Page 6 of Highlander’s Protector

Dùghlas frowned, a question born in his eyes at the mention of three years, but he withdrew, sighed, shook his head, and resumed walking.

They reached their horses, which were tethered to a bush at the bottom of the hill, and rode to the farm through what was now a true downpour. It was a typical Highland croft, with low stone walls and a thatched roof. They banged at the door, and a man opened it. He was in his fifties, short with a gray beard, a tired, weathered face, and a thin, pointy nose. The impression of a skull filled David’s drunken mind.

“Maybe we should find another place,” he whispered into Dùghlas’s ear, but based on the man’s deepening frown, he had probably said it too loudly.

Dùghlas waved his hand at David as if to shoo him. “Friend,” he said to the old farmer, “we are looking for shelter for the night in this weather. We are happy to do work for ye in exchange.”

The man’s lips thinned, and his chin moved forward as he looked at the ground and pushed the door to close it. But Dùghlas laid his hand on the door and stopped him. “Any work. Please.”

The man’s milky eyes were tired. “I can use two pairs of strong hands.”

“Good,” Dùghlas said.

“As long as ye dinna mind a leper in the house.”

Dùghlas froze. “A leper?”

David shook his head. Leprosy was a common, incurable disease in the Middle Ages. David didn’t know much about medicine, but he knew that it was a bacterial infection, treatable in the twenty-first century by antibiotics. But it was a slow and painful death sentence in the Middle Ages. If he and Dùghlas were careful about hygiene, they should be fine. And David always had a cake of soap with him. Plus, uisge would help to disinfect…if he had any left.

“We don’t mind,” said David. “We can sleep in your stables.”

The man nodded. “If ye clean them, feed the horses, and cut the firewood, ye may.”

Dùghlas looked at David with big, angry eyes. As a medieval man, he was terrified of leprosy. Maybe David should be, too.

“My friend here will,” Dùghlas said.

“Good.” The man stepped aside and let them come in. “My wife just made dinner.”

As they entered, the scent of woodsmoke, unwashed bodies, and overcooked pottage hung in the room. There was a hearth in the middle of the house. The dirt-packed floor was covered with reeds, except for a healthy circle around the hearth so that any sparks wouldn’t start a fire.

In the golden semidarkness, smoke hung under the thatched ceiling like a rainless cloud, and David’s eyes started to burn. But even with the only light coming from the flames in the hearth, he could see the woman. She was bent over the cauldron, her back as round as a wheel. Her face was illuminated by fire, and there were the clear signs of long untreated leprosy.

As David stood by the door, blinking raindrops and smoke away, he drunkenly thought this must be where the old witches from fairy tales came from.

Her deep-set eyes were milky, the skin on her face dark and purple and hugging her skull like papier-mâché. She held the long, wooden ladle in her hand with three dark, rotting fingers. She watched David with a frown, her cloudy eyes menacing.

Dùghlas cleared his throat. “Good day.”

David felt an urge to add madam, but stopped himself.

“Good day,” she replied. “Supper isna ready yet.”

“I’ll show ye the stables,” said the man. As they walked back into the torrential rain, the old man led the way through the yard of the farm. “My name is Padean, and my wife is Peigi. We are farmers. I lived in Carlisle before. I am a Scot, though,” he added defensively.

He showed them the stables, gave them two shovels and two axes. David and Dùghlas worked for a couple of hours. The scent of manure and freshly cut wood were rich in David’s nostrils. Physical work sobered him somewhat. When all was done, they went back into the hut.

“All done?” asked Peigi, still leaning over the cauldron.

“Aye,” Dùghlas said, and put his sword against the wall by the door.

“Pottage?” she asked.

“Thanks.” David unbuckled his own sheath with his sword that was held by his girdle and proceeded to sit at the table next to the hearth.

Padean took another ladle and poured the pottage into two clay bowls. He put the bowls in front of David and Dùghlas. The steam of something hot and freshly cooked tickled David’s nostrils, and while Dùghlas introduced them, David shoved spoon after spoon into his mouth. The thick soup was mainly barley with a few root vegetables, but it was the best thing David had tasted in days. Padean poured two more bowls for himself and Peigi. He put them on the table, then came to help her stand up and led her to sit next to him, shielding her away. David glanced at Padean’s hand as the man ate and noticed his fingers were dark, too. He hadn’t escaped the disease.

For a while, the little house was filled with the crackling wood, the drum of rain against the thatch, the slurping of pottage, and the wind howling in the slits of the door. Halfway through the meal, Padean said, “Ye two are brave men. Nae everyone would come into a house with lepers. They say, ’tis God’s punishment, a corruption of the very soul. Dunadd Fort helps to keep people away, and the Cambel tacksmen are kind enough not to bother us or put a too heavy of a strain for rent and produce. What brings ye two here?”