Bravely(19)

But in truth, any fear she felt about the future was feeble before the roaring bonfire and roaring voices. Uncertainty was burned to bits, drowned out by harmony.

That was the point of this celebration, wasn’t it?

Hope.





“I THINK we should make the Ardbarrach trip a Hogmanay visit,” Merida announced the following morning, over a breakfast of yet more canceled-wedding buns. Elinor was writing away in her little journal while the triplets threw sticks into the smoky fire to make it smoke even more. Merida hadn’t slept a wink all night with the two bargains hanging over her and she was determined to get started on the plan as quickly as possible. “We can be mummers!”

She would have been annoyed to give up Hogmanay for anything less important than this. Hogmanay in DunBroch was a splendid time, a noisy end to the Yule season. Like Christmas, Hogmanay sometimes involved presents, but it also involved balls of things set on fire and mummers dressing in heavy masks or donning antlers and blowing bull horns and springing suddenly out at doorsteps singing songs and asking for money for the poor or food for their supper. Some people preferred Hogmanay to Christmas Day, especially the sort of people who liked other people jumping out at them and saying oodley-oodley-oodley.

“Yes!” said Hubert. He was often the person jumping out and saying oodley-oodley-oodley.

“No,” said Elinor. “You are a princess, Merida. You will not be going in costume like a jester. Also, that’s only four days from now, which isn’t nearly enough time to get a letter out announcing your visit, explaining why you’re there, telling them why they should take you on. It must be a lovely, cordial letter. There are ways these things are done. Boys, get out of here, you’re driving me mad. Go find your father.”

The triplets sprang from the room, shouting oodley-oodley-oodley (except for Harris, who never shouted if he could help it). Merida hadn’t thought they were making much noise, but it was true that the common room felt absolutely silent in comparison to just a few seconds before.

“It’s enough time if it goes out by pigeon,” Merida insisted. “If we go now, it’ll be more likely to be dry. You know it’ll start to be wet and snowy again in a few weeks. And after that’s the thaws. Sooner’s better, surely.”

“Ah, Merida, these trips don’t come together quickly!” Elinor said, as Ila stole into the room and cleared away her plate. “Thank you, Ila.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Ila replied. “Your handwriting’s beautiful, ma’am.”

“Oh, this is just a little list,” Elinor said, but she looked pleased with the compliment. “Just to put my thoughts together. I can help you practice sometime, if you like.”

“Ma’am, I’d be very grateful, if it’s not out of place.”

Merida was feeling quite cross. She could tell that her mother was trying to get ahold of the plan. Elinor and a plan was like a dog discovering a well-seasoned carcass. Elinor picked it up and put it down and worried at its joints and dug a little hole and sort of nudged it in like she was going to bury it and then she picked it back up again because maybe she would toss it around in the sun for a little longer, no, Merida, don’t touch it, it’s mine, mine—

“Mum,” Merida broke in. “I’ve been traveling all over. I know how long things take.”

“Not as a royal! You’re representing DunBroch. Which means you can’t do things hastily! They should be done properly!”

Ila was still admiring Elinor’s handwriting, which gave Merida an idea. She said cunningly, “You can make us one of your lists. Everything we need to do and bring before we set out. We’ll make sure we do the whole thing, beginning to end. I’ll be hasty, and you’ll be proper, and together, we’ll be proper hasty.”

Elinor sighed. “Fine, Merida, you’re impossible. But I’ll need your father to dictate the letter for me—he’s the one who knows the lord there. You’ll have to have a handmaiden if you’re going out as a princess; Leezie will have to do. And you’re not going as a mummer. And stop hovering. I’m finishing my breakfast before I do anything. If your mind needs something to keep it busy, perhaps you should go practice that embroidery you’ve left for the better part of a year.”

Slim chance of that. Merida would sooner stitch her own fingers than the blasted embroidery up in the tapestry room. Instead, she took her bow and went out to the high field to shoot at targets. Her mind was wheeling. It was truly sinking in that these trips were happening, and moreover, that they weren’t just adventures. Yes, her mother had said they’d find a solution to the Madman before it came to that, but Merida wasn’t naive. She knew she had to expect the worst. Was she serious about moving to another kingdom? She had to be. Some storms move no rooftops.

Ugh. How was it that Feradach’s words kept finding her long after he’d said them? She was moving rooftops. She was moving herself.

Partway through her shooting session, Fergus came out to shoot with her. He was far more hopeless at it than she was, because his strength was with the sword and the spear, but she was touched by his presence. For quite a while they practiced alongside each other in silence, as the short winter day hurried on toward night.

“So, Ardbarrach for Hogmanay,” Fergus boomed finally, in a casual sort of way, like they were just talking about the weather.