Far After Gold by Jen Black Page B

afraid of Flane and the other men. Katla was a woman, after all. She smiled. “I’m sure I shouldn’t be able to resist him, if I were you.”
    Katla’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
    “Why, nothing.” Emer assumed an air of innocence. “He is such a handsome man! I don’t know how you can bear to hold him off at all! But then,” she added regretfully, “not everyone has deep feelings, I suppose.” With a blithe smile she turned on her heel, set off towards the jetty and did not look back.
    Emer crunched along the shingle of the loch shore, the exchange with Katla rattling around and around in her head. The woman had been so rude! It was not Emer’s fault that she was here. She tried to imagine how she would feel if her intended bridegroom brought another woman home and bedded her. She couldn’t imagine greeting her with smiles and hugs. No. She’d be digging traps for her at every opportunity.
    Emer pulled a face and kicked out at a stone.
    Perhaps she should have tried to make friends with Katla. But then, Katla saw her as an enemy, and making friends would not be possible. All she could do was try and keep out of Flane’s way so Katla would have nothing to complain about.
    Involved in her thoughts, Emer came to a sudden stop when a rocky outcrop blocked her progress. Water swirled in at the base, and the sheer wall reared high above her head. Reluctantly turning to walk back to the steading, she hesitated. The settlement was out of sight and no one knew her whereabouts. It would be silly to return and face more persecution from that dreadful girl. Emer wandered a little way along the beach, found a large smooth sheet of rock warmed by the sun, and sat down.
    If only she knew where to go to find help, she would leave in an instant. But the mountains enclosed the long narrow valley in which she sat, and though it was midsummer and the sun beat down on her head, pockets of snow remained on the shadowed face of more than one peak. Swathes of forest clothed the lower slopes and ran down to the water’s edge. There was no sign of any other settlement.
    A small boat caught her attention. Someone was working hard rowing from fish trap to fish trap along the loch, but it was no one she knew. Squinting against the sun, she saw more boats strung out on the sparkling water. The men would be hunting game, working on the land or baiting fish traps. Scanning the landscape for Flane, she saw no sign of him.
    When she felt calmer, she walked back to the hall. If she wanted food and a bed, she had no alternative but to stay at the steading. She entered the hall with some trepidation, and found the women hard at work. Some spun wool, others sewed and another wove cloth. The shutters stood open above the tall loom and shed light on the darting fingers of the woman who wove the cloth. The weaver worked with one ear cocked for gossip as she separated the coloured strands without conscious thought and threw an occasional comment over her shoulder to her companions.
    Emer sighed. Without wool, spindle and loom, the gown she wore would be her only gown for the foreseeable future. She looked around. All the women wore good linen gowns and over tunics. Colourful embroidery decorated their hems, sleeves and sometimes the neckline. She thought of the three good gowns waiting for her in the big chest at home and could have wept. No doubt her sister would wear them. By the time she had grown to fit them, everyone would have given up hope of seeing Emer again.
    A small child, too young to be let loose outside, pulled a wooden horse on a leather thong straight across his mother’s toes. The young mother let out a screech of pain. The child turned, shocked and wide-eyed, and then ran to lean across her knees to ensure she was unhurt.
    Emer realised the women watched her, some covertly and others with bold stares; but none of them had been in the bathing hut and they all broke eye contact when she tried to engage with them. Heat