"Milady?"

The woman turned from stirring the cauldron over the fire on the hearth and fixed the young guard with a glare.

"Name's Delilah, and if y' don't mind, I have a dinner to fix, and children t' gather. Say yer piece while I'm workin', lad."

"Ah...er...yes. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?" The boy was nearly young enough to be her son, though she had married late, and her oldest was still a few years behind this one.

"I let ya in, nae?" She turned back to the many cupboards and drawers along the wall of her modest, but well-stocked kitchen.

"Right. Then. I, need to ask... That is...we are conducting an investigation in the area, and... Well. These are just routine questions." He fidgeted with the cap in his hands, removed when the lady who opened the door had invited him into the warm room to talk, saying she was too busy to stand idly nattering.

"Ya going t' tell me about 'em, or ask 'em?" Practiced hands measure a portion of flour into a sturdy wooden bowl, and a splash of milk from a pitcher.

"Apologies mila...er...Delilah. Yes. Well, you see, we've found a...mmm... body? And we're canvassing the area to see if anyone has gone missing the last few days..."

The clash of a wooden spoon heralds the sudden stillness of the woman with her back to him, hands gripping the counter. "What did ya find?" There was a tremor in her voice.

"Are...are you alright, milady?" Poor Gerret could sense he was in over his head here, but there was nothing to do but plunge onward. "A...woman was found..."

"Where?" A clipped sound.

"The old ruins."

Delilah turned and sank to the stool nearby. Her face had grown pale, even in the heat of the kitchen. Her voice croaked out in a whisper. "I told her. I told her not to go."

"Ah...who...milady?" Gerret did his best not to speak too forcefully. Clearly this was not going to be an easy thing for the woman. But when the officers were wanting information, it was information he was going to get.

"Roisin. Said she had a new admirer wanted to meet her. I told her she's foolish. Just someone tugging her braids, like they did when we were just girls... She..." With a blink, she looked up. "What happened to her?"

"Milady, I must ask you what more you can tell me before I...that is.... if it is the same person...well, I need to know what she looked like?"

"My sister. My height. Dark brown hair. Few years younger. Never understood why she never married. She still LOOKS young. That's th' thing. Always so jealous I married my farmer, but disapproving. Said we were too good fer that. Holdin' out fer somethin' more. Never was content since...well, no matter. That was long in the past, and he was sent away. And then she and I inherited the ruins and the bit o' land around. We were quarrelin' 'bout it. The things we said... Well, I thought she had just run off with this new beau, after the way we parted. Couldn't blame her fer not wantin' t' come back, but I thought she would...eventually." She sighed. "So she's gone and got herself killed, is that it?"

Gerret nodded slightly. "It may be so, milady."

"She won't be comin' back I guess."

"I think...I think the lieutenant might want to ask you a few more questions?"

The woman nodded and stood slowly, turning back to her cooking. "I'll be here." It didn't seem there was much stirring going on, but she didn't turn around to look at him again.

That was the thing with bad news. Everyone reacted differently to this kind of thing.

Joy 04/2001


Field of Death: A Gift

Alicia Connor sat dozing in her chair by the hearth in the small, snug cottage when a knock came at the door. Waking with a start she blinked, and called out in a voice still weak from the coughs that had wracked her frail frame all winter.

"Who...who's there?"

There was no answer.

With the slow care seen in only the very old, or infirm, the woman leaned forward with her elbows on the arms of her chair and pushed to a standing position. The light blanket that had lain over her legs fell in a heap on the floor, and again her thin and reedy voice called.

"Is anyone there?"

How odd. The cottage was not anywhere near a main thoroughfare. Her husband had made certain of that when they moved here from Flaxley. The only visitors that dropped in MEANT to be there, weren't just dropping by. And anyway, everyone who knew them knew she had been unwell, and would never have been so impolite not to speak up and save her the trouble of getting to her feet. With Caleb and Jesib both out tending to the planting, she was alone there in the house. Most of the time she managed the house well enough without them, with frequent rests in her chair by the hearth.

She was beginning to feel peevish as she moved slowly to the door. Honestly, anyone with any sense in them would at least answer when asked who was there. If it was that Wilson girl come calling again...

But no. The wee thing had taken Fionn's loss harder than Alicia had expected. Those two apparently had grown more close than she knew. Not that she knew much, cooped up in the cottage all the long winter. And now her boy taken like that. Perhaps she should ask after Becky Wilson. Sometimes a woman to grieve with, young or old, can soothe the ache. That good Ian Blackthorn had assured them he would do all he could to find out what happened...and why...

If there really was a reason.

Her thoughts tumbled over one another in the disjointed haze that accompanies illness. Still, she shuffled slowly toward the door.

There were times Alicia didn't know if she would have the strength to go on. But her husband needed her. And Jesib. Poor lad. He kept blaming himself, saying he should have been the one that night, running errands. No matter that he had been off on another errand for his father. When it came to such things, people sometimes didn't have any sense.

With a rueful twist of her mouth, Alicia realized she herself wasn't using much sense, wallowing in her sorrow for herself. She would get better. Her family would survive. They always had. Well...except for Fionn. Sweet angel lad. Seemed like the light of spring had dimmed, and the days grown cold again the day they put him in the ground. A grey wave of sadness washed over her thoughts once more.

Her hand reached for the door handle and swung it back. No one there. Not surprising. She squinted into the mid-morning light, eyes watering a bit from the brightness of it. That's what she told herself was the cause, anyway. With a last look from right to left she wiped the tearing away with her fingertips and looked down at the small stone step in front of the door.

"Now...wha's this?"

Bracing one hand on the door frame, she half bent, half kneeled to pick up the small package lying there. Wrapped in a scrap of cheap brown cloth, tied with twine, it was light. An uneven shape.

"Huh." She straightened with a heavy breath, steadied herself, and closed the door to shuffle back across the room. Easing herself down into her chair, she reached for the blanket, tucked it over her legs once more and sat with the package on her lap.

Though fatigued, there was still enough curiosity in her to untie the string and pull back the thin cloth.

It was a carving of a small bird on a branch, wings outstretched as it reaches out to take flight. As she lifted the delicate piece to turn it, a bit of parchment fluttered to her lap. A hasty scrawl spelled out: "For Jesib"

She turned her attention once more to the fine carving, turning it around, and over. There, carved into the base, the letter F.

For no reason she could understand, the tears welled forth once more, and she lay her head back against the high back of her curved rocker to weep. Barely pushing her feet against the plain floor of the cottage, she rocked in the chair that had soothed little Fionn when he was a baby...and after a time it soothed her as well. Wrung out and fatigued from just these past few minutes she fell asleep there, and dreamed of a little boy who grew into a young man and then changed into a bird, taking flight into a clear blue sky and flying far beyond sight. The small carving still lay in her lap, covered gently by her slender hand.

Joy 04/2001


Field of Death: Part VI

F...A...R... F...A...R...

Ian sat at a table in the firehall, staring at the child's blocks ranged before him, as if the simple act of watching them would yield their secrets. At least they helped to keep his mind from the anger he felt towards his uncle at the moment. He looked up briefly across to the infirmary door. What could Skye be doing in there with Ashe for so long now? He scowled, then turned his gaze back to the silent blocks.

"Milord?" A young junior officer of the Black Watch saluted and cleared his throat with a nervous cough. "Milord, pardon my interruption, but Sir Evan sends his compliments and-."

Ian waved the man to a chair. "Gerret, right?"

Gerret blinked in astonishment, that the Commander would know his name, let alone bid him sit with him. He pulled out a chair and sat hesitantly, first putting his hands on the table, then pulling them off onto his lap, finally settling on gripping his gloves and twisting them nervously. The Captain had appeared unhappy before Gerret had addressed him; he wasn't sure now was a time he wanted Ian Blackthorn to recall his name and rank.

"Well, Gerret, what does Evan wish to report?"

"Milord. Sir Christopher sends his compliments."

"Aye, so you already said." Ian immediately regretted the remark as Gerret paled. "I'm sorry, Gerret. That was rude of me. Please, go on." The boy most likely had been rehearsing his report the whole ride here and now Ian had rattled him. He waited as the soldier gathered his train of thought before speaking, trying to smile reassuringly. There was an audible gulp as Gerret swallowed, then spoke.

"Umm... yes, milord. Sir Evan sends to tell you that the identity of the unfortunate girl is now known to us. Her name is Rosin, a local woman, single and owner of the very ruins in which she met her tragic demise."

Ian nodded. The message obviously was from memory, the phrasing that of his former squire.

"She ..Mistress Roisin, also owned a nearby farm, having lived there for some years after having come from Flaxley Hall with her sister, and was respected by the local folk, but had never married."

"From Flaxley, you say? " Ian blinked. "Hmm. Interesting. Continue." He moved his gaze from the messenger's face, looking past him out the garden door as he listened, mind struck by the fact there was a second tie to the O'Donnells.

"Under inquiry, the sister, Delilah, volunteered the victim had told her about the message and despite her earnest warnings, Roisin had determined to meet the one who has sent it A positive identification of the body has been made but none have reported seeing anyone wearing blood stained clothes in the vicinity. Sire Evan will continue to pursue this inquiry that threatens us from within as we face danger from without, for as long as Sire Blackthorn deems fit." He stopped, took a deep breath. "Is there a reply, milord?"

Ian nodded. "My compliments to Sir Evan. Tell him to leave a few men in the immediate area to continue to ask questions, but he and his main force should return to their duties patrolling the river and woods for mercenary movements. Take a few hours to rest, Gerret, and then bring that message back for me, please. Dismissed."

"Aye, milord!" He sprang to his feet and saluted, then turned a deathly shade of white as he realized his leg had hit the table as he stood. The blocks went flying to the Fire Hall floor. "Damn, I mean, I'm sorry, milord! I'll get them!" He hit the floor on hands and knees before Ian could reassure him it was alright. There was the sound of scrambling about beneath the table and one nearby as Ian sat there trying not to laugh aloud and cause poor Gerret further embarrassment. Finally a red faced Gerret got to his feet and set four blocks on the tabletop. "There, milord. I am truly sorry."

"Gerret, accidents happen. You certainly didn't mean to do that and-" Ian came to a halt, then reached across the table. Four blocks? "Where did this come from, Gerret?" He picked up the fourth block, turning it over in his hand as he waited for the reply; no carved letter, just a blank cube the same size as the other three.

"It was under the table next to the garden door, sir. Must have fallen off earlier, do you think? A piece of luck then that I saw it?" Gerret looked anxiously at him, hoping that he'd not done something wrong. He breathed a sigh of relief as Ian nodded.

"Yes. Thank you, Garret. A safe journey back to your unit." Ian sat back in his chair and saluted absently as the soldier quickly moved away. He stared at the fourth block. Where had this come from? He knew that the Hall had been quiet of late, most folk being busy with Spring planting and cleaning off the debris left by the Winter just past. Was the murderer someone who had been here, in this Hall?

Was it someone Ian knew?

He set the block down with the others.

F... R... A...

He rearranged them in the order they were before Gerret disrupted them, and blinked. "Damn it! Why didn't I see this?" Roisin had been dead a few days when her body had been found; she'd died BEFORE Anthone, not after! He moved the blocks again, setting the blank piece to the side.

F... R... A... What did it mean?

Blackthorn 04/2001