Veil of Time by Claire R. McDougall

Author:Claire R. McDougall [McDougall, Claire R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Romance, Fantasy
ISBN: 9781451693829
Google: bUJvAAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1451693818
Goodreads: 18144050
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2014-03-11T06:00:00+00:00

16

It comes sooner than I thought. No more than a moment after I come to in Sula’s hut, I’m up and shaking Marcus awake. He stares into my face blankly. But I need to know what year of Murdoch’s reign we’re in, no matter that Marcus’s eyes are closing on me.

I shake him again. “Murdoch Rex. Quo anno?”

I am surprised I can even come close to conveying my idea, even more surprised that Marcus catches on. He’s a clever little eunuch.

He fixes his eyes on me. “Annus secundus.”

The relief makes me sigh. Marcus is watching me carefully, confused, while I work out that this must be the year 735. Of course, 736 starts in not more than a month, and that’s the year Jim said the Picts take over, the year of the earthquake.

I prod Marcus’s arm again. This time he seems a little impatient for someone who is supposed to be a slave.

I clear my throat before I speak, because I’m not sure I should be saying this. “Pictii Dunadd vincent.”

I’m sure it’s hopelessly wrong, but something seems to dawn on him.

He gets to his knees, dipenses with his blanket and with Latin. “When?”

“After the new year.”

Marcus bumps into Sula on his way out. When she asks him where he is going, he tells her it’s for food. But I’m still trying to read the change on his face that this news about the Picts overrunning Dunadd has brought. I’m sure now I should have kept quiet.

Sula takes me by the hand and leads me to her rows of earthen pots. She seems to have a lesson in herbology for me this morning. When Marcus comes back in with the food, he sets a wooden board of flat bread, a dish of sour cottage cheese, and a jug of milk on the floor. The milk, I judge from the smell, is not from cows. It tastes like the smell of manure.

I take a bite of bread dripping with cheese, then turn back to Sula. But Fergus is on the other side of the door announcing his presence. I swallow hard. When Marcus opens the door, Fergus walks in, looking uncomfortable, glancing first at me and then at Sula. Perhaps he’s embarrassed by his musical performance outside the hut last night, but he keeps his gaze from me and simply hands Marcus a bundle of clothes. He is turning to leave when Sula tugs my arm to draw my attention back to her lesson.

I try to take in what she is saying about herbs and the circle she traces at the center of her palm, but I have the sense of Fergus hovering by the door.

She nudges me, points into a pot, and tells me a name in Gaelic. “For fever.” Marcus tries to help by giving me the Latin, salix alba. But I keep on glancing over at Fergus, and he keeps on not leaving.

Sula takes my hand and crushes a dried mint leaf into it.

Marcus tries to illustrate this one by holding his buttocks open and making noises.

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