A Wanderer's Dream: Eilan Water Trilogy, #3

By Cherime MacFarlane

Grainne fears Aghilas. She knows how Romans treat their women.

Grainne manipulated Aed and Muirne into bringing her to their new home. She tries to stir interest in Ualan's father. With the chief as her man, life would be easy. It horrifies her when Ualan forces her together with Aghilas.

Bound to Ualan as his man, Aghilas feels trapped. He can no longer return to Rome or his homeland. Having Grainne thrust on him is a further indignity. Can he and the woman make a life in the land of Eilan Water?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cherime MacFarlane
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201415969

Cherime MacFarlane

Meet Award-Winning, Best-Selling Author Cherime MacFarlane. A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her been there-done that life. Romance, Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination. As a reporter for the Copper Valley Views, Cherime MacFarlane received a letter of commendation from the Copper River Native Association for fair and balanced reporting. She was part of the Amazon Best Selling in Anthologies and Holidays, and Fantasy Anthologies and Short Stories. The Other Side of Dusk was a finalist in the McGrath house award of 2017.

Book preview

Chapter One

Clang! With a last hammer blow, noise from the smithy stopped and silence reigned. Grainne plucked the small wads of wool from her ears and looked back over her shoulder at the three men. Chests bare, they worked to close the forge for the night. Grimy and wearing black streaks far up his arms, Deorsa grinned at her.

Grainne smiled in response and turned back to the length of cloth growing on her loom. She prepared to lift the heddle for a new shed when a voice hissed in her ear.

Leave the boy alone.

Aghilas. She could smell the sweat and tang of metal on him. Tha lad’s ah free man. I’m free, there’s nae harm in looking. She bent forward to make the shed to throw the shuttle, and a hand landed on her shoulder. The shuttle wobbled as her fingers trembled. Grainne couldn’t move.

Free, are you?

The man’s grasp of their speech grew daily. She still heard the faint accent in his words, but it waned as the days lengthened, but there was still a hint of something beneath the rhythm which marked him as Roman. She would not answer. The shuttle fell into her lap.

Ualan gave you into my guardianship. As such, I demand you stop this game with Deorsa. It will only cause trouble.

This is nae Rome, laddie. Torcuil rules in Eilan Water, ah thing Ualan made plain. Aye?

She shook free of his hand, lifted the shed and tossed the shuttle through, catching it deftly on the opposite side of the material. The sharp breath drawn behind her gave Grainne a moment’s satisfaction. She had scored a hit on the man. He was no freer to come and go as he pleased than she.

They were both in Eilan under Ualan’s hand. Baltair, the Smith, and Silia, his woman, watched them both. Until they proved themselves, she and Aghilas lived in the smith’s broch on sufferance.

She understood Aghilas to be worth more to the band. Deorsa had not proved the best apprentice and blacksmiths, good ones, were difficult to find. As long as Aghilas continued to please Baltair, he would have a place here without question.

Both his hands, filthy from working in the forge all day, closed around her shoulders. A glance to either side revealed those blunt fingers digging into the cloth of her borrowed leine.

Have a care. Your wicked tongue could goad the mildest of men to anger. I have never been mild.

His fingers pressed into her skin and Grainne knew he had bruised her. She felt him turn away, but refused to emit a sigh of relief. Grainne denied him knowledge of her fear. That, she held in. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Silia at the hearth stirring the cooking pot.

This time the sigh refused to be held back. Not of relief, it was born of resignation. Surely, the other woman would have words to say to her. Aghilas irritated her like a thorn in a thumb. Grainne couldn’t hold her tongue, and Silia would take her to task.

The next throw of the shuttle zipped back across the shed and Grainne took up the beater. On either side of the length of fabric, she had set a string. Anchored to a peg driven into the ground, it marked the edge of the cloth. She brought the course to the edge of the twine. When she beat the threads tight against each other, Grainne allowed no variance. Each thread must sit alongside its fellows, touching the strings on the outside edge only.

Baltair’s voice calling Aghilas and Deorsa to pick up the buckets and follow him rang in the courtyard. Feet shuffled to her right. Deorsa’s voice, pitched higher than either Baltair or Aghilas gave his agreement to the smith’s command.

The ring of the stirring stick against the side of the pot sounded twice. Bare feet slapped to her left and Silia stood behind her, off to one side. ’Tis ah rare gift ye have. Ye didnae stretch tha truth of yur talent for weaving.

Thank ye, Silia. ‘Tis tha thing I prize doing above all else.

I ken, lass.

Yur loom is old an slow. I had made changes tae mine. Is there any here who kens tha way of wood?

The older woman laughed. I fear tha furniture is much like tha owner, I’m nae ah trotter these days. We have Para. He kens tha woods, tha creatures therein, an tha fashioning of trees intae useful things.

Grainne turned to her eagerly. When can we see him? What I need isnae tae difficult.

Mayhap on tha morrow. Much depends on where tha lad is. If Torcuil means tae take him tae Eire on his journey tae find settlers, it may be nigh on high summer before they return.

There’s none else?

Silia tapped her on the arm. Ye could always try it. With ah sharp blade cutting is easy enough. For now, come along. Tha lads will return from tha river an we’ve ah meal tae give them. With a grin the older woman waved a hand at her. Dinnae bother with tha speech. Ye can heat oatcakes an stir tha pot while I cut tha cheese.

Closing her mouth on the refrain she had pleaded too often, Grainne followed Silia without a word. She could manage heating the cakes tolerably. Nor would it do her any good to repeat all the reasons she shouldn’t be allowed near the food. Silia would only smile and tell her to try. Baltair’s woman regarded her somewhat like a backward child. Indulged by her mother and ignored by her father, she might well be.

All she ever learned to do well was weave. None would call nudging men into actions she wished them to take anything other than manipulation. Kinswomen sometimes spoke of handling men as a necessary skill and none discussed it with them. To Grainne’s mind, it was never wise to let the enemy in on tactics. Her father had taught her that early.

Deorsa sprinted through the dogleg opening first. A well put together lad, she liked him, but he could never give her more than a hut and perhaps a brood of children to wear her out. She only encouraged him to tie Aghilas in knots. The Roman annoyed her by breathing the same air. She supposed it to be the reason Ualan put the man in charge of her. After a moment of thought, she changed her mind. Ualan had no choice. Had Aghilas nae been there, they might have left me.

The oatcake she hoped to turn slipped off the flattened stick. Grainne singed her fingers when lunging forward to catch it. Stinging fingers in her mouth, she turned her attention to the other cakes. Burning her fingers would hinder weaving. Her skill might earn her a place in Eilan Water and she couldn’t afford to have her first length of cloth look as if a child turned it out.

She understood Deorsa raised his voice to get her attention when he admired her work on the loom. Grainne didn’t lift her head from the oatcakes she tended. He didn’t need more encouragement as she had no wish to have Aghilas turn his ire on her again so soon.

It was doubtful either Silia or Baltair would allow him to go too far with any punishment, though. The smith always had a smile and a pat for his woman and she’d never seen a bruise on Silia which might have been a consequence of his hand.

At the evening meal, Baltair often spoke of forbearance and other things the religion of the baptized preached. She supposed most of it had merit when one lived as close together as the Scotti of Eilan Water did. In the broch, few opportunities for privacy presented themselves.

Its walls lower than the larger Dun Troddan, the broch where the smithy sat had been set up to accommodate metal working. The roof above their heads sat a little higher off the stone walls. The forge and working area had its own roof and no thatch covered it. Instead, hides stretched tightly over woven panels of willow formed a ceiling. Silia said it was only there to keep sparks from igniting the roof over their heads and to disperse the smoke into the trees ringing the tower.

Inside the walls, hides covered the stone and deflected the chill night winds. The cramped space had flat spots large enough for a pallet of furs and other bedding. On the nights one of them didn’t sleep well, all suffered.

When the smith and Silia entered a bed game, all within knew. On those nights, she burrowed deeper into the bedding. Her mother would have been glad of a toss once during the moon’s cycle, but this couple indulged often. Grainne learned one thing from Baltair and Silia—it was possible for those who mated to enjoy being together. Her mother had been given in marriage to a man with no feeling for her. A sad state because Ronat loved Cearul who cared for none but himself.

Baltair and Aghilas greeted the sentry. On entering, Baltair carried one bucket and Aghilas had two. From the corner of her eye, Grainne caught the scowl Aghilas shot Deorsa. He had washed and hurried back to the broch. Grainne suspected he hoped to have a quiet word with her.

Silia had put an end to his plan by asking Grainne to tend the oatcakes. Little got past the woman and she doomed Deorsa’s attempts to spend time with Grainne. She would not permit it. They would no longer allow Grainne’s method of goading Aghilas to continue.

Her plot discovered, Grainne sighed. Silia chuckled. She looked up to find a sly grin on the other woman’s face. Grainne couldn’t help herself and laughed along with her jailer. Men were so easy to understand. Food, drink, and a woman to toss was all any of them needed to be content.

Grainne wasn’t sure what she wanted, but it wasn’t a pack of bairns and a lout of a man. This existence in the valley of Eilan Water didn’t suit her, but she had no choice. If she hadn’t accompanied Muirne and Aed, her father would have given her to the fat trader. His wife dead, having several weans to raise, he would have saddled her with children not her own and a household to run for a man who made his home on the Southern Sea. Never again would she have set foot on Eire.

She doubted she would again, but here she wouldn’t perish in the heat and dust. If she had children, they would be her own. There might yet be a way to better her situation. Ualan hadn’t been susceptible, and she had tried. Torcuil, his father and head of this band of mongrels, had lost his woman years past. Grainne planned to seduce him. Then she would be something more than an outsider and out from under Aghilas’ control.

All in the smithy’s broch were to go to Dun Troddan for a feast and council the following evening and Grainne would watch Torcuil carefully. She must know about his likes and dislikes.

The cloth on the loom was for Torcuil. She hoped to catch his eye at the meal. A chat and movements designed to alert him to her interest were part of her plan. When he next visited the smithy, Grainne would show him the cloth. With a sly smile, she put her attention on the cakes. When they ate the cakes would be golden brown and not burned black.

Deorsa could fend for himself. She wished to lure in bigger game. She supposed it best to learn a few things, but if she could entice Torcuil and become his woman, surely others could take charge of cooking. Her weaving was a valuable skill and they should encourage her to work at nothing else. As the headman’s woman, she would merit an easier life.

Chapter Two

Aghilas should give Baltair his full attention. He found it difficult to do when he knew why Deorsa had hurried through a quick splash, left the bucket he should fill, and dashed up the hill. Baltair already had one bucket to carry; Aghilas wouldn’t force the extra on him.

Younger, if not stronger, it was only fair for him to manage the one Deorsa forgot. Or deliberately left for you. The notion flitted through his thoughts. Aghilas suspected the smith’s apprentice had discarded it on purpose. He hoped it would slow Aghilas, giving Deorsa more time with Grainne.

Silia tended the cooking, as she did every evening unless they ate at Dun Troddan. He depended on Silia to keep Deorsa from showing Grainne too much attention. Aghilas hoped Silia could keep them apart.

He filled the bucket from the river and placed it next to the one he’d brought and attempted to pay attention to Baltair.

... Ye ken tha best swords sing?

I have heard others say as much.

Have ye made one that had ah voice?

I’m not sure. How do you know?

A large hand patted his shoulder. In tha morn, I’ll show ye. If they are tae have ah voice, all else should be perfect. Balance, weight, tha grip.

Baltair lifted his bucket and Aghilas picked up the other two.

A frown pulled Baltair’s brows together. Tha lad left ye with his chore. I’ll nae have it. He’s ah lazy slug at times.

I think his motive was to get back to the broch before me.

Tha lass. She but teases Deorsa. Grainne smiles at men because it is her way, naught else.

They strode up the bank from Eilan Water toward the broch up the hill. Aghilas fell silent as he considered Baltair’s observation. You may be correct. I doubt Deorsa realizes she isn’t serious.

Nae about him. An I ken she enjoys watching ye squirm. I suspect tha lass hasnae ah good opinion of men.

When we have time, I should tell you how she came to be traveling with us. Muirne did not want to bring her along. They may be cousins, but there is no love between them.

The men reached the trees and Aghilas fell behind, allowing Baltair to take the lead up the narrow trail. He and Grainne had not been there long, not a full month. Aghilas realized after the first day he had much to learn. Baltair loved the metal, and it responded to him.

He had seen two other men capable of doing anything with metal on his journey, Aghilas understood he was an apprentice to the smith, as was Deorsa, but he wanted to learn while Deorsa had no such talent. He made tools which functioned and little else. The young apprentice would never be a master smith.

Inside the tower, Baltair placed his bucket on the inside wall close to the dogleg exit. The sentry hurried in to take a quick handful of water from the fresh supply. Aghilas placed his load beside Baltair’s and brushed his hands down his bare sides.

Somehow, Silia found him a shirt she called a leine. Made of coarse linen, it reached to his mid-thigh. To avoid ruining it, Aghilas never wore the garment when working at the forge.

Skin tingling from the cool air, he went to his pallet around the wattle wall which divided the smithy from the living area of the broch. He turned to face the fire and pulled the shirt on over his head. The things Silia called trews were made of linen. He wore a long hide apron to keep the trews intact. When sparks flew around the forge, burns were common.

His apron lay atop the wattle and daub half wall which helped keep the living area free of hot metal. The lattice of willow, each supporting branch had been buried in the ground, coated with a thick layer of clay mixed with mashed barley stalks and cow or horse dung. The wattle kept the waist-high wall in place and the daub kept the wood from igniting.

The broch sometimes got too warm during the day when they were working the forge. Baltair told Aghilas to enjoy the warmth while he could. Come winter, the forge’s heat would be welcome. Aghilas’ preference, sleeping outside the interior walls in the courtyard, would also change when the weather worsened Baltair assured him.

The cramped space inside the double walls didn’t appeal to Aghilas. His Berber upbringing, in a tent during the summer on the family’s pastures and a villa by the sea in winter, led him to find the narrow space too confining.

Summer here was cool, he had to admit. Talk of snow and bitter winds sent a shiver through his body. Born of a southern race, apprehension settled in Aghilas’ soul when the Scottii spoke of the dark and cold to come.

Deorsa dawdled off Grainne’s left shoulder where the woman kneeled beside the hearth. A flat stone balanced on three other rocks had an open side into which Silia had raked live coals. The method used reminded him of home. Their cook had used much the same practice to cook flat bread.

For a change, Grainne ignored Deorsa. The evening meal would taste better. Unlike last night, the oatcakes were golden brown on the side he saw and a nutty aroma drifted up from them.

Using the flat-bladed wooden spatula, Grainne worked to remove the cakes to a piece of hide. Once the finished oatcakes rested on the leather, she folded the ends over to keep them warm. Aghilas kept the grin from his face with difficulty. The woman could learn to cook when she put her mind to it.

Baltair walked over to the loom hanging from pegs set high in the wall. Lass, ‘tis ah fine, tight weave ye have here. Might I touch it?

The smile which lit her face wasn’t the practiced one Grainne often used on men. This one pinked her cheeks and her blue eyes sparkled as the Southern Ocean did on a fair day. Aghilas shook his head at that bit of nonsense and wandered over to stand next to Baltair.

Aye. Dinnae thump it. Tha tension must stay even if tha weave is tae be uniform. Thank ye for asking. Some go about bouncing tha lot much as ah stretched hide. That can loosen tha warp an cause it tae sag.

At the edge, Baltair put thumb and forefinger over the cloth. Then he ran his hand down to the bottom edge of the material. Aye. Tha same thickness throughout. Well done, lass. Tha twine on either side, ‘tis ah guide?

’Tis. See, tha cloth must graze tha string only. It cannae push it off tae tha side or tha cloth will nae be tha same width from top tae bottom. She waved a hand at the bar above which held the thread she put the woof over and under. There are changes I need tae make tae tha loom. At home I had things constructed which made it easier tae work. Silia says Para works wood. I would speak with him an get those done.

With a nod, Baltair turned to grin at Silia. Ye’ve given over tae tha lass then? I ken she is better at this than ye.

I have. I’ll cook an she can weave. I’ll need her help from time tae time as she needs mine tae dress tha loom. She’s far better at it than me.

Aghilas used his fingers as Baltair had to feel the cloth when Baltair turned back toward the fire. The tips of their fingers might not feel either heat or cold as they had before he and Baltair first learned to work the forge, but both of them were sensitive to thickness. Grainne was indeed a master weaver as she said.

He had wondered, but Muirne never disputed her cousin’s claim. It was a great shame the two women could not get along. Aghilas knew Muirne had made a point of asking Ualan to keep Grainne here because she wanted peace in her new home. He watched as Grainne turned pale on learning she must stay here with him.

Neither of them had friends in Eilan Glen. Aghilas stroked his chin and thought it could be one reason she seemed to stay angry. He had traveled to the farthest eastern extent of the empire and beyond. Aghilas enjoyed learning new languages and customs. The woman had never gone past a small estate in Eire. Her anger could be a shield for fear.

Brow wrinkled in an expression of distrust and suspicion, Grainne glared his way. Well done. This is as fine a cloth as I’ve touched. It’s not silk, but it’s firm and will keep the one wearing it warm.

For a moment he received a genuine smile.

Who are you weaving it for?

As if a great wave broke across her face, all expression vanished. For Torcuil. He needs tae see I didnae lie.

Something in her gaze before turning on her heel toward the fire sent a chill up his spine. The hair on his forearms rose. Grainne had a plan in mind and he doubted she wanted to impress the headman with only her weaving skills.

Aghilas cursed inwardly. Grainne was out to cause trouble with Torcuil. He thought it a sure bet. Would Torcuil see through her plot? He hoped so. Aghilas did not want to answer to Ualan over what Grainne might do to his father. Ualan could be difficult. He recalled the ultimatum Ualan gave him on the island after he and Aed fed him and released the slave shackles. The choices laid before him were two, he must give his word to serve Ualan from that day to his death or die at Ualan’s hand. He could not allow Grainne to toy with Torcuil.

Chapter Three

Every morning she woke, rolled her bedding, and went down the stairs to the courtyard where she found Aghilas moving about. Up before everyone, he had the hearth fire burning as he worked on raising the fire in the forge.

Deorsa’s duty, Aghilas did it. Grainne wondered why he felt the need to take over. If he meant to make Deorsa’s shortcomings plain to Baltair, Aghilas should mention what he’d done. She wondered if Aghilas planned to ease the lad out. She watched the man and never once saw him bend his head to take Baltair’s ear in private conversation.

Grainne now understood the fire must reach a certain heat before they could work the metal. Because Aghilas started the blaze before Deorsa roused, the men got to work early. Deorsa must realize his lazy ways did not impress Baltair. Her father or uncle would have driven him out with a lashing he would carry scars from.

The third morning in a row, she asked herself if Aghilas waited for Baltair to bring the matter up. She needed to empty her bladder, but wanted to see what he was up to. Surely, he had a motive. The puzzle intrigued her and Grainne wanted to know Aghilas better. The more she knew, the easier it would be to play him as she wished.

Up the stone steps a giggle alerted her. Silia and Baltair were on the move. Would he try to catch Baltair alone this morn? The narrow steps allowed only single file movement. If she tried to go back up to find a spot to listen from, it would only delay things and she must go outside. With a sigh for the lost opportunity to observe, Grainne hurried to the dogleg.

She passed the sentry with a nod. A quick glance back revealed Aghilas watching her from the entry to the forge. With a toss of her head, she hurried out past the sharp turn and into the surrounding forest to relieve herself.

Where does the Roman fool think I might go? Up on the steep side of the hill, she wrapped an arm around the trunk of a small tree and stared out over the land below. Farther up the glen stood Dun Troddan. There were other settlements, at least one higher still in the glen's head where the river originated.