Chapter Four
Inside the manor house, the scent of freshly cut evergreens was pungent, but the visual effect was stunning. Elspeth assumed it must be a Scot’s tradition to adorn the house for the Yule Sabbat. Every mantle, every shelf and wall was festooned, and she must endeavor to do the same for Malcom next year if they remained at Aldergh. For all the holly and ivy, there was no denying the sight of so much green made her happy, even if the scent was so pervasive.
Alas, though she wondered why the boy—who she assumed must be Alex—spied on them through cracks in the doors, his expression full of resentment, she didn’t let him dampen her mood, nor rob her of her smile. Somehow, against all odds, she’d found herself another sister in Liana, and so she put young Alex out of her mind, telling herself it was a function of his youth. Whatever was bothering the boy, time would address the problem, and perhaps he didn’t enjoy strangers in his home—blood kin or nay.
After showing Elspeth the room she would share with Malcom, Page and Liana led her back into the kitchen, introducing her to Auld Glenna, then insisted she sit on her rump, finding her a sturdy chair and filling her hands with dough—why, she didn’t know. She squeezed the dough into a ball as Liana hoisted her bottom onto one of the counters—a very unladylike position—then sat talking to Elspeth from that vantage, asking every sort question.
“Tell me about Aldergh, Elspeth. Is it truly a Roman citadel? How old is it? How many rooms? Do you find there are ghosts? Mother claims it must be full to the rafters.”
“There were for me,” Page said, as she stood opposite Glenna at the worktable, the two of them braiding long strands of dough.
Elspeth put a hand to her belly, rubbing. “I’ve encountered none, so far,” she said carefully, wondering if they must believe she should see them because she was a witch. Regardless, that particular subject was never even broached, and, instead, Elspeth found herself wondering what witchery these ladies possessed to braid the soft dough so masterfully, and so swiftly. It was amazing to see how quickly their hands worked. Elspeth watched, mesmerized.
“I don’t know precisely how old it is, but Malcom says it was built around the same time as York was, though, unlike York, Aldergh was destroyed before the Roman’s departed.”
“Aye,” said Page. “With King Henry’s blessings, my Papa seized upon its potential. He rebuilt it from ruins. I remember well running through a maze without ceilings.”
“Well, you should see it now,” said Elspeth. “When did you last visit?”
Page wiped her hands on a towel. “Many, many years ago, when my son took it. I have not seen it since.”
“’Tis quite grand now,” said Elspeth. “More so than any home I ever knew before.”
Liana furrowed her brow. “But, I thought your father was—”
Elspeth tilted her head. “King?” She laughed softly. “Much good it should do me. My sire was good and kind to me, always, but children were to be seen and never heard.” She sighed. “I warrant even Matilda did not see him overmuch until she was of an age—and likely not till she returned from Germany with a crown.”
“And then, I hear tell she made her will known,” said Page, laughing.
“Is she truly so haughty?” asked Liana.
“Haughty?” Elspeth considered the question. “Nay,” she said. “But, again, I was raised with…” She peered around the room, hoping not to offend any of these women. “…different sensibilities.” In fact, her grandmother had imbued her, not only with strong Welsh principles, but as a dewine, and according to her coven, women were in so many ways superior to men. “Rather, I would say… the English do not particularly value their womenfolk. Matilda is certainly no shrinking violet.”
“And neither do you seem to be,” said Page. And Cora, who was flitting about the kitchen, tidying where she could, agreed. “I promise you she is not!”
Elspeth smiled, wondering what they would think of her sister Rhiannon, who spoke her mind far more plainly than she.
“’Tis little wonder my son adores you,” said Page, smiling.
“He was raised by strong women,” interjected Glenna.
His sister added, “My Da likes to say my mother whips him aboot by his willie.”
Page laughed. “Liana! You mustn’t repeat such things!”
“Why not? Tis true,” said Liana, winking at Elspeth. And then she changed the subject entirely. “I simply canna wait! Tomorrow, we’ll celebrate Feill Fionnain with a bonfire. My Da builds the biggest bluidy fires ye could e’er imagine.”
Elspeth’s gaze turned to her sister by law. “Feill Fionnain?”
“Our winter’s solstice.”
Elspeth blinked. “You celebrate the solstice?”
“Ach, lassie, O’ course, we do,” said Glenna. “We’re no’ ignorants!”
Elspeth blinked again, wishing she could take back her question. She bit nervously into her glob of dough, and said, “Of course not, but I thought—”
“Here in the north, we’re no’ so much inclined to abandon our Old Ways,” explained Page, working another loaf. “It surprised me, too, at first, because, though my papa was not a pious man, he did have the utmost respect for the edicts of Holy Church. Rather, tisna so much we mean to flout Holy edicts…” Her hands moved deftly, little by little, braiding her strands. “…we simply are not in any hurry to anger the divinities who’ve seen us through so much.” She smiled, pinching the ends of her loaf together to form another wreath. “After all, we see no reason they cannot abide together—like men and women.”
Elspeth smiled. Of course, she believed the same. All the while she and her sisters had lived at Llanthony Priory, they had never once felt it a burden to pray alongside the priests. However, the priests, themselves, had so much to complain about.
“How’s the taste?” asked Glenna, changing the subject, eyeing Elspeth discerningly.
Elspeth took another small bite, and made a face—too salty. Glenna seized the dough from her hand and bit into it, herself, making a disgusted face and shaking her head. She muttered something inaudible, then brushed her fingers along the loaves, saying something, to the best of Elspeth’s discernment, like, “Ut dulce sit.”
Make it sweet.
She narrowed her eyes, watching the woman… because… she was either praying that the other loaves wouldn’t be so salty, or she was… but nay.
“Tell me aboot my brother?” demanded Liana, recapturing Elspeth’s attention. “Is he so terribly vexing as he used to be? He used to chase me aboot, insisting I do what he bade.”
Page laughed, despite the arched brow. “Only because I commanded him to, Liana. You were ne’er so sweet and innocent as your Da should like to believe.”
Like a wee girl, Liana swung out her legs, and said, “Aye, Ma, but let us continue to keep it a secret,” she said, giggling. “I’d no’ ha’e Papa believe otherwise.”
“An’ well ye would like that, wouldn’t ye, vixen,” said Glenna, clucking her tongue, until the women laughed, and Liana lifted her chin.
“O’course,” she said with an impish grin. “But, o’course!”