Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

F ood and dry clothing improved Thora’s mood but didn’t solve her problem. After a simple meal of stew and bread, she found herself in a set of unused servant’s quarters, considering the problem of Laird Cameron and his refusal to listen to her.

He was pragmatic, and he didn’t believe in her gift. That would make everything far more difficult. If her words alone could not convince him, then she had to find a way to make him acknowledge her sincerity. She also had to find a way to convince him to follow her suggestions. But how could she do that?

He’d been kind enough to give her a room and a new pair of shoes, which meant she could still talk to him. Maybe he’d take her more seriously now that she didn’t look half-drowned. Thora took a moment to make sure her hair was nicely braided and her appearance was neat, then left the room, retracing her steps to the laird’s study.

She heard voices as she neared the door and slowed her steps, the politeness she’d been raised with warring with her curiosity. Curiosity won, and she slipped closer to lean against the door.

“...cannae afford tae dae that.” It wasn’t the laird’s voice. She wondered if it was the voice of the man who’d been with him when she arrived - his second in command, perhaps?

“It daesnae matter what we can or cannae afford. This is what needs tae be done, tae keep our lands free o’ bandits and raiders.”

“And how dae ye plan tae see the warriors fed and equipped? Supplies cost gold, and gold we’ve little o’ at present. Ye cannae ask the warriors tae guard on empty bellies.”

“The harvest was poorer than we expected, but there’s grain enough so long as we’re cautious, and huntin’ will help.” Even through the door, Thora could hear the grim tone to Laird Cameron’s voice.

“If ye’d just let us seek aid… tell the Council we need tae tak’ action…”

“Nay. I’ll nae give them reasons tae say I’m nae an adequate laird.”

“Nay one thinks that…”

“Nay one says that. ‘Tis different. I can see it in their eyes… I took the lairdship young, and they’ve questioned me ever since.”

“Aedan, ye ken that’s nae true. Nay one thinks ye’re doin’ poorly, and nay one will think it if ye just ask…”

“I said nay. We’ll find some other solution. Yule celebrations are coming, and we have until the end o’ the Midwinter festivities. That’s plenty o’ time.”

If he used the same tone to signal the end of a conversation with his subordinate as he did with her, then they were almost finished. Thora crept away, knowing she didn’t dare get caught listening outside the door by Laird Cameron or his man.

Laird Cameron. Aedan, his man had called him. She appreciated knowing his given name, though she’d have to be careful when and how she used it.

Thora put that thought aside and concentrated on what else she’d learned. Clan Cameron was in need of coin and basic supplies. They didn’t have enough to keep their guards and warriors ready for any attacks. Even more important, however, was the fact that Laird Cameron hadn’t informed his council.

She could use that. She could say she’d learned it - somehow, through a vision if she had to, though she shied away from lying about her gift - and threaten to expose the truth to his people. Even if it would accomplish nothing in reality, it was clear that Aedan Cameron was determined not to appear inadequate in any way. He wouldn’t want any hint of problems to reach the ears of his council, even if the source was a strange village lass who might be considered fey-touched and not quite right in the head.

She couldn’t just confront him in the middle of the Great Hall, or in his study. Either of those courses would end in disaster, and likely with Laird Cameron having her thrown out of the castle or into the dungeon. She needed to confront him alone, somewhere he couldn’t call his guards to have her taken away.

His bedroom? No, there were still guards about. But…

Thora smiled as an idea came to her. It would be risky, and difficult, and it depended on having certain things and at least one accomplice. However, if she could make it work, it was her best chance of convincing the stubborn laird to listen to her.

First, she had to visit the healer. For this to work, she needed some sort of sleeping potion. Then, the stables, and hope that her sight or some other skill revealed a stable hand who could and would help her.

The first task was easily accomplished. Thora made her way to the healer’s cottage, one hand on her stomach, and her face set in an expression of distress. The healer, a kindly looking older woman, ushered her inside at once. “Ye’re the lass who came through the storm. Are ye all right? Were ye injured?”

Thora shook her head. “’Tis me stomach. It hurts, and I feel as if I’ve swallowed rocks.”

The woman pressed on her stomach, and Thora feigned pain, remembering a time as a child when she’d gotten sick eating too many sweets. “It seems ye’ve a touch o’ grumbling guts. Nae a surprise, happens all the time. Sit here, and I’ll mix ye a tisane that will ease the worst o’ it.”

Thora nodded and watched as the woman bustled away to begin mixing the preparation. As soon as she was certain the healer was fully engrossed in her work, she stood up and moved on silent feet to the shelves of already mixed medicine.

She knew what sleeping potions looked and smelled like - before she’d realized what her dreams were, she’d frequently needed to be dosed with such potions to sleep through the night. It was the work of only a few moments to find the one she wanted and tuck it into a pocket of her borrowed dress, then shuffle back to her seat.

The healer returned a moment later with the steaming tisane, and Thora sniffed it. The scent of soothing herbs filled her nostrils, but nothing that might have caused her to need to purge her bowels or something of that ilk. That was good. She smiled and drank it. “Thank ye.”

“’Tis nae trouble. Ye tak’ a short walk tae let it work through ye, and get a cup o’ tea from the kitchens, then rest, and ye’ll be well in the morning.”

Thora nodded. “Dae ye think anyone will mind if I go tae the stables? I’ve always been fond o’ animals.”

“I’m sure ye’ll be fine. And if they calm yer nerves, all the better, fer ‘tis often distress o’ another sort that leads tae upset stomachs.” The healer patted her hand. “If anyone questions ye, then ye send them tae me.”

“I shall, but I willnae stay long.” Thora gave the healer a grateful smile, then rose and made her way to the door and out into the courtyard, making sure to keep her hand on her stomach as she went.

From there, she walked with an unhurried pace to the stables, and slipped inside. Her eyes danced over the horses, seeking the one she’d need for her plan.

There . A sturdy looking roan in the middle of the barn caught her attention. He was a fairly nondescript horse, but his muscles looked solid, and he was large enough for what she needed. She moved forward to put a hand on his nose. “Hello there, me braw lad.”

“Ye’re nae supposed tae touch the horses!” A youthful voice made Thora jump, followed by a click of flint and a flare of light. A youth appeared, holding a lantern in one hand, and a shovel with the other. “Strangers arenae allowed.”

“I ken, but I’m here by order o’ the healer. Animals soothe me.” She smiled at the lad, even as she sent up a prayer of gratitude that fate had delivered exactly what she needed.

The lad was large, almost as tall as she, and well-muscled, but the lines of his face suggested someone much younger than his size would indicate. By his expressions and the way he spoke, she guessed he was barely eight to ten years of age. Old enough and big enough to work with the horses, but not yet wise to the ways of the world.

“Healer sent ye?” The boy frowned.

“Aye. She did. Though I’ll confess, I have another reason fer wishin’ tae see yer horses.” She waved the lad closer. “Ye see, me husband is a warrior here, but he hasnae been home taenight yet. I’m afeared he’s either found another lass, or that he’s been drinkin’ too much mead and whisky o’ the evenings. I plan tae confront him and tak’ him home.”

“What’s that tae dae with horses?” The boy’s frown deepened.

“I’ll need tae borrow one tae get him home, if he’s drunk. I’d appreciate if ye’d saddle this one fer me, so I dinnae have tae try and carry his weight.”

“I cannae…”

The clan was in need of coin. That meant that servants like this stable boy were probably feeling the lack. And even if they weren’t, a family that sent a lad this young into service of the laird was likely one in need of many things. Most families kept their sons home, caring for their land and their crops, or livestock, unless the entire family served in the castle, or they were poor enough to need to find other work for their children.

Thora dug into her pocket and pulled out several coppers, and a few silvers. “If ye’ll dae as I ask and see the horse ready fer me, then ye can have all o’ this.”

The lad’s eyes widened. If her family’s clan was anything to go by, then she was offering him more money than he’d see in a season, so she wasn’t surprised when he shuffled closer.

The boy considered a moment longer. “Ye’ll return the horse?”

“Within a day, at the longest.”.

She watched as the youth struggled for a moment, desire for the money warring with his loyalty. Then he nodded. “Horse’ll be ready fer ye. But if ye hurt the horse… I’ll… I’ll tell the laird about ye!”

“I understand.” She pressed the coins into his palm. “Thank ye fer yer assistance, lad.”

The boy’s hand closed over the coins. Thora waited until he’d stepped back and slipped them into a belt pouch, then took her leave.

Now, for the hardest part of her plan… finding a way to drug an overly suspicious laird and kidnap him.