Sàmhach, the Silent One
Copyright© 2026 by CaptainPig
Chapter 3
Glossary
Tàmhas (Thomas)
Claidheamh beag (KLAY-ev bak, the smallsword)
Claidheamh leathann (Klay-ev leh-han, the basket hilt broadsword, also sometimes called a claidheamh mór Klay-ev mor. Leave it to we Scots to call two different weapons by the same name. The two handed great sword is also called a claidheamh mór.)
Wurfmesser (VERF-mes-ur, throwing knives)
Íslenska (EES-len-ska, the name for both the Icelandic people and their language)
Màistir Feansa ( MAS-tair FEN-sa, a fencing master, one who instructs in fencing)
Lìog feansa (LEE-awk FEN-sa, fencing league)
Talla-armachd (Tah-luh Ar-muhk, fencing school)
Cathraiche (KA-rix-eh, Chairman)
Seumas (SHA-mus, English James)
Mo ghràdh (mo-Grah, my love)
November 2025
Sorcha cleared the table quickly and efficiently, long practice evident in her smooth speed, with no wasted effort. With all of the dishes, cutlery and linens moved into the bins and baskets on the serving cart, she carefully wiped the table, first with a wet cloth, then again with a dry one.
With a practiced flick, she laid a new linen cloth on the table and smoothed it into place. With the sort of proficiency that only comes with experience, she laid out fresh linen napkins, plates, bowls and tableware. She had the table cleared, cleaned and ready for the next diners in less than two minutes from start to finish.
She rolled the cart through the door into the scullery and unloaded the bins of dirty dishes onto the counter beside the sinks for the dishwashers to deal with, then emptied the baskets of soiled linens into the large canvas bins waiting for the laundry to pick them up.
Glancing at the clock, she rolled the cart into line against the wall with several others and untied her apron and added it to the appropriate laundry bin. She went to the the time clock and punched her time card, ending her shift.
Sorcha went into the employee break room and unlocked her locker. Removing it from its hook, she swung her belt around her waist and tied it into place, making sure that her pouch and sgian were settled into exactly the right places. She briefly checked to be sure that her sgian was secure in its sheath but would draw easily. She took her cloak from its hanger and slipped it around her shoulders, then lifted her fur cap from the shelf and put it on her head. Closing and locking her locker, she made her way to the back door of the restaurant. Another day of work was over.
Although it was only early afternoon, the day was clouded and gloomy. Spits of sleet were falling in the chill wind and a thin dusting of snow already covered the street. Sorcha raised her hood and stepped out into the storm.
She quickly walked the five blocks to the creche to retrieve her son, Sàmhach. Letting herself into the hallway, she wiped her boots on the mat and lowered her hood.
Stepping into the room where a dozen children were happily playing a clapping game under the supervision of one of the attendants, Sorcha had eyes only for her son.
Although Sàmhach was only three years old, he already stood a head taller than children a year older. His body was stocky, with wide shoulders tapering to a tight waist. His arms and legs showed smooth, well defined muscles, much larger and more developed than one would expect to see on a three year old child.
His skin was a smooth brown, his scalp hairless and he had no eyebrows. His brilliant green eyes with their distinctive golden pupils lit up as he greeted his mother with a broad smile.
“Was he a good boy today?” Sorcha asked the attendant.
“As always,” she replied. “There wasn’t any trouble with any of the other children today, and Sàmhach behaved himself well.”
Sàmhach got up and hurried over to his mother, throwing his arms around her waist and giving her a hug.
Laughing, she said, “Ugh. Not so tight, boy. You’re too strong to be squeezing your poor old mother like that.”
Wrapping Sàmhach in his cloak and pulling his knit cap down over his ears, Sorcha readied him to walk the three blocks to their rooming house. Stepping out into the worsening storm and pulling their cloaks tightly around them, they hurried home.
That evening, when Sorcha and Sàmhach came down to dinner, a new boarder was seated at the table. He stood as they entered and Mrs. Campbell, the landlady, introduced them.
“Sorcha NicAngus, be known to Tàmhas MacSorley, a new roomer. Tàmhas, this is Sorcha’s son, Sàmhach MacSorcha.”
“Sàmhach, ‘the Silent One’?” Tàmhas asked.
“He was born mute,” Sorcha replied.
“He’s a fine looking boy, even if those eyes are a bit unusual,” Tàmhas said. “How old is he?”
“He’s three,” Sorcha responded.
Sorcha and Tàmhas became friends, often lingering after dinner to chat.
After a few weeks had passed, when Sorcha had a day off from the restaurant, Tàmhas invited her to have dinner with him. Mrs Campbell was happy to watch Sàmhach while the two of them had some time to themselves to begin getting to know each other.
Sorcha told Tàmhas about being made pregnant by the Dragon and her expulsion from Clan McKerr. Tàmhas told Sorcha how he made his living playing cards on the riverboats and in the card clubs and gambling and fencing at various fairs and Games. He too, he said, had been expelled from his clan.
This became their routine throughout the winter months. As spring approached, Sorcha surprised herself when she accepted Tàmhas’ invitation to join him in bed. From then on, she spent most nights with him.