The Autumn Duchess- The Seasons' Fairy Tales by Katie M John

Author:Katie M John [John, Katie M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Bird Publishing House
Published: 2018-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Meg’s house was, as I had predicted, one of the small cottages, or perhaps hovel was a better word, that hugged the sea-loch bank. It was down a steep track and I could see why Meg stayed mostly at home. It was hard going even for me and several times, I worried my footing wasn’t secure.

“Your house is remote and a hard walk to the village,” I said, trying to make conversation and break the awkward silence.

She grunted. “It’s home.”

I nodded, taking in the natural beauty of the location. Her small stone cottage was topped with heather and framed by several wind beaten trees that created the perfect frame to overlook the sea loch towards the Isle of Skye. It was a small piece of paradise in my world, but a hard and hostile world for Meg.

Chickens come hurrying towards Meg, which she shooed away with a stick before cursing under her breath. “Little bastards!”

I liked her immediately.

I continued to follow her in through the door, which I had to duck to clear, and into the dark cottage, which was made of just one larger room that acted as a cooking, sleeping and living area, and a smaller room, that acted as a store room, which is where Meg instructed me to add the kindling wood to the diminished piled in a wooden box at the back.

The rest of the room was filled with a couple of hanging rabbits and pheasants, dried herbs, and a chest full of salt in which bits of meat and fish were mostly submerged. There was also a large barrel of what I guessed was seawater, given the smell and seaweed that was in it. Two large brown crabs moved lazily around in it.

The whole place belonged to someone who knew how to survive and my admiration piqued. When I returned to the main room, I looked around for Meg but there was only a willowy, straight-backed slim, attractive woman with silver hair pinned tidily up on top of her head. She wore a dark green velvet dress, embroidered with gold Celtic symbols. She was reaching up into one of the crude wooden cupboards fixed to the cottage wall and was gathering a couple of pottery cups. The woman turned to me and I recognised the same grey eyes immediately

“Meg?” I asked, not believing what I was seeing.

“Now you see me, child.”

“I don’t understand. How did you change?”

She waved at one of the two wooden chairs that sat either side of a rough pine table, the centre of which held a crystal ball held in place by a stand made of crossed driftwood.

“I didn’t change. You did. You chose to see me differently. Here. I’m afraid it’s not that fancy black tea from across sea.”

I smiled, receiving her offering with thanks. It was hot and it was wet and despite the golden light of the day, the chill had crept into my bones.

“Now why are you here, Skye?” She took a seat opposite me and waited with a stillness very few people have.

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