by Mary McCall
"Aye,” Craig answered. “And egg pie, too."
"Oh yum! I missed you, Aunt Alera.” Angel rubbed her hand over her belly. “Nobody makes sweet oakcakes like you."
"Shh!” Alera held a finger over her lips. “Let us speak quietly, so we do not wake your parents."
"We're already awake.” Logan came through the curtain after hastily donning his plaid. “I'm glad to see you up and about, Alera."
She nodded as her cheeks blazed. What must Logan think of her after her spectacle at the wedding? “Is Marcail awake?"
"Barely. Her fever is gone, but she is still weak. She'll probably doze awhile.” As if sensing Alera's unease, Logan turned his attention to the children. “Did all my little squirrels sleep well?"
"Aye, Papa,” awee Hope replied. “But Angel kicked me."
"Nah-uh. I slept very still,” Angel retorted then stuck her tongue out at her sister.
Logan shook his head. “I'm going to the stream, Craig. Want to come?"
Craig looked astounded. “Aunt Alera is cooking."
"What was I thinking? You cannot leave at such a time” Logan winked at Alera. She relaxed a bit at the gesture. He picked up the water bucket by the work counter. “I'll bring back fresh water. Can I get you aught else?"
"Nay. ‘Twill be all.” After he left, Alera turned to the children and grinned. “Want to see a trick my sister Chris taught me?"
"Aye,” they answered in chorus.
Picking up six eggs from the basket, she tossed them in the air and juggled. The children made the appropriate oo and ah sounds. Then Alera switched to one-handed juggling, using the other hand to crack the eggs into the mixing bowl and toss the shells aside.
When she finished, two decidedly adult claps mixed with the children's cheers.
"Well done, Alera,” Leonce said from the doorway.
"Aye, Alera,” Hope added. “I always wanted to learn how to juggle."
Alera cast them an impish grin. “'Tis more fun with daggers or flaming torches."
"Please make me happy and do not put any ideas into your aunt's head,” Leonce said in mock horror. “She has enough scary thoughts of her own."
Alera cracked the rest of the eggs into the bowl. “Where do you think I got most of mine? When I was young, Mama used to tell me Aunt Hope stories. I grew up trying to be like her—much to Papa's irritation."
One of the bairns began crying. Hope went into the back chamber to help her daughter.
"What did you do that upset Uncle Robert?” Marcail called.
"Let me see...” Alera arched a brow at the four awed cherub faces upturned toward her. “There was the time I was seven and played Highlander."
"You cannot play Highlander, Aunt Alera. You got to be one,” Craig instructed.
Leonce chuckled. “I shudder just remembering when Hope made up that game. What mischief did you stir up, Alera?"
Alera had grabbed up a few knives and put on a show for the children by rapidly chopping cheese and leeks, occasionally flipping and tossing the knives in the process. “Well, I swiped Mama's plaid. Never could figure out how to put the thing on. Ended up wrapping it around me about a dozen times. Then I went raiding."
The children gasped, though Alera wasn't sure if the reaction was from her tricky knife maneuvers or the story. “Got me two chickens, a puppy, a pony, and a crock of honey.” She added herbs and milk to the bowl with the eggs and beat the mixture. “Had me a full-grown cow before the bloody English caught up to me.” She peeked at the children over the bowl and grinned. “That was Papa."
Hearing extra chuckles, Alera jerked her head up. Julien, Toril, and Duncan had entered. She did the only thing possible. She lifted her chin a notch and beat the eggs harder.
"Did the bloody English spank you?” Craig asked.
"Nay, Craig. My papa only spanked me one time in my whole life.” Alera glared at Julien. “'Twas because of a surly Highlander."
Toril giggled while everyone else appeared surprised. Except for Julien. He narrowed his eyes and glared back. “You deserved it. No decent lass would have done such a thing."
Alera folded cheese and leeks into her egg mixture, then poured the blend into the pie crust. “Well what did you expect? I was only five summers."
"What exactly did you do?” Duncan asked as the tension between uncle and niece mounted.
"I satisfied my curiosity.” Alera turned to set the pie above the flames. “I must say, Uncle Julien, knowing what I know now, you have a handsome bottom. ‘Twill be a shame to mar it with my arrow."
Toril burst out laughing as Julien growled.
"Tell, Alera,” Marcail called. “What did you do?"
"I peeked up the backside of Uncle Julien's plaid."
Leonce roared with laughter along with Hope, Toril, and Duncan while the children giggled.
"Do not laugh.” Julien glowered at the boisterous bunch. “The lass was shameful and she knows it."
"You truly should not keep holding that grudge, Uncle Julien. You were the first Highlander I ever met. I just wanted to know if what Mama told me was true."
"What on earth did Bradana tell you, lass?” Leonce asked.
"Bradana told her Highlanders wear naught under their plaids,” Toril replied, suppressing her chuckles as Alera placed the oatcakes on a rake over the flames. “She was but a wee lass and probably would not have remembered the fact if Julien had not told Robert his chauses made him walk like—” Toril's eyes drifted to the children. “Never mind."
Alera put the mixing bowls aside and set plates and mugs on the table.
"Aunt Alera, what else did you do like grandma?” Craig asked as Logan returned and set a water bucket by the counter.
"Well, when I was eight summers, I pestered Mama into giving me a whip. Then I nearly hung myself trying to figure out limb swinging. Papa took the whip away and forbid me the forest. A body cannot go limb-swinging without trees. Anyway, not being allowed the whip led to what Mama used to call The Incident.” Alera ladled milk into goblets and handed them to the children as she spoke. “You see, Mama told me this tale about Aunt Hope, and a horse named Diable, and an eagle named Harry, and how they saved a babe by playing a game called wolf bait."
"You played wolf bait when you were eight summers!” Duncan bellowed.
Alera looked at him, surprised to see the muscle flexing in his cheek. “Of course not. I was forbidden the forest."
Duncan began to relax.
"I played bull bait with Elfrid's prize stud, instead.” She sighed to herself and shook her head, not noticing Duncan tense. “Unfortunately, I had not the heart to kill the poor beast. Nor could I have done so with the puny blade I carried. He started charging and I started running. He followed me through the fore. Everyone in the outer bailey screamed and yelled while he chased me around the place, tearing up stalls, breaking pottery...” Alera shrugged. “Well, I am sure you can all imagine. I finally looped around and dashed into the fore-building. The poor bull probably would have been all right if he had hit the wooden door instead of the stone wall. He was not much good with the cows after that, so we ate him. Papa asked me if I had learned my lesson and I told him aye. If I was going to bait a bull I would need a bigger blade. ‘Twas then Papa ordered Mama never to tell me another Aunt Hope story."
"As well he should have,” Duncan emphatically declared amid a chorus of laughter.
"She told me Aunt Toril stories, instead. You want to stand in front of the door and let me throw daggers around you? I am pretty good."
Duncan visibly paled, causing Julien to finally smile.
"You'll have your hands full if she grew up trying to be like both of them, Duncan,” Leonce said then burst into a new round of laughter.
"Well, I am flattered Bradana remembered me fondly enough to tell Alera anything.” Toril's eyes misted.
Alera removed the oatcakes from the hearth and set them on the table. She turned toward the fire to check the bannock loaves.
"Yeow!�
�� Angel stuck her fingers in her mouth, and her eyes glazed over. “The oatcakes be too hot."
"They are supposed to be,” Craig chided. “Aunt Alera just took them
from the fire."
"You should have waited for Aunt Alera to give you one, Angel,” awee Hope added with a superior shake of her head.
"Please do not cry, Angel.” Megan patted her shoulder. “Mam will give you one when they cool."
"But my fingers hurt!” Angel wailed.
Logan crossed the room and picked up his crying daughter. He kissed her fingers then blew on them. “Is that better, Angel lass?"
"Aye, Papa, but they still be sore.” Angel leaned her face against her papa's shoulder. “I think I need a bandage."
"Aunt Hope, will you bandage Angel while I finish here?” Alera asked. “The food will be cool enough for the children by the time you finish."
Hope grinned and held out an arm to her granddaughter. “Aye. Come, Angel. You can sit next to your mam while we fix you up."
At the opportunity to sit beside her mother after three days, Angel squirmed to get down and pushed on Logan with her injured hand. He set her on the ground, and she dashed behind the curtain. “Mam, I be hurt!"
Logan's eyes twinkled at Alera. She grinned and turned to take the egg pie from the hearth. “Awee Hope, go hug your papa."
"What for?"
"For the same reason Megan is going to hug hers.” Alera set the pie on the table and pulled a knife to cut slices. “'Tis a daughter's duty to love her father. She must hug him and tell him so every morning, so he will feel special. I did every day until...” Alera blinked back tears that suddenly blurred her vision.
Megan gasped as if coming out of a trance. She looked at Duncan then ran across the room with her arms wide open. “I love you, Papa."
He snatched her up into a fatherly embrace.
"I love you more,” awee Hope cried, running to Logan.
"Aunt Toril, will you please finish serving? I... I will return soon.” Alera fled through the rear door.
Seeing Alera's distress, Duncan set Megan down and went after her. He found her by the stream, leaning against a tree. Sobs wracked her body. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Alera love, tell me what is wrong."
She turned and leaned against him, clutching his plaid. He slipped his arms around her. “Oh, Duncan, he is dead. I am a terrible daughter. I would not go to his funeral or pray for his repose. I did not believe him dead because I could not feel it like with Mama. I kept telling myself he was alive. That his spirit called to me and he would come back to me and... I... went to wake him, but he was not there... only his blood. ‘Twas everywhere, and everyone said he was dead. I would not listen or pray for his soul or cry. I was selfish. I refused to believe he would leave me alone and afraid. ‘Tis why I would not marry you. I had to escape to find Papa. Now I have failed
him. And I... I just want to see him one more time. I miss him so."
Duncan realized she had held back months of fear and grief, and the floodgate had burst open. He kissed the top of her head and held her in a strong embrace, tenderly stroking her back.
No wonder she wouldn't commit and had spoken so often of loyalty and duty. To marry him had meant she must deny her father. She had been forced to go against the passionate fealty her gift had instilled in her very nature.
But was her gift what called to her? Could her father have survived whatever had happened in his chamber and still be alive? Duncan didn't want to get her hopes up only to have them crushed later, but he wasn't dropping this until he knew the truth. She deserved that much.
After several moments passed, Alera sniffed and pushed back. She wiped her face with the back of her hands, avoiding his gaze. “I am sorry, Duncan. Please forgive me. I usually do not cry so much, yet that seems to be all I have done since I arrived. I shall try not to make a habit of wetting your plaid."
He nudged her chin up and gently dried her cheeks with the end of his shoulder drape. “You're welcome to wet my plaid anytime you have the need. I am sorry you lost your father in such a brutal manner. I'm sure in his eyes you were always the perfect daughter—even when you were leading bulls into the outer bailey.” He caressed her cheek. “Tell me where you would have looked had you gone in search of him."
"The Orkney Isles."
"So certain?"
She nodded. “Askell Ericksson, one of the Vikings who took me admitted to taking Papa, too."
"Why did you not tell me or ask me for help?"
"Papa is English and you hate the English."
Hell, he had told her that. It was a wonder she had spoken the few vows she had given him without her Uncle speaking for her. She needed to trust him, damn it. “From this moment on you will share all your worries with me. Agreed?"
She nodded.
He brushed his lips over her forehead then tenderly kissed her lips. “I'll kiss you every morning from now on, so you'll know you're special. Do you want to be alone for a while?"
She shook her head and slipped her arms around his waist. “Nay. I would like to go back and be around...our family."
"All right."
"You will not tell them I have been crying, will you, Duncan?” She gazed earnestly at him through tear swollen eyes. “I would rather they think I had an itching attack or something."
"I'll not tell them.” He flashed her his rascal grin. “But as long as we
have been gone, they'll think ‘twas more than an itch. They will swear you have been peeking under my plaid."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Eighteen
Hope ushered the twins and Megan across the cottage and helped them dress while Toril and Alera cleared the table.
"I'll do this, Alera. You go on,” Toril offered.
"Are you sure? I was rather wanting to...” Alera's eyes shifted to Duncan. “I wanted to take care of something."
"I'll be fine. Enjoy your day."
"I'll be visiting some of the crofters this morn if either of you would like to come,” Duncan said, addressing Leonce and Julien.
Alera gasped. “They cannot! I mean...I had rather hoped to take Uncle Leonce and Uncle Julien with me for a spot of hunting."
Surprised expressions crossed every face, except Julien who narrowed his eyes with suspicion.
Oh Lord, how had she forgotten she shouldn't say hunt to men? She grabbed a strand of hair and nervously wrapped it around her finger. “That is if they can tolerate my company for a while. I have not asked them yet."
"There is no need for you to hunt, Alera.” Duncan lounged back in his chair. “I will hunt this afternoon."
She hadn't truly expected Duncan's interference if she had suitable escorts. She compressed her lips and tried to think of a plausible reason for her to hunt that an over-opinionated Highlander might accept. “I enjoy hunting, and I shall not be alone if they come."
"You have barely recovered from your ailing. And ‘tis a man's duty to provide the meat for his table. I'm sure there is enough mending and other woman's work to keep you busy."
Leonce rolled his eyes. “Now you have done it."
"Done what?” Duncan asked with an overly innocent expression.
"Are you ill, Laird Ranald?” Alera demanded, hands on hips.
"I am perfectly healthy."
"Here it comes,” Leonce said under his breath.
"But watch her. She is so much fun to provoke,” Duncan whispered.
"Did your brain just poop?"
"What?!"
"You heard me. I asked if your brain pooped. ‘Tis what Mama told me men do when they need to clear space in their minds for rational thought."
"Highlanders are not Englishmen. We do not poop from our brains."
"Then where did you come up with such an addlepatted notion! I do not mend. And women have been hunting since the days of ancient Greece. Even their goddess of the hunt was a woman."
"Not a Ranald woman."
"Nay?” she aske
d with a sarcastic lift of her lip. “Well mayhap if the Ranald women got up off their judgmental brains and did a spot of hunting, they would have less time to try cutting me apart."
"As I recall, you came out better than they did from that encounter."
"Only because I keep my fighting skills honed by training and hunting. Had I not, you never would have reached me in time to stop them."
"'Twas not your skill that saved you, Alera. ‘Twas those damn birds."
"They-are-not-damn-birds!” Alera spoke through clenched teeth. “They are warriors of the sky and good friends of mine. You would do well not to incite my rage."
"Dare you threaten me, Alera?” he asked in a steel-soft tone.
Lids narrowed over glittering sapphire eyes. “Do you deliberately provoke me, Ranald?"
He cocked a brow. “And if I do?"
Alera fisted her hands as red suffused her flesh. “You big lout, you are deliberately provoking me in front of my family. Why, I ought to...to...Oooooh!"
She grabbed up her bow and arrows, gave Duncan an I'll-do-as-I-please glare, and then stormed out of the cottage.
As the door slammed behind her, Duncan grinned at Leonce. “You see what I mean? She is gorgeous when riled. And so easy to provoke, too."
"'Tis a terrible way to treat her, Ranald,” Toril chided. “You best apologize before her rage lands you in an empty bed."
"Stay out of this, Toril,” Julien ordered. “Duncan does well to lay down the law with Alera now. God knows I was not successful."
Toril snorted and turned a disgusted glare upon her husband. “I may just do a spot of hunting myself today. Have you not yet reasoned, Julien, that Alera is the Gifted one?"
"I have known since she was five and I saw her playing with those damn birds at Arundrydge. I wanted to bring her home then, but Bradana and Robert wouldn't let her go."
"MacKay, what can you tell me about Alera's father?” Duncan asked. “She thinks he is still alive. Says his spirit called to her."
Julien straightened. “Robert was a strong and skilled warrior. If Alera's gift lets her feel his spirit, then I would wager he still lives."
"One of the Vikings who took her bragged that they had taken her father. She believes he is still on Orkney where this Askell said they—"