Chapter 6

6

R ory scowled as he brought the hammer down. The impact reverberated up his arm and across his shoulder, again and again. He did it so fiercely that he ended up roaring, and the brittle metal broke under the force of his blows. He cursed under his breath and shoved it away, turning from the forge. He grabbed a cloth, wiping the sweat from his brow and his arms, before flinging it haphazardly across the room. It happened to land near Ginger, who mewed sharply as she jumped up, startled, and moved to another part of the room.

"Ah, ye daft cat, there's naething tae be scared of," Rory muttered, but then chastised himself for speaking to Ginger in that manner. He slumped in a chair and drummed his fingers against the table. He had been in a black mood all day, and he wasn't sure anything could pull him out of it. Sleep had been restless. He had refused to help people two times the previous day. First, Elvira and her family had come to him seeking shelter. While he had given them directions to a tavern, it was hardly hospitable behavior. He had plenty of room and food here, as well as warmth. How many times had he cursed people for turning himself and Anne away as children? He had always wondered how people could be so cruel as to shut their doors on exhausted bairns. Well, now he was one of them.

And then he had refused a call to arms. He could almost hear Ian in the back of his mind, berating him for being such a coward.

Yer clan needs ye! The ghostly words thundered. Anne would have said the same. Rory ended up leaning forward, putting his head in his hands. He dug his nails into his scalp so hard they almost drew blood, but even so, the pain was not as bad as the one that drilled inside his soul. What had he done? Who had he become? This wasn't the same man who had urged Ian to take pity on the girl cowering in their basement. It was as though at some point he had lost himself, and he wasn't sure how to find his way again.

He pushed the chair away and forced himself up. While he still wasn't going to commit himself to working with Torrin and the others, he felt he should have done more to help Elvira. Given their condition and their desperation, he assumed they had little to their name. Perhaps if he bought them a meal, it might allay his troubled conscience somewhat. He couldn't abide the thought of leaving those children with empty bellies. Sometimes, at night, he could still remember what it was like to feel that cold stone in the pit of his stomach, gnawing away at him, growling and griping as though some beast was inside him.

Ginger looked at him. "Dinnae make a sound," he said, before he slammed the door to the forge and headed towards the tavern. His steps were slow, but the turmoil in his mind was fast and loud.

He assumed that Elvira's family would be huddled in a single room, keeping to themselves. What he actually found when he reached the tavern was quite different indeed. The children were full of face and had boundless energy. They were gamboling around an old dog, giggling happily as though they did not have a care in the world. The old woman was knitting by a fire, her legs stretched out on another chair. There was a mug beside her. Tendrils of steam rose. The only one missing was Elvira… oh, there she was. He didn't see her at first because a crowd of people had swarmed around her. There were hushed murmurs, but he couldn't quite see what she was doing. He ambled up to the bar and caught Torrin's attention. Torrin immediately served him an ale.

"I was a little afraid ye would nae serve me after last night," Rory said, curling his hands around the ale. Even this didn't taste as refreshing as usual.

"Keep yer voice down, lad," Torrin glared at him. "And I'm nae that type of man. I respect yer decision, even though I disagree with it. Every man hae a right tae choose for himself. I just hope that ye think about things."

"Aye," Rory said, not wishing to speak about such matters any longer. Instead, he angled his gaze towards the corner. "What's gaeing on there?"

"Oh," Torrin smiled. "We hae a new guest come tae the tavern last night. Isla got tae talking with her and, well, she's a Romani lass ye see. People like them hae, well, people believe they hae special insights. I never put my stock in it myself, but Isla spoke tae her and said she felt better for it. Isla suggested that people might like tae hear some glimpses of the future, and I figure if they like what they hear, then they're gaeing tae want tae celebrate with a drink. If they dinnae, then they're gaeing tae want tae nurse themselves. Either way the ale will be flowing, and I'll hae a full bar," Torrin's eyes twinkled. The luster quickly faded from them, however. Rory sensed more bitterness in Torrin's voice. "Besides, there's nae telling how long things are gaeing tae stay the same around here. Might be that we dinnae get tae keep this bar for long. Perhaps ye should gae and speak with her. Maybe she might help ye see the error of yer ways," Torrin cocked his head to the side and then went to serve another customer. Rory noticed that Torrin's smile was broader for the other man, although he quickly mentioned Elvira's services all the same.

Rory turned and peered towards Elvira. The whole thing reminded him of some of the schemes that he and Anne used to perform, a long time ago, taking advantage of well-meaning people. Perhaps his instincts had been right about her all along. He wasn't about to stand there and allow Elvira to take advantage of people in this village. Their nerves were already frayed with this fear about being attacked, and some false prophetess was not going to help matters.

Rory took a few good gulps of ale and then made his way to the shadowed corner of the bar. A candle burned on Elvira's table, illuminating her features in an amber glow. She wore a cloak around her shoulders and spoke with a deep, rolling cadence. It was hypnotic, and Rory found himself struggling to take his eyes off her. He stilled possessed enough sense to quell these feelings, though. So he pushed his way through the crowd.

"I need tae speak with ye," he said, thinking that he would give her a friendly warning, make it known that he understood what she was trying to accomplish and she should stop.

Disarmingly, Elvira gave him a sweet smile.

"I'm afraid ye are gaeing tae hae tae wait yer turn. All these people hae been patient," she replied, seeming to take great delight in turning him away. Rory looked at the line of people glaring at him for daring to try and butt in.

"But I dinnae want a reading. I just want a word."

"I'm afraid a reading is all I hae tae offer," Elvira said, and then turned her attention back to the man sitting at her table, ignoring Rory as though he did not exist at all. Rory gritted his teeth. He had come here with the intention of doing her a good turn, only to find out that he had been right all along. Everything was going from bad to worse. He knew the power that these people could have, and if she should stoke the fear in the village… goodness… he had to stop her before things became drastic.

There was nothing he could do but wait. He stood in line, counting down the minutes, telling himself that he should just march out of the tavern and back to his forge, yet he never did and eventually, came his turn to sit.

"Ah, welcome. Please take a seat," Elvira said, soft words dripping from her soft lips. Rory grabbed the chair and pulled it hard, slamming the legs down. Elvira went to take his hand. Her skin was unusually smooth and slightly darker than his own. They were warm to the touch as well. Her nails were sharp, and there was no hesitancy in the way she touched him. He immediately felt tension rising through his body and snapped his hand away. Elvira drew back, shocked.

"I dinnae believe in any of that," Rory said, clasping his hands together. He wondered when the warmth was going to fade. The candle burned between them, flickering in her eyes.

"Many people dinnae, but that dinnae mean it is nae true."

Rory wore a skeptical look. "I'm nae gaeing tae fall for this. I know what ye are up tae… how can ye lie tae all these people? And tae think that I actually felt bad for turning ye away last night. Ye should be ashamed for peddling lies."

"Lies?" Elvira's eyes narrowed. Her features became sharper, her words harsher. "Ye speak about things ye dinnae understand."

"Oh aye, but ye spend all yer time daeing that. I dinnae know how ye can sit there and pretend that ye know everything about strangers. People only listen tae ye because they want tae believe what ye say. I'm nae such a fool as that."

"Then give me yer hand and I shall prove I am nae lying, or are ye afraid that ye are wrong?" Elvira challenged him. Rory could not hide the unease that flickered across his face. He pressed his lips together, and Elvira was satisfied that she had backed him into a corner. If Rory refused, then he was hard-headed and afraid that she was right. If he accepted, then Elvira could say all the things she wanted to say about him and, of course, she did not need to read his palm to know these things. But it would help add to her mystique, and it might make him think about things differently.

"I'm nae afraid," Rory said, although he did not immediately give Elvira his hand. She uncurled her hands and held them open, waiting expectantly for Rory to offer her his palm. He stared at her hands and gulped.

"If ye are gaeing tae insult me, then at least give me the chance tae defend myself, or dae ye always make up yer mind about people without giving them a fair chance?" she said acidly. Rory frowned and sighed, knowing that he had been corralled into this difficult situation. He reluctantly gave her his hand. Elvira wrapped her own fingers around the back of his palm, holding it steady. Her slender fingers reached to his wrist. His hand was broad, the skin leathery and taut. The tips of his fingers were calloused after years of hard work, hammering away at the forge. The lines were etched like deep furrows in smooth stone. She drew her index finger along the longest line, dragging it all the way to the heel of his palm. She could feel Rory attempt to hide a shudder, and his instinct was to pull his hand away again. But Elvira had a tight grip on him, and she did not let him go. The strength that coiled in his body ran all the way through to his hands as well. She could tell that he was a hard-working man, a man whose experience belied his years, although she did not tell him those things.

Elvira pursed her lips. When she spoke, her voice was still even and slow, but he could feel the resonant anger behind it. "Nae a fool, but a coward. Aye. I dinnae need tae see yer palm tae know what kind of man ye are, Rory. Ye are a coward, hiding from the world in yer wee forge, refusing tae take action when people need ye. The thing that ye need tae be cautious of is that the world hae a habit of finding ye. How can ye hide from something that is all around ye? Yet still ye turn away. Cruel, cowardly, craven. Yer heart is a stone. Now, ye tell me if ye believe that or nae."

Rory's eyes twitched. He had always considered himself a good person, noble in intention if not always in deed, yet here his flaws were laid bare, and he did not like the picture they painted. He still didn't believe that Elvira had any special insight. She was likely just speaking about the way he had treated her when she had come seeking help. However, her words cut much deeper because he was reminded of the way Torrin and the others had come to him for help. Sadly, he could not say anything to dispute Elvira's claim. He was a coward, and the realization of this left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. It had all been done in the name of trying to protect himself and move on from his past, but had he protected himself so much that he had ended up turning away the entire world?

He pushed the chair back and stormed out of the tavern without sparing her another glance, shaking his head in dismay at how Elvira had so easily gotten under his skin. She had played him like a fiddle, and he had danced to her tune. He had made so many strides towards making his life simple, and yet complications still arose. A dark shadow shrouded his face as he made his way back to the forge, wishing that he could just slam the door for eternity and keep everyone out. At the same time, he found himself cradling the hand that Elvira had touched. It was maddening the way his mind went hazy around her, and how her scent lingered. It was smokey and sweet all at the same time. The soft touch had been intense, perhaps because it had been so long since he had that kind of contact with another person. Yet, for her, it was just a way of business and his personal humiliation. She was so different from him that he couldn't make sense of her, and he thought it better if she moved on quickly.