rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Do not mock me, child,” Peigi said without even looking at Jeanette. “You are a strong lass, and that needs a strong lad if you are to have any respect for each other. You are a strong lad, are you not, Malcolm MacKenzie?”
“I will be, as soon as this arm is healed,” he said.
Peigi stared into his eyes so long, he became uncomfortable, but he could not seem to look away from the woman.
“I think you are stronger than you ken, even now, laddy,” she said, bobbing her head as if she was pleased with what she saw. Without another word, she left them, calling orders as she went for everyone to begin the meal.
Malcolm made sure to guide Jeanette to a spot where the bench would fit at the end of one table, then he slid in beside her, sitting close enough that their hips touched.
“You need not sit quite so close, you ken?” Jeanette said to him, but she did not move away.
“Aye, normally that would be true, but seats are scarce and we must make room for as many as possible to enjoy this hot meal.”
“Um hm,” she said, ladling a savory stew that made his stomach growl into the wooden bowl that had appeared before them. “It looks like we shall have to share this bowl, as well as the bench,” she said, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
“I suppose we shall,” Malcolm said, smiling back at her, pleased at her gentle teasing. He passed along a basket filled with horn spoons, and another with still-warm bannocks. Soon the crowd grew quiet, with only the occasional murmur of appreciative words and sounds for the meal.
After the stew had been passed around a second time and the bannocks were gone, Rowan stood up from her place near the head of the other table, her auburn hair glinting like copper in the light of the setting sun.
“I speak for all when I say this meal is a great gift to us. Our thanks to Peigi, Aileas, and Teasag”—she nodded at the three old ladies—“and their army of helpers”—she nodded at the weans who had settled on a plaid spread on the ground for their meal—“for bringing it to us.”
Fists banged on the tables in agreement, joining voices shouting the names of their benefactors.
Peigi rose from where she sat at the far end of the table from Rowan along with the other two and raised her hand for silence. Eventually she succeeded in gaining enough quiet to be heard.
“Each does what he or she can. This was our gift to the clan this day in the hopes of sending everyone off with a full belly this night. Safe journey to us all!” She raised her small wooden cup in a toast, then drained it like she was a warrior.
Cheers went up and Peigi blinked her eyes, her cheeks suddenly pink. Malcolm leaned in to Jeanette and whispered into her ear. “That one must have gotten into lots of trouble when she was a lass.”
Jeanette leaned into his shoulder, ever so slightly, and he took that as a good sign.
“Aye. The stories of those three are legend in the clan.” Her voice was wistful.
“And you thought to be a legend in the clan, too?”
She chuckled. “I suppose, but not in the same way.” The humor drained from her face, leaving her once more deeply thoughtful. “I thought I would be the next . . .”—she leaned away from him then and looked across the tables at her cousin Rowan—“. . . wife of the chief.”
He was certain she had been about to say something different but whatever it was, she kept it to herself. An unexpected stab of jealousy curled in his belly as he realized that would mean she, not Rowan, would have been Nicholas’s wife. Did the lass love him? He glanced at Jeanette but did not see a lovelorn lass there. Indeed, if anything, she looked sad, the lovely smile he had seen earlier now replaced by lowered brows and a tightness about her pale blue eyes.
“So Peigi was notorious in her younger days?” he asked, hoping to pull her back out of her dark thoughts. He might not be able to lift
“Do not mock me, child,” Peigi said without even looking at Jeanette. “You are a strong lass, and that needs a strong lad if you are to have any respect for each other. You are a strong lad, are you not, Malcolm MacKenzie?”
“I will be, as soon as this arm is healed,” he said.
Peigi stared into his eyes so long, he became uncomfortable, but he could not seem to look away from the woman.
“I think you are stronger than you ken, even now, laddy,” she said, bobbing her head as if she was pleased with what she saw. Without another word, she left them, calling orders as she went for everyone to begin the meal.
Malcolm made sure to guide Jeanette to a spot where the bench would fit at the end of one table, then he slid in beside her, sitting close enough that their hips touched.
“You need not sit quite so close, you ken?” Jeanette said to him, but she did not move away.
“Aye, normally that would be true, but seats are scarce and we must make room for as many as possible to enjoy this hot meal.”
“Um hm,” she said, ladling a savory stew that made his stomach growl into the wooden bowl that had appeared before them. “It looks like we shall have to share this bowl, as well as the bench,” she said, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
“I suppose we shall,” Malcolm said, smiling back at her, pleased at her gentle teasing. He passed along a basket filled with horn spoons, and another with still-warm bannocks. Soon the crowd grew quiet, with only the occasional murmur of appreciative words and sounds for the meal.
After the stew had been passed around a second time and the bannocks were gone, Rowan stood up from her place near the head of the other table, her auburn hair glinting like copper in the light of the setting sun.
“I speak for all when I say this meal is a great gift to us. Our thanks to Peigi, Aileas, and Teasag”—she nodded at the three old ladies—“and their army of helpers”—she nodded at the weans who had settled on a plaid spread on the ground for their meal—“for bringing it to us.”
Fists banged on the tables in agreement, joining voices shouting the names of their benefactors.
Peigi rose from where she sat at the far end of the table from Rowan along with the other two and raised her hand for silence. Eventually she succeeded in gaining enough quiet to be heard.
“Each does what he or she can. This was our gift to the clan this day in the hopes of sending everyone off with a full belly this night. Safe journey to us all!” She raised her small wooden cup in a toast, then drained it like she was a warrior.
Cheers went up and Peigi blinked her eyes, her cheeks suddenly pink. Malcolm leaned in to Jeanette and whispered into her ear. “That one must have gotten into lots of trouble when she was a lass.”
Jeanette leaned into his shoulder, ever so slightly, and he took that as a good sign.
“Aye. The stories of those three are legend in the clan.” Her voice was wistful.
“And you thought to be a legend in the clan, too?”
She chuckled. “I suppose, but not in the same way.” The humor drained from her face, leaving her once more deeply thoughtful. “I thought I would be the next . . .”—she leaned away from him then and looked across the tables at her cousin Rowan—“. . . wife of the chief.”
He was certain she had been about to say something different but whatever it was, she kept it to herself. An unexpected stab of jealousy curled in his belly as he realized that would mean she, not Rowan, would have been Nicholas’s wife. Did the lass love him? He glanced at Jeanette but did not see a lovelorn lass there. Indeed, if anything, she looked sad, the lovely smile he had seen earlier now replaced by lowered brows and a tightness about her pale blue eyes.
“So Peigi was notorious in her younger days?” he asked, hoping to pull her back out of her dark thoughts. He might not be able to lift
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