The Witch-Fiddler by Deborah Bradford

Author:Deborah Bradford
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2015-08-17T23:00:00+00:00

She saw little of him over the next few days, somewhat to her disappointment, for she found him very pleasant to talk to. She missed friendly conversation with a man. Neither Tynan, Swayne, nor Master Ives had any counterpart at the Deep Valley Inn. Henry was the only man she considered a friend, and he had little time for conversation. And though Rois would have been happy to introduce her to any number of men, Nemain steadfastly refused to take her up on it, knowing what Rois was apt to read into everything. Certainly she read a great deal into Gavin’s intentions.

“He wants you to go away with him!” she reported with breathless glee. “Isn’t that romantic?”

“It’s not like that,” said Henry with a touch of weariness. “He’s betrothed to a lass in the Lowland. He told me so.”

“Well, betrothed isn’t married. I’m just saying.”

Nemain and Henry exchanged one of their looks.

“I know when a man is interested, and he’s interested!” Rois went on stubbornly. “You’re going with him, aren’t you, dearie?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Nemain admitted, reaching down to pet Moddey. “I could do with a change of scene, and Moddey here could do with the exercise. He’s getting fat.”

“He’s getting old,” said Henry.

That was true, but Nemain didn’t like to hear it. She frowned.

“We’ll look after him for you,” Rois offered.

“Oh, I couldn’t leave him. We’ve never been separated.” She turned to Henry. “Do you think I ought not to take him?”

Before Henry could reply, Rois uttered some low, rapid-fire remarks in the Northern tongue. He silenced her with a few curt syllables.

“Tell me what you really think,” said Nemain.

Henry looked at her with a smile in his eyes. “I think if you go, you won’t come back,” he said. “So you’d better take the dog.”

Rois beamed.

“Why wouldn’t I come back?”

“Heavens, dearie! Because if you’ve got a chance at a better life, you should take it!”

“She’s right,” said Henry.

Nemain looked from one to the other, stunned. “Well, then … I guess there’s no reason not to go.”

“I’ll go tell him,” said Rois.

She danced out of the room, and Henry watched her go with a sigh. Nemain looked at him curiously.

“What about your profits from the Deep Valley fiddler?”

“Lass, it was never about the profits. You know that.”

She smiled. “Well, I won’t forget all you’ve done for me. And I may come back.”

“If you do, you’ll be welcome. But if this young man can reunite you with friends, or find you a situation more to your liking, take it, by all means. Get whatever you can from him, I say.”

Nemain chuckled. Henry’s cheerful pragmatism suited her better than Rois’s visions of romance.

“It’s likely he can do better by you than we can,” Henry went on. “He’s well connected.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, you can just tell.”

“And what do you think of him personally?”

“He seems decent. We went shooting earlier today—”

“Shooting?” Devout Northmen went hunting only for food, never for sport. They couldn’t afford to be casual about killing, knowing that the Good Folk often assumed the forms of birds or beasts.

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