The sky was overcast, and the temperature had dropped. Winter wasn’t far off. She pulled her woolen shawl closer. Movement caught her eye, and she turned to watch a single rider climb the hill. “Isn’t that Liam riding off by himself?”
“Aye,” Robley said.
“Where’s he going?”
“I dinna know, and he will no’ say. I suspect his many mysterious trips have something to do with a lass.” He smiled at her and wagged his eyebrows. “Lady True, what do you think of our home?”
“You too? My name is Alethia. Why does Malcolm insist on calling me True?”
“Och, lass. He means it as a compliment. He sees you as nas fìor, which does no’ mean the same as truth in the way aleth does in Greek. Fìor is a word that means true-hearted, genuine, just and upright. We all know how you healed the weaver’s son.” He smiled and took her hands in his. “Look upon your young lad. Hunter has put on weight and thrives in your care. You did no’ have to accept him on as your ward, yet you did. True-hearted is what you are. Malcolm honors your character with the name.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “I thought he was teasing me about being a truth-sayer. He does enjoy annoying me.”
“Aye, that he does.” He chuckled. “You rise to the challenge, match him wit for wit, and it pleases him. Malcolm would move heaven and earth to see you safe, lass. Dinna doubt it.”
“Why? I’m nothing to him.”
“Are you no’?” Robley winked.
“He sees me as his responsibility, that’s all.” She frowned and turned back to watch Liam disappear over the crest of the hill.
“’Tis certain that he sees you as his responsibility, lass, but no’ in the way you think.”
She liked that Malcolm thought of her as true-hearted. True. The nickname had a nice ring to it. She puzzled over what Robley meant when he said Malcolm saw her as his responsibility, but not in the way she thought.
Everything about Malcolm confused her, but then what did she know about men? Nothing. Being a music geek her whole life hadn’t exactly led to hordes of boys lining up at her door for dates. She hadn’t even gone to her high school prom.
The ferry landed, and they disembarked with Galen’s help. Hunter ran in a circle around them, unable to contain his glee. Every now and then he’d return to her, clutch her gown or grasp her hand for a second’s reassurance. Then he’d bounce off again. She couldn’t help but laugh. His antics touched a tender place in her heart.
“Come, True. We’re to the cooper first.” Lydia nodded a greeting to Galen. She took Alethia’s arm, and Elaine walked on her other side. The two women exchanged greetings with the villagers and stopped occasionally to introduce her.
At the cooper’s workshop, Alethia explained what she wanted. He measured her with twine from the ground to her shoulder and from the tips of the fingers of one hand to the other with her arms outstretched. He did the same with Hunter. Alethia handed him the gold chain from the pendant Giselle had given her. The cooper studied it and said something in rapid Gaelic to Lydia.
“The cooper says it is too much. True, you needn’t part with your jewelry. We’ll take care of the cost,” Lydia admonished.
“I want to pay my own way.”
“You have more than earned your keep. It is we who owe you. Were you a minstrel in residence, we’d pay you with coin,” Elaine persisted.
“Next time, maybe. I want to take care of this myself.”
Elaine hooked her arm through Alethia’s as Lydia explained to the cooper what she’d said. He shook his head but dropped the chain into his sporran.
“Come,” Elaine said. “We’re to the smithy.”
Set back from the main road, the blacksmith’s workshop was an imposing stone structure with a slate roof and heavy double doors of oak and iron. Tools hung from the rafters. Two strapping apprentices worked with anvils behind a large fire pit. The sound of hammers striking metal reverberated through the air, and heat from the fire wafted over Alethia from her place at the threshold. A large, beefy man with thick, muscled arms approached.
“Lady Lydia, Elaine.” He bowed. “Good day to you.”
He spoke English, surprising Alethia.
“Thomas is Sassenach, which is what we call the English,” Elaine whispered into her ear. “He’s Beth’s father. ’Tis why she speaks the language so well.”
“Good day to you, Thomas,” Lydia said. “This is Lady Alethia. She is a guest at Moigh Hall and has need of your skills.”
“Aye?” His curious gaze settled upon her. “What do you seek, milady?”