Iain's brows arched incredulously at this assertion. Maggie realized how it sounded; she'd only been there one day.
"Oh," he started, but before he could utter another word, or Maggie offer an explanation, Lucy appeared through the curtain with Alex right behind.
"Okay, then, Maggie," she called out. "Are you ready for some authentic Scottish cuisine?"
Looking weakly from Iain to her aunt and uncle, she replied quietly, "Sure."
"Excuse me, sir, could you reach that tweed on the top shelf?" The young couple needed assistance.
"Of course," Iain replied, then bid his employers and their niece bon appetit.
Uncle Alex smiled as they stepped out into the street.
"Good man, that Iain," he remarked.
"Aye," agreed Aunt Lucy.
Aye, thought Maggie to herself.
8. Dinner with Friends
Maggie arrived at The Boar and Thistle at five after six.
Fashionably late, she thought as she pulled open the door.
If the outside of the pub had been a bit drab, this was more than made up for by the vibrant scene contained within. A bar against one wall was packed cheek-by-jowl with patrons. Around the remaining walls lay a string of booths, each of which seemed to house at least four people. In between were tables, again each occupied by several people. In a back room, patrons were playing pool and darts, and from where she stood by the entrance Maggie could see three television sets, each showing a different soccer match.
Maggie scanned the crowd for Ellen. She hoped Ellen had seen her enter because she wasn't at all confident that she would be able to locate the friendly Scot among the crowd. As her gaze continued to her left, approaching the booths by the windows, Maggie's eye caught an outstretched hand waving to her from a table just shy of the booths. Connected to the hand was the arm and in turn the face of Ellen Walker.
"Maggie!" Ellen called out over the buzz of activity inside the pub. "Over here!"
Relieved, Maggie walked over to the large round table nearest the wall. Ellen, smile beaming, sat facing the door. To her right sat a raven-haired woman who had looked up to greet Maggie, her encouraging smile peering out from beneath black curls. She was holding the hand of a young man with wavy brown hair and glasses, also smiling and wearing a gray sweater with an open V-neck collar. Next to him, Maggie could see only the long banana-yellow hair of a woman who had not turned around to look at her. Between the blond woman and Ellen were two empty chairs.
"Maggie!" Ellen exclaimed as she reached the table. "I'm so glad you made it!"
Then starting with the black haired woman, Ellen began the introductions. "Maggie, er—Devereaux, right?"
"Right," Maggie confirmed with a smile.
"Maggie Devereaux, this is Fionna FitzSimmons. She's studying comparative literature as well. Celtic and Romance."
"Hello, Maggie," greeted Fionna warmly.
Her accent seemed just a bit different from Ellen's somehow.
Ellen pointed to the man holding Fionna's hand. "And this is Will Hopkins. He's studying medicine."
"Pleased to meet you," he said in a decidedly English accent.
"And this," Ellen indicated the blond woman next to Will, "is Kelly Anderson. She's studying Gaelic too, like you and me, and she's also an American."
The woman had finally turned to look at Maggie, and Maggie immediately recognized her from the hallway outside Macintyre's office.
"We've met already, actually." Maggie grinned as Kelly Anderson looked away again to her drink. "We ran into each other over at the Taylor Building. I believe we're both studying under Prof. Macintyre?"
Kelly just rolled her eyes and let a short derisive laugh escape her lips.
Given this response, Maggie opted to take the seat next to Ellen, leaving the sixth and empty chair between herself and Kelly.
"So where are you from in the States?" Will pushed his glasses back up his nose as he asked the question. Somehow, Maggie always felt more at ease when someone else besides her was wearing glasses.
"Seattle," Maggie replied, wondering whether anyone other than Kelly would know where that was.
"That's in the so-called Pacific Northwest, isn't it?" Will asked again.
"Yup," Maggie smiled. "Near Portland and Vancouver, Canada."
"Right. It's supposed to be beautiful there," Will observed.
"So what brings you to Aberdeen?" Fionna asked.
"Well," Maggie wished she had a glass of something to fiddle with nervously as she discussed herself. She settled for a cardboard coaster. "I'm getting a Ph.D. in Celtic Literature back in the States. I'm here for a year to do some research on Old Gaelic, like from the tenth century and earlier."
"Gaelic, eh?" Will replied over a sip of his chocolate brown beer. "Why Gaelic? Is there a lot of interest in it in the States?"
"Will," Fionna tugged at his hand. "Don't interrogate the girl."
"No, I'm serious," he insisted. "I mean, Kelly, you're studying it, too, right?"
Kelly gave a barely affirmative grunt and lifted her beer.
"I think it may be a function of where we are, too," Fionna theorized. "Most of the American students you'd meet in Paris are probably studying French."
"Granted," Will set his beer down. "But still, why Scotland? Are you of Scottish descent too?"
"Yes," Maggie replied. "On my mother's side." She decided not to enumerate her entire pedigree, but did add, "I'm actually staying with my aunt and uncle while I'm here. I think they might technically be cousins or something, but 'aunt' and 'uncle' is a lot easier. Anyway they live not too far from campus."
"Hmm. That's interesting." Will picked up the beer again. "Are there a lot of Scots in Seattle then?"
Maggie laughed lightly, recalling the Scandinavian flags which permeated Seattle's neighborhoods, but unable to think of any easily identifiable Scottish district. "I guess there could be. I don't know. There's actually a city called 'Aberdeen' about a hundred miles or so southwest of Seattle, toward the coast, so I suppose there must have been some Scots around at some time. Probably because of the Hudson Bay Trading Company. But I think there are a lot of Americans everywhere who have some Scottish background."
"Is that so?" This thought seemed to intrigue Will Hopkins. "Are there a lot of Scots in North Carolina, Kelly?"
"I guess. Sure," was the unenthusiastic reply.
"Wasn't Thomas Jefferson Scottish?" Ellen decided to join in the conversation.
Kelly didn't seem interested in fielding the question, so Maggie thought for a moment, then answered, "I think I learned in school that he was 'Scots-Irish.'"
"Scots-Irish?" Will echoed, squeezing Fionna's hand and grinning to her.
"Yeah," Maggie started, trying to remember her history lessons and hoping that she would not be conveying inaccurate information to her European friends. "I think that's a term they used in the seventeen-hundreds to describe people who came from Ireland, but were ethnically Scottish. Like from Northern Ireland, I guess."
"I'm familiar with the term," Will replied pleasantly. "In fact Fionna's from Northern Ireland," he explained. Fionna gave a pained smile.
Ah-ha, Maggie thought. That's where that accent's from.
Will continued, "She's from a town called Dungiven near—"
"If you say 'Londonderry,' Hopkins, I'll knock your bloody teeth down your bloody throat."
Maggie looked quickly over her left shoulder to see a rather large man looming over the table. His hair was thick and red and he sported a neatly trimmed red beard. He was about their age, maybe a little older, and wore work pants and a shirt which Maggie thought looked like a soccer or rugby jersey. Several tattoos disappeared under the pushed up green and white striped sleeves.
Will met the man's gaze and squeezed Fionna's hand once again. "Derry," he finished.
"Sean!" Fionna lashed out. "Mind your manners! You can leave your bloody nationalism at home. Will was just—" Then Fionna's face twisted up into tired embar
rassment. She looked at Maggie and pointed to the man looming over her.
"Maggie, this is my brother, Sean."
Before Maggie could say anything, Sean FitzSimmons had already sat down next to her and taken her hand in his.
"Charmed," he said with a delightful Irish lilt. She half expected him to kiss her hand. Thankfully, he didn't.
"I'm sure," Maggie replied. She considered Iain Grant and Craig Macintyre. Apparently it was her day to be hit on.
"Please allow me to explain my confrontational arrival," Sean said directly to Maggie, ignoring the exasperated sounds of his sister. "You see, 'Londonderry' is the name the English colonists tried to hang around the neck of our lovely Irish city of Derry. As if there were actually some historical connection between England and Ireland other than wave after wave of English attempts to conquer our fair island. And so no self-respecting Irishman can stand by while some English bastard demeans our country with imperialistic place names."
"Sean!" Fionna screamed at her brother. "You apologize right now!"
"To whom?" he asked, his English surprisingly accurate.
"To Will!"
"For what?"
"For calling him a bastard."
Sean considered this for a moment, then rejected it. "I didn't call him a bastard," he explained with a cocky smile.
Somehow, Maggie found this exchange highly entertaining. Ellen seemed to as well. Kelly was looking in the general direction of the bar.
"You did too!" Fionna countered. Her white cheeks had turned a deep pink. Will knew better than to get in the middle. "You said he was a bastard for saying 'Londonderry.'"
"What I said," Sean corrected, one hand raised for emphasis, "was that he would have been a bastard, if he'd said 'Londonderry.' But he didn't. He said, 'Derry.' So I don't think any apology is owing."
Fionna's face grew even redder, but she had no reply. Will actually couldn't help smiling at the turn in the conversation.
"Is that how you remember it, love?" Sean turned to Maggie.
"As I remember it," she replied, "you didn't give him much of a choice. I believe you threatened to knock his teeth out if he chose the bastard option."
Sean laughed. "That I did. But Will there knows I'm only fooling, right, Will?"
Will didn't reply, just smiled again coolly.
"Just as well not to say 'Londonderry' though, eh?" Sean went on.
"If I say 'Derry,'" Will responded in his best English accent, "it's out of respect for Fionna, not out of fear of you."
Sean just smiled and looked away.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies," Will stood up. "I really should be going."
"What?" Fionna was obviously upset. "We haven't even ordered yet."
"Yes, come on, Will," Ellen encouraged. "Stay a bit."
Maggie too wished he would stay, but elected to remain on the sidelines. Sean too remained silent.
"No, really. I do have to go," Will insisted. "I've class first thing tomorrow and I've still a lot of notes to review. But you stay, Fionna. Ellen, can you give Fionna a lift home?"
"Of course," Ellen agreed.
"Well, nice to meet you, Maggie," Will said. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon." He looked at Fionna's brother. "Sorry I can't say the same for you, Sean. You're heading back to Belfast on Saturday, aren't you?"
Sean smiled again, leaning back in his chair. "I was gonna do, but now I'm not so sure. There's good work down at the docks. Good pay and few questions." He looked at Maggie and added, "I must confess I keep finding things in Aberdeen which interest me greatly."
Visibly unhappy with this bit of news, Will made his final good-byes and headed out into the cool Aberdeen evening.
"God, Sean." Fionna let out in full exasperation. "Why do you always have to be such a clod?"
"First off," Sean leaned forward, wagging his finger at his sister, "don't use the Lord's name in vain. Second, I'm not a clod just because I defend my country."
"Don't lecture me on the ten commandments," Fionna shot back. "You'd do well to remember the seventh. And there's a difference between defending your own country and attacking someone else's."
"Not when that someone else's is England," was Sean's angry reply.
"Sean, you're an idiot," Fionna growled. "It's not even like we're pure Irish. Mom's Scottish."
"Right, and Dad's Irish," Sean spat back. "So you and I are pure Celt. Half FitzSimmons and half MacKay."
Fionna huffed and shook her head.
"That's actually quite amazing when you think of it," Sean went on, expanding his attention to the others at the table. "Devereaux, was it?" he asked Maggie.
Maggie nodded.
"So you're French, then?" He looked to his left. "And Kelly, I'd wager you've more than Scottish bloods in your veins."
Kelly looked up from her beer. "My mother's maiden name was Schumacher."
"Right. See, Fionna? All watered down. And now you want to go ruin our line by carrying on with some Englishman."
"Will isn't just 'some Englishman!'" Fionna yelled, the flush returning to her face. "Why can't you just be happy for me?!"
Sean just sighed and looked away. Fionna did the same.
"Welcome to Scotland," Ellen whispered to Maggie with a sarcastic smile. "Sorry about this."
Maggie laughed lightly. "Don't worry about it."
Then becoming aware of her empty stomach, Maggie added, "But what about dinner? I'm starving."
Soon Ellen had flagged down a waitress and each of the four women ordered dinner. Sort of. Kelly just ordered a bowl of soup and another beer. When it came Sean's turn to order he declined, saying, "I have to shove off too, ladies, I'm afraid. I've other plans for the evening. Good to see you again, Ellen. Nice to meet you, Maggie." Then turning to Kelly, Sean put his hand lightly to her chin and said, "Always good to see you, Kelly."
Kelly pushed his hand away roughly and stated matter-of-factly, "You're not to touch me, Sean FitzSimmons."
Sean grinned as he rose. "The woman's prerogative." Then he turned to the waitress, pointed at Maggie and dropped a banknote on the waitress' tray. "Give this fine young lady a good Irish beer. Not that English piss."
And with this last jab he too was off into the Aberdeen dark.
"Wow," Maggie observed after a moment.
"Don't mind my brother, Maggie," Fionna practically pleaded. "He's a bit of a wind-bag, but not too bad all in all. He's just overprotective of his little sister."
"Don't worry," Maggie assured Fionna. "No skin off my nose. I'm here to meet interesting people, and your brother certainly qualifies."
Dying of curiosity, Maggie turned to Kelly and for the first time engaged her directly. "Do you know Sean, too?"
Kelly looked at Maggie through narrowed eyes. "I've known Fionna a lot longer than you, so yes, I know Sean." She stood up and dropped her napkin on the table. "I'm going home," she announced. "I have a headache."
"Kelly!" Ellen stood up too. "Your soup's not even here yet. C'mon and stay a bit longer. You've only just met Maggie."
Kelly looked at the auburn-tressed, bespectacled woman next to Ellen. "Right," she replied through a scornful smile and turned to go, pulling her jacket over her shoulders.
The three remaining women sat at the table in silence for a moment.
"I don't usually have this effect on people," Maggie assured the other two.
"Don't worry yourself, Maggie," Fionna replied. "None of what happened has the slightest bit to do with you." She raised her glass. "Slàinte."
"Slàinte," Ellen raised her glass as well.
And Maggie hers. "Slàinte."
* * *
"Wow, so you actually knew her?" Maggie asked Fionna.
They had finished their dinners some time ago and were now just enjoying each other's company over their last drinks. Ellen had switched to coffee once the food arrived.
Fionna smiled weakly and looked down. "Yes. Well, sort of. We had a summer seminar course together." The
n turning to Ellen. "You were both studying Gaelic and French, right? Comparative literature? So you knew her too, didn't you?"
"Annette? No, not really. I'd seen her about, over the summer at Taylor and at the library, you know, things like that, but I never really spoke with her." Then, after perhaps considering the propriety of her next thought, went ahead and added, "She seemed to keep to herself a bit, I think."
Fionna nodded gently. "Yes, I think she did." She sighed. "I suppose I wish I'd got to know her a bit better. You know, her French was really excellent. I think she was from Quebec. She spoke that odd Canadian French—Québecois it's called—so every now and again she would say something the professor couldn't understand. Apparently it can be quite different from the Parisian we learn over here."
This succeeded in turning the conversation from Annette Graham's shyness to the more comfortable realm of an academic discussion on the linguistic differences between various dialects of a given language. The conversation milled about between Québecois, Parisian, Irish Gaelic, Scottish Gaelic, Scots English, the Queen's English, American English, and for some time the participants were able to avoid speaking about the murdered woman.
Finally, as the conversation wound its way to the subject of different professors, Maggie ventured, "Annette was studying with Prof. Macintyre too, right?"
Fionna looked at Ellen, and she at her. Then Ellen turned to Maggie as Fionna began staring intently at a beer stain on her cardboard coaster.
"Yes," was all Ellen said.
Surprised, and a bit dismayed, by this reaction to her question, Maggie followed up. "Is there something I should know here? I'm studying under him too now."
Ellen and Fionna both shook their heads.
"No," Ellen assured. "I mean, I've never really dealt with the man. I'm working primarily with Professor Rhys, who does modern Gaelic and Scots literature. And with Professor Duverney in the Romance Department."
Fionna agreed. "I've never even spoken with the man directly."
Maggie wasn't entirely satisfied. "But, I mean—"
"No," Fionna interrupted. "You should probably talk with Kelly about him. I know she's studied under him for, what, two years now?"
Scottish Rite (Maggie Devereaux Book 1) Page 7