Page 31 of Plaid Attitude
“Oliphant!” came the call from many mouths, and the laird’s smile was soft.
“Oliphant, aye. We’ve been a strong clan, a good clan. But as the butterfly said to the frog with an upside-down horn, we can always be stronger, eh?” He paused, and the gathered clan laughed dutifully, although Coira knew none of them understood the auld man’s metaphors. “In my studies, I’ve learned much about the way the ancients did things. And I ken I can apply that to the future of the clan. ‘Tis time to name a successor!”
There were excited whispers from the great hall and a few drunken shouts of approval, and Coira’s vision narrowed until all she could see was her palsied father, swaying at the head of the table.
His goblet slipped from his fingers, hitting the table and spilling the wine. But even as Mother jumped away from the mess, Da seemed not to notice. He lifted his hands.
“My heir— The next Oliphant chief—” He gasped, his hands suddenly clutching at his chest. “The chief is—Should be—”
He fell face-first into the meat pie.
There was a moment of stillness, as if the room was inhaling, with Coira frozen half-raised from her bench. Then Wynda screamed and broke the spell. Nicola pushed Coira out of the way as she lunged for Da, and Mother fainted into Brodie’s arms.
The great hall exploded in pandemonium.
Chapter 6
In a sort of fog,Coira watched her own hands reach for her father, watched them lift him upright so Nicola could check him. When her frightened gaze met Nicola’s and she nodded, Coira understood that to mean he was still alive.
All the sound came rushing back, then Doughall was beside her. “What do ye need?”
Nicola’s ear was pressed to the old man’s chest, so Coira took charge. “Nicola will need plenty of space, and he’ll feel more comfortable in his own room. Let us move him to his chambers—carefully!”
The last was barked, somewhat unnecessarily, as Doughall, Pherson, Ramsay, and Barclay gently lifted her father from the table. Fen and Brodie and Wynda comforted Mother, leading her slowly up the stairs.
As Nicola darted toward the kitchens, likely to ransack the sick room for the herbs and tinctures Clary had taken over preparing in the last year, Coira—her heart hammering in her chest—turned to the panicked clan. She raised her hands for silence.
“I dinnae ken aught more than ye, but I ken he’s still alive, and we can trust Nicola, aye?”
Someone from the crowd called, “Aye, she’s the best healer in Scotland!”
Coira nodded firmly. “Aye, and she’ll save him, if ‘tis God’s will. She’ll have him hale and hearty in nae time”—a bit of an exaggeration, considering he’dneverbeen hale, nor hearty—“and he’ll announce his heir soon enough.”
This certainty was met with mutters and muted conversation, as each person expressed their opinion about the likelihood of such a miracle, or possibly who they thought should be the next laird.
Or mayhap they were merely discussing the contamination of the meat pie.
“For now, eat and enjoy the fine food, eh? Keep the celebrations down, for Da’s sake, and…” She swallowed, then shook her head. “Start praying.” She scrubbed a hand over her face, and muttered, “We need all the prayers we can get.”
If the Oliphants’ enemies found out Da had collapsed before naming an heir…
She shuddered.
As she lowered her hand, she saw Bessetta near the front of the crowd. She was holding a large rabbit in her arms, like a bairn, and she looked as anxious as Coira felt. Knowing the lassie’s good heart, ‘twas likely worry for Da which had her looking as if she wanted to cry.
Then Edgar stepped up beside her, sliding his arm around her shoulder and tugging her cheek down to rest against his chest. He patted her comfortingly and she turned to him to accept that comfort.
That friend of his, Arnold, stood on his other side. He was also in his early twenties, but he’d made no effort to woo Bess. Instead, he smirked up at Coira with a calculating expression, and she resisted the urge to storm down there and pull both of them away from the girl.
Instead, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Bess was safe; Edgar was slimy, but what could happen in the midst of the clan? She needed to help her family.
Upstairs was just as hectic as the great hall. Nicola was making demands, and Coira barked orders, pleased her brothers-in-law were there to help lift and move. Slowly, as the afternoon sky darkened, they all moved to other things.
Ramsay and Pherson took wee Relic to visit with young Wren—who’d taken a liking to the bairn—and get them both out from underfoot. Coira asked them to find Bess as well, and let her help care for the younger children. Fen and Brodie returned to the kitchens, while Wynda hurried to the women’s solar to write to Leanna and Robbie, telling them what had happened.
Mother was surprisingly sturdy, demanding to help Nicola, but soon Nic commanded her to lie down as well.
Through it all, Doughall was there, helping where he could, and otherwise standing quietly, ready for action.
