The Knight of Slaughtaverty

Chapter 33 - The Brightest of Days

There was barely a scratch when Moira blotted the blood away with a tissue to see how bad the wound was. The injury didn't explain the amount of blood smeared on my neck. I'm not bleeding as such; we just expected a more pronounced wound.

Drinking the tea and eating the scones while listening to Moira talk animatedly about life in Slaughtaverty, the festivals, celebrations, and local gossip lifts the fog from my mind, and I soon feel much better.

"Thank you so much for this treat, Moira," I tell her, placing my empty mug and plate on the tray. "I've always been more of a coffee drinker, but this tea has me questioning my life choices." I mean it. It was one of the most refreshing, soul-soothing things I've ever drunk. Liam's coffee now has some serious competition.

"'Tis me own special blend," she smiles proudly. "When I'm not playin' librarian, I'm a tea farmer... of sorts... very small scale. Me husband, Conor, is the true farmer, mostly hops and some sheep, but he planted a small plot of Camellia Sinensis shrubs for me and takes awfully good care of it. It's a robust plant that originated in the foothills of the Himalayas and does well in our climate, which tends to turn cold in a heartbeat. I have some other secret ingredients I put in there to give me teas their unique flavours. All healthy and legal, don't worry," she adds with a laugh when I quirk an eyebrow.

Listening to Moira talk about her husband and working the farm with him, my mind conjures up the scenes of domestic bliss I've yearned for since I can remember. It's not something I thought I would ever experience...

I still don't.

"That must be wonderful," I sigh wistfully, and when she gives me a questioning look, I add, "to be able to farm with your husband and create your own special tea blend. Being together on your own piece of land with your children... it just sounds so perfect."

"Oh, aye, 'tis pure class," she smiles and then her eyes narrow, sparkling with mirth. "But c'mere to me, and I'll tell ya; me fella often drives me off me nut with all the bleedin' shite he gets up to with those plonkers, Billy, Cianán and Ransford Slatherty."

I've not met Conor yet and I've no idea who Keenon is, but I've met Billy and Ransford; I can imagine them getting up to a lot of no good together. The thought makes me smile, and looking at Moira's lit-up face, I can tell she enjoys whatever antics she thinks of.

"Aw, lass, there's no reason for ye to have a face like a wet weekend, now!" she exclaims. My hopeless longing must be clear to see because she leans over and squeezes my forearm. "Ye'll have that kind of love too! Ye're to be married soon, after all."

"Excuse me?" I laugh, snapping out of my melancholic slump. I blink at her with wide eyes and, frowning slightly, she lifts my left hand, which is resting on the tabletop.

"Yer wearing a betrothal ring, aren't ye?" she points out, touching the emerald ring dwarfing my hand.

"This... what? It's not..." I choke, shocked by her words.

"Of course it is!" she exclaims, seeming almost offended at having her theory questioned. "I've been updatin' the database in here for donkey's years, and I have to listen to Diarmuid blatherin' on and on about all things Slatherty more often than any sane person should be forced to. I know a Slatherty betrothal ring when I see one. Look," she says, slipping the ring from my finger and showing me a carving on the inside of the band. It is small, and she takes her phone from her jeans pocket, using the camera to enlarge it.

"This is the Slatherty crest, with the word ezkongaia, which is Basque and can be translated to betrothed or bride. The Slatherties have a lot of Basque people far back in their ancestry. They originally spoke Euskara."