Aislin turns back to me, brushing stray wisps of lank blonde hair from her brow. "We should clear out the old straw from the sleeping area, get it ready for when Colm's servants arrive to clean. With any luck, the good man may even provide us fresh meat for the day if he's feeling generous."

I perk up at that tantalizing prospect, my belly rumbling loudly at the thought of actual meat rather than our usual gruel. Aislin's lips quirk in an indulgent smile as she hears the unmistakable sound.

Putting on my most innocent childish demeanor, I ask, "Mama, how much coin does Papa earn each week from working Lord Eamonn's fields?"

Aislin's brow furrows as she ponders the question, fingers absently smoothing the faded fabric of her dress. "Well now...if my reckoning is correct, your father should be paid at least forty-nine coppers for his weekly labor, lamb."

She cocks her head curiously. "But why do you ask such things? What's sparked this sudden interest in our finances, hmm?"

I simply shrug, feigning nonchalance. "No reason, Mama. I was just curious is all."

In truth, I'm rapidly calculating the numbers in my head. If Oisin does indeed earn around seven coppers per day from his backbreaking toil, that means the drunken bastard likely squanders nearly a quarter of our paltry income on his nightly ale and rutting with village whores! The realization makes me seethe inwardly.

Keeping my features carefully blank, I continue my childish line of questioning. "And how much do we get for selling eggs at the market, Mama? One copper for every four, right?"

Aislin nods slowly, eyeing me with a strange look. "Aye, that's the going rate for a quartet of eggs, lamb. But why all these questions about coin? You're acting strange this morning."

I simply blink up at her with wide, guileless eyes, the very picture of childish innocence. But Aislin isn't deterred, stepping closer to peer down at me intently.

"Are you feeling quite yourself, poppet?" she asks, real concern creasing her brow. "Did your father's...discipline last night addle your wits overmuch? You seem not quite right."

I shake my head quickly, wincing as the motion sends a fresh lance of fiery pain across my backside. "No Mama, I'm alright," I assure her. "Just...my bottom still stings something fierce from Papa's strapping."

Aislin's face softens with sympathy as she nods in understanding. "Of course, poor lamb. I'll ask Colm if he has any salves or tinctures to ease your hurts when he arrives."

Her eyes suddenly widen as a thought occurs to her. "Lile...did your father strike you anywhere else last night?" she asks hesitantly. "Are you injured elsewhere that needs tending?"

I quickly shake my head again, careful not to jar my aching rump this time. "No Mama, just my backside is all. Papa only used his belt on me there."

Some of the tension bleeds from Aislin's shoulders as she lets out a relieved breath. "Praise the Lord for small mercies," she murmurs, reaching out to smooth my tangled curls.

Seeming to shake off her momentary disquiet, Aislin straightens and moves toward the sleeping alcove. "Well then, we'd best get this place ready for when Colm's servants arrive to clean. Can't have them seeing us wallow in filth like heathens, after all."

She ducks through the low doorway, reappearing a few moments later with an armful of soiled straw from our pallet. Aislin carries the bundle outside and flings it into the dirt yard before returning to gather up the battered wooden bowls and spoons littering the table.

"Up with you now, Lile," she instructs briskly. "I need to shift this bench so there's room for the cleaning women to work."

I obediently slide off the rough plank, my bare feet slapping the hard-packed dirt as I move aside. Aislin grunts with effort, shoving the heavy bench beneath the table and out of the way. She pauses to catch her breath, hands braced on the pitted wood as she glances around the cramped interior with a weary sigh.

"God willing, this humble home of ours will soon be fit for a lord's eyes once those maids have finished their work," she murmurs, almost to herself.

Curiosity bubbles up inside me again as I recall the Viking's earlier words. "Mama, how much does a bar of lye soap cost at market?" I ask innocently. "Colm mentioned wanting to scour this place properly."

Aislin turns to regard me with a bemused expression. "Why, a good three coppers at least for the smallest sliver, lamb. Soap is a rare luxury we peasants can ill afford."

My eyes widen at that revelation, stunned by the sheer expense of such a basic commodity. Three whole coppers just for a bit of simple lye? No wonder we're perpetually mired in filth if cleanliness carries such an exorbitant price!

But Aislin is already waving a dismissive hand. "Pay it no mind, poppet. I've no doubt the good man Colm will provide whatever's needed to make our home presentable. He did vow to take you as his bride once you've flowered, after all."

I open my mouth to respond, but any reply is forgotten as movement outside catches my eye. There, pushing open the rickety gate, are three figures making their way across our small yard - and leading them is the unmistakable towering form of Colm himself!

The giant Viking strides confidently ahead, his powerful shoulders swaying beneath that fine green tunic. But it's the two young women following in his wake that draw my gaze. One is a pretty blonde lass with hair the color of ripe wheat, while the other is a comely brunette whose long tresses shine like polished chestnuts in the morning light.

Wait...is that a hint of vivid pink I spy amidst the brunette's chestnut locks? I squint, leaning forward slightly as they draw nearer. Yes, there's no mistaking the brilliant streaks of rose threaded through her lustrous mane!

Clearly these are no ordinary peasant girls, but rather women of some means if they can afford such exotic hair adornments. My brow furrows as I study them, wondering just what role they'll play in the cleaning Colm promised.

The morning sun peeks over the horizon, its golden rays filtering through the cracks in our dilapidated hovel. I stand beside Aislin, watching as Colm approaches with two women in tow. One has long, flowing locks of the most vibrant pink I've ever seen - not a hint of brown as I initially thought. Her brows, too, are the same shocking shade of rose. I gape openly, utterly transfixed by this unnatural yet alluring hue.

Aislin greets the pair with a respectful curtsy. "Good morrow, Brianna. Siobhan." She bobs her head deferentially.

The pink-haired woman - Brianna, I now know - wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Aislin Ban, why does this sty reek worse than a piss-trough? Have you not scrubbed or aired the place at all?"

Before Aislin can respond, Colm interjects firmly. "Peace, Brianna. The fault lies not with Aislin alone."

Siobhan, the brunette, sighs heavily. "Oh, I'd wager the fault lies squarely with this one." She sneers at Aislin. "Spreading her legs for that wandering bard all those years ago, only to foist his bastard get upon poor Oisin as his own flesh and blood!"

She jabs an accusing finger at me, and I flinch instinctively. "Just look at the little runt - she's the spitting image of that silver-tongued knave, not our village lout!"

Brianna nods vigorously. "Aye, no wonder the babe sprouted from Aislin's womb so twisted and ill-favored, with the demon's seed burning in her veins!" She levels a contemptuous glare at my mother. "You'd best thank the Blessed Virgin you still draw breath at all, you faithless whore! Most men would've had you stoned for such a grievous sin against their marriage bed."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

White-hot fury lances through me at their vile insinuations. I open my mouth, desperate to hurl back a blistering retort - but Colm beats me to it.

"That's quite enough from the pair of you!" he rumbles, emerald eyes flashing dangerously. "I'll not suffer any more baseless slander against this family." The Viking places one massive hand atop my head in a protective gesture. "Lile bears the unmistakable features of both her parents, foul rumors be damned. There will be no further discussion of her parentage."

Impulsively, I throw my arms around Colm's tree-trunk leg in gratitude, peering up at his imposing visage. "You're a nice mister," I murmur, relieved to have such a powerful ally in this harsh world.

But Brianna is already scowling, reaching down to pry me off with surprising gentleness. "No no, little one - 'tis not proper for a maid to embrace strange men so," she chides. Rounding on Aislin, her expression sours further. "Have you taught the girl no decorum at all? She's to be Colm's bride one day, not some wild thing pawing at his legs!"

Aislin's shoulders slump in resignation. "She's but a babe of four summers, Brianna. Lile does not yet understand the ways of womanhood."

"Well then she'd best start learning through discipline!" Siobhan snaps, hands planted on ample hips. "A few strokes of the strap now will save her from far worse beatings once she's a wife."

"That's quite enough from you ill-bred louts!" Colm's deep voice rings out, quieting them instantly. "I did not bring you here to insult and degrade this family, but to cleanse their home in preparation for Lile's future as my bride. If you've no stomach for simple labor, then take your foul tongues and begone from my sight!"

The two women fall silent, eyes downcast. Brianna is the first to murmur a contrite, "Forgive us, milord. We'll attend to our duties properly."

Siobhan nods, already gathering an armful of scrub brushes and buckets. "Our words were ill-considered. You have our apologies."

As they set to work scouring the cracked mud walls, Colm turns to regard Aislin with a slight smile. "I see you've already begun preparing the sleeping quarters for a proper cleaning," he observes, nodding at the fresh pile of straw outside. "Well done showing such initiative."

Brianna scoffs loudly at that, but Colm ignores her. "Aislin, I'll have a brief word with you and the girl outside, away from these...distractions." His tone makes it clear he'll brook no argument.

Aislin simply nods meekly, grasping my hand in her calloused one. "Come along then, Lile."

I allow her to lead me outside into the small yard, Colm's powerful form looming over us both. For the first time since awakening in this primitive nightmare, a tiny flicker of hope stirs in my breast. Perhaps the Viking can be my salvation from the cruelties of this world after all...

As Aislin and I amble towards the gnarled tree stump near the gate, my mind whirls with the implications of those vile women's cruel insinuations. Could it truly be possible that Aislin was unfaithful and I'm not actually Oisin's spawn? The very notion seems ludicrous - I bear unmistakable resemblance to that drunken bastard, from my lank blonde tresses right down to these unnatural yellow eyes we share.

And yet...a nagging doubt persists. What if the women spoke truly, and Aislin did indeed stray with some wandering bard during her fertile years? Could the man's seed have quickened in her womb to produce me - this twisted, ill-favored creature? The idea that Oisin's drunken rages and beatings aren't even directed at his own flesh and blood is almost too cruel to fathom.

My gaze drifts back towards the hovel, where that pink-haired woman named Brianna moves about inside with her companion. Even from this distance, her vivid rose-colored locks and matching brows are utterly mesmerizing, seeming to glow with an inner luminescence. As if her unnatural hue wasn't bewildering enough, I realize with a start that Brianna's eyes, too, burn with that same shocking pink radiance!

How is such an exotic, inhuman appearance even possible? Peasant folklore speaks of the dreaded formorians - ancient, monstrous beings who once waged war against both man and gods alike. Do Brianna's otherworldly features mark her as some last remnant of that fabled race, hidden in plain sight all these years? Or could she be one of the fabled elf-kind of the old stories, with their wild, fey allure and inscrutable motives?

The more I dwell on these strangers' bizarre attributes, the more baffling questions arise. If Brianna's vibrant, unnatural coloring stems from some preternatural heritage, what does that imply about my own strange physical traits? Are these sickly yellow eyes and sallow, glowing pallor merely my own twisted echoes of her exotic lineage? Oisin and I share the exact same eerie golden irises, after all - could we be obscure scions of the same bloodline as these enigmatic women?

So many mysteries, so many layers of secrets and strangeness lurking beneath the surface of this primitive world. I feel as though I've stumbled into some dark, tangled fairytale overflowing with wonders and terrors far beyond the ken of these brutish peasants. Yet here I am, trapped in the body of their most reviled pariah while forces and beings as ancient as the earth itself seem to be stirring all around me. What fresh madness is this?

Colm clears his throat, the deep rumbling sound instantly commanding attention. His piercing emerald gaze shifts expectantly between Aislin and the gnarled tree stump beside us. Taking the unspoken hint, Aislin moves to perch on the weathered bark with a weary sigh.

"How did your husband...comport himself after I departed last evening?" Colm asks, his tone deceptively mild yet laced with an undercurrent of menace.

Aislin worries her lower lip, seeming to shrink beneath the Viking's imposing stare. At last she murmurs, "He...he used your gift to take me from behind, good sir. And he lashed poor Lile's backside something fierce for her tears."

My breath catches at her blunt admission, heat flooding my cheeks. But Colm simply arches one eyebrow, his expression unreadable.

"Show me the damage, then," he rumbles.

Aislin bobs her head meekly before turning to me. "Lile, turn and lift your skirts for the healer, lamb. He must see what your father's wrath has wrought."

I swallow hard but obey, pivoting to present my back while gathering my tattered hem up over my thighs. The morning breeze raises goosebumps across my exposed flesh as I feel Colm's smoldering gaze raking over the fresh welts and bruises.

"Unconscionable," he growls at last, the single word seeming to vibrate the very air around us. "I did not foresee such...unrestrained savagery from that brute."

Aislin flinches, quickly tugging my dress back into place before clasping her hands pleadingly. "Please good sir, I beg you do not provoke Oisin's temper further! He will only vent his rage upon Lile and myself tenfold."

Tears glisten in the corners of her sunken eyes as she continues. "Take the child as your ward, I implore you! Marry her before her first flowering if you must, or make her your apprentice. But Lile cannot remain in that monster's clutches a moment longer. I fear for her very life!"

Colm's striking features soften somewhat as he regards Aislin's anguished plea. At last he shakes his head slowly.

"You have my deepest sympathies, Aislin Ban. Gladly would I whisk your daughter to safety from such depravity." His emerald eyes blaze with an inner fire. "Yet I dare not risk my own life and mission over one scrawny peasant get, no matter how ill-used. My path is too vital to divert over a single child's plight."

I open my mouth to protest, outraged by his callous dismissal. But Colm is already turning that piercing stare upon me once more.

"You may let your skirts fall now, little one. I've seen enough of your father's brutality for the nonce."

Snapping my jaw shut, I quickly comply, tugging the hem back down over my stinging thighs and calves. Colm nods curtly before addressing Aislin again.

"We shall continue this discussion in private at my cottage. I've more matters of import to discuss with you regarding the girl's future welfare."

Aislin blinks, seeming taken aback. Her gaze darts toward the hovel's entrance, where Brianna and Siobhan's muffled voices drift out amidst the clatter of scrub brushes on cracked mud.

"B-but what of my home, good sir?" she stammers. "If those women pilfer from Oisin's strongbox while we're away, he'll surely put me to the strap again upon his return!"

A cruel chuckle rumbles from Colm's broad chest. "Have no fear on that account. Even were they to plunder every last coin and trinket, I shall provide you three silver pieces today - far surpassing whatever paltry sum that drunken lout hoards in his pitiful excuse for a coffer."

Aislin's eyes widen at this astonishing pronouncement. She opens her mouth, then closes it again as a heavy sigh gusts from her lips.

"As...as you say, milord," she murmurs at last.

Colm nods, seemingly satisfied. "Besides, those ill-bred louts know better than to cross me," he adds with a derisive snort. "One whisper to their loutish husbands of their thievery, and they'll be beaten bloody from here to the Otherworld."

I can't help but giggle at the mental image, earning a sidelong glance and faint smile from the Viking. Reaching out, he pats my matted curls in an almost paternal gesture.

"Up with you now, Aislin," Colm rumbles. "We've matters of import to discuss away from prying eyes and ears."

With that, he turns and strides away down the hard-packed dirt path leading through the village. Aislin rises stiffly from the stump, shooting me a meaningful look before following in his wake. I trail behind, glancing over my shoulder at the hovel's entrance as we depart. The rhythmic scrape of brushes on mud continues unabated within.

Where is this brute taking us? And why does he dwell in the forest rather than the village like a civilized man? Curiosity burns within me as we leave the familiar hovels behind, our path winding deeper into the looming tree line.

The dirt path winds through the dense forest, the ground paved with smooth stones and pebbles crunching beneath our bare feet. Towering oak and pine trees loom overhead, their branches filtering the early morning sunlight into a verdant, almost gloomy ambiance. Yet there's an undeniable beauty to these ancient woods, the earthy scents of moss and decaying leaves filling my nostrils as I take in the vibrant greenery all around.[...]