Bravely(45)

“I’m sorry, my king,” the man said, head still bowed. He had the broad accent of the countryfolk. “I didn’t recognize you in that plain getup.”

The rest of the men dropped at once.

Merida and Hamish blinked at the line of kneeling men; it was an unusual sight, and not entirely comfortable. These men had just saved them, and now they were nearly flat before them in apology.

“Get up, get up, lads. I’ll come down to you instead.” Fergus laughed his mighty laugh and slid down from the side of Sirist, plopping Hamish down beside him, much to Hamish’s visible distress. He addressed the man with the spiny armor. “What is your name and how can we thank you?”

The man stood. He rubbed the armored dog’s scarred ears as he said, “I am Maldouen, the earl of Strathmannon’s right-hand man. And there’s no need to thank us. We’re happy to escort you on your way to wherever you are headed.”

“We’re headed quite far east,” Fergus said. “Kinlochy. We wouldn’t expect you to escort us so far from your home. But we’ll take a meal with you, if you’ll have us.”

“Sir,” Maldouen said, “whatever you wish.”

The men took them back to their small village, which turned out to be completely composed of beehive houses. Beehive houses were peculiar round structures built of flat pieces of rock, a method that made them look like the beehives that gave them their name, or perhaps like pine cones. They had tiny square doors and sometimes tiny square windows, and altogether they seemed like buildings a child would draw if you asked them to try. Merida had heard of them but never seen them and was delighted. She tried to get Hamish’s excitement up, too.

“Look at them,” Merida said, putting an arm over his thin shoulders. She could feel that he was still quivering every so often with his fear. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

Hamish didn’t answer. Instead he stood pressed against her, staring at the beehive houses with a hollow expression. She dug out the little bear that she’d first brought to Ardbarrach for Hubert and handed it over to Hamish, who silently accepted it. Brother and sister stood side by side like that, Hamish worrying his fingers over the bear’s worn ears and Merida worrying her hand over the top of Hamish’s head, as Fergus received an introduction to Maldouen’s boss, the head of the village. Earl Godfrey of Strathmannon. It was a very big name for a very small village, and Merida was uncomfortably reminded of Mistress mac Lagan talking about rural kingdoms playing pretend. The earl’s subjects were a few dozen scrawny villagers with not a lot of meat on their bones and not a single luxury to be seen, apart from smiles. There were plenty of those. A royal visit would have been thrilling on its own. But a royal visit after a daring wolf chase? The village was in high spirits; the stories tonight would be good.

Godfrey trundled over to Hamish and Merida. He looked no more earl-like than any of the men he led, and he had the same broad accent as Maldouen. “You must be the princess.”

“That’s me,” Merida said.

“And this the prince,” Godfrey said. He squinted at Hamish, who was still visibly quivering. Instantly his face melted into sympathy. This was how it always went with little Hamish. Just as Leezie usually inspired people to offer her help, Hamish inspired people to offer him comfort. “Oh, wee prince, you’re safe now. The wolves are bad this year, but Maldouen and Ol’ Flower here keep them well away. Look. Ol’ Flower, come on over to this boy.”

Godfrey encouraged the dog with the spiny armor to approach Hamish.

Hamish, already small, somehow managed to shrink further. What Godfrey didn’t know was that there was nothing he could say to improve Hamish’s mood and that, moreover, the act of talking to him would make Hamish feel worse. He was still afraid of the wolves, and now he was also afraid of the armored dog, and also of being talked to directly by Godfrey.

Fergus saw this and said, “Merida, why don’t you put up the horses, and check the bags after that gallop—you know what to do. Bring Hamish so he can see to Humor. And do something with that cockeyed dog of Harris’s.”

“I thought you said he was of good stock,” Merida said. She and her father eyed Brionn, who was running in loopy circles around Ol’ Flower, barking strange half-barks that just came out as nasal whines.

“Don’t tell Harris I called him cockeyed,” Fergus said. “But that dog was born under a broken star for sure.”

The villagers offered to do the job for the princess, of course, but Merida waved them away. She knew what her father wanted her to do, and it was not simply take care of the tired horses.

“Have you ever seen Dad do this before?” Merida asked Hamish, who stood obediently beside her in the lean-to, eyes still terrified, fingers still trembling. It would have been easy to be impatient with him if he had been crying, but instead he just tried to quietly do whatever she asked despite his fear. She looked to see if he still had the little bear—he did—and kept up a cheery prattle she hoped would distract him. “Oh, of course you wouldn’t have. You’ve never traveled with him. This village doesn’t have any trade routes, and they don’t have anything to trade, anyway. They just live off the land. They might have a few goats and maybe a pony or two. They gather food and store it for when it gets cold. So we’re going to give them what we have, these things we brought for our treats. That’s what Dad meant for us to do.”