“Are the accommodations satisfactory?” Brogan asked.
“Oh yes,” Mom answered. “Everything is wonderful. I wish we could stay up later to enjoy the party.”
Brogan assured her with a scrunched-faced grin. “Rest up. Things are winding down fer the night. There’ll be plenty festivals to come this summer.”
My parents gave him an appreciative smile. They both had circles under their eyes and looked like they might collapse.
“You girls okay?” Mom asked. She searched my eyes.
“We’re fine,” I said, giving her a hug. “Don’t worry.”
“Enjoy yourselves and get some rest tonight.” Dad hugged me next, squeezing me extra long before whispering goodnight.
I waved as they went back into their room. Brogan led Cassidy and I to another bungalow and opened the door for us.
“’Tis a guest room,” he explained. “Ye have yer own washroom over there. Someone’ll come around each day to refresh the water and clear out the waste. Of course, Robyn, this room is only temporary since ye’ll share McKale’s abode after the binding, whenever that may be.”
My face lit on fire as I nodded my understanding.
Cassidy poked me in the back, but I refused to look at her. She was, no doubt, holding back her humor about Brogan’s frankness regarding sharing McKale’s “abode,” a thought that thumped around inside my head. Soon I would share a room with a boy and… and… ack!
I cleared my throat and thanked Brogan.
“My pleasure, it is. Let me know if ye be needing anything further.”
We stepped into the room and he bowed low before leaving us. Cassidy and I looked around the space for a moment until we knew Brogan was far enough away, then Cass whispered, “I can’t believe it! This is awesome!”
In a moment of jet-lagged, expounded relief, we grabbed each other and jumped up and down in a circle, giggling and carrying on as quietly as we could. We squeed and stamped our feet a few seconds more before gaining control and taking deep breaths. I would’ve never behaved that way in front of another soul.
“What do you think of McKale?” she asked. “Don’t you think he’s too quiet?”
I shrugged. “He doesn’t even know us yet. But I prefer quiet over someone who’s a loose cannon anyway, no offense.”
She let her head fall back, unoffended. “Ah, Rock. What a nice surprise. I like Ireland.”
Now that we were calm I checked out our room, which was lit by a gas lamp, like a lantern. The room was smaller than mine at home. Our luggage was by the door, including the storage bin for McKale.
There were two small beds close to the ground. I squatted down next to them. They didn’t have mattresses, exactly. They looked like giant, fluffy pillows encased in wooden sides. I hoped they weren’t full of straw and lice like the beds I’d read about in the Dark Ages. I pressed on one of the makeshift mattresses and was pleasantly surprised to feel it was full of downy feathers. Lifting it, I saw that underneath was a thick layer of sheep wool. Cassidy flopped down onto her bed and sank in.
“Oh. My. Heaven,” she moaned. “It’s not very easy to move around in, but you don’t really need to.” She tried and failed to sit up, being sucked into the softness. “Help!” She flailed her arms, laughing. I grasped her hands and pulled her out of the bed.
Next we peeked at the washroom, which was partitioned from the sleeping area with a hanging drape.
“Oh,” Cassidy stated.
Oh. That about covered it. No indoor plumbing. An oval wooden tub sat against the wall with a wooden bucket overhead. We’d have to kneel or sit in the tub and pull a lever to release a stream of water. Next to the tub was another wooden bucket, which I could only assume was for squatting. It had a lid next to it. And then there was a raised basin full of fresh water.
Cassidy scowled. “Geez, the Leprechauns really need to get up to speed.”
“This looks way worse than camping.” I was not looking forward to this adjustment.
“They talk funny here,” she said. “They sound different from the Irish people we met.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “They sound a couple centuries behind or something.”
“Guess that’s what happens when you live in the boonies with no plumbing.”
“Come on.” I pulled her from the bathroom area. “Let’s go to bed.”
I changed into pajamas and felt butterflies at the thought of McKale.
“Do you think Rock will come again tomorrow?” Cassidy asked, sliding into her bed.
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t if I were him. Brogan seemed pretty pissed.”
She crinkled her nose with disappointment and I fiddled with the lamp until I figured out how to turn it off. Cass hadn’t been exaggerating about the bed. The softness had a way of dredging the day’s anxiety from my muscles and lulling me to sleep, content. For the first time in eleven years I had a real face to imagine as I drifted into slumber. And I liked it.
When I woke, the soft light through our window told me it was early. I struggled out of the snuggly bed and got ready as quietly as I could. Cassidy was still asleep when I slipped out the door in my shorts and flip-flops.
The sun was still only peeping through the trees. A few little people bustled past, nodding at me with curiosity and saying, “G’morning, miss” as they went about their work. A couple of the younger guys stared wide-eyed at my bare legs, making me feel like a naked giraffe or something.
“Excuse me,” I said to a female with a basket full of eggs. “Can you tell me where I might find McKale?”
“Aye,” she said. “He’s in the Shoe House. But ‘tis early for them still.”
She pointed in the direction of the biggest building and went on her way.
The Shoe House was an odd structure, somewhat like a barn with large openings on either end, but nicer like a meeting hall with a steepled roof. I had to cover my nose when I peeked through the doors, though. It smelled gross—faintly putrid with floral undertones. This must’ve been where the tanners made leather.
Nobody was inside yet. At one end was a giant wooden barrel with a crank, and scattered through the room were stations for differing stages of the tanning process and shoe making. Racks of fresh, soft animal pelts lined the walls.
“Oh!” came a voice from behind me.
I spun to face a startled little man with breadcrumbs in his beard. “Hi,” I said.
“Er… hallo. My apologies, miss. I’m not accustomed, ye see, ‘tis not usual fer women folk to be in the Shoe House.”
The smile fell from my face and I quickly stepped out of the entrance, back into the sunshine.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.” I tried not to feel offended, but geez.
Someone else approached now and my insides leapt at the sight of McKale, dark red hair hanging damp about his face. He blinked several times.
“Och, Mac, yer not being a superstitious old bag, are ye?” McKale asked him.
The man’s cheeks reddened. “Certainly not. As I said, I’m just no’ accustomed to seein’ a female here, is all.” Mac huffed and gave me a polite nod before disappearing into the Shoe House.
When I looked back at McKale he was totally staring at my legs. In a good way, not the giraffe way. Which gave me a nice feeling.
“Sorry,” I said, making his eyes jump up to mine. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to come here. I was curious about where you worked.”
He shrugged. “’Tis no rule against it. Just habit or tradition, I suppose. Did ye want to look inside?”
“Oh, no. I don’t know.” I smoothed the hair back on my ponytail, nervous and embarrassed by my apparent faux pas. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Or curse the Shoe House with my girliness.”
He kept a polite expression while his clear hazel eyes studied my face. I hoped he knew I was joking.
“Ye don’t look like bad luck to me,” he said in a soft voice. “Come on. In we go.”
I bit my lip and fol
lowed him into the open building to the far side with the gigantic drum barrel on its side. Next to it was a ladder. Without thinking I covered my nose against the strange smell permeating the area—not rotten exactly, but definitely unpleasant. When McKale turned I dropped my hand.
“Does it smell bad to ye?” he asked.
“A little,” I admitted.
A tiny grin traced his mouth. “Ye should get a whiff of the main tanning house. It’s kept clear on the other side o’ the property. That’s where the lads do the slaughter and skinning and soaking—” He broke off when he saw the grimace on my face. “Aye. My apologies. Here we extract the essential oils from flower petals usin’ steam to make tanning liquor.” He pointed at some barrels and contraptions around the room. He went on to explain the process with words like “thinned, dried, conditioned, and buffed” but I was lost to it all.
“You guys kill… cows?”
“Deer,” he said. “And naught goes to waste.”
I wasn’t a vegetarian, but the thought of all that “fresh meat” on the premises was still unsettling.
Little men were starting to trickle in now. Some gawked and nudged each other when they saw McKale and me. I sent McKale a worried glance, and he bent his head toward the drum barrel for me to follow. On the other side of it we were out of sight from the men. McKale led me forward and stood behind me, pointing at the parts. On top was the opening. We could both reach it, but the little men would have to use the ladder.
“The skins soak in the tanning liquor and we crank the barrel… here, give it a go.”
I couldn’t get it to move at first, so I threw my weight into it until it gained momentum. Once it got going it was kind of fun. I got a bit carried away until I wondered what McKale must have been thinking. I became suddenly aware of his presence close behind me. I felt my ponytail lift and I stopped cranking. A slow turn of my head caught McKale letting the hair fall from his hand. He’d been smelling my hair. And now he wore an expression like a boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
It probably should’ve been creepy, but the small gesture of intimacy made my scalp tingle in a not-at-all creepy way.
He stepped away, his cheekbones pink. “I… yer hair… how do ye get the scent into it?”
I had to smile. “It’s this stuff called shampoo. It’s liquid soap and it’s scented.”
“Ah.” He looked confused.
I remembered now the bar of soap in our bathroom had been unscented, but I assumed they knew how to make scented soap if they’d wanted. A little man came around the corner and gasped out loud. He jumped back and shouted something in Gaelic when he saw me, then skittered away. McKale’s eyebrows went up.
“I should go,” I said.
“I’ll show ye the back way out.”
He led me the opposite direction from where I came in, and we stopped at the door. My heart gave a nervous sputter as we faced each other. He held my eyes and scratched his cheek.
“Robyn?”
Oh, my. The way he said my name…
“Yeah?”
He didn’t respond. His eyes dropped and roamed the ground as if he were struggling for words. And then with a forward rush of air he said, “Ye should know… a forced binding is not the way of our people.”
Okay…? Thoughts stuttered through my mind. “It’s not the usual way of my people either,” I said. “At least not the forced part.”
Magical boys and girls were usually given a chance to get to know one another, starting from childhood, before any sort of agreement was made by their parents. What we had was different. I wondered if he had any idea we’d been set up by a Faerie.
I wanted to assure him I wasn’t a fan of our exact predicament either, but the words wouldn’t come. We were still strangers, and I couldn’t read him yet.
He finally looked at me again, a plea in his light eyes. Sudden panic struck my chest. Did he want out of this? If McKale didn’t want to go through with the binding, would the Fae still come after my family? I would do anything in my power to keep them safe, but if he refused, what could I do? He needed to know what we were up against.
“Look, McKale, I understand how you feel, but a Faerie claimed me to bind with you when I was a baby. It’s not something that we—I—can easily back out of.”
His lips pursed and his head dropped. He scratched his cheek again. This was coming out all wrong.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to—I mean, not right this second, but if you don’t want to, then… Crap.” I shook my head. “I’m not making sense.”
“They’re forcing you?” he asked. “The Fae?”
I exhaled. “Yes.”
And now he looked sad, or hurt, or maybe worried. The pressure between us was awful. I should have never let myself imagine it would be as natural and easy as my parents’ getting together had been. They’d been forced to meet, but they had other options if they hadn’t liked one another. It sucked not to have a choice. But was I really so bad that he’d want to call it quits before he got to know me? Or maybe we were having communication problems. My hands were shaking, so I crossed my arms.
“McKale!” someone called from inside the Shoe House.
“I must go,” he whispered. His eyes met mine at the same time as the warm morning sun shifted through a break in the trees.
I had so much to say, but the only thing that came out was, “Will I see you tonight?”
“Aye.” He gave me an apologetic look before stooping to disappear through the open doors.
I spent the rest of the day pressing down paranoia that wanted to grow. Underneath it was a seed of hatred for the Fae. Such emotion was futile and would only cause bitterness, and yet the roots had sprouted.
“Maybe it was a misunderstanding,” Cassidy said at lunch, though she didn’t sound certain. “You guys will work it out when you talk tonight.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I chewed my grainy roll. “We just need to get to know each other. Right?”
“Mm-hm.” Cassidy glared across the field to where McKale walked, head down.
I knew she was thinking the worst. That he didn’t want me. And that hurt more than I cared to admit.
THE PARTY WAS IN full swing when we made it out that night. My eyes did a quick scan of the clearing until finding McKale among the musicians. As we entered the gathering, people began to approach and introduce themselves. I’d met a few people that day, but most had been busy working.
I stood with my family, shaking hands or hugging each male and female who bounded up to greet us. Brogan stood nearby, receiving claps on the back and hearty handshakes of congratulations from the men. I’d never be able to remember all of the names just yet, but they were all so friendly that my face hurt from smiling by the time we were through.
We found an open spot at a table near the musicians and sat, watching McKale on his fiddle and the people dancing. Other Irish instruments were played: wooden flutes, tin whistles, and even a small harp. McKale caught my eye between songs and held it for a few beats before giving me a bashful grin, turning me all toasty warm and confused inside. Maybe I’d made too much of our conversation that morning. Maybe he’d just been giving me an out if I wanted it. Cass saw the exchange and bumped my ankle with her own.
Across from us, Dad took a sip from his wooden mug and slapped a hand to the table, shaking his head before letting out a “Woo!” He leaned over the table and whispered, “Girls, do not drink the moonshine!” And then he took another drink.
“It’ll put hair on your chest,” Mom said, patting Dad’s pec.
“Ew.” Cassidy pulled a face.
Two Little Men with short blond beards approached Cassidy and me, asking us to dance. We looked at one another, hesitating.
“I don’t really know how…” Cassidy stammered.
“Och, not to worry!” said the one closest to her. “We’ll teach ye the steps.”
“Sure, why not,” I said. We’d most likely make fools of ourselves, but w
e were going to spend the summer with these people and we needed to make an effort. Better to look like fools than snobs. The men held out their small hands and we took them, allowing ourselves to be led onto the “dance floor,” which was essentially a circle of stamped down grass.
We lined up with the others and took their hands. I peered over at the musicians and McKale gave me a slight nod of approval as he raised the fiddle under his chin.
The dance required us to skip to the side, then skip to the other side. Our partners were supposed to spin us around, which was funny because we had to squat down and pivot. By the end, we’d gotten the hang of it and we were laughing and breathless. The song ended and everyone cheered. It took a moment to realize they were cheering for Cassidy and me. When I glanced at McKale again he was half grinning, the fiddle resting on his knee.
Cassidy and I smiled at the people and one another, but declined a second dance because we were thirsty. She and I headed to the corner of the field where a Little Man stood on a stool scooping drinks from barrels with a fire roaring at his back.
“Fine dancing!” he said when we approached. “What will ye be drinking? We got ale, mead, and a bit o’ fire water.”
Fire water sounded bad. It had to be the moonshine Dad warned us about.
“What’s mead?” Cassidy asked.
“Fermented honey,” I said. “You’ll learn all about it when you read Beowulf next year.”
She didn’t look excited.
“Refreshing after a good dance, it is.” He filled two wooden goblets and handed them over. We thanked him and tasted the mead. There was slight bitterness from the alcohol and a light, sweet aftertaste. I expected carbonation, but it was flat. All together not bad. He smiled at our approval and refilled our mugs before we walked away.
As we made our way back to the table I wondered what time it was. I’d always used my phone for the time, but I didn’t bother to turn it on here. No signal. No electricity to charge it.
The crescent moon was high in the night sky and there seemed to be a million more stars than there were back home. I felt content and sleepy, especially after my first glass of mead.