Despondent after the departure of the last of her sons, and of her beloved husband, Ida sank into a near catatonic depression. It was a melancholy that left her hardly cognizant of the world around her and uncaring to her general appearance.

  It was a dreadful thing to behold for her closest friend, who had for so long been a source of strength for so very many. She was not alone in reacting in such a grief-stricken manner, as Finella had reacted much the same at the leave-taking of her beloved father. By this time she had lost the majority of her brothers, and had never known a day without her father in spite of being in her forties.

  She had thus grown unnaturally dependant in many ways, upon the old man, as had her husband who had always looked to him as an irascible if wise second-father of sorts. The Salmon’s absence weighed upon the councils of the people of Glasvhail who remained fractious and unable to decide what to do now. They had failed to elect another headman or headwoman, divided as they were.

  Glasvhail integrated ever so slowly into the city, as their shepherds and fishermen took up tasks aiding the local fishermen and farmers. Those of the region were to unlike those of the other towns felt grateful for their aid, as the people of Glasvhail did not make a nuisance of themselves. Even Elspet grew to be appreciated by some of the locals.

  It was Conn’s daughters though who made the greatest impression upon the locals though, throwing themselves into aiding some of the local nuns, of the local convent of Scota. They also appeared to be everywhere else; aiding with the washing of clothes, sewing, even carrying buckets of fish caught by the fishermen into the city. Appreciated as much for their zeal as for their beauty, it was not long before Eillidh had charmed everyone, despite her sorrow at Bhàtair and Caileann’s departures, or that Doada was recommended to cease assisting those around her.

  Stricken as she was at being separated from her beloved husband, she was to cling to her ability to perform tasks for as long as she could, until the local matriarch of the convent, stomped into the camp.

  She was to eat with them that night, and upon completing her stew which consisted of mutton stew mixed with onions and apples and bread, she declared to all. “Doada must not work so much on the morrow.”

  This drew an outraged hiss from the maiden in question with Kenna the one who was to ask though she had a suspicion that she knew the answer to her own question. “Why do you wish us to deny Doada the right to aid the city?”

  “Because she is with child,” the matriarch said, the old crone looked fierce in her dark habit, hook nosed and sharp-eyed.

  This news drew a wave of congratulations, all of which the lass in question accepted most heartily, though she appeared furious with sister Aimil. She was to later be heard to complain a great deal about the ‘disservice done to her’ by the matriarch. But her complaints were half-hearted and as she later confided to Kenna, she wished to continue working to keep from thinking. So worried was she for Doada that she could hardly think of aught else but his death.

  Kenna could feel for her, for she was of a very similar mind.

  It was the subsequent day that saw Kenna invited to her shock, to the royal palace to share milk and bread with the Queen.

  Flabbergasted and honoured, she was to assent at once. Flattered the seamstress made her way up the hill, as she had days before this time with Helga by her side. The young maiden, who had taken to caring for Ida with her, and to helping out so many throughout the village, was now almost inseparable from her side.

  It was not hard to see why, so many of the men who had remained in the city were quickly becoming taken with her, Kenna thought as they climbed the hill. She was pretty, kind and well-spoken, Kenna noticed proudly. When Trygve returned, he would only grow to love her all the more, she mused to herself with some small amount of joy.

  They were escorted through the grand halls once again, to a private chamber the size of several houses. It was a remarkable place, one that both peasant women could only gape in awe at. The ceiling was much the same as that of the throne-room, as were the walls.

  There were banners of the great white-unicorn everywhere throughout the room, between the windows that faced the sea and to either side of the large half-score wide bed and full-score long. It was richly decorated with linen and fur sheets, with the alder-wood tables, shelves and chairs in the room no less magnificent.

  Upon each of the shelves were rows of books, all of them in Romalian, Dorian or Caled. Though this last tongue was rarely used in the realm of scholarship, for there were few Caleds who were truly literate.

  It came as no surprise to either woman, to discover that Gruach truly was. She was in the midst of a chess-game though, with herself and was busy huffing in frustration at it. To her side on the table she had a small goblet and copy of the Canticle. The book was encased in gold binding and engraved with runes, so that it was guessed by Kenna to be a gift from the Dwarves. The House of Noroak were old friends and patrons of the Dwarves who lived deep within the mountains that occupied the landscape of the Highlands.

  “Stand here,” the old female servant instructed the two of them, once they were inside. “I will announce you.”

  “I can see them just fine, Deonag,” Gruach grumbled from where she sat with a glance over her shoulder towards the peasant women. Dismissing her servant she was to continue to stare at the chess board, in annoyance for the next several minutes. She would not speak until the older woman had left, and when she did it was to grumble beneath her breath. “I simply cannot understand how it is that I can never beat him.”

  “Who your Grace?” Helga asked confused.

  “My husband,” Gruach snapped impatiently, as she at last threw her arms in the air, ere she turned to them, after she had knocked the wooden black-king. “Are you familiar with the rules?”

  Kenna shook her head, admitting as she did so, “Nay we are not, for there is little time for such pleasant games for those of us who must work the fields or toil to earn our meat and wine.”

  “A valid reason,” Gruach said earnestly, she soon waved them over, “It is one of the flaws of us nobles to have more time than we properly know to do with it. Or such is my experience in regards to we noblewomen, and royal-women.”

  “Does your husband play the game with you often?” Kenna asked pleased that she did not sound half as anxious as what she felt, to be there standing before the Queen of Caledonia.

  The other woman smiled a little, “Aye, usually after dark ere we have lain down to discuss the day’s work or the children or what is to be done for Caledonia. When we were children, I never lost against him!” This last part was admitted as a boast, only for her to become sullen then, “Yet since we have been reunited, I have never succeeded.”

  “A shame,” Kenna said confused by the purpose of such a game and such talk, though she was grateful to have been included in the Queen’s confidence.

  “Aye,” Gruach grumbled, she turned then to the two of them, “But I did not call thee to my chambers to discuss such things.”

  “Of course not your Grace,” Kenna answered at once.

  “Oh do not behave yourselves so, we are Caleds we do not grovel,” The Queen snapped irritably, a hint of the same sort of temper in her eyes as that of the seamstress who stood a little ways behind her near the door.

  This angry correction brought a smile to Kenna’s weather-worn features.

  Acquiescing at once, in marked contrast to Helga who was to appear faint still so taken by the figure before whom, they stood.

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  Kenna was to address her rather less formally, relaxing her stance as she did so, as she might have done were it Ainsley she stood before. “Milady,” She said insisting upon at least one title, “What is it that you wish to know?”

  “I would ask of you, all that you have seen and if you would be willing to have several of the brothers when they arrive here, note down your tale.” Gruach informed her almost sternly, as though she were challenging her to refuse her. At Kenna’s surprised look, a smile tugged at the corner of her attractive full lips, “I have need of your tale to convince the other lairds and Mormaers to turn upon MacDuibh.”

  This made things rather awkward, for Helga who appeared unsure of this suggestion. It meant that they were to betray MacDuibh.

  It was an easy decision for Kenna.

  As far as she was concerned, after all that Badrách had done for that sword of his and how close he was to MacDuibh they could all perish in her eyes.

  This was how she dictated several long letters to all the corners of the oldest kingdom of the Lairdly-Isle.

  *****

  It was also in this manner and thanks to a late luncheon of haggis-stew that Kenna made friends with of all people the Queen of Caledonia. A lady of the finest blood the realm had ever known a descendant of the line of Achaius.

  Seated there in the cool room, with the open windows to one side to let in the sound of the crashing sea and waves, they were to discuss over lunch that day and the next one, the dresses that Kenna had gifted to the Queen, all those months ago. The dresses were already dearly loved by Gruach, and a source of regret. Her regret at not being able to wear the silk dresses in question was tinged with the visible joy of motherhood with the other woman complaining, “If only I still had the figure for such vanities.”

  “Nonsense, you will surely regain your figure soon enough,” Kenna assured her with a polite smile, a part of her filled with envy. She wished she had been so blessed as to give Cormac the siblings she knew he had craved. It was why he was so close to Ida’s sons, because they were the brothers his parents had been unable to give him.

  This was not to say that she craved children, as other women her age might. She only felt regret for those she might otherwise, have had and all the time she had wasted hounding and hating Cormac.

  *****

  Her attempts to invite Ida the next day, to attend after the Queen were in vain. Once excited at the prospect of meeting the wife of their monarch, the wife of Freygils would not budge from her spot. Seated upon a stone facing west, she had eaten according to Helga yet appeared thinner than ever before. A plump woman, with a jovial nature it stung to see her reduced to such melancholy.

  Cared for by Mairead, her beloved daughter and Finella, Ida was to refuse to move regardless how much they did.

  “Ida you must eat,” Kenna told her taking the situation in hand as best she could.

  “Fine,” Ida replied without any interest.

  “And you should go pray,” She strove desperately.

  “Nay, it was here that I said goodbye to my sons and husband and here I shall remain,” Ida snapped determined to remain seated.

  Her obstinacy annoyed not only the seamstress who did not budge to see the Queen until the blonde-woman had eaten.

  Ere she had departed, Finella was to apologise to her, the youngest of the children of Freygils was as wearied as she was exasperated. Worried for her brothers, the runt of the litter of children of the most noteworthy couple of Glasvhail complained to her surrogate aunt. “My deepest apologies aunty, for my mother’s folly, truly I shan’t understand it. I am also concerned for my brothers and pa’ but she is just being unreasonable!”

  At first stunned by those words, it had never occurred to the widow that her friend was behaving herself poorly. Kenna could only gape at such horrid words.

  Infuriated by those words the indignant seamstress was to do something, she had never done before that moment; she struck the lass.

  Stunned by this act, Finella did not know what to do.

  Trembling with barely contained fury, the seamstress could only spit out, “If I ever hear you disrespect your mother in such a manner, I shall take a rod to you as I would expect her to. Your mother’s love for your father ought to be respected, do you understand?”

  Wounded both in spirit and body, the sandy-haired lass nodded her head reluctantly.

  Pleased that she understood how important it was to respect poor Ida, Kenna was to decide in a heartbeat, “Now if you will accompany me, you appear tired lass. Follow me, I will introduce you to the Queen so that you may leave your poor mother to Mairead and at last have repose from her company.”

  That day Finella was wary of displeasing of her, even as she let slip her first smile since she had been separated from her men-folk. Her cheeks crimson from the pleasure of meeting the wife of their monarch, who did all she could to make the lass feel at home.

  *****

  This was not to be the last of their meetings with the Queen, whom Kenna and Helga were to attend upon Gruach, as though they were handmaidens of hers. This was not a position that they were formally appointed to, but rather one that they assumed over time.

  The two of them took to these tasks with a vigour and enthusiasm that Gruach had not seen in some time. Pleased by their friendship and warmth, she was to accept their aid in dressing her, in walking with her throughout the palace and discussing a multitude of topics. Cultivated and sweet-natured the Queen was to discuss such tales as those of Herakles, Astyanax, and Aemiliemagne and of course Achaius.

  It was during one of these walks that they fell to discussing the tale of Ciaran, who was said to have been hated by the fey and was slain, and turned into a tree.

  As they conversed the monarch’s wife oversaw the cleaning of her chambers, with the two women joining the four servants in the washing of the floor as they spoke with her. Watching the servants with all the keenness of a hawk, the last of the daughters of the house of MacCináed, had attempted to dissuade them, before she gave up. When told of the tale of Ciaran, she was to remark. “How interesting, this is not at all like the tale my brother Amlaibh once told me.”

  “What did he say to you?” Kenna queried from between her clenched teeth as she toiled tirelessly at washing and wiping the marble floor, alongside the other women in the room.

  “He said that this Ciaran had fallen in love with a fairy, wherefore he was slain for it,” Gruach replied with a faraway look. “I do miss him so…”

  “As do all who lose family,” the seamstress retorted with equal sorrow, full of sympathy for her newfound friend.

  “Thank you Kenna,” the Queen replied earnestly.

  “If only Ida did not have to go through such losses,” Helga remarked as she worked with no less ardour.

  This comment drew the curiosity of Mael-Bethad’s wife who was to ask after Ida.

  Explaining the sorrows that had overwhelmed Ida, who had once been the most passionate women from the village of Glasvhail, they did not over-stress the depths of her despair. They spoke plainly as only Caleds could, with the occasional flourishes woven here and there by Helga certainly, and Gruach. They were however, to find in their Queen a receptive listener. Though a stone-face woman at times, with a self-doubting side, she was one who did not speak until they had nothing left to add.

  “If she is truly in such despair, and has mothered so beautiful, a lass as Finella, I must see her for myself,” Gruach retorted determinedly.

  “What do you mean, Your Grace?” Kenna questioned confused and lost as to the meaning behind the woman’s words.

  Gruach only smiled and announced that she would soon understand, but that, “-But for the moment I must be away, to pray in the temple of Scota.”

  *****

  It was two days later that Gruach was to visit Ida.

  She came just before breakfast, when the people of Glasvhail were in the midst of passing about cheese, with Finella out in the fields to mind the half-score sheep still left of her mother’s flock. The first to notice Gruach and her accompanying guards was Eillidh who was sitting by Ida’s side singing songs of Cináed. Notably of his rescue of his wife, from the deserted isle of Kull where she had been sent by her father for her love, for the noble prince of Ríocht-Riada, a song Eillidh adored. It was a song that her father had often sung to her to put her to sleep.

  Rising to her feet to point at the Queen, only for her hand to be slapped down by Doada who was previously occupied herself with knitting and sewing together, a new woollen dress for her sister. “Do not point at the Queen!” She hissed furiously.

  Eillidh objected to this rough treatment, just as Helga and Kenna both occupied elsewhere that day with buying some cloth to sew some new clothes, for some of their fellows from Glasvhail. Both froze where they stood to gape at the small procession of guards and handmaidens. Some of the latter visibly displeased at having to make their way down from the hill upon which the palace sat. They v felt miserable at how they had to interact with peasants, who were hardly people to them.

  Unlike these haughty ladies, Gruach was visibly in her element. In the palace she had appeared at least a little distant, yet now that she had stepped out from within, she was utterly consumed by joy. A woman who liked people by nature, full of love for them just as her husband was.

  “I would like to have my breakfast with you, Lady Ida if you will do me the honour,” Gruach said to the shocked peasant woman.

  Ida only gaped at her, and blinked stupidly.

  The Queen waited, though her knees must have ached.

  Ida offered but a nod. Speaking to her gently, she was to lay her hand upon the arm of Ida.

  This was but a small gesture of compassion on the part of the Queen, one that need not have been performed by her. Moved by this act, Kenna felt unashamed of the tears that sprung to her eyes, to see the Queen treat her closest friend so sweetly.

  “Our Queen is truly unlike any who has come before,” Said Helga in a smitten voice.

  “Aye, her likeness has not been seen since the days of the Lily-Queen,” Kenna agreed at once, feeling proud of her newfound friend.

  *****

  Three days later news arrived from the south to the shock of all involved that Baltair had broken the siege of Nordleia.

  But this was not the chief-most news that made Kenna collapse onto a nearby chair, her heart squeezed not unlike an orange which has its juices extracted. Stricken, to hear the guard announce, “Though Badrách has been driven away, Tormod Macáed was however wounded in the pursuit of them.”

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