(also found in The Glen at http://forum.renaissancekingdoms.com/viewtopic.php?p=73588715#73588715)

Toastini lay comfortably on a thick mattress under a heavy quilt, listening to the steady rain tap the window. A tree branch occasionally offered its own form of percussion; the wind whipping the branches to and fro. The sound was hypnotic. Toastini dozed in and out, daydreaming about the days that had led her here.

On the trip from Ireland to France, when Toastini wasn't working, she was sleeping. She had a fatigue that she just could not shake. She would tend to her chores on deck and just before sunset, she would retire to her cabin with her dinner plate. Usually, she would fall asleep with the dinner only half-eaten. Initially, she shrugged the endless fatigue off, assuming it was some sort of seasickness. She had never been on a boat for such a lengthy amount of time. She was anxious to reach land, even though reaching land meant marching and inevitably fighting. Neither activity would coddle a fatigued person. She was sure that once her feet touched solid ground, she would feel well and all would be right.

When they arrived in France, they docked in a town that Toastini could not pronounce. She noticed that with most of the French towns; even if she could wrap her tongue around the town names, she was probably doing so incorrectly. This coupled with her complete inability to speak the language kept Toastini keeping mostly to herself. She rarely went into taverns, even when she saw her Irish friends and cohorts cavorting in the pubs. It didn't bother her too badly, as she assumed that the taverns wouldn't have any good whiskey to speak of.

What did the French drink anyway- Wine? Toastini wrinkled her nose at the thought, pulling the quilt up under her chin. She would admit, they had very good food. Her stomach growled softly at the thought of soft cheese and warm bread. She leaned over and grabbed a bell that sat on the bed stand. She sank back into her pillows.

Within a few minutes, a sturdy older woman bustled into the room. The nun approached Toastini's bedside and spoke softly.

Que puis-je obtenir pour vous, mademoiselle? The matronly woman asked.

Toastini looked up at the woman's wrinkled face and smiled. She still had no grasp on the French language. Food? She asked.

The woman's thick eyebrows moved slightly up her forehead. The rest of her face remained impassive. Vous avez faim? Ce sont de bonnes nouvelles. She put a hand on Toastini's cheek. I will bring you food. She said in heavily accented English.

Toastini's smile widened, happy that all was not lost in translation. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

She stirred under the heavy blankets, only to moan in pain when her right leg moved with the rest of her body.

Jacques! Toastini spat out. She would never know the actual name of the man who had nearly severed her leg, but she would remember his face and the pain he inflicted upon her in the battlefield. She was pretty sure that he smelled awful in addition to being an incredibly bad aim. Her leg, really? He should have shoved his sword directly in her belly or her chest, just as she had done to two of his compatriots. Her eyes darkened as she recalled the visceral reaction she had after claiming the life of the two men. The Frenchmen had not been her first kill; far from it. But one thing was certain in Toastini's mind: one never got used to the feeling of taking a life. She ruminated on the thought for a moment. She thought about how she once had such a thirst for blood and war, but as soon as her sword crossed the threshhold of flesh, the bloodlust vanished. Staring into her victim's eyes, she watched them all perish. Too many to count. She was sure that she carried parts of them with her, parts of their humanity remained with her as she lived. She was also sure that the time in which she would escort them across the River Styx was drawing close.

As if on cue, she was wracked with a violent cough. She pulled her kerchief out of the sleeve of her nightgown and pressed it to her mouth as she hacked loudly. Her entire body trembled. The nun bustled in through the door, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl and a mug on it. The nun abruptly placed the tray on the bed stand and came to Toastini's side. She pushed Toastini into a sitting position and gave her back a few hearty thumps. Toastini's eyes watered as the coughing finally subsided. She took her hand away from her mouth and saw blood spittles on the kerchief.

Oh dear. Toastini said softly.

The nun plucked the soiled kerchief out of Toastini's hands. Prenez un mouchoir de nouvelles. The nun produced a fresh kerchief from her apron and handed it to Toastini. Take it. She then pushed lightly on Toastini's shoulder, urging her to lie back down.

Toastini obliged without objection. She sank back into the pillows and attempted to regulate her breathing. Her leg screamed with pain. The ever intuitive nun gently folded the covers back, exposing Toastini's right side and leg. She was bandaged from hip to knee. The cut had occured just below the hip joint. By some miracle, she had not bled to death. At the thought, Toastini would have started laughing if she knew it would not trigger another coughing fit. Here Toastini lie, spared by Jah himself on the battlefield only to succumb to Consumption in the halls of the nunnery. It made her so mad she could just spit.

She had been so weak, too weak even, to march into battle. But her pride would not allow her that to admit to anyone, least of all herself. So she had sharpened her sword and strapped on her shield. Unfamiliar territory, endless rain, high winds, fatigue, fever and weight loss hampered her judgment and abilities. She marched alongside an old friend, Kai_. They got separated from the main NNGO army; while that may seem like a death sentence in and of itself, they actually fared quite well the first night. That is when Toastini killed the two Frenchmen.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the nun removed the bandage from her leg to clean and irrigate the wound. She closed her eyes in pain and because she simply could not stomach looking at the gaping wound yet again. She chose instead to go back in time.

The next day, the merciless rain had finally abated. But what moved in was far more dangerous; thick and heavy fog blanketed the unfamiliar terrain. They set out before sunrise, headed towards what they assumed was Mayenne. They approached a thicket of trees. Toastini and Kai wordlessly exchanged glances. They both nodded and headed into the trees. While the thicket would not help the two women orient themselves with the area, it would provide valuable cover from the two French armies that were covering the area.

For what seemed like hours, the two navigated through the trees with no sight or sound of another person. Finally, when the sun was nearly directly overhead, she heard them. Several soldiers ran into the thicket, not caring to watch their footsteps. They were not attempting to mask their approach. Toastini swallowed nervously. She looked to the west, expecting to see the signs of town or the tell tale flags of the NNGO armies. She squinted into the distance. Her heart raced, she felt the urgency of the situation nipping at her heels.

She heard a female voice scream out in pain and anguish. Toastini spun around, drawing her sword, ready to behead the person who was responsible for causing that sound. Kai_ looked near Toastini, eyes gazing beyond. Her mouth froze open in a 'O'. A bloodied sword protruded from her solar plexus. Even from this distance, Toastini could see that her dear old friend had died.

Toastini saw nothing but red. She let out a guttural growl and ran forward, sword poised and ready to kill, eyes murderous. Her sword sliced across the chest of the first man she crossed paths with. At the same instant, his sword slammed down on her leg. Her eyes widened to the size of teacups. She howled in pain as she fell to the mossy ground beneath her. Her sword remained tight in her fist. As soon as her body hit the ground, she rolled onto her back and held her sword up. Her eyesight blurred. The pain was searing hot and incredibly intense. She swung her sword wildly in front of her.

A very large man stepped over her and held a mace high above his head. She blinked rapidly, realizing that he probably intended on letting that mace slam into her head. She stopped swinging her sword, but still kept it out in front of her. She licked her lips. She opened her mouth to scream out an obscenity to the oaf, but only a pathetic burbling sound escaped her lips. She heard laughter a few feet away. She turned her head and saw her attacker. A red stripe grew on his chest. Toastini smiled madly and looked back up at the man above her.

Venez. Laissez la chienne mourir lentement sous la pluie. Putes et de la nourriture qui nous attendent en Mayenne. The man standing to the side said with a laugh.

The man standing above her laughed loudly, exposing large yellowed teeth that reminded Toastini of piano keys. He nodded, and then swung his mace down swiftly, knocking her sword out of her hand. The top half of her sword snapped off and flew into a nearby bush. The men walked away. Toastini turned her head toward the bush that held the tip of her sword. She could see the silver laying on a bed of fallen leaves. Her right hand lay at her side. She could feel a warm stickiness spreading around her body.

She looked straight ahead, which from her point of view, was up at the tall trees surrounding her. The pain in her leg had taken over her entire body. She began to shiver as she lay on the damp earth. She brought her right hand up to her face; it was covered in blood. She chocked back a sob, crying would not solve anything in this moment. With that realization, she dropped her hand back into the pool of blood and stared up at the trees. Those trees have been in this spot for centuries, Toastini thought. And after I become one with the soil, they will live on for another century at least. She let the sword fall out of her clenched left fist. It landed in the moss with a dull thud. She stretched her fingers out and grabbed a clump of moss, relishing the feeling. Her right hand curled around warm, sticky and wet earth at her side.

Toastini opened her eyes and breathed through the pain. The nun gave her a cursory glance before resuming her task of cleaning Toastini's wound. The woman tossed several soiled rags in a wooden bucket next to her feet. The older woman called out in a stern yet calm voice, Sœur Guillemette, chiffons propres sont nécessaires. Venez vite! She waited a moment, soaking more blood from the oozing wound.

Toastini whimpered in pain. She wished in vain for the hundredth time since arriving that she could understand French. Beads of sweat popped up on her lip and brow. She wondered if the nun would give her some herbs to help her sleep tonight. Her sleep had been fitful at best. Her wounded leg made it nearly impossible to get comfortable. She let out a long exhale, attempting to gain control of the pain. The nun looked at Toastini's pale and clammy face. Her brows knitted together as she barked out, Guillemette, où es-tu?

Guillemette? Toastini wondered, just before she slipped into unconsciousness.

The sun had nearly set. Toastini could hardly focus on the tree branches above her. She was willing herself to stay awake. As each hour passed, it was becoming increasingly difficult. Likewise, as each hour passed, the fact that she was hanging on to life by a thread concerned her less and less. The chill that had taken over her body immediately following her injury had begun to give way to a warm feeling that radiated from Toastini's middle. The warmth enveloped her, welcomed her in. She wanted to close her eyes and let go. But some stubborn part within held on by her fingernails. Jah, why was she so hardheaded! Toastini let out a small, delirious giggle. She knew exactly where she got her hardheadedness. It was a long standing Kennedy trait, passed down from generation to generation like a prized jewel. Her younger sisters seemed to have received heaps of stubbornness, Toastini thought wistfully. Rosalie and Conkord, one remains below and one had gone above. Toastini opened her eyes and gazed at the darkened, cloudy sky. Rosalie was up there! Soon she would be too. The thought no longer brought fear into Toastini's heart. Instead, she thought of seeing Rosa again. Rosalie and her long dark hair, stubborn jaw and eyes full of intelligence. Rosa, ready to pour Toastini a drink that had peppers in it! And Conkord didn't stop her! Toastini laughed into the darkness. That night seemed so long ago. Wasn't that the night that they realized they were all sisters by the philandering pig James Kennedy?

The thought of not seeing Connie again was enough to sober Toastini up. She blinked her eyes rapidly and pinched her cheeks with both hands. She cringed as her bloodied right hand made contact with her face. Gross.

Suddenly, she heard a noise in the distance. Her eyes snapped open, as alert as they could possibly be given the situation. There it was again! This time it was closer and more distinguishable: a hoot! She looked up and noticed a Tawny Owl perched on a branch. She smiled at the beautiful bird. Well, hello there! From what I can see from here, you are a Strix Aluco, are you not? Toastini's face screwed up in confusion. How did she now the Latin name of this bird? It jumped to the next branch down and gave another hoot. That's it! Come here! What is your name? Toastini watched the owl expectantly, waiting for an answer. When he did not supply her with his name, she thought of one for him. May I call you Jean-Baptiste? I think it is French, so you can't object. Getting no objection, she decided to ask for a favor. Can you send a message to my family? Tell them that I am having a lovely time here in France and that I have never looked better!

She cackled madly. The cackles dissolved into tears, the first tears that Toastini had shed all day. She was starting to feel sorry for herself. She decided that she needed to get up and head into town. She wasn't sure why she hadn't thought of that in the hours prior. It seemed so obvious! She started to push herself into a seated position. White hot pain shot through her body. She flopped back down. She took her right hand and put it on her hip bone. She started to move it down, trailing down her thigh. About one hands distance from her hipbone, Toastini's fingers sank into a gaping wound. Her hand snapped back, recoiling in horror. She let out a shriek in both pain and disgust.

Par ici! J'ai entendu quelque chose ici! A womans voice rang out into the darkness.

Toastini looked up at the owl, half convinced that it was the large bird who had spoken. The owl looked down at Toastini, yellow eyes all aglow. Its head rotated a half turn. It fluttered its wings and took flight. Jean-Baptiste! Don't leave me! Don't leave! She began to sob again. At least pass the message to my family!

Behind her, twigs snapped as people ran through the trees. The warmth rushed out of Toastini's toes and was replaced by ice cold fear. Those damned French were back to finish her off. She grappled around the ground, grabbing her broken sword. She would fight them to the death! she thought deliriously. Funny how her willingness to die vanished at the thought of perishing at the French's sword.

Four women ran up to Toastini from the east. As soon as they were within eyesight, she dropped her sword with relief. Not that she would have done much damage with the blunt end of it anyway. Toastini had spent enough time in the Cloisters in both Scotland and Ireland to know a nun when she saw one. These women were Brides of Jah, no doubt about it. She just hoped that they followed the tenants of Christos more closely than some of the crooked priests who she knew bankrolled those French armies. Three of the nuns were older women, with long grey hair bound in a tight bun at the base of their neck. The fourth was a fairly young woman with hair the color of sand. It was this woman who knelt by Toastini's side and took her bloodied hand into her own.

My name is Guillemette. We are sisters from the Cathedral of La Trinite in Laval. We come in peace, we want to get you out of the rain. The young woman spoke in perfect English, tinted with a lovely accent. Toastini simply gazed up at the comely woman next to her. Surely Guillemette was French for Angel.

Two of the other nuns went to Toastini's left side and put a wooden slat next to her. They grabbed her left arm and leg and gave her a tug. Almost effortlessly, Toastini slid onto the wooden slat. Sure, she was in excruciating pain, but she wasn't going to die. Not here, not now.

Jean-Baptiste! Toastini muttered.

The two large nun's went to Toastini's end, one grabbing the slat at her feet, the other at her head. Un, deux, trois, ascenseur. The one at her head said. They lifted her up adeptly.

Undo twa? No, the owl! His name is Jean-Baptiste! Toastini said, looking at the ignorant nuns with glassy eyes.

The young nun, Guillemette kept hold on Toastini's hand. Is this wound on your leg the only one you have?

Toastini stared at Guillemette for a moment before nodding. Yes. That is the only place that Jacques got me. My heart is hurt though. They killed Kai_! She wailed, fresh tears springing up in her eyes.

Guillemette's eyes shifted to the right. The fourth nun was walking back with a somber expression. Yes, it appears Sister Jehanne has found her. We will send someone from the monestary to retrieve her at dawn. She patted Toastini's hand. She will get a proper burial.

Toastini nodded and sniffed loudly. These women were being so kind, she felt a slight pang of guilt for all the disparaging remarks she had made about the French over the years. It turns out, they weren't all bad.

As they cleared the thicket, Toastini finally realized that it was raining. The canopy of the trees had protected her from most of the rainfall. The cold droplets and the brisk wind stung her wound so badly, she bit down on her lip to stop from crying out. She was an NNGO soldier for the love of Jah! She should not be carrying on like this, like a common schoolgirl. It was pathetic. She squeezed the hand at her side, grateful for its presence. She looked up at its owner, gazing at Guillemette's wide eyes and sweet face. She anchored herself here on earth as she held on to the nun's hand tightly.

Toastini blinked her eyes rapidly. The older nun still stood by her side, but was now placing the blankets carefully over her body. A tray lay balanced on her tummy; on the tray was a nearly empty clay bowl filled with black, sticky goo that stunk to the high heavens.

Ew! What is that? Toastini complained in a scratchy voice.

The older nun didn't bother casting a glance at her. She simply leaned over to grab the wooden bucket at her feet and left the room.

Don't mind Sister Jehanne. When she is acting as a nursemaid, she gets very focused. A soft, melodic voice said on Toastini's left side.

She turned her head and saw that very same sweet face that stood by during her rescue...when exactly? Toastini smiled warmly.
You are Guillemette? I remember you. She said dreamily.

The young nun grabbed Toastini's hand and held it in her own, patting it. I am Guillemette. I am glad you remember. That is a good thing. That foul smelling mess is a poultice. It will ease your pain and facilitate healing. Guillemette grabbed the tray from Toastini's torso and moved it to a nearby table. She walked back to Toastini's side.

It is already working. I hardly noticed my leg right now. Perhaps I could take some with me when I leave? Toastini inquired.

Guillemette's eyes widened in surprise. When you leave? Mademoiselle, I fear that you will not be leaving for some time. You were very nearly dead when we found you. It is by Jah's loving grace that you are still alive! She said emphatically, eyes glowing with wonder.

Toastini's eyebrows furrowed. I can't leave? But I must! I have to join the NNGO and return home! I can't stay here, in France. She said the last part as though it were a swear word. Her face softened, as she realized her social blunder. This isn't my home. I need to return home. Toastini searched Guillemette's face for understanding.

Guillemette patted Toastini's hand again and smiled sympathetically. I understand, Mademoiselle. But you must realize the graveness of your injuries. Plus, there is the matter of your illness.

My name is Toastini, you don't have to call me "mademoiselle". Toastini said.

Guillemette looked confused. Toastini? That is a very unusual name. I have never heard it before.

Nodding, Toastini replied, Yes, I know. I am not sure what my mother was thinking. I actually ask myself that quite frequently when thinking about her life choices. Going back to what you said, what do you mean by 'my illness'?

Guillemette squirmed on the stool she sat upon next to Toastini's bed. You do not know? Mademoiselle--er, Toastini, you have mal du roi. The kings evil. Consumption. I am so sorry to inform you of this.

Toastini's face fell, no longer able to deny what she had known for nearly a month. She said meekly, I thought only the poor and lesser among us were afflicted with Consumption. She supposed for a moment that living the pirates life would be considered by some to be poor and lesser among others.

Guillemette shook her head slightly. No, Toastini. Mal du roi, Consumption is not just for the poor. Many people get it. Sister Jehanne believes that once you are ambulatory, you can possibly appeal to the court for the Royal Touch.

Toastini narrowed her eyes. The Royal Touch? What is that? Plus, any kind of appeal to the French court by the likes of me is likely to fall on deaf ears. She said ruefully.

Guillemette hid a smile. I suppose that is true. She leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, I don't really believe in the Royal Touch myself. I think it is a way for the monarch to take money from the common people. Her eyes shifted as she sat back down on her stool, sure someone heard her nearly blasphemous remark.

Toastini hid a giggle at Guillemette's rebellious yet astute observation. But what is it? Toastini insisted.

Oh. It is widely understood that by touch, the king can cure illnesses, Consumption included. Sovereigns have divine right, of that I have no doubt. I just haven't seen the Royal Touch to work among those afflicted with Consumption. She shot Toastini a worried glance. I don't mean to take away hope from you. I just don't want you to have false hope.

Toastini stared into the eyes of the kind, young nun and smiled softly, making a conscious decision to change the topic. I like listening to you talk. Your accent is lovely. How did you come to learn English?

Guillemette nodded slightly and smiled. Ma mere is English. She fell in love with a French sailor, mon pere. He brought her back here to be married after what many would consider to be a very short courtship. They had eight children, I am the second of the brood. My mother died while giving birth to her ninth. My father remarried shortly after her death; raising nine children alone is not something a sailor can do easily. The woman he married is very nice, but very very young. Younger than me even. I confess, his sudden marriage to such a young woman so soon after my mothers death bothered me greatly. I decided the best way to leave was to devote my life to Jah. And here I am! She forced a happy smile.

Toastini noticed the slight change in Guillemette's demeanor during that story. She decided to reciprocate respecting her desire to change the subject. She returned her smile. What part of England is your mother from?

She is from Plymouth. Have you been there? Guillemette answered.

Toastini shook her head. No, I haven't visited much of England. Mostly the border towns near Scotland. That is where I was born, Scotland.

Guillemette grinned. I thought you sounded different, but I could not place the accent. It is definitely not English.

Born and reared in Scotland, then spent the last decade or so in Ireland. So I am sure my accent is a mix that can be hard to understand. Toastini laughed, which spawned a coughing fit.

Jehanne barreled through the door, scowl on her wrinkled and chubby face. N'est-ce pas là quelque chose que vous devriez faire? Vous ne devriez pas socialiser avec les malades. She said gruffly to Guillemette.


Guillemette clucked her tongue at the senior nun. Vous ne parlez pas anglais, elle ne parle pas français. Préférez-vous que je vous avez laissé seul avec elle? She shook her head and looked at Toastini, who's coughing fit had subsided. She thinks I should stop talking to you and busy myself elsewhere.

Toastini sucked in a few deep, raggedy breaths. But I don't understand a word she says!

A smirk took over Guillemette's delicate features. That is what I told her. She looked back at Jehanne. Elle dit qu'elle ne comprend pas tout ce que vous dites. Un bon moral est tout aussi important que l'application de cataplasmes malodorants, Soeur Jehanne. Mais juste pour vous faire plaisir, je vais aller chercher du thé chaud pour elle.

Guillemette stood up and released Toastini's hand, placing it gently on her stomach. I will be right back. I am going to prepare some tea for you. Don't worry about not understanding what she says. It is either grumbling or praising Jah. Neither of which are terribly interesting to you, I gather. She winked at Toastini and walked out of the room.


Toastini watched Guillemette's retreating figure, as did Jehanne. When she turned around to come to the bedside, she attempted to give Toastini a friendly smile. To Toastini, she looked like an animal caught in a trap. Poor thing.


Jehanne stood next to Toastini and produced a bundle of kerchiefs wrapped in a piece of hide. She took one kerchief out and handed it to Toastini. Toastini took the kerchief, unsure of what it was for. She was no longer coughing, so it wasn't terribly useful at the moment. Jehanne brought her empty hand to her own mouth, pantomiming what Toastini should do. Toastini gingerly brought the folded kerchief to her face. Instantly, her nostrils flared as the distinct and pungent aroma of camphor cleared her sinuses.


It will help breathing better. Jehanne said in stilted English.


Toastini pulled the kerchief away from her mouth, already noticing a difference in her breathing. She smiled widely at the nun. Thank you. Merci! Toastini was incredibly proud of the few French words that she knew. Most of her French vocabulary consisted of words that should not be uttered in a place of worship or around women of the cloth.


Guillemette returned, carrying a tray with a pot and two mugs. She met Jehanne's look with mild defiance. Jehanne's mouth twitched with what Toastini suspected was a smile.
Si vous insistez pour converser avec elle, être sûr de poser des questions sur la famille et d'autres intérêts. Rappelez-lui des raisons de vivre. Vous avez raison. Il est important de garder ses esprits levée. Dieu va faire son travail, nous allons faire le nôtre. Jehanne placed the bundle of aromatic kerchiefs next to Toastini's bed and left the room.


What was she saying? Toastini asked, eyeballing the tray of steaming liquid.


Guillemette returned to her stool next to Toastini's bed and put the tray on the end table. She says that I can stay and talk with you if I keep your spirits up. Guillemette poured the freshly brewed tea into the mugs. She grabbed an extra pillow and helped Toastini up, putting the pillow behind her as support. She then handed a warm mug to her. It is Chamomile tea, which is relaxing.

If you stay and talk with me, that will keep my spirits up. Toastini said to Guillemette as she brought the mug to her lips.

Guillemette smiled at Toastini. So Mademoiselle Toastini, tell me what brings you to France. How does a slight woman like you find herself crossing swords with a French Army?

Toastini sipped the piping hot tea slowly, trying very hard not to burn her tongue. She leaned back on her pillow and let out a little sigh. Oh Guillemette, I wasn't always this slight. I like to think that I was once a force to be reckoned with. My faltering strength saddens me more than my leg injury. You know, I once entered at talent contest in Cork and won. My talent was a deft display of my sword skills. Toastini grinned.

Guillemette nodded, impressed. She prodded the conversation forward. And what brought you to France?

Ah yes. I believe we came to Brittany's aid. NNGO is an organization for the people. When those who are oppressed ask for assistance, we are hard pressed to say no. We aren't big believers in tyrannical monarchies. So, we came to fight for Brittany against the Queen. It appears I got more action than I bargained for, yah? Toastini said tiredly.

Guillemette nodded again. Yes, it appears to be so. And your family? Where are they?

Toastini's feral grin softened to a pleasant smile. My blood kin stay in Ireland. I consider NNGO to be family, but kin of another sort. I figure you are asking about the blood kin.

For now, yes. They originated from Scotland like you did? Guillemette inquired.

Toastini nodded while she bit her lip. Mmhmm, I think so. Our roots are Irish, so when Jah permitted us to return to Ireland, most of us took the first boat out. I have two sisters. Well, had. One is dead. I am the oldest, we all have the same father. James Kennedy. He was a pathetic excuse of a man. And I would know, I have consorted with pathetic excuses for men before. Toastini flushed, realizing that maybe this was not the proper audience for such declarations.

Guillemette smiled and sipped her tea, saying nothing, waited for Toastini to continue on her own.

Toastini took her cue from Guillemette's silence. He left my mother, or was it that she left him? Their marriage had gone as sour as old milk, fighting like two chickens in too small of a cage. He drank constantly--the apple didn't fall too far from that tree!--so we escaped. Just me and mum, to Whithorn, Scotland. We lived with her two sisters, old spinsters that fought nearly as much as Mum and Pa did. I had a happy rearing, no complaints. Hard work on the farm. I learned how to do a mans work being as there were no men around. Mother became ill and died one cool summer morning. I was 13 years old. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her. I think about her long light brown hair that was the color of pine bark. She had eyes the color of a stormy sea and a laugh that could sooth the soul. There are so many things that I have wanted to ask her. Toastini paused in thought. She blurted out the realization, Both of our mothers are dead.

Guillemette balanced her mug on her knee. She cocked her head to the side and gazed out of the window. Yes, that is true. They are both dead. I too have many questions I would have liked to have asked ma mere. My older brother and father were of no use for some of the more delicate questions a young woman has. Questions that no longer need to be answered, now that I am here. Guillemette smiled tightly. You mentioned sisters. When did you learn of your kinship?

I am the oldest, by nearly 10 years I do believe. I confess to only you, Guillemette, I cannot recall who is next in line, Conkord or Rosalie. How shameful, that a person cannot recall the birth order of their siblings. I only have two; you would think it would be easy to remember. Rosalie died a little over a year ago. I was in England, fighting. My absence at the time of her death and burial was not taken very well by the surviving family. Toastini's face clouded for a moment, before clearing into an amused grin. We met in a tavern in Ireland. It may have been Imleach, possibly Lismore. Hell, I can't keep track anymore. Rosalie and Conkord had been drinking. I sat at the bar and Rosa served a drink. She had mulled the whiskey with peppers! That little harpy! I choked, as one could imagine. It was around that moment that one of them mentioned relation to a James Kennedy. I do not believe in coincidences, Guillemette, I didn't then either. We then realized that we were related, sisters! It was quite amazing and had me spinning. Of course, that may have been the peppered whiskey, who knows. Toastini stopped talking to take a sip of her cooling tea. They are sweet girls, so headstrong and lively. I don't know the story of their upbringing or their mothers. I honestly cannot recall if they have the same mother or not. We get our dark hair from James. Thick and dark, like a foggy winters night. Our eyes are all the same color as well. Toastini blinked rapidly at Guillemette, allowing her to see her eyes.

Guillemette giggled. They are lovely eyes, Toastini. Rosalie has passed on, but Conkord still lives?

Toastini nodded. Yes, to my understanding. The last I heard, she was on a pirate ship. So her fate at this moment is unknown to me. But I do believe in my heart that she is still alive. She acted as a General during several skirmishes. She is a very smart and capable young woman. I am very proud of her. I don't think I have ever told her that, unfortunately. She is the only one in the family who has made me feel ok about my choices. Which I realize is something more within my own heart, and has less to do with her or them. Of the three of us, she was the only one who has made it to the altar.

Oh? Does she have children? Guillemette inquired.

No. None of us has had children. I am not sure if that was by our choice or Jah's design, but we have not extended our branch of the family tree. I don't think that Connie's or my lifestyle is that of a doting mother. Fret not, the Kennedy name will live on, if not as a surname. I have a cousin who has eight children. All from the same batch if you can believe that. Toastini replied.

Guillemette sputtered, nearly choking on her tea. Eight? At one time? I am not sure if that is a blessing or a curse.

Toastini chortled. I am not sure either. I have not met the little rascals, so I can't say if they are darling angels or holy terrors. It is hard to say, really. Porcina, my cousin, is one of the most headstrong, ornery women you will come across. While that would lead me to believe that her children would be unruly heathens, her temper is not to be matched. So I don't think she would suffer bad behavior for long.

Guillemette raised her eyebrows. She sounds like an interesting woman.

Toastini smiled and sipped her cooling tea. Porcina is an interesting woman indeed. She is a force to be reckoned with. We have lost contact with each other about a year ago. She fell ill and stayed in the convent in Munster, Cork I think. We all thought that she was going to die. Her husband and I don't really see eye to eye on many things. But my heart broke for him and his brood, having to carry on without their mother. The wee ones are so young, too young to be without their mum. She returned, as well as one would expect although a little thin and pale, during the Cork Festival. The very festival in which I won the talent contest. From what I understand, her return caused a rift between her and her sister Aria.

Guillemette looked interested. Another cousin?

Toastini leaned back into her pillow. Oh yes. There are several cousins.

Guillemette stood and took Toastini's mug from her hands. She pulled the thick quilt up and tucked it under Toastini's chin. I want to hear more about this family of yours. But for now you must rest.

Toastini nodded slightly and her eyelids dropped heavily. She drifted to sleep.

Toastini woke slowly, the morning sun reaching through the solitary window in her room. She smacked her lips together; she was inexplicably parched. Her nightgown was soaked with sweat despite the chill of the winter morning seeping in through the cracks of the stone walls. She stared out of the window for several minutes, adjusting to the idea of being awake.

She eyeballed the small bell on her bed stand. She wasn't quite ready for human companionship just yet. She looked down at her body, a lump under a mound of thick quilts. She realized that she hadn't looked at her injury in a few days, maybe more. Before yesterday, she was having trouble keeping track of the days. She remembered being brought to the convent; she just couldn't remember when exactly that had happened. Days or weeks ago? It was too difficult to tell. The leaves had already dropped from the trees when she had lain on the forest floor. Looking out the window now, she could see the trees remained void of foliage. At least the season hadn't turned during her delirious phase, she thought happily.

She brought her attention back to her injured leg, which was feeling quite good actually. She brought her hands to the edge of the blankets and gingerly began peeling them away from her sweat-soaked body. The cool air chilled Toastini's damp skin, causing her skin to pucker. Her white cotton nightgown was already hiked up around her hips, most likely shoved there by the nuns tending her wound. She lifted herself onto her elbows and looked down. The wound was covered with a few pieces of clean cloth. She moistened her dry lips and began to tenderly remove the bandage.

She felt a very slight sting as the cold air made contact with the delicate scar tissue on her leg. But aside from that, her wound felt remarkably good. It looked remarkably good as well. Examining the wound, Toastini saw an angry bright pink mark across her leg, the scab completely gone. The wound was entirely closed. By Jah, that herb salve worked miracles! Or else, Toastini really had been unaware of her surroundings for longer than she realized. She was hoping for the miracle rather than the time lapse.

Jehanne and Guillemette bustled into the room, both carrying trays. Jehanne took one look at Toastini's exposed leg and frowned. She clucked her tongue and placed her tray on a vacant space on the bed. She rubbed her hands together for a few moments before carefully placing them on Toastini's leg, feeling around the scar. Her frown softened. She glanced up at Guillemette, who had returned to her spot next to Toastini's bed. She waved her over. Guillemette scuttled from one side of the bed to the next. Jehanne leaned close to Guillemette and whispered loudly into her ear.

Toastini instinctively started to lean closer to hear what was being said. With a roll of her eye, she realized that Jehanne was most definitely whispering in French. Which begged the question: why whisper? Unless those herbs worked miracles in ways that Toastini had not realized, she had not gained the ability to speak or understand French overnight.

Guillemette's face brightened in response to whatever Jehanne had told her. Jehanne folded the quilts back over Toastini, disregarding her sweaty state, took her tray and retreated from the room without further ado. Guillemette sat down on her customary stool next to Toastini and poured some tea. Toastini noticed a steaming bowl of stew; she was mostly interested in the tea and whatever it was that Jehanne was whispering about.

Guillemette handed Toastini a mug. Jehanne says that Jah does answer prayers. Your leg is nearly healed. You will be able to get out of this bed in a few days and possibly even walk or ride a horse within a week’s time.

Toastini nearly spilled the piping hot beverage on her tummy. I can leave in a week?! She said excitedly. Her eyebrows bunched. Why did Jehanne whisper that? In case she has forgotten, I don't understand a word that she utters. And not to belabor the point, but Jah can't answer a prayer that wasn't asked in the first place.

Maybe you were not the one that did the praying, Mademoiselle. Guillamette said pointedly at Toastini's slight transgression, her lips held in a tight straight line.

Toastini had the decency to blush. Oh. I suppose you are right. Thank you. She looked down at her mug, suddenly fascinated with the steaming liquid.

Guillemette hid a smile. Jehanne whispered because she was a little overly enthusiastic singing praises during mass last night. She has lost her voice. Guillemette stifled a delighted giggle. She adjusted her bum on the stool and poured herself a cup of tea. As she held the mug up to her lips with both hands, she spoke. You began speaking about your many cousins yesterday. Care to continue with those stories?

Toastini sipped her piping hot tea carefully. Sure. I told you about Porcina and her many, many children. That led me to Aria, her sister. Yet again, dear Guillemette, I cannot recall if Aria and Porcina share the same parents and if not, which side they are related on. It was all recorded in the Kennedy family vault, but the vault was destroyed by a different cousin. That is a story for later. Right now, I will tell you of Aria. Here is a woman that would give the tunic off her own back if you needed it. She has a big heart and loves just as big. I have a personal belief that when you love that hard, your heart can break that much easier. I long to see her settle down with a lad, for I know she would make a wonderful wife and mother. But, don't let her big heart fool you, she is a spitfire just like the rest of the Kennedy's. We have gotten into rows on more than one occasion in the past.

Guillemette raised her eyebrows and leaned in. Oh?

Toastini shot her a sidelong glance, amused with Guillemette's interest in the salacious. She couldn't blame the nun. She WAS a nun. Salacious stories were probably few and far between around these parts. The biggest rock that has been firmly wedged between us is my affiliation with NNGO. She was none too pleased and let me know in the most vocal of manners. Granted, it wasn't without cause. I had needed a moment of solitude, so I sought shelter in the cloisters. During that time, Connie had been seriously wounded while traveling...by NNGO operatives. The attack was not intentional. And it WAS rather foolish for her to travel alone at that time. Ireland, namely Munster, was under much turmoil at the time. Please understand, Guillemette. I was devastated that my sister was hurt. Devastated that it was at the hands of my associates. But the times in which we live...it is dangerous out there. And as mentioned, Connie is a decorated General. She can handle herself well. Usually. Regardless, Aria did not take the news that I was joining the very people who had injured my sister very well. I tried to reason with her, but hard headedness had taken over. We had another row when I came to our cousin Catriona's funeral. She is actually alive, but that too is another story. That was quite the fight. Connie had urged us to keep our voices down. Imagine two hot headed cousins hissing at each other like barn cats while at their other cousin's funeral! Toastini laughed.

Guillemette pursed her lips and gave Toastini a scolding look.

What? She started it! Toastini huffed. You shouldn't make those facial expressions too often. It does nothing for your pretty face.

You think I am pretty? Guillemette asked shyly, peeking out from under her thick lashes.

Toastini started to frown at Guillemette's disbelief, but stopped herself when she remembered where she was. Why did she forget so easily that she was in a convent? Toastini smiled warmly at the young nun. The little I know about your faith, I do understand that humility and modesty is highly regarded. So I am sure you don't receive many compliments from the other Sisters. But yes, I do think you are pretty. Very, actually. I haven't seen hair that light before. It is like wheat that is ready for harvesting.


Guillemette blushed and looked down at her lap, running a hand through a strand of her flaxen locks. My mother was incredibly beautiful. Whenever she went to the docks to greet father or bid him farewell, all the other sailors could barely contain their jealousy and appreciation. My father would pretend to be bothered, but I secretly think he loved it.

Do you look like her? Toastini asked softly.

Guillemette chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated this. I favor her, yes. Same pale hair that is straight as a stick. We have the same eye color, brown as mud. Thin, narrow nose and angular face.

Toastini smiled lopsidedly. She leaned forward and clasped Guillemette's hands in her own. I don't think you are seeing the same things that I am. Your hair is like cornsilk. Your eyes are the color of a dark honey. And your bones would be a sculptors dream. I wish I were an artist, so I could let you see what it is that I see. Toastini leaned back and looked at Guillemette earnestly. Have you ever worn your hair in a plait?

Guillemette shook her head. No. We keep it in the knot at our neck. It is modest and functional.

Toastini glanced to her right at the door. She looked back at Guillemette and cocked her head to the side. She patted the side of her bed. Come sit. I would like to plait your hair. Plaits are also functional...and fairly modest. She sat fully upright and scooted over slightly, allowing more space for Guillemette to sit.

Guillemette put her mug down and perched on the side of Toastini's bed with slight hesitation. She began to release her tresses from the bun at the base of her skull. Nobody has touched my hair since my mother died. Anais, my fathers new wife, had never expressed interest or inclination to take care of anyone else's hair but her own.

Toastini smiled softly and watched as the blond locks cascaded down Guillemette's back. Her hair hung down to her hips. She reached out and combed her fingers through the girls hair. She portioned out three sections of Guillemette's hair and began braiding down her back. She began to hum a tune that she had heard in an Irish tavern years ago. She smiled, lost in the reverie.