Fiona nodded and extended her hand to Sunny, saying, "We have a few more stops before we head back to Laurel Cottage. I'm sure we'll see you at the festival."
Sunny detected an uncomfortable tenseness in the air. She met Fiona's look and started toward her, reaching for her hand when her foot got tangled in the roots of the elm trees. She felt herself losing her balance and reached out to catch herself. Fury caught her. Her hands grasped his strong forearms and held on. He helped her over the tangled roots and onto firm ground. He stepped back, his hand still holding her wrist. She felt her cheeks grow hot as his dark, quicksilver gaze met and held hers.
Sunny laughed weakly. "Clumsy me! Thank you, Rom," she said softly.
His black gaze roamed over her face, taking in every detail. Then his eyes rose to the pencil tucked behind her ear and then to the hand he held. He felt the quick pulse in the slender wrist, and he allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his mouth. "An artist?"
"Yes! A very talented artist!" Fiona said.
"I would very much like to sketch you, Rom," Sunny said. "You're an incredible subject!" The instant the words left her mouth, she winced in embarrassment.
"Another time," he murmured, then looked at Fiona and spoke to her in an odd lilting dialect that Sunny did not understand. Fiona inclined her head, and Fury looked at Sunny once more before slipping silently into the woods.
Sunny fanned her face with her hands and looked at Fiona with a wry grin, "Wow!"
"Part of the Fury charms," Fiona continued, watching the woods where Fury had disappeared, then glanced over at Sunny and smiled faintly. "In his world, Nicodemus Fury is royalty, as is his whole family. They all have that autocratic air about them – even after all this time, he is still as intoxicating as he was in his youthful days."
"I hope that I get to see him again," she replied, "So I can try capturing that fierceness; it is so compelling." Sunny looked to Fiona, "I can see why women would find him so---."
"Yes," Fiona murmured, glancing toward where he had gone. Then she turned and started back along the path they had taken. Sunny stayed close behind Fiona, peering into the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of Fury. They had only gone a few yards when they heard a sharp whistle. Fiona paused. "It's your lucky day; I believe you're about to see some of the Dannan tribe."
Sunny joined Fiona and grinned as she saw a caravan of wagons approaching them. The wagons were brightly painted in rich jewel tones. They were lavishly decorated with gold paint and adorned with vividly painted roses, with the lead wagon painted a deep cobalt blue and featuring golden sunflowers. The woman driving the team of Vanner horses pulled up, "A good day to you, Dannan!"
Fiona lifted a hand in greeting, "And to you, Larksong."
Larksong looked at Sunny and nodded to her, "Is this a child of the Dannan?"
"This is Siobhan, my great-niece," Fiona replied. "She is staying with me for a while."
Larksong's dark almond-shaped eyes examined Sunny, and she nodded. She looked back to Fiona. "If you could, can you see to one of the elders?"
"Of course," Fiona said. "Which caravan will I find your elder?"
"She is in my caravan," Larksong said, tilting her head back. Fiona nodded and turned to head to the rear of the wagon. Larksong patted the seat next to her. "Come up here and ride with me, child."
Sunny looked to Fiona for permission and received the nod. Sunny climbed up next to Larksong, and the woman smiled, revealing strong white teeth. "You are enjoying your visit, yes?"
"Oh, yes!" Sunny cheered. "Very much!"
Larksong's smile broadened. "That is good. After so much sadness, it is good to be in happiness again."
"How did you know?" Sunny asked, her emerald eyes wide in surprise.
Larksong chuckled and patted Sunny's arm. "I see and know much! Perhaps I will tell you more of your future?"
"I think I'd like that," Sunny replied. "Would you mind if I sketched you?" Sunny opened her sketchbook and flipped back a few pages to show Larksong the drawings she had made of Fiona and the plants. Larksong tapped the page with a long brown finger. "That is Dannan's blade!"
Sunny nodded. "Would you mind?"
"You draw all you like of Larksong!" the woman declared. "Perhaps one day I will be famous?"
Sunny grinned; she liked Larksong! She started sketching, capturing the woman's face, high cheekbones, and wide-set dark almond-shaped eyes that reflected her ancient roots. The woman had unusual tribal tattoos on her strong forearms. Her clothing looked handmade, and she wore a heavily embroidered woven vest decorated with beads, shells, and other items. Her leather boots had beaded flowers on the toes. Sunny drew the woman with bold, sweeping strokes that quickly achieved startling realism. She was so focused that she didn't realize they had entered the heart of the forest and the Dannan encampment.
Sunny looked up from her sketchbook as the wagon came to a stop. She had traveled back into an era long gone. The sights, sounds, and smells swirled in and around the hardwood forest like ghosts. Curious to get a closer look at their visitor, many of the clan left their campfires and various chores, moving closer to Larksong's caravan.
Two young men came to tend to Larksong's black-and-white Vanner horses. Fiona appeared from the back of the caravan and was greeted by several members of the clan.
"Your child here has great skill," Larksong told Fiona as she climbed down from the caravan.
Fiona looked up at Sunny. "Aye, Sunny's a very talented young woman."
Sunny dropped to the ground between Fiona and Larksong and smiled at the group of people gathered around them. Then, from across the encampment, Tully appeared; he waved, put his fingers to his mouth, and whistled sharply, drawing everyone's attention. "Give the lassie room to breathe!"
Immediately, most of the people broke up and went back to their tasks. Larksong nodded to Fiona. "How do you find my elder?"
"I've given Vinca a few packets of a tea blend that will ease her joint aches," Fiona told Larksong. "I'll write down what all you'll need once you get home."
Larksong nodded and angled a look over at Sunny. "Come, I will give you a reading as promised."
Fiona raised an eyebrow at Sunny. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"
Sunny regarded Larksong for a moment, judging by the looks of Fiona and Tully; she began to wonder whether she should have Larksong give her a reading.
Nicodemus was about to leave the camp when one of his men brought news that the Dannan and the girl had arrived with Larksong, the fortuneteller. While he had vowed to keep his distance from Fiona and leave the Ravens to watch the girl, there was something about the way the girl had studied him earilier that intrigued him. He decided to delay his trip and went to find the girl and the Dannan.
As Sunny was debating whether to have her future told, a figure stepped out from the shadows, and Sunny recognized him instantly: "Rom Fury."
Larksong dipped a curtsy, along with the other women nearby, as they observed the newcomer. When Nicodemus entered the clearing, the crowd scattered. Tully nodded toward Fury, who returned the acknowledgment. Tully smiled wickedly at Fury, then turned to Sunny. "Perhaps you'd rather have your chance to draw the infamous Fury to Larksong, scrying the depths of her crystal ball?"
Larksong chuckled as she saw Sunny's eyes light up. "I cannot compete with that kind of invitation!"
"May I have a rain check?" Sunny asked, turning to Larksong.
Larksong nodded. "Any time, child; Larksong will be happy to give you a reading of your future!"
Nicodemus gestured to a spot away from the main camp and said, "Come over here; you can even turn your pencils to drawing Tully while we drink to his continued good health!"
Tully chuckled, "I'll fetch the jug; Fiona, join us for a nip?"
Sunny angled a look at Fiona, who acquiesced with a wry smile to Tully and moved over to where camp stools were positioned around a ring of stones that, when night came, would hold a cooking fire. Sunny sat on a log while Fiona and Nicodemus sat on the stools.
Nicodemus looked at Sunny, and she waved away his gaze. "Just pretend I'm not here," Sunny replied, flipping open her sketch pad. She pulled the pencil from behind her ear and began sketching, a look of intensity and focus immediately overtaking Sunny's demeanor. He studied her for a moment, then turned to Fiona and said, "She looks very much like your mother."
Fiona glanced over at Sunny and nodded, "Aye, it is frightening sometimes to look over at her and see the great lady sitting there."
Nicodemus nodded, then slightly lifted his chin when he saw Tully. The blacksmith held the jug high with his good hand, grinning proudly at finding a full jug.
Sunny looked up as Tully entered the small clearing. He handed the jug to Nicodemus, reached into his sling, and pulled out small glasses. Nicodemus poured three drinks and held the fourth glass up to Sunny. She shook her head and said, "If it's anything like the stuff Rainbow and Lily serve – I'll pass, thank you."
Tully laughed and held his glass up to admire the color. "Aye, I think it is of the same ilk!"
Fiona sipped daintily and nodded in appreciation. "It is powerful!"
Tully and Nicodemus talked in natural language while Fiona responded in a way that didn't exclude Sunny, but she soon realized that Sunny was so engrossed in her drawing that it didn't matter.
She looked over at Nicodemus and said, "I had not expected you to come to the festival after all these years. What changed your mind?"
"It was time," Nicodemus replied, twisting his empty glass in his fingers. "There was an opportunity to bring the Fury horses back, and I decided now was the time to try."
"Over the Burke brothers?" Tully said, winking at Nicodemus, "You have to admit, they've done a fine job raising some good ponies."
Nicodemus poured himself another glass, and Tully held out his for a refill. Nicodemus frowned at the smith. "With my original stock," he said, his voice carrying an edge that Sunny could clearly hear, and she paused in her sketching to look at them.
Not much ruffled Tully; not even the great Fury's irritation could stir him. He shrugged lightly and waited as Fury filled his glass once again. "It will not be difficult to gain the upper hand if you still plan to bring that stallion to Hugh O'Donnell."
"Is that the plan you have with O'Donnell?" Fiona asked.
"Perhaps," Nicodemus murmured, "It could solve many problems."
Tully nodded sagely. "A convenient solution."
Nicodemus chuckled softly, sipping the strong liquor and admiring its deep amber color. The sound of his laugh also caught Sunny's attention. It was strange to feel so drawn to a man who could easily be her grandfather. When she looked up from her sketchbook, she saw Fury watching her over the rim of his glass. She then looked down at her sketch. The man she had been drawing was not the one sitting with Tully and her Aunt Fiona!
Fiona was also keeping an eye on Fury and his interest in Sunny. She shifted on her camp stool. Fury felt her eyes on him. Sunny chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. She could not present this for viewing! She flipped to the next page in her sketchbook, shifted her position on the log, and began another sketch. This time, she focused on the scene rather than the individuals.
As she kept sketching, the children at the camp started to notice her. They watched as her pencil flew across the paper, capturing a striking likeness of Nicodemus, Tully, and Fiona where they sat.
Finally, she stopped drawing and tucked the pencil behind her ear, smiling in triumph. Tully cocked his head in question. "Well, are you going to give us a look-see?"
Sunny grinned at Tully and turned the pad around. Tully whistled low under his breath. "It's grand!"
Nicodemus rose and extended his hand to take the sketchbook. She met his fierce gaze before handing it to him. He studied the drawing of the three of them, then flipped back to the one he had seen her abandon. Very little stirred his heart, but her drawing of him took his breath away! So that was what she saw! He returned the book. "Your talent is even greater than that of your great-grandmother," Nicodemus said. He looked at Tully. "Make sure they get home safely." He turned and walked out of the campsite, disappearing into the woods.
Tully nodded and winked at Sunny, who felt let down at Fury's sudden departure. Fiona set her empty glass on the ground next to her camp stool. "I think we should be off."
Tully clicked his tongue. "Don't let the blighter get you down."
Sunny sighed heavily and put away her pad and pencils in her knapsack. "He runs warm one minute and cold the next."
Tully chuckled, "He is, as the youngsters say, complicated."
Hearing such a modern phrase coming from Tully made Sunny giggle. She glanced down at her drawing once again, and then she closed the sketchbook.
Fiona arched her back stiffly as she got to her feet and nodded in agreement. "His whole family is complicated."
"It sounds like maybe his dealings are a little shady," Sunny replied as she began to stow her drawing materials into her backpack.
Fiona paused mid-stretch and looked over at Sunny. "How do you mean?"
"Well, all that scheming about boarding the stallion with Hugh and the other stuff he was talking about."
Tully raised a brow at Fiona. "She knows the language?" He asked.
Fiona was thoroughly puzzled; they had conversed in the natural language the entire time. "You understood what we were saying?"
Sunny frowned, looking between Tully and Fiona. "What do you mean? You were all talking about Hugh and his horses."
Fiona glanced at Tully, who ducked his head to avoid making eye contact with Sunny or Fiona. He walked past Sunny and winked at her. "I'm off to fetch the wagon."
Sunny turned to Fiona. "Weren't you talking about Hugh and the horses?"
"Oh, yes, we were," Fiona murmured, nodding slowly. "I'd best check on Vinca one last time before we go. Stay here and wait for Tully."
The Prince watched the girl from his spot in the woods. Her drawing had shocked him! With uncanny accuracy, she had captured his true self! This was impossible! He looked up into the canopy as a raven glided down to a lower branch. "Show me." Looking through the raven's eyes, the Prince observed the scene. His disguise was securely in place! He, Fiona, and Tully all seemed to be the same age. He had deliberately chosen an age that would blend with the older men and women in the campsite and in town. Even to his ravens, he appeared as a silver-haired elderly man. But her first drawing clearly showed him without his disguise. How could this happen?
Tully appeared, leading his red-and-white Vanner pony, with his caravan topped by a bright turquoise rounded roof. Sunny immediately wanted to draw both the caravan and the pony. She approached the pony and patted its thick, arched neck. "What's her name?"
"Cherry Brumble," Tully replied, smiling warmly at the mare. "She is an aunt of that flirt you rode today."
Sunny smiled at the mare as she dipped her head toward Sunny to study the young woman more closely. Sunny gently scratched the broad planes of Cherry's cheeks and velvety muzzle. "She's very pretty, too pretty to be pulling a blacksmith's wagon."
Cherry snorted in agreement, and Tully chuckled. "Aye, well, she's been doing a grand job for nearly six years."
Fiona walked up with her knapsack and handed it to Tully, who tucked it under the seat of the caravan. "If you ladies are ready, we'll be on our way. I'm heading into town to see to a Hunter, who needs a bit of a trim." He added quickly as Fiona was about to admonish him for working his arm too soon. "No smithing, Dannan's orders!"
Fiona agilely climbed into the wagon, and Sunny followed her. Tully adjusted the fittings on Cherry's headstall before stepping up to sit next to Sunny. It was a bit of a squeeze with Tully's broad shoulders crowding her, but she didn't mind being close to him or Fiona.
They set out on the faint trail that wound through the woods. They stopped twice so Fiona could harvest a bunch of ferns and pick a batch of copper-colored mushrooms she spotted near a rugged stand of oak trees.
Tully guided Cherry Brumble in front of the arched gates of Laurel Cottage, and Fiona and Sunny climbed down. Tully handed the collection bag to Sunny. "See you tomorrow!" Fiona nodded and watched as Tully headed down the trail. "Early breakfast, Tully!"
There was a covered basket on the front step of the cottage. Fiona bent over and pulled back the green-and-white checkered cloth and smiled. "How nice; Molly's dropped off some of her yeast rolls and a jar of honey."
Sunny looked over Fiona's shoulder. "Oh, they look yummy!"
"See what the note says," Fiona said, opening the door and stepping inside. She headed to the apothecary with her knapsack. Sunny picked up the basket and walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her. She set the basket on the floor and pulled off her boots, leaving them in the hallway. She left her knapsack with her boots and took the basket into the kitchen. Sunny set the basket on the kitchen table and opened the note. Molly's handwriting and the notepaper she'd used to write her note were a little like the woman—rounded and very feminine, with periwinkle blue flowers clustered in one corner. "Dearest Fiona and Sunny, I baked today and had all these extra rolls! Since rolls go so well with butter and honey, I've sent along a pot of honey and a dish of whipped butter for when you have tea. Come by for a visit soon, Molly."
Fiona sighed as she entered the kitchen. "Good idea. How about a cup of tea, and we'll tuck into Molly's rolls? They are grand!"
"I've got a little hungry spot," Sunny said, "I think the rolls might still be warm!"
Fiona filled her copper kettle with water, placed it on the stove, and Sunny arranged two teacups with their saucers. Fiona lit the burner with a match and then took down the chubby teapot that matched the teacups and saucers Sunny had selected.
"I think tomorrow, I'll collect from the garden," Fiona said, sitting at the kitchen table. "My patch of rosemary needs thinning a bit. There may even be some other things I can collect."
The kettle started to sing, and Fiona got up from the table, brought over the steaming kettle, and poured near-boiling water into the teapot to prime it. She returned the kettle to the back burner and grabbed the tin of tea. There was a tea ball shaped like a walnut on the drainboard, and with expert, nimble fingers, Fiona filled it. Sunny caught the aroma of something tangy and slightly peppery. It was a special tea blend, all Fiona's; Sunny remembered receiving an annual package around Christmas from Fiona.
Fiona poured out the water from the teapot and hung the tea ball inside from its tiny chain. Then she filled the pot with hot water and wrapped a tea towel around it to let the tea steep.
They prepared their rolls and were about to pour the tea when a loud banging came from the kitchen door. Sunny jumped at the sudden noise and then laughed at herself. Fiona frowned, went to the kitchen door, and opened it. "Shanley?"
There, peering through the screen door, was the shaggy and lanky form of the wolfhound. The hound yipped and lolled his tongue out in puppy greeting. Fiona opened the door, and the hound entered, heading straight to Sunny, dropping his head on her knee and rolling doleful, butterscotch eyes up at her. "Hello, Shanley," Sunny murmured, stroking the hound's head. "Where did you come from?"
The hound groaned a response and then sprawled at Sunny's feet. Fiona chuckled. "Guess he's come to visit."
"Guess so," Sunny replied, smiling down at the huge wolfhound. "I wonder if Griffin knows where he is?"
Fiona shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Probably not. When the Wolfe Clan arrives, the boys tend to run free until the festival begins."
"They don't get into trouble?" Sunny asked. "I'd hate to see any of them get hurt."
"They tend to run in the Ballencoo," Fiona responded. "There's plenty to keep them entertained in the woods; right, Shanley?"
The hound raised its head to look at Fiona with amber eyes, and snorted in an almost affirmative way, making Fiona and Sunny chuckle. "It's like he's talking!" Sunny said.
Fiona regarded the hound for a moment, then poured Sunny and herself a cup of tea. They spent the afternoon tea quietly in the kitchen. Sunny and Fiona chatted among themselves.
Sunny finished her roll and went out into the hall for her sketchbook. While the light was still good, she would sketch. Sunny returned to the kitchen and looked down at Shanley. "Come on, Shanley; let me sketch you. Sit up and represent your regal lineage."
Shanley heaved a great sigh and rolled up on his haunches. He shook his head and shoulders and then looked at Sunny with somber eyes. She quickly set pencil to paper and rendered a drawing of Shanley that Fiona marveled at how realistic it seemed. "It looks like it's going to bound off the page!"
Sunny smiled. "I've improved in the last month or so. I think having no distractions helps."
She turned the pad around and showed the wolfhound, "What do you think? A fair likeness, eh?"
Shanley looked at the paper and let out a happy yip. Fiona laughed, "Sounds like he approves!"
There was a shrill whistle from outside, and Shanley's ears tuned in on the sound; his head swung toward the kitchen door. When the whistle sounded again, he whined and growled low. Sunny opened the door and pushed the screen open to let Shanley out. The big hound trotted out into the yard, looked back over his shoulder at Sunny, and barked, his tail wagging in high spirits.
"Bye, Shanley!" Sunny called, waving to the big dog as it bounded into the woods. She started to close the door when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a tall figure at the edge of the forest. She raised her hand in greeting, and the tall figure returned the wave before disappearing into the forest.
"You know," Sunny said as she closed the door, "Rom Fury said I was a better artist than my grandmother. I'd like to look at her journal if it's okay with you."
Fiona nodded. "Of course, you can look at any of the journals you want."
"You were also going to show me how to make those sticky chews, too," Sunny reminded Fiona. "I'd like to know how to make those; they work wonders on achy muscles."
"Oh yes," Fiona replied, wiping her hands on the dish towel as she finished rinsing the cups and saucers, "That recipe is in your great-grandmother's journal, so we can make a batch in time for all those sore muscles and headaches during the festival."
"Great!" Sunny followed Fiona into the apothecary. Fiona ran her finger across the spines of leather-bound journals until she reached the last five volumes, pulled the second and third volumes, and brought them to the worktable. She slid the two thick books toward Sunny. "These are your great-grandmothers' journals; she illustrated them all liberally."
Each page was highly illustrated and featured detailed studies of the plants she used. Sunny carefully turned each page, finding botanical treasures drawn on practically every page.
Fiona went about the apothecary, gathering up the ingredients for the sticky chews, reciting the recipe under her breath. Fiona had not improved the recipe, nor had her mother. In fact, the recipe was several hundred years old; Siobhan Danann had told her to never improve on something tried and true. This recipe was one of those instances where Fiona did not embellish.
Sunny was leafing through the volume when she stopped and looked at the drawing. "The Ballencoo Arch - where's this? In the woods, somewhere?"
Fiona stopped her search and turned slowly to Sunny. "Yes, it's an old structure in the Ballencoo Woods. It's on the main trail."
"Was it part of a castle or a church? It looks like it might have been some gate?" Sunny wanted to know. "It doesn't say much of anything here, only that it's where she collected the best rose hips for her tea."
Fiona smiled. "Yes, the Christmas tea blend I always sent to you and your mother."
Sunny closed her eyes as she recalled the spicy aroma of the tea blend Fiona sent every year at Christmas. She flipped through several more pages and stopped again as the Ballencoo Arch was featured again, this time with a drawing of a Vanner wagon rolling through the archway. Sunny ran her fingers over the ink drawing and watercolor painting. It was the drawing of Larksong's wagon. Fiona looked over at Sunny and saw the unusual look on the young woman's face. "What is it, dear?"
"Larksong's wagon is here." Sunny murmured, "But this drawing is dated 1918."
Fiona sighed, "Well, Larksong no doubt inherited it from her mother's family; that is common among the clans."
"They must have built these wagons to last, didn't they?" Sunny replied, slowly turning the page.
"They're all handmade," Fiona replied. "Usually put together without nails, too." She turned to the wall of baskets that contained dried herbs and plants and rolled her eyes heavenward. This was going to be difficult! How was she going to keep Sunny from discovering more of what was out there waiting for her?
Fiona turned away from the shelves, dusting her hands together. "Let's put together those 'stickies,' shall we?"
Sunny nodded and closed the journal. "Okay, I'm ready."
Fiona pulled the journal over to her and tipped the book up, found the purple ribbon, and opened the book up to the recipe for the 'stickies. "Your great-grandmother mixed many bowls of these throughout her lifetime," Fiona replied. "So have I, now that I think on it."
Sunny slid off the stool and came around the worktable to join Fiona, where she stood. "What's first?"
"The base ingredients are wild rice flour, dried peppermint, and wild honey to bind it all together; the rest are six parts each of herbs and a bit of willow bark powder," Fiona murmured.
"It's the honey that makes them taste so good," Sunny replied. "What about people who are allergic to honey?"
Fiona paused in thought and looked at Sunny. "You know, I've not known anyone to react to any of these remedies," Fiona replied. "Without the honey, they would not be as palatable."
Sunny watched Fiona gather the ingredients, measure each herb, and pour them into the largest mortar. Each item was ground and then transferred to a large wooden bowl. The bowl was a deep, rich brown and smelled of beeswax. "Aunt Fiona, do you use this particular bowl only to mix the stickies?"
Fiona grinned at Sunny. "I do. This bowl is older than I am. My mother used it, and your great-great-grandmother as well."
Sunny glanced up into the rafters of the workroom. "How old is the house?" Sunny wanted to know.
Fiona pursed her lips in thought as she paused in her grinding. "Hmm, the house has had many refurbishments, but the stone and foundations are original, so I'm not sure how old the actual house might be. Laurel Cottage was once part of a settlement around the original Thornefield."
"As old as the Ballencoo Arch?" Sunny asked, flipping to the drawing her great-great-grandmother had made.
Fiona ran a finger over the drawing. "The arch is very old – I'm not even sure who built it or when."
"I'd like to see it," Sunny replied. "Would it be all right if I went to visit?"
Fiona nodded and tapped the drawing with a finger. "It's rather close; well before you get to the Dannan camp. If you follow the wagon road, you can't miss it."
Sunny hugged Fiona. "Excellent, I can take my sketchbook with me too. Now let's mix these bad boys up!"
Fiona showed Sunny how to form the stickies with a set of small measuring spoons and laid them in neat rows on oiled linen cloth. When they were finished, Fiona nodded at the rows, "Always makes the same amount, twelve dozen."
"How many do you have on hand?" Sunny asked.
"Never more than two batches – they tend to lose their potency over time. I always make sure I have plenty of the ingredients on hand just in case."
"Do you make them up for animals, too?" Sunny asked, admiring the neat little brown marbles.
"I make them a bit larger and only when I need them," Fiona replied.
The clock in the hall chimed four, and Fiona chuckled. "Where does the time go? Let's go out into the garden and relax, shall we?"
"Yes," Sunny responded, "I'm going to collect my sketchbook. Maybe the vixen and her kits will come out so I can sketch them."
Fiona went out to collect her embroidery basket, and Sunny trotted upstairs to get her knapsack of drawing tools.
Right on schedule, the vixen and her kittens arrived and lingered in Fiona's side yard, allowing Sunny plenty of time to capture both the vixen and her three kits. Sunny got close enough to the foxes to draw detailed portraits. The vixen she named Ruby. The three kits turned out to be two males and a female, which she called Rusty, Toby, and Penny.
Ruby regarded Sunny with curiosity, but when her charges wandered too close, she would bark sharply, and they immediately returned to her side. Sunny got to her feet and rejoined Fiona in the sitting area. "They seem so tame, but she keeps a close watch over her babies."
"There are many predators out there," Fiona replied. "And all sorts of things out there to be careful of – humans included."
As they kept talking, they heard shouts from the front of the cottage, followed by a tall, lanky boy appearing, then five or six more young men trotting past on the road.
"Hullo!"
The young boy grinned and trotted over, buttoning up his flannel shirt. He plopped down on the ground with a big sigh. "I'm Shannon Doyle!" he announced.
Fiona smiled over at the boy, "Hello Shannon, were those your brothers?"
He nodded his head. "Yes, ma'am, some of them."
Fiona looked at Sunny. "This is Griffin's youngest boy."
"Hi, Sunny!" Shannon said. He ran his hand through his tousled hair and leaned toward her expectantly. "What were you drawing?"
Sunny smiled, opened her sketchbook to the drawings of the vixen and her kits, and handed it to Shannon. His eyes widened. "Gah! She looks like she's about to jump off the bleeding page!"
Fiona clucked her tongue disapprovingly at the boy's language as she continued with her embroidery. He hunched his shoulders apologetically. "Begging your pardon!" he cast doleful golden-brown eyes first at Fiona, then at Sunny.
"Where were you boys going?" Sunny asked, glancing over her shoulder at the way the other boys had run.
"Just out," Shannon replied. "Mum says we get underfoot."
"I imagine so," Fiona replied.
"How far into the woods do you explore?" Sunny asked, taking back the sketchbook that Shannon had handed to her.
"Oh, way back behind Betony Cottage and over as far as the arch," Shannon replied.
"The Ballencoo Arch?"
"Yup," Shannon said, "Da says that we're to stay clear of the Dannan Clan since a Fury is in camp."
"How does your father feel about – you know who – being at the festival?" Sunny inquired.
Shannon shrugged. "Don't say much; it wasn't his fault. But the Macks? That's another tale."
Sunny looked over at Fiona, curious as to who the Macks were. "Alyssum's family." Sunny nodded in understanding. She looked over at Shannon. "Can you stay long enough for me to sketch you, Shannon?"
Shannon's face broke into a huge grin. "Sure! You want me to pose? – Sit up straight and represent my people?"
"Oh, you don't need to pose," Sunny told him. She paused. What Shannon had said was familiar! Then she remembered – she had told Shanley something very similar! She shook her head. "Just be comfortable and pretend I'm not here."
Shannon combed his fingers through his hair to tame his curly mane. Sunny opened her book to a blank page and began. "Tell me about the festival; this is going to be my first time."
Shannon chuckled and relaxed in his stiff pose. "Well, it's a grand thing!" he told her enthusiastically. "The sunrise of the festival is the best!"
"Why is that?" Sunny asked.
"All the clans come out to meet the sunrise," Shannon told her. "We all get together and give praise. Then we tuck into a huge breakfast, all the clans together."
"That sounds nice," Sunny replied.
"You should come!" Shannon declared, then looked over at Fiona. "Both of you should come!"
"If we're invited," Fiona told them, glancing up from her embroidery work.
"The townsfolk put up tables and tents and sell all sorts of things," Shannon continued. "The clans have things to sell too. There are all kinds of food, sweets, and ale!"
"And dancing," Fiona said, and Shannon wrinkled his nose in disdain. "Well yeah, all the girls like the dancing!"
"I imagine more than a few boys who like dancing too!" Fiona said, winking at Shannon.
"There will be tournaments, and archery contests, foot races, and a lot of other stuff," Shannon said.
"What kind of tournaments do they have?"
"They run the rings," Shannon said, turning toward Sunny.
"Rings?" Sunny echoed. "How does that work?"
"Well, first, every unmarried girl puts on her maiden's wreath. It's a thing with ribbons and flowers." Shannon made a circle with his hands and held them above his head. His face was bright and lively as he described the event. "They go out and hang their wreath on these posts that are all lined up at the far end of the field. Then the lads go galloping on their fastest horse down to the line and spear his ladies' favor."
"Then what?" Sunny asked, pausing in her drawing.
Shannon frowned and scratched his head in thought. "I guess if the right lad gets the right lass –they are happy."
Sunny looked over at Fiona for an explanation. "They are usually then paired up for the remainder of the festival."
"I see," Sunny murmured.
There are horse races and wrestling," Shannon continued his story. "There's trading and selling. The Nemed go to their counsel to make contracts; all business is parlayed, and deals are struck.
"All of that goes on?" Sunny asked with a smile.
Shannon grinned back, "Aye, but some of it goes on after the doer-nemed go home."
"The ordinary people," Fiona supplied when Sunny looked to her for translation. "Nemedare the high-born in the clans."
"Aye, and the Dannan is the highest!" Shannon declared.
Fiona scoffed at that comment, waving her hand in the air to dismiss the looks from Sunny and Shannon. "The very idea!"
"It's true," Shannon whispered over at Sunny. "The highest!"
There was a shrill whistle from the forest, and Shannon's head shot up, and he looked out into the line of trees and frowned. "That'll be Todd."
"Your brother?" Sunny guessed.
"Yeah," Shannon growled and hunched his shoulders sullenly. "Always whistling like he was da – only he ain't!"
The whistle sounded again, and Shannon got to his feet. He came over to look at the drawing. "Bleeding grand!"
"Shannon!" Fiona scolded, wagging a warning finger at the boy.
Sunny laughed, "I'll take that as a compliment, Shannon."
Shannon waved and trotted back the way he had come, with the group of six or seven boys passing by on the road. He waved again and ran to catch up with them.
Sunny turned the sketchbook around to Fiona, and the woman smiled appreciatively, "Bleeding grand!"
Their laughter caught the breeze and reached the ears of those listening deep in the Ballencoo forest, making them smile happily.