Hew shrugged, “Perhaps you have lost the art of being quiet.”
“You must be right.”
The silence seemed to last a very long time until a nearly out of breath Grainee shouted. “‘Tis three boys.”
This time the announcement was met with complete silence. Upon that wager, all the men lost. Not once in the MacGreagor clan had triplets been born and no one was more shocked than Sawney. It occurred to him that women died trying to deliver one, therefore, his wife might be in three times the danger. It was clearly his turn to shout, “Does my wife yet live?”
“She does well, Sawney, very well.”
He thought he might collapse and embarrass himself, so he quickly righted the chair he knocked over and sat down. “Three sons...three...three,” he muttered.
Hew couldn’t resist, walked to the bottom of the stairs, cupped his hands and yelled, “Are there more to come, Grainee?”
“Nay, she is finished.” Grainee started to giggle, “She called me a scunner when I said there was a third coming.”
The men laughed and Sawney grinned. As a baby, Mackinzie was the sole survivor of a shipwreck, and saved only because someone had the foresight to put her in a bucket and set her adrift. Miraculously, she was yet alive when the bucket washed up on the west coast of Scotland, but she grew up without family. Shunned by her adopted clan, she began to call those she disagreed with “Scunner,” which was the worst of all insults. Sawney once threatened to toss Mackinzie in the loch for calling him that. He was large enough to do it easily, too. Yet on this night, he was thrilled to hear she had the strength to say it and all was forgiven.
An hour later, the men were gone, two women with babies of their own came to help with the nursing, and Grainee finally let him come up the stairs to kiss his wife and get a good look at his sons.
They were as wonderful as any newborns could be, yet in all the excitement, the midwives neglected to mark which was born first, second and third. Sawney stared at Grainee in disbelief. “You did not mark them?”
Grainee rolled her eyes. “We were a wee bit busy, MacGreagor.”
She was right, of course, so he walked back to the bed, knelt down and kissed his wife once more. “I have chosen two names, Patrick and Callum. What shall we call the third?”
Mackinzie weakly smiled. “Tavan is my favorite name.”
“Tavan it is then.”
WHICH BABY WAS GIVEN which name that first night would be a favorite discussion in the clan for months to come. After all, the midwives were witness to it and later neither of them could tell which child was which.
The babies were very small, so small; two could easily fit in the same box. However, the triplets seemed restless and upset until Sawney put the third in with the other two. The change in them was remarkable and soon all three were asleep. In the morning, he asked the builders for one very large box instead.
Everyone feared the triplets would not live through the night, the next night, the first week, and then their first month. Yet by the time Mackinzie was allowed out of bed, the boys were well on their way to a normal, healthy life. The triplets were content—the rest of the clan was exhausted.
By then, the babies had been moved so often, the question of which was given which name again plagued them. Therefore, Sawney named them a second time and insisted each baby be put back in the box precisely where he was found, until their parents could manage to tell them apart ...if they ever could.
EACH BABY HAD BLUE eyes and thick, light blond hair that did not begin to turn dark like their father’s until the first two years passed. Once they learned to talk, an odd pattern began to emerge. Not only did they answer a question at the same time, they answered using the exact same words. Furthermore, the moment one got in trouble, the other two quickly came to his defense.
The boys soon learned their uniqueness offered grand opportunities to trick the adults, a subject Mackinzie brought up on the night of their sixth birthday. Her favorite thing in all the world was to curl up in Sawney’s arms at bedtime after all was quiet. Sometimes, she still could not believe her good fortune. After having such a dreadful childhood, she was now truly loved, safe from those who taunted her, and living in a home where Scottish wildcats and gray wolves could not attack her.
Mackinzie had a smattering of freckles across her nose that matched her reddish-brown hair and, unlike her sons, her eyes were green. “Witless, they are not.”
“True.” Sawney wrapped both arms around her and laid his head against the top of hers.
“You gave them particular places to sit at the table for our meals and they have changed places quite often.”
“I know.”
She giggled and playfully smacked his arm. “You do not know. Still you do not know which is which.”
“Ah, but I do. Patrick is to sit on my right with Tavan next to him and Callum at the end. This night, Callum sat next to me.”
“I am amazed. Why did you not call them out?”
“I intend to encourage it instead. When they are grown, the ability to trick others could save lives.”
Mackinzie rolled her eyes, “So long as they do not try to trick their wives. Perhaps you might warn against that.”
“I shall, although it may not be necessary. They go nowhere without the other two and I hardly think they will ever marry, unless they build a very large cottage to house them all.”
“We happen to have a very large cottage. I say they bring their wives to live with us.”
Sawney rolled his eyes. “Do you see what you are saying? Three marriages could keep us in crying babies for years. I doubt I could bear it.”
She grinned and pulled back to watch the expression on his face. “Perhaps you are right, but could you bear it just one more time?”
He wrinkled his brow and when she nodded, he was thrilled. “Promise to give me a daughter this time.”
“Or two...or...”
“Do not say it.” To keep her from finishing her sentence, he kissed her passionately.
There was no question in anyone’s mind when Sawney was displeased, for he had a glare that made his annoyance abundantly clear. The only one who was allowed to ignore his glare was Mackinzie, who only shrugged or rolled her eyes, but God help the child who tried it and each of them did. Punishment was bed without the benefit of an evening meal and for boys who outgrew their shoes long before they were worn through, food was in great demand.
The punishment for that infraction, and many others, worked quite well until they were old enough to acquire friends, who were only too willing to tie a bucket of delights to the end of a rope lowered from their second floor bedchamber. Eventually, they got caught, which gained them and their friends, a full week of cleaning up after the horses.
OCCASIONALLY, SAWNEY pondered the question of which was his first-born. Surely, a man’s firstborn would be the most ingenious, but the triplets seemed to be equally endowed and by the time they reached the clumsy elevens Sawney still could not guess which was the eldest. Because they did not seem to have any idea where their feet were at any given moment, he considered waiting a year to begin their warrior training with real swords. It was dangerous enough with the wooden ones. Yet the other boys their age would be allowed to begin, so he relented and simply held his breath.
There were some detectable differences in the boys when they entered their teens. By then, they had two younger sisters, Colina and Bardie, each born in different years. It was Callum who saw what his mother needed or wanted first, and it was Callum who had far more patience with his little sisters. On occasion, he used plaids over chairs to build pretend castles in their bedchamber so the girls could play Queen of Scots. He was never too busy for them, never harsh and most of all, constantly on guard for their safety.
It was not as though Tavan and Patrick felt less love for their sisters, they were simply more eager to take on the excitement the outside world had to offer. Nevertheless, if Callum wanted to help, they pitched in as well, although their
objective was more to speed up the process than to please their sisters. Tavan and Patrick often mocked Callum for being too softhearted where the fairer sex was concerned, and predicted he would soon fall under the spell of some unsightly woman who offered nothing more than a wink and a smile.
Tavan was more like his father than the other two, carefully considering the options before he made a decision, whereas Patrick and Callum sometimes acted first and thought about it later. The differences between them were minor, but they did exist. When it came to choosing a wife, Tavan was in no hurry.
While the triplets did spend a great deal of time together learning to hunt, fish and fight, it was not nearly as much as their parents believed. Tavan took to practicing his skills with a bow and arrow and had more pride in his accomplishments than the other two. He became quite proficient and often challenged the men to a contest.
Patrick, on the other hand, was far more sociable. If anyone knew all the details of a feud between a husband and a wife, two men or two women, he did. He learned the details by gossiping, and enjoyed hearing it as much as the clan enjoyed telling him. More often than not, Patrick could be found surrounded by the fairer sex, one of which he became partial to early in life.
Her name was Finagal and he first took particular notice of her when he found her sitting in the forest behind the village sobbing. At not yet ten, her big brown eyes seemed too large for her head, and perhaps that is why he noticed them in particular. At any rate, her cat died and no matter how hard he tried, she could not be consoled.
The remedy, of course, was to find a new kitten for her and he knew just where to look. He was gone but a few minutes before he returned, put a calico kitten in her lap and enjoyed the first of her very rare smiles.
When she got older, Finagal was not like the other girls. While she enjoyed hearing the daily gossip, she rarely contributed and while the others swooned at the very sight of the triplets, she often would not look Patrick in the eye. It was as if she carried some dark secret she was not willing to share, and never did her demeanor fail to raise his interest.
Completely smitten with her by the time he reached sixteen, he gathered all his courage and decided to find out what her secret was. Yet Finagal was the eldest of ten and he could never find her alone. That is, until one day just after the noon meal, he noticed her sitting by herself on a log that separated the glen from the graveyard. His approach was perhaps too quick, for she seemed deep in thought and a bit startled when she noticed him.
“Has your cat died?”
“Nay.”
He hoped to make her laugh or at least smile, but she remained solemn, so he decided that approach was the wrong one. He sat down beside her, stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle. He waited for her to mention what worried her, but she didn’t. “I am Patrick.”
“I know.” She wore her long blonde hair in one thick braid down the middle of her back.
“You do? Most cannot tell us apart still. How have you managed it?”
“I am not certain, but I have always known which is you. There is something different in your eyes, I think.”
“The eyes you refuse to look at?”
“I look at your eyes often, just not when they are looking back at me.”
“I see. Why is that?”
Finagal took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I find them too...”
“Go on; is there something wrong with them?”
“Aye, they are too...”
Never before had anyone found fault with his eyes and he was puzzled. “Too frightening, too insulting, too...”
“Too blue.” She hardly got the words out before she looked away and hid her smile.
Patrick thoughtfully scratched the back of his neck. “I have always believed them the same blue as my brothers. What do you suggest I do about it?”
“You could stop looking at me.”
“That, I cannot do.” Her brow was wrinkled when she finally turned to look at him. “Have you not noticed how pleasing you are? How shall it be if the other lads look and I do not? They would think me daft.”
Finagal rolled her beautiful brown eyes. “Most already know you are daft.”
“Nay, they think one of us is daft, but they do not know which.” She flashed her magnificent smile at him finally, his heart skipped a beat and there was no doubt in his mind she was the one for him. If she had been old enough, Patrick would have asked her to marry him that very moment. But then, he was not yet old enough to choose the right wife either, his father often said.
It was not long before Patrick’s brothers noticed his attachment to her and once, when he’d had enough of their relentless teasing, he nearly drew his sword. The expression on his face convinced the other two he was ready to use it and he turned his glare first on Callum.
“Wait,” said Tavan. “You cannot kill him.”
“Why not?” Patrick asked.
“Because then I would have to kill you, which would leave Father with only one son.” Tavan slowly began to grin. “On the other hand, run him through.”
Patrick couldn’t help but smile. “And leave you alone to inherit? I’ll not allow that.”
“Nor will I,” Callum agreed, turning to face Tavan. “We decided I am the first born and I should be the one remaining.”
Tavan rolled his eyes. “We were not yet six when we agreed to that, and only because you grew the width of a thumb taller. Now you are not taller, except when your hair stands up as it does when you awake.”
“My hair? You should see yours of a morning...”
Therefore, the argument turned from Patrick’s admiration of Finagal to the age-old question of who was born first. It was a way of settling all of their disagreements. After that, the other two understood Patrick’s seriousness and had only good things to say about Finagal.
Yet in the two years that followed, Finagal never once told her secret and Patrick took it to mean, she was not quite certain she could trust him. For a time, he wondered if someone was hurting her. The punishment for a man who hurt a woman was death and she was well aware if he knew, Patrick would be honor bound to tell his father.
If someone was hurting her and she would not expose them, the offender had to be someone she loved - a brother, an uncle or perhaps her father. Yet when they were together, Patrick looked for cuts or bruises and never saw anything suspicious. He thought to ask her outright, but decided against it. It would be far better if she volunteered the information once she trusted him more. At least she smiled more often now and even laughed occasionally. Patrick was convinced he was making a good match and they would enjoy a very good life together in the MacGreagor glen.
The King of Scots was about to change all their lives.
End of sample chapter.
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Follow Clan MacGreagor through multiple generations beginning with The Viking where it all began, The Highlanders and their struggle to survive, Marblestone Mansion and the duke who simply could not get rid of his scandalous duchess, and still more historical stories in The Lost MacGreagor Books. Then check out Marti’s contemporary romance/mysteries in Missing Heiress, Greed and a Mistress, The Dead Letters, and The Locked Room. Other books include the Carson Series, Leanna, (a short story), and Seattle Quake 9.2.
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; Also by Marti Talbott
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A Time of Madness Page 21