by Jane Stain
No one here could possibly understand what it would mean for her to be aiming her elbow subtly and casually at things and pausing for a second, right? But Tavish acted so worried about it that his paranoia was rubbing off on her. Add to that her keen awareness that she was dependent on him to get home, and now her body was once again urging her to run somewhere, blood pumping and heart racing.
“Let’s go to dinner,” he said, getting up and giving her a hand to help her up.
“All right,” she agreed, taking his hand.
But when she got up, she was trembling, and she clung to his hand in real need of support for a few seconds longer.
His support was unhesitating, firm, and sure. He patiently stood there waiting for her to steady herself.
Before she realized it, she was looking up into his eyes, searching for reassurance.
And it was there, right there on his face: loyalty, devotion even—the promise that he would never leave her behind—
“Och, there ye are, Tavish. Laird Malcomb sent me oot after ye, says ye best come quick if ye want tae gae tae Bangor with us on the morrow.”
Seumas bent over a bit and put his hands on his knees, gulping air.
“Aye?” said Tavish. “Well then, see gin ye can keep up wi us.”
He kept hold of her hand and started running in the direction where Seumas had come from, laughing the whole way. She knew he wasn’t running his fastest, because she kept up with him easily. At first.
But when Seumas passed him, Tavish dropped her hand and tossed her leather backpack to her, then went running to try and catch up to Seumas, but he didn’t. Panting a bit, the two men stopped at the castle town gate and turned to look at her.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she assured them as she walked more sedately, with the pack on her back, because she was approaching the castle and didn’t want to trip over her long skirts where anyone could see. Her slow approach allowed her to appreciate the beauty of the sunset behind them, off the cliff and over the sparkling sea next to Ireland.
They both offered their arms to her, and she took both, so that the three of them were walking through the town in a linked chain with her in the middle.
“Another merchant ship wanting a guard tae Bangor?” said Tavish.
“Aye, and no juist any merchant ship, but Donnell’s again.”
Kelsey pulled on both of their arms in order to get them to quit talking over her head. “Sae ye hae guarded merchant ships?”
“Sure, thon is most of the work we dae here,” Tavish told her.
“Well, whit dae ye guard from, pirates?”
She’d been grinning a silly grin because she’d said that in fun, but Tavish and Seumas turned serious faces to her. This time it was Seumas who spoke.
“Aye, there are pirates aboot betimes. ‘Tis no a laughing matter, lass.”
She smirked at him.
“Nay, that canna be true.”
“Aye, lass, it is.”
Kelsey looked to Tavish for an admission that they were having fun with her, pulling her leg. What she saw in his eyes surprised her. He was serious. But more than that, he looked worried again. And determined.
“They’ve never yet gotten the best of us, mostly because we know what we’re doing. Donnell runs a tight ship, aye Seumas?”
The red haired giant pursed his lips and nodded yes to Kelsey.
“Aye, that he does, indeed. We hae only been boarded twice, and both times we killed every one of those sorry MacDonalds. The world would be a far better place if they would all die out, ye ken. Why, we ought tae…”
What? Kelsey put a hand up in front of Seumas’s face and waved it to get his attention.
“Wait a minute. Ye mean tae tell me the pirates are other Scots?”
Seumas and Tavish exchanged a look over her head.
For a moment, it was all she could do not to stomp on their feet, but she forced herself to be polite. Only because she was walking through a medieval town—in a backward time when women had to be even more careful than in the twenty first century.
This brought them to the oak plank door of the aboveground castle that in her time had been long destroyed, only lines of different colored stone in the ground, not even sticking up an inch above the wild grass. The castle was huge.
Seumas dropped her arm to hold the door, and Tavish put his hand on her lower back and escorted her inside.
The three of them entered directly into a huge dining hall with vaulted ceilings complete with iron candelabras hanging from the eaves. A hundred planked wooden tables stood in three large concentric squares, and the head table where Laird Malcomb sat with his lady and his sons was on the far side of the room.
Laird Malcomb saw them.
“Ah, there ye are, Tavish. Dae come sup at my table, and bring yer lovely clanswoman.”
Tavish raised his other arm in greeting and then left his hand on her lower back the whole way across the great hall. His casual touch was reassuring. There were many single men in the room, judging by the lack of women by their sides, and she could imagine them all leering at her. Instead, they were measuring up Tavish.
Oh, there was Eileen across the room, sitting with a very handsome blond man who wasn’t Fergus. Kelsey waited until she looked up, and then waved a little. When Eileen smiled at her, she gave the weaver a thumbs up. At the last second, she worried a bit. Would a thumbs up send the same message now as it did in her time?
But yeah. Whew, Eileen smiled back and raised her eyebrows a little before turning back to her handsome dinner partner.
Seumas must’ve seen Kelsey wave, because he spoke to her then while he gave the couple his own wave, which was much more enthusiastic than hers.
“Aha. The bonnie weaver ye are apprenticed tae is eating with my brother Alfred.”
Alfred raised his cup in a toast to Seumas then, with a smile and a wink that Kelsey figured must be about some in-joke between them.
Tavish took her on across the dining hall, and when they drew near the head table, Laird Malcomb gestured at three seats down the head table from him. Some servants pulled out velvet upholstered chairs for them as he talked.
Tavish steered Kelsey into the chair closest to Lord Malcomb and sat down between her and Seumas. He rested his arm on the top of her chair, and she was acutely aware of how near he was, without quite touching her.
A woman sat at Kelsey’s other hand, clearly the wife or relative of the man next to her, because their plaids matched.
But Laird Malcomb was addressing her.
“It is well thon we hae all met ye, Kelsey MacGregor.”
She nodded her head at him.
“I thank ye, Laird Malcomb.”
The laird turned his eyes.
“Tavish.”
“Aye, Laird?”
“On the morn, ye are tae join Seumas’s crew agin aboard Donnell’s ship doon in Port Patrick, for tae sail ower Bangor way.”
Tavish bowed his head the slightest.
“Aye, Laird. I wish tae bring Kelsey along, Laird.”
At the mention of her going along with Tavish and Seumas to Ireland and not being left behind here, Kelsey relaxed from a stiffness she hadn’t realized was in her body. Her head nudged Tavish’s arm, and it dropped down and wrapped around her shoulders, making her whole body hum with the thrill of his touch.
Laird Malcomb fixed his stern eyes on her.
“Is there some aught your clanswoman can add tae the trip, Tavish?”
“Aye, Laird, there is. Kelsey can dae sums.”
There was a general tittering. The woman next to Kelsey looked at her with interest.
Laird Malcomb raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the theatrical aspect of this announcement.
“Can she, now?”
Kelsey stood up, feeling Tavish’s arm ever so slowly release her, then linger on her hand and give a reassuring squeeze.
“Aye, Laird Malcomb. If I can hae some aught to write on, I’ll then show ye.”
<
br /> Laird Malcomb turned to some servants.
“There, lad, bring us the writing desk from my study.”
A boy of about ten rushed off out the door.
Kelsey squeezed Tavish’s hand back, then let go and made her way up to the head of the table and stood behind Laird Malcomb, waiting.
The laird continued speaking, loudly enough so that everyone at their table could hear, and he continued to speak to Tavish about Kelsey, even though she was standing right next to him.
“How can the MacGregors afford tae teach a woman her sums, then?”
Tavish laughed.
“She’s very clever, Laird Malcomb. She taught herself by watching. None of us fashit. Quite handy it is, having another soul aboot who can run the numbers.”
Tavish winked at her.
She just shrugged with an odd little grin on her face, unsure if it was nerves or smugness, and trying not to gush in front of all these people at how proud he looked of her. She happened to glance over at Eileen right then, and the weaver shook her head with a big smile on her face before turning back to converse with Alfred. Okay, smugness it was. May as well have fun with this. It would be much easier than the demonstrations her professors had assigned. Piece of cake.
Meanwhile, the boy ran in with the writing desk, looking all around for someplace to set it down.
Laird Malcomb got up and walked over to a side table.
“Set it up here, lad.”
He stood aside and watched the boy set down and open a large worn wooden box on top of the table so that it resembled one of those old-fashioned desks with the shelves in front. It was obviously old, but it was also lovingly used—well oiled, without any signs of splintering, drying out, or rot. Inside were folded pieces of what must’ve been vellum, as well as several quills and an inkwell.
But what caught Kelsey’s eye were the decorations on the outside of the writing desk. The Celtic runes were lovely of course, but even more alarmingly, they declared it the property of the king of Alba. There was more, but she could no longer see it now that the writing desk was open. The inside was just as well cared for, but sadly free of runes.
“There we are, my dear. Now dae come sit doon and shew us.”
Kelsey tore her eyes away from the desk just in time to see the laird gesture at the chair someone had kindly pulled over, and all she could do was hope she hadn’t missed a beat as she sat down, opened the inkwell, and dipped one of the quills in it.
Laird Malcomb’s hand hovered near hers the whole time she handled the quill.
But these quills were simple, compared with the fancy art ones she had used in her studies. She looked up at him expectantly.
The laird cleared his throat.
“Verra well. Let us try this sum.”
Kelsey pulled out one of the sheets of vellum. It was a rougher piece of deer hide than those she’d used at university, but just as fine and pliable, while at the same time sturdy. She poised the quill over the top of the vellum and turned to look at the laird.
He posed dramatically for a moment as The Thinker, with his fist to his forehead, and everyone in the hall laughed. He smiled—probably at the pleasure of all their attention—and then boomed out in a voice big enough to reach the farthest corner, pacing with a sway of his great kilt as he spoke, quite the orator.
“A laird went tae battle with a hundrit men. Half o them were marrit, and their wives did come along, tae cook for the men, an tae stitch up their wounds. Along the way, first five men joinit them, and then six more, and then seven more beside, half o all these with their wives. Well enough, how many mouths did the laird have tae feed?”
Kelsey felt the laird bending over her shoulder as she did the math. She glanced over at the laird’s wife and wrinkled her brow in apology, and then went back to work.
“He had one hundred and seventy seven mouths tae feed, Laird Malcomb.”
He bent down to check her math, and she scooted her chair back, again looking over at his lady. This time she ventured a smile at the woman.
The woman nodded, and Kelsey breathed easier.
“Verra good,” said Laird Malcomb, “I am impressit.”
Kelsey started to get up. Everyone else was eating and drinking, and she saw that there was food on her plate. Roasted duck, if her nose was right.
“But stay a while. This is the only show we hae this evening, sae let us see if yer ability with numbers goes beyond sums, an if sae, how far.”
Kelsey only dared look at her plate a moment more, where Tavish gave her a soft look of encouragement, and then she scooted back up to the desk, inked the quill once more, and poised it over the vellum.
Laird Malcomb paced while he spoke.
“Two thirds o the laird’s men were woundit in battle. O the wounded, ivery tenth died. In addition, a fever overtook the camp at night on the way back tae their castle an took ivery fifth person remaining. How many returnit tae the castle?”
Kelsey paused with her quill over the vellum.
“That depends, Laird Malcomb.”
“Aye?”
“Aye, Laird Malcomb.”
“Upon what, my dear?”
“The eighteen men and nine wives who joinit the laird along the way, did they who survivit among them gae back tae their homes, or did they gae tae the castle? I’m thinking they went back tae their homes, because they really wouldn’t be returning tae the castle, now would they?”
Laird Malcomb threw his head back and laughed.
“Tavish, ye hae the right of it. Your clan’s Kelsey is far too clever.”
“Begging yer pardon, Laird Malcomb,” said Seumas, standing behind his empty plate at the table and wiping his mouth with a large linen napkin, “but should na we give her some merchant items tae sum? After all, while these battle sums are entertaining, it is hoped that she will only need tae dae merchant sums in Bangor on the morrow.”
Still chuckling, Laird Malcomb held his palm out toward Seumas.
“Nay, my guid man. Sums are the least o what she just did. She has the gift o knowing when someone is leading another astray, as I tryit tae dae with the men who joinit the laird along the way tae battle.” He looked over at a man at the table. “She has a good head for business, Donnell. She will be a good asset for ye in Ireland upon the morrow.” And then to Kelsey, he said, “Gae on and eat yer food now, lass. Ye’ve earned it.”
“I thank ye, Laird.”
Kelsey hurried over to her seat to do as she’d been told.
Tavish and Seumas both stood when she got there, but a servant pulled out her chair and seated her.
Still standing, Tavish patted her on the shoulder.
“Please stay here. I’ll be back straight away.”
“All right.”
The spot where he had tapped her shoulder still glowed with his warmth all the while Seumas made small talk in Tavish’s absence. She did her best to keep up with it and be polite while she ate.
“I truly admire yer cleverness, Kelsey. I couldna hae done those sums better myself. But ye are not only clever. Ye make a fine figure of a woman as well.”
“Why thank ye, Seumas. I admired the way ye gave Tavish a run for his money earlier.”
“It was a good race, was na it?”
“Aye, verra close, but you did come oot the victor.”
The big red-haired man was quiet for a moment, and Kelsey thought the conversation was over, but then he continued it, and she kept being polite.
“I have na seen the MacGregor holdings, but dare I say ye could hae as good a life here, in Laird Malcomb’s Castle.”
She appreciatively took in the grand hall in its present well-maintained state, all the wood polished, all the stonework scrubbed, and fresh candles everywhere, their smoke escaping through artfully placed holes in the roof while fires roared in two huge fireplaces.
“‘Tis verra safe here, lass. With all of us aboot, no one is going to set upon ye. And even when we are oot to battle, these walls will pro
tect ye, the walls and yer women’s arrows.”
She lifted her pewter goblet and sipped her wine, using the gesture to look discreetly and see if Tavish was on his way back to her.
“I can see that is true.”
Seumas sipped his wine as well and started to relax into his seat, but when she set her goblet down, he set his down and looked at her earnestly.
“Laird Malcomb does give us some aught each evening—be times someone of talent such as yerself, but more often than not we get music, and dancing.”
His earnestness made her giggle a little.
“Och, it could be fun to live here, that is sure.”
Kelsey shared a little smile with Seumas.
General conversation had picked up in the hall, so she was no longer the center of attention. Tavish had made sure she was going along to Bangor tomorrow, and her food wasn’t too cold.
Things were looking up.
Naoi
Things were looking down.
The longer Kelsey was here in the old time, the higher the chance of her modern sensibilities coming out. She was doing a great job so far, but it was only a matter of time before some man said something—or did something—and she went off on him. And then all hell would break loose.
He had to prevent that, and the only way was to keep her close to him. And she needed to be with him during waking hours anyway so that he could take her with him if some Druid ran into him and sent him to some other time. Or place. He couldn’t imagine them patiently waiting for him to get her.
He had to find the artifact they wanted as soon as possible so that he could get her back home where she’d be safe. And now there would be a trip to Bangor tomorrow. The whole day would be wasted.
Good, the weaver lady was still at supper.
“Pray pardon an interruption?” said Tavish to the table at large.
The big kilted warrior she was sitting with looked up first and then smiled and stood.
“Not at all. Ye are sitting at the laird’s table with my brother Seumas, so ye must be important.” He reached out with his sword arm, and Tavish clasped forearms with him. “I’m Alfred. Tae what dae we owe the honor?”
Tavish smiled at the weaver woman when she caught his eye, but she was obviously under Alfred’s protection, so he addressed his comments to the warrior.
