Chapter 12: I’ve Lost Her

Alyse slept through the day and the night. It was noon of the next day when she struggled to wake, her eyes groggy, her mouth drier than a desert. When she pushed herself up, the brains in her head swirled. Coughing, she opened and closed her parched lips, trying to work up some spit.

The memory of it—of the dragon—came back to her. “No . . . ” She looked down at her dress, at her body—touched her long, ebony hair. Her youth screamed at her, “Traitor!”

Sobs shook her shoulders. At the sound of her anguished weeping, the meadow and the forest beyond went silent. The birds, the rabbits, the squirrels paused in their work to look at the wretched girl. The night had been cold, the morning damp, but in the strange way of autumn, the day, despite the approaching winter, had turned warm. The sun touched her back and the top of her head. For long minutes she cried, but hunger and thirst, and the awful weariness of regret brought an exhausted end to her tears.

“Who can trust a dragon? She's probably already dead.” Her hands trembled at the thought. “Dear God, please take Saoirse to heaven. She never did a thing but fill my life with happiness.”

As if to say, your prayer has been heard, a bird chirped, its soft cry echoed by another. Yellow wings glided through the trees. The small creature alighted on a branch next to its mate, singing all the more. A butterfly, blue with black-edged wings, flitted across the meadow, landing on a burgundy flower head curved like an open fan. Above, the clear sky was as bright as any in high summer. Not an arm's length in front of her, a grasshopper, the palest green, hopped an astonishing six feet into the air, landing on a blade of grass that dipped under its weight. And from the edge of the forest, two fawns, still spotted—surely, they must have been born late—stepped into the sunlight to feed on the tender grasses that grew just beyond the shade of the trees. The sunlight, the music of the birds, the beauty of the butterfly and the grasshopper seeped into Alyse's soul.

“I don't know that's she's dead. If she's not, I could warn her.” She bowed her head. “She'll never trust me again. She'll see my betrayal in the colors of my aura. She's a seer, she'll know. I've lost her forever.” Fresh tears streamed down her face.

The breeze smelled of autumn, of leaves and dampness—and faintly of the sea. She scrambled to her feet, running toward the scent of the ocean, darting up the low hill in front of her. “This place. . . . I know it. I'm not far from home.”  

Grams had taught her about magic, her father—he died so young—of the Christian God. “Seems to me,” he'd say, ‘If he's God, he's God of magic, too.’”

Alyse squared her shoulders. “All my life I've stood one foot with my Grams and one with Da.” She raised her eyes to the heavens to her father’s God. “I've seen what magic can do, and I choose you. I've done wrong. I can't change that. But whether she be alive or dead, Da said that You are good. Please, show me how to make amends.”

She began to cautiously pick her way down the mountainside. “Oh, what am I doing? That damn dragon made me young, and I’m walking like an old woman. At this pace I’ll die of thirst before I get home.” She lengthened her stride. Twice she misplaced a shoe and nearly fell, but her strong thighs caught her. Soon she was jogging down the mountainside, skidding on loose stones, leaping from bolder to bolder.Toward midnight of the second day, Alyse found the village. As she paused to drink at the well, she remembered the dragon's promise of gold. “The beast cheated me,” she mumbled. She slept in the hayloft in old Cian's barn. 

In the morning, Alyse walked to the great house, entering through the kitchens begging bread and soup. She feared Cook would recognize her, but she merely huffed, “Wash up first,” and went back to kneading bannocks. When Alyse had eaten, she asked to see Lady Togair.

“I aim to offer myself as a seamstress.”

“She'll be giving you a test,” Cook warned.

“My work is better than anyone's for a hundred miles.”

Cook raised her eyebrows. “Not a bit cocky, are you? And what's your name?”

Alyse hesitated.

“Well? Don't you know it?”

“Alyse.”

“Beautiful name. Don't think I've heard the like of it around here before.”As predicted, Lady Togair gave Alyse a maid's dress to mend. “You've got one hour.”

“I'll have it right in half that.”

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In thirty minutes, Lady Togair returned. As she peered at the tiny, straight stitches, the barest hint of a smile twitched up the corners of her mouth. From her basket she brought out a lace handkerchief. Now it was Alyse's turn to hide her grin. She herself had made the handkerchief last Christmas for Lord Togair to give to his lady as a gift.

“Can you mend it?” Lady Togair asked.

Alyse took the small bit of lace and linen in her hand, fingering with pride the flowers she had woven into the trim. In the center, a peacock pranced. “This is fine work.”

Abruptly, Lady Togair sat down, wringing her hands. “I caught the edge on my ring.”

“Don't you fret. I'll have it like new. Go about your day, the mending will take three hours.”

When Lady Togair returned, she exclaimed, “It's perfect!” How beautiful she was when she smiled, her hair like spun gold, her eyes the color of a robin's egg. “I'll bring you on for room and board and three pence a week.” Joyfully, she rose and almost danced toward the door.

Alyse tilted up her chin. “My work is better than good, my lady. I'll have twelve pence a week and my own room.”

Rapidly, Lady Togair swirled around, her head lifted, looking like a little girl pretending to be a queen. “No, I'll not pay it!”

Alyse's stomach tied itself in knots. I could lose any chance I have to help Saoirse. She almost accepted the low wage, but she remembered the touch of Sean’s lips on hers. Softly, she said, “Perhaps Keep Nathair is in need of a seamstress.”

“But twelve pence! That's more than the other seamstresses are paid; they will object.” Lady Togair dissolved into dithering. “I can't abide their bickering. They will say, 'Why are you paying her more? What about me? I have two mouths to feed.'“ 

Alyse's voice turned gentle, until it was that of a mother soothing a child. “I won't be telling anyone. And you will look stunning this Christmastide in the gowns I will make you. The other great ladies will turn green with envy.”

Lady Togair jittered first to the left and then to the right. “I don't know. So much coin.”

Alyse rose and took Lady Togair's hand in both of hers. “You've seen the quality of my work. You know I am worth twelve pence a week.”

Sighing—decision making was so exhausting—Lady Togair relented. “You promise you won't tell anyone?”

“I'll keep my lips closed tighter than a nun's legs.”

As Lady Togair giggled, Alyse said, “Now where is the cloth for those Christmas gowns? Best I get started on the designs if you want to shine this yuletide.

 

 

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