Page 34 of Highland Slayer
A man with a yellowed beard and piercing black eyes spoke in a guttural tone, in a language used by the Northmen. His name was Willem and he was Bastijn’s commander. They wereon the edge of the village, scoping out a business that might be the central location for news or gossip. They wanted information and they didn’t want to go hunting for it. The only place they could think of would be the church. The priest would surely know of any distressed people who needed help. Priests usually knew everything. When Willem pointed out the squat, sturdy building to Bastijn, they both nodded as if, indeed, they were thinking the same thing.
A church was the perfect place to find out what they needed to know.
The rain had stopped for the most part, leaving dark, puffy clouds blowing across the sky as the wind picked up. The road was very muddy and people were trying to navigate it as they went about their business. Bastijn and Willem were focused on the church, but also curious about their surroundings. Where they came from, there were no big villages, only scattered settlements, so an organized village was something they didn’t see often. Willem was just getting a look at a shop with the wordAromatariuspainted over the door when a round woman suddenly stepped outside, nearly crashing into him.
She yelped.
“Apologies, lad,” she said, reaching out to slap him on the arm. “I should have looked where I was going. Did I hurt ye?”
Willem, as well as Bastijn and several other men of their clan, knew the language that the English and Scots spoke. With the trading across the sea that sometimes happened, they had to know a few words of it in order to buy, or possibly sell, goods. Therefore, they understood what the woman was saying. But Willem didn’t like the fact that she’d slapped him and was preparing to wrap his hands around her neck until Bastijn saw what he intended and put his hand on the man’s wrist to still him.
He smiled weakly at the old woman.
“No harm,” he said. “We should be more careful.”
The woman was very friendly. “No need,” she said. “Ye can run intae me any time. I dunna mind!”
She laughed loudly, again slapping Willem, who grimaced and rolled his eyes. Bastijn still had his hand on the man’s wrist, making sure he didn’t try to slap her in return.
“You are understanding,” he said in his slightly stilted speech, since it wasn’t his native tongue. “We go now.”
“Where?” the woman said. “Ye should come in my stall. See what I have. Do ye need anything? Medicines? Roots? Mysterious potions?”
Bastijn lifted a dark eyebrow. “What is mysterious potions?”
Her smile faded somewhat. “Love potions,” she said. “Or mayhap a potion tae strengthen yer spirit. Any kind of potion. Do ye understand that?”
Bastijn nodded. “Ja,” he said. He made drinking motions. “Like this.”
The woman nodded. “Like that,” she confirmed with her own motions. Then she peered at him and his companions. “Ye’re not from around here, are ye?”
Bastijn shook his head. “Inga,” he said, using the word in his language for “no.” “Nay, not here.”
“The isles tae the west?”
Bastijn motioned westward. “Ja,” he said. “West.”
She was back to smiling again. “Welcome,” she said, slapping Bastijn, this time on the arm. “We dunna get many strangers here, and now I’ve seen two in one day. A nun from St. Margaret’s came in earlier. Can ye believe that? A Templar nun!”
Bastijn had no idea what she was talking about, so he nodded. “Ja,” he said. “A nun from St. Margaret’s.”
The old woman was clearly thinking back to the encounter. “Aye,” she said. “Tall lass. Blonde hair. She tried tae fight me, yeknow, pulled out her sword and everything, but I fought her and I won. I beat a Templar nun!”
Bastijn glanced at Willem, and he could see that the man’s patience was gone. Unless he wanted a scene, and probably a dead woman at his feet, then they were going to have to move on to the church.
“Tack,” he said, which was an expression of gratitude in his language. “My thanks.”
“For what?” she said. When he tried to move on, she grasped his arm. “Dunna be in such a hurry. Come inside. I told ye that I have whatever ye might want. Do ye have sores on yer skin? A sour stomach? Do ye feel ill? The nun that came in this morning had a lad with her. They needed something for a fever. They had a woman with them that had a sickness. A stranger, he said. I gave him something tae cure it.”
Willem, having had enough of the overbearing woman, pushed onward with the other two men behind him, but Bastijn grabbed him before he could get away. That bold apothecary running off at the mouth had told him something that sparked his interest.
A woman was ill at St. Margaret’s.
A stranger.
That, most definitely, had his attention.
“A stranger?” he said. “Did he say more?”
