Page 16 of Plaid Attitude
She might need it.
Doughall swallowed and shifted his weight, trying to hide his growing cockstand.
The thought of Coiraneedinghim when he’d needed her for so long…
St. Berthwald’s beard, it was tempting.
But all he growled was, “I’ll think about it.”
Knowing full well he’d think of little else.
Chapter 3
Why didn’tthe damned numbers line up?
Coira stifled a groan and tossed down the stylus. The tables of figures—planned trading amounts for the summer—swam before her eyes, and she regretted not going to the lists that morning to work off this headache.
But she hadn’t been able to, had she?
As she’d gone down to break her fast, she’d been cornered by Eppie, the elderly woman who used to run the kitchens, and now helped Fen and Brodie where she could. She’d wanted Coira’s help choosing the types of tarts for the Easter feast.
Coira had tried to smile and done her best to help, but after the fourth time the old woman had changed her mind on how many blackberry versus apple they needed, she’d thrown up her hands. “Tarts! Why are ye no’ asking Fen all of this?”Shewas the one in charge of the kitchen!
Eppie had ignored the outburst and merely swatted the back of Coira’s head. “Because the lass doesnae ken the clan the way ye do! She kens what flavors mix well, and how to try new combinations, but she doesnae ken what each person will like, as ye do. Now, do ye think the warriors are more likely or less likely to want nuts?”
In their tarts, or in general?
“Definitely nuts,” Coira said with a sigh, and reached for the old woman’s slate, knowing she didn’t have a choice. Eppie was right; Coiradidknow the clan, and could answer silly questions like this, even if she didn’t want to.
Once she’d finished with Eppie, there was barely time left for a meal, but Coira had found a place at the table and scooped up the last of the porridge. She was sweetening it with honey when a frantic-looking Clary slid onto the bench across from her.
Coira paused, spoon lifted halfway to her mouth, and asked, “What’s wrong? Is aught well?”
The lass—she was old enough to be married but had shown no interest in men—had learned healing from Nicola. ‘Twas one of the reasons Nic had been able to head off to the nunnery for a month…only to run away to McIlvain land with Ramsay; Clary had been here to take care of the clan’s ills.
“Milady, I’m so sorry to have to ask this—”
Coira caught the other woman’s fears and lowered her spoon. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“’Tis my sister!” The young healer was twisting her hands together. “I just got word her time has come; the bairn’s early. I ken the Tullochs have their own healer and midwife, but I would feel so much better if I were there with her—”
“Aye, aye!” Coira waved the spoon, managing to drop most of the porridge back into her bowl. “Of course ye must go!” She was busy doing the calculations of how long ‘twould take to reach the Tulloch holding where Clary’s sister was married to the laird’s lieutenant. “Send word within a sennight, aye? Nicola will be here that long and can care for the Oliphants while ye’re away.”
Clary’s face soothed into an expression of relief. “Thank ye, milady! I’ll no’ be gone overlong—”
As she began to rise, Coira cut her off with a shake of her head. “Stay as long as ye’re needed, Clary. We’ll survive here, even if Nic has to return to the McIlvains.”
The other woman bobbed a quick curtsey. “I’ll send word.”
She turned to leave, but Coira stopped her. “Clary! Best of luck with the bairn. I’ll be praying for yer sister, and I’ll ask Father John to say a Mass.”
Clary’s smile seemed genuine. “Thank ye, milady,” she said again, before hurrying off.
Coira had managed to finish her meal in peace after that, but she’d no sooner stood from the table than another clansman had approached her with a problem to solve, and as she was helping with that, a messenger from the Sutherlands had arrived…
Aye, it had been a long morning. A longday.
Now, Coira scrubbed her hand over her face and rested her elbows on the small table in her father’s solar. The light came through the window, which she’d opened to catch the chilly spring breezes, while behind her, Da muttered to himself as he poured over his latest Greek translation.
