The modest stone cottage is lit by three flickering candles and a crackling colorful fire in the hearth. It is crowded with old but well cared for furniture and is both quiet and warm. Vases and pots of great diversity filled with flowers and what most would call weeds are scattered on and about the furniture and floor. Dried flowers and herbs tied with twine hang from the ceiling add a potpourri of scents and colors increasing the cramped feeling.
A loud knocking disturbs the peace of the cottage. The cottage owner, known as a mickle healer rushes to the door, pulls the iron bolt securing it then cautiously opens the door. A look of consternation comes over her well-formed face as she opens the plain but strong wooden door wider allowing the source of the knocking to enter. She notices several dangerous looking men on horseback gathered in the small clearing at the front of the house. The knocker, a man dressed in dark leathers and smelling of the road and horses, walks in with a stride of authority. He looks around until his eyes land on the cot containing the bulk of a sleeping or unconscious man.
He turns to the healer, “Well? Has he remembered anything?” His eyes roam over her very plain dress that well hides her feminine charms and half frowns before they rest on her face surrounded by tangles of copper coloured hair.
The tangles bounce as she shakes her head, “He’s only been conscious for short periods. He still doesn’t remember his own name. Tomorrow, for the first time, I’ll have him sit up for a few hours. His memory may return or it may not. These things are unpredictable.” She chews her lip hoping it’s enough.
The dark-dressed man sighs then shakes his head. “We’re running out of time. His usefulness has a shrinking window. If he can’t tell us what we need to know…” The man lets the sentence die assuming his meaning is clear, a habit that’s caused him problems before but one he doesn’t care to change.
The woman briefly glances at her patient on the cot before she speaks with carefully chosen words, “He knows nothing of you or your needs. You could just leave him here if time runs out. He can’t cause any harm.” She feels her face warm when she looks back at him.
“While that’s true if he doesn’t help me he hurts me. I have to redress all hurts. He’ll have to pay for my inconvenience,” he says with a bored smugness.
Hiding her thoughts as best she can her only tell of more than casual interest is a hand squeezing at the fabric of her grey dress that goes unnoticed. Again she speaks with careful thought, “There’s no such thing as perfection in these matters. A minor mistake can bring calamity. Wouldn’t it be best to avoid such calamities? I have a reputation to protect in this land.” She hoped turning it onto herself might steer him in another direction.
His brows knit and his forehead furrows then he gives her a disingenuous smile, “I can see your concern. I’ll give it some thought.” Without another word he exits through the wooden door signaling his men by waving his arm in a wide circle.
Before she sees what the signal meant she closes the door tightly bolting it closed behind him. She turns placing her back against the door and turns her attention to the sleeping man on the cot who was the subject of the discussion. Chewing the inside of her lip she approaches the cot.
