Hudson properly bedecked and off on his way, Sianna peered into the chest, paper parcels and bundles awaiting release from their cedar confines. Pouring Maeve's teacup a healthy little warm-up, she rested the kettle back to the tray table and pulled up a low ottoman to sit on. A smile lit her face as Maeve reached for the cup and sipped it appreciatively. While not an overnight recovery, she had lost the weak tremors and had regained some dexterity in her joints.

The delicate touch of the aroma as she sipped added the ease to tired aches and twisted insides. "I am glad I kept some of Corin's things. Never would I have imagined such visitors, but more's the gladness of it." The cup set aside once more, she looked down to the chest for its long past memories and once thought treasures held inside.

She turned to look out the windows again where the sun coaxed the garden into the hinting of spring that could be around the corner. When she spoke, she did not look back. "I would be more worried for your brother, but by tell of his hands, he is a capable sort." She did look back with a smile. "Like his sister."

Reaching over, Sianna patted the woman's knee softly, a smile curving her lips. "Oh aye, Scots are verra capable. Idleness was no' tolerated long in th' house." The sun revealed Maeve's healthy color, the jaundice faded away. "But enough talk of th' twa of us. I believe we have some treats instore for us, and they'll nae reveal themselves wi'out a wee bit a help from us, aye?" Nodding towards the chest. "Is there anything ye spy that ye'd like tae open first?"

A lick of her lips, once dry, now on the mend. She leaned a bit to look in as if it were a deep well and she could not see the bottom of it without the minuscule lean. "Ohh, let us see that there," she spoke as she pointed with more of a hand than just a finger to a small unfinished piece of needlework. Its edges were stitched from fraying, and at its center was the forming image of an urn and ivy coming from it.

The fabric was still stretched on a hoop, a delicate silver needle tucked in a small section of the embroidery. Pulled free with ease, Sianna placed the item in Mave's lap, all the while looking over. Silk threads in varigated tones added depth to what had been finished and the stitches were so tiny, her eyes nearly crossed trying to inspect them.

Fingers moved slow over the edge of the hoop and in lightness to the fabric. "Never did finish this. Strange fears we have sometimes." It was a hiccup of memory that drew her bottom lip in to her mouth to keep from rambling over it. When her mind was free of its pull, she loosened the hold on her lip and smiled. "See something else that interests you? That old chest. It became one of the many holes where old things sank."

"Why didn't ye finish it, Maeve?" Sianna didn't mean to pry, but couldn't stop the question from slipping out. She reached her arm into the depth of the chest and removed a large parcel. "I've ne'er seen workmanship tae rival it." Holding the recent excavation in her lap, she turned her head towards the woman, a kind smile in her eyes. "Old things dinna sink, they simply wait back until th' time is right. They're nae th' sort tae be out and about for anyone tae covet. My Gran used tae say they waited until th' person tha' was meant tae have it was ready tae have it."

"Wise woman, your Gran." The smile held sincerity. Green eyes drifted back to the unfinished needlework. "I started it when my boy was first out with the warband. I meant it for a pillow casing. Just a bit of home with him in that barracks room. One night, I had the chill," she looked to Sianna for understanding, "you know when you feel something is not right. I set it aside and did not pick it up again. Foolish mothering. Was nothing I am sure, but still could not get past it, that were I to finish it, there'd not be its using."

She nodded emphatically. "Oh aye, ye had a wee glimpse of the Sight. Dinna think that ye are nae a verra wise woman yerself, Maeve dearie." Holding out her hand, she exchanged the parcel for the needlework and set it to the side for packing later. "And I'm not sure there's aught of mothering tha' is nae a mixture of fear an' faith an' aye, even foolishness."

"Life in its great dance as those things, not just mothers." Humor and truth mix as she opened the parcel. "One of these things unwrapping might be a dead rodent as anything," she teased.

It was, of course, not, but a delicate little head covering of handmade lace. "Ahh, now this I thought had gone away when Ewan was born a boy. I made it along with the quilt, but it suits a girl much better to my way of thinking." She handed the little lace baby cap to Sianna for her inspection.

Her laughter bubbled up. "If 'tis a rodent, ye'll have tae coax me down from th' rafters and once I'm recovered, we'll blame th' lads for mischief when they were younger tae put such a thing in yer dower chest." Reverent hands took the baby cap with a gasp of awe, letting it drape across her fingertips. "'Tis marvelous..." And it was, each row of lace bore a distinct knot pattern that increased in difficulty as it approached the tender crown.

Some pride in the work, Maeve demurred, "It was soothing work." As she watched Sianna, she nodded. "If you like it well, you may have it. I understand you are to be wed. If you are as lucky as I and wish them, I hope you are graced with children as well."

She blinked in startled surprise. Her admiration had been genuine and unassuming, never would she have imagined so grand a gesture. "Oh Maeve, my dear.. ye are too kind tae me, but mahaps the babe tae come would wish tae have such a treasure made by her Gran's talented fingers.And ye can hold th' babe in yer arms, the cap nestled just so on her head." Passing it back, she placed the cap in Maeve's fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze. "But aye, when th' time is right mayhaps I'll have a sweet babe or twa of my own." A soft grin as another package was retrieved.

]

When Hudson had left the house, Maeve and Sianna were happily ensconced in the living room with the old chest. Now he retraced his steps toward the fisher?s market he had visited with Gaerwyn, and he was reconsidering the wisdom of his bright idea. It had seemed to make sense, to dress in the clothing of the locals. At least that way he wouldn?t be immediately apparent as a foreigner ? until he spoke. He planned to avoid that as much as possible.

What he had overlooked was that the clothing of the locals included pants, rather than his comfortable plaid. He hadn?t worn even a pair of loose fisher?s trews in months, nor true pants in years. The pants he was wearing now were uncomfortable, confining, and the fact that Corin had been perhaps two inches taller meant that they fit oddly. Seven years out of date, the cut was also slightly different from what most of the men of the city were wearing.

So between the discomfort of the clothing, and the distractions of this new city, perhaps it wasn?t surprising when Hudson missed the turn that would have taken him directly to the fisher?s market he was seeking. It certainly wasn?t surprising that by the time he realized that, he had already taken another two turns, and couldn?t have retraced his steps if he had been paid.

The area Hudson found himself in now seemed to be mostly homes, with a small chandlery on one corner of a block for local needs and an equally small bakery on the other corner. A thin-faced woman with a small child clinging to her skirts was just exiting the chandlery with a small bundle in her arms, and the scents of fresh-baked bread and pastries filled the crisp air. Hudson paused to really look at his surroundings.

The houses here seemed to be mostly built of timber, faced with plaster to prevent drafts and neaten their appearance. They let directly onto the street, with no pathways or front gardens ? but some were bedecked with window boxes. It was the wrong season for it, but Hudson was sure that the plants wouldn?t be flowers but herbs and even vegetables; beans or other things that could thrive in such an environment. This neighborhood had the feel of one where people stretched every copper until it hurt.

Pride ? that was what Hudson saw, as he walked slowly down the street. The kind of pride that kept the doorsteps clean, and clothing neatly mended, even if food was scarce. The kind of pride that kept the bakery and chandlery in business ? debts would be paid first. The kind of pride he was all too familiar with. It was the same kind of pride that kept the Fraiser clan knit together, that kept their village from fading as so many other villages had.

Even here, his borrowed clothes didn?t fit in. Many of the other men he passed were wearing clothing cut in a style at least as old ? but their pants and shirts had been worn and patched and mended for those seven years his had been in storage. He nodded courteous greeting as he passed people ? wives sweeping the steps, children playing a complicated game that seemed to involve a hoop, two sticks and a lot of running and shouting. The first time he spotted a small metal charm nailed above a doorway he thought it a decoration. When he saw others, he gave a small smile. Those were familiar as well, in intent if not in form.