Page 47 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
She would go outside. Things always looked better under the open sky with bare earth beneath her boots. Better yet, if she could get into the green closeness of the forest, her mind would clear, she was sure of it.
She’d forget all about him. She’d rest her forehead against the rough bark of a twisted, ancient oak and pray to God to take the pain away.
Who knew, maybe this time it would work.
Ava dropped onto the cold floor, rearranged her bedsheets, and began to dress for the day.
* * *
The soldier at the gate looked a little skeptical when Ava asked to go out, pointing out that it was barely dawn and folks weren’t up and about yet.
“I’m foraging,” Ava said, truthfully enough, holding up her empty basket as proof. “I’ll bring ye back a handful of berries as a thank-ye, shall I?”
The soldier—young and easily blushing—bit his lip. “Actually, I’d prefer frog-mushrooms. Not that I mean to be ungrateful,” he added hastily, his cheeks burning. “It’s just that me wife is with child, our first, and she craves them something terrible. I can never find them.”
Ava smiled. Frog-mushroom pregnancy cravings were, in her opinion, one of the more common cravings, but since one had to dig in the marshy ground at the edge of ponds to find them, they weren’t in plentiful supply.
“Frog-mushrooms it is, then,” she responded with a grin and then stepped out of the shadow of Keep McAdair and onto free ground.
She didn’t need to go far, as the forest pushed right up against the Keep walls in places. The forest was full of treasure if a person knew where to look. Jewel-bright berries, leaves in every shade of green, nuts, mushrooms, and white roots which might taste like meat if you cooked them right.
Ava absent-mindedly grabbed handfuls here and there. As far as she could tell, the healer’s chamber wasn’t running low on any sort of herb or potion, but she had to collectsomething. Healers couldn’t just go for walks, everyone knew that. They always returned with damp fingers, earth-smudged knees, and handfuls of various plants and roots shoved into their deep pockets.
After some time of walking—it was hard to tell how much—Ava found a wide pond lapping at the edge of a clearing. It wasn’t immediately obvious, as many enterprising trees and shrubs were growing in the water, their roots lifted high like a woman in a long skirt trying to pick her way across a puddle.
This was as good a place as any to dig for frog-mushrooms.
Setting the basket aside, Ava knelt in the mud—grateful for her heavy-duty apron protecting her knees—and began to dig between two boulders. From experience, she could tell at once where the best frog-mushrooms would be. Midwives knew, too, as well as how to prepare the mushrooms with a ginger-root tea to induce sleepiness and a feeling of well-being.
A large, green frog watched her work—they weren’t calledfrog-mushroomsfor nothing—and Ava grinned at the creature.
She expected at any moment to spot the vibrant-green tops of the mushrooms, poking up out of the ground, but the tip of her shovel hit something hard.
Thunk.
Not a rock. Ava knew the almost metallic sound of a shovel against a pebble. Frowning, she peered down into the hole she’d made, scraping away some of the wet earth.
It was a piece of wood. Curved. Despite the effects of age and wet earth, she could see that the wood was well-crafted, smoothed out and shaped. So not a plank of scrap wood that had been discarded years ago and left to be reclaimed by the forest.
Huh.That’s nae mushrooms.
She didn’t bother to think it over. Ava began to dig. She did indeed find a handful of frog-mushrooms and snatched them up and tossed them absently into the basket. After a few minutes of diligent digging, she’d uncovered the top of the box—because itwasa box.
She sat back on her heels and considered.
Now, why would somebody bury a box all the way out here in the forest? Not for a good reason, for sure.
She racked her brains for some superstition or good luck token that required being buried out in the woods by a pond. There were plenty, but nothing that required wasting such a good box.
Hesitantly, she leaned forward and traced the thin bands of iron securing the lid. This wasn’t a peasant’s box.
Perhaps it would have been prudent to rebury the thing and forget about it, but Ava was not prudent and had never been accused of being such. She redoubled her efforts, and in no time at all, the box was out of its grave and placed on the ground in front of her. She sat back again, taking a good look at it.
The box was about as high as her forearm and as long as her forearm with a hand’s length in depth. The lid was rounded, and despite being caked with mud, it was clear that the box was well-crafted and expensive.
As she’d guessed, not a commoner’s box.
The box was trimmed with well-worked iron, edged in the stuff, and sturdy despite what looked like years underground.
