you say,” I tell him, shaking my head slowly. It is all I can do to keep from laughing. “But my head is a cup scoured clean this morning.”
Odo makes a face and grinds his teeth in frustration. “Well, then, what do you remember?”
“I remember something . . .” I pause and reflect a little. Ah, yes, how well I remember. “See now, monk, when the council finished I returned to Nóin’s hut,” I tell him, and we go on . . .
Nóin was not in her hut when I returned, nor was Nia. The council had taken the whole of the morning, and they had gone out to do some chores; so I went along to find them and lend a hand. The snow still lay deep over our ragtag little settlement, and the day, though bright, was cold. Many of King Raven’s rag-feathered flock were at work chopping and splitting wood for the many hearth fires needed to keep warm. I could hear their voices sharp in the crisp air, chirping like birds as they toiled to fill their baskets and drag bundles of cut wood back to their huts. I saw this now, as I had seen such work countless times since coming to Cél Craidd, but this time something had changed.
Maybe it was only ol’ Will Scarlet himself, but I did see the place in a different way, and did not much like what I saw. It put me in an edgy, uneasy mood, and I did not know why. Perhaps it was only to do with the bad news I had just now to deliver.
Oh, it was that, to be sure, but perhaps there was something else as well.
Even so, thinking to make the bitter draught a little easier to swallow, I put a big smile on my face and tried to take cheer in the sight of my beloved. But my heart was weighty and cold as a stone in a mountain stream. I saw Nóin bending low to pick up a split branch, and thought how I would love nothing more than to carry her away this instant to leave this place and its demands and duties, to flee far away from the bastard Normans and their overbearing ways. Alas, there was no longer such a place in all Britain. It made me sad and angry and disappointed and frustrated all at the same time, because I did not know what to do about it and feared nothing could be done.
I gathered my thoughts and, swallowing my disappointment, strode to where Nóin was working. “Here, my love,” I said, “let me carry that basket for you. Heap it high now, so you won’t have to fetch any more today.”
She stood and turned with a smile. “Ah, Will,” she began, then saw something in my face I was not able to hide. “What is it, love?”
She looked at me with such tender concern, how could I tell her?
“The council has decided . . . ,” I said, hearing my voice as from the bottom of a well. “We have come to a decision.”
Nóin’s smile faded; she grew sombre. “Well, what is it,Will? Speak it out.”
I bent my head. “I have to leave again.”
“Is that all?” She fairly shouted with relief. “Mother Mary, I was afraid it was serious.”
“I thought you would be unhappy.”
“Oh, I am right enough,” she replied, balling her fist on her hip. “But I would be more unhappy if I thought you had changed your mind about marrying.”
“But I do want to marry you, Nóin. I do.”
“Then all is well between us.” She turned as if to go back to her work, but paused. “When do you go?”
“As soon as all can be made ready,” I said.
“Go, then and help them see it through. We will fare as best we can while you are away,” she said, lifting a hand to my face, “and count the days until your return.”
“I will bring our friar back with me if I have to carry him on my back, and we will be wed the day I return.” This I told her, kissing the palm of her hand. We talked about our wedding day and the plans I had to build her a new house on my return—with a big bed, a table, and two chairs.
So it was, the five of us were set to leave the next morning: Friar Tuck and myself; Bran, of course; Iwan, because we could use another pair of