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wanting to inconvenience her.
    “No he was not. But it was no thanks to you. I gave the dog some burned porridge and he seemed happy enough to get it. But a big dog like that, he is needing more to eat than burned porridge.”
    “Well, he should be hunting for it, then.”
    “It was hunting he was, Muirteach. He was hunting my cheeses, and then my chickens, the big shaggy oaf that he is.”
    My dog was not fierce, in fact Uncle Gillespic had given him to me in disgust when it became apparent that the big gray deerhound was a pathetic hunter. I had named him Somerled, after the illustrious founder of Clan Donald, but this Somerled much preferred lounging by my fire and scrounging scraps from Aorig to any feats of valor. The bulk of him was warming in the hut, and he was company, of sorts, and never complained about my housekeeping. Aorig had described my dog very well.
    “Oh, and I was not telling you Muirteach; I have not seen you. Your uncle came by the day they found your father. It was after you were gone to Islay, that he came.”
    “What was he wanting?”
    Aorig shrugged. “I am not knowing for sure. But he was asking me where you were that night your father died. When I told them I had seen you in your house that night the worse for drink, and I had heard your snoring later, your uncle seemed aye happy, and was saying something about good finally coming out of your drinking. What was he meaning by that?”
    So Gillespic had even suspected me. The thought stung like a nettle weal. Although it hurt to think he had suspected me, grudgingly I admitted to myself that perhaps it had been canny of my uncle to make sure I had indeed been at home all that night. I had, after all, had little enough good to say of my father in the past few years.
    Just at this point Somerled choose to sound the alarm as one of Aorig’s chickens came round the corner, and in the general mayhem that ensued Seamus and I made our escape into my house. We were followed shortly by Somerled who limped in, whining, and settled by the fire, licking his hind leg. Aorig had clouted him, but saved her chicken.
    I had just started the fire against the evening chill, and was preparing to tell Seamus of my day, when his mother’s white-coifed head poked around the leather flap that served as my doorway.
    “Muirteach, there is a woman here looking for you. It is that daughter of the physician, I am thinking. I will be sending her in to you. And Seamus, I am needing you to go fetch the cattle back. And then we will be eating. If you want to join us, Muirteach, you will be welcome. But do not be bringing that dog of yours over at all.”
    I stood up quickly, oversetting the bucket of water, swore, and turned around, embarrassed by the mess of the hovel I called my house. Mariota stood in the doorway, her forehead wrinkling as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
    “I was just coming back from Sheena’s,” she said somewhat apologetically, “and thought to stop and tell you what I found.”
    Her delicate nose wrinkled as she sniffed at the smoky air, which mingled aromatically with the dunghill out back. My fire always smoked, and the thatch, although filled with leaks when it rained, made a fine enough barrier to prevent the smoke escaping.
    “May I sit down?” she asked, and I hastily found the three-legged stool, dumped the cloak and dirty bowl that had been sitting on it on the bed, dusted it off and placed it by the fire.
    “Here,” I said. “I am sorry. I am not used to having women here.”
    “Fine I can see that,” she returned.
    “I was just returning from the Priory. Would you be wanting some drink? I’ve no food to offer you.”
    “I am not surprised by that,” Mariota said tartly, but, to my surprise, she accepted some uisgebeatha , after I had found a cup and wiped it out, and settled herself on the stool, gathering her skirts somewhat carefully around her. Somerled roused himself from his place by the hearth to come and lay his