Another "Heartland Tale", with a nod to "Heartland" creator and Literotica author Trisha Monks for her inspiration and indulgence. Follow the link on my Favorites page to see her work.
This is a standalone story though and may be read without the context of other "Heartland Tales" stories.
*****
"Be careful going home," called Hannah out the door of her cottage through the lightly drifting snow. "It's growing dark already, and the cold will come upon you quicker than the wolves."
"Aye," responded the man over his shoulder. "Thanks again. The wife will appreciate this draught more'n you know, and so will I."
Kerl's wife had a nasty cough that was keeping them both up at night. It was nothing that a simple tincture of horehound and coltsfoot added to honey then added to her tea wouldn't fix in no time though. Any decent witch could have made it, but Hannah was the only witch in this part of the Cathalian wilderness.
It was a dubious honor at best. The country folk loved her and feared her in equal measure, and the noble folk ignored her completely unless they were in real trouble. Then they came to her with gold and demands. Witches don't like demands. Demands suggest that there are no options, and witches don't like limits on their freedom.
Hannah often found herself having to explain the moving parts of the word "no" to people who had more money than sense. It was her prerogative after all. One does not use magick for disharmonious purposes and expect to live long. Hannah was well into her fourth decade and planned to live a lot longer than that, so she was careful to stay on good terms with the powers that be.
Still there had been sacrifices over the years. She had never had a husband or children. When you're married to the land and mother to everyone on it, it's hard to share your life with one man and only his children. Sometimes she ached inside for that fulfillment, but her station was worth the price. That's not to say that she was a stranger to carnal knowledge, far from it. There just wasn't enough room in her life for the commitment of family.
Yes, there had been sacrifices. Hannah's brown hair was shot through prematurely with wide ribbons of silver that followed its full length down past her feet. She most often wore it in a winding braid, but even then it glistened silver in the light. Her arms and legs were muscular and her hands were rough from woodland work instead of dainty like a court lady's. She had also lost an eye to a particularly demanding spell once upon a time. The patch she wore gave her a roguish look despite her otherwise feminine face.
There were also significant benefits to knowing your way around herbs and nutrition though. Despite a life of labor and spiritual exertion, Hannah was in excellent health and of surpassing beauty. Her shape was goddess-like, almost exaggeratedly feminine, and her hair and skin fairly glowed.
Yes
, she thought for the ten thousandth time,
I would have made a fine wife and mother, voluptuous and strong. I make a finer witch though, and that's where the greater need lies.
It was just hard sometimes when she had to deal with happy couples, like Kerl trying to take good care of his ailing wife.
As the light faded and the temperature dropped, Hannah stoked up the fire. She had just settled onto a stool in front of the warm blaze with a mortar, pestle, and some ingredients for a salve when a desperate pounding came at the door.
Hannah carefully set her things aside and out of the way of any windblast from the door and stood up wondering.
Now is not a time for visitors,
she thought.
That means something is wrong.
She approached the door warily and caught up her witch's broom on the way.
"Who's there?" she called and pressed her forehead to the cold banded oak of the door. Hazily an image formed in her head of a bundled figure shivering on the front stoop. She widened her vision a little and verified that whoever it was, was in fact alone.
"Please, I need shelter!" came the cry from the other side.
From the looks and sound of the visitor, Hannah reckoned it to be a woman or a boy. She put her broom between her body and the stranger and carefully opened the door. In truth it was a young man.
"P-p-please m'lady. I almost f-f-frozen through, may I come in?"
"Enter, but stamp the snow off your boots before you do," Hannah said quickly and moved aside. She still kept her broom between them though. "You are not known to me, but you are welcome to shelter, food, and warmth."
The hospitality spell was ancient, and even if the stranger meant her harm, it offered some measure of protection. Few could bring themselves to violate it, but this lad was no danger to her. She could see his thoughts form in the ether just above and in front of his head as he stamped the snow off quickly and darted inside. Nothing in his thoughts showed anything but gratitude and relief.
"Thank you m'lady, thank you," he kept repeating as he danced in place and clapped his arms around his body in an attempt to warm up. "It's colder than a witch's teat in an iron sling out there."
"I beg your pardon!"
The young man froze in mid-shiver and mumbled, "Sorry m'lady, an army expression that's all. I meant -- oh cripes!" He stopped and paled as his surroundings dawned on him. All at once he took in the cauldrons hanging on hooks all about the room, the jars and bundles of herbs and other ingredients on every shelf and doorjamb, the broom, and most assuredly the imposing one-eyed woman glaring at him from behind it.
"Oh dear -- oh -- oh cripes. Please don't hurt me."
"Hush and mind your manners then," Hannah said, shaking her broom at him, which made the lad flinch. The space above his head was lit up with fear now.
"I-," he began.
"
Hush,
" repeated Hannah. "First you warm up; then you eat;
then
we talk. You are a guest, and your comfort comes first."
She turned and retrieved a heavy woolen blanket from a chest to one side of the hearth. Tossing it to the lad, she said, "You get out of those wet clothes and wrap up in this. I'll get you some broth and bread."
Hannah turned back to the fire and ladled hot broth from the hanging pot there into a large bowl. Then taking a hunk of bread from the larder, she turned back to the lad and pointed with her broom to the stool near the fire.
"Sit. Eat."
The blanket-wrapped young man quickly obeyed and gratefully accepted the proffered meal. Shortly, the food was consumed and his clothes and boots hung by the side of the hearth to dry. Hannah put away her mortar, pestle, and ingredients and turned to regard the lad.
"Are you warm enough?"
