Page 48 of A Highland Healer Captured
Snickers from the benches, a fewaye, kale’s a temptin’ sinmutters.
Zander held up a hand. “Accord stands,” he said. “But accord doesnae include kale. It never has, and I willnae be the laird who writes that kind of foolishness into law. Balmachrie keeps the kale. Caillich keeps the stubble. If an ewe strays, the owner owes two hands’ replanting in the kale-bed and a day on Balmachrie’s ditch. Done.”
Both men nodded, grumbling in harmony—the surest sign of a fair ruling. Zander gaze a sideways glance at Mason, who was fighting for his life trying to stay composed. The memory of losing his breath, pressed against Skylar in his study flashed across his vision, and he immediately waved over the next case to distract.
Next came a woman from Achnadarroch with a baby tied to her front, the bairn glaring at the world like it owed him rent. “The footbridge by the burn’s gone,” she said. “Rot took the joists. OldElrig fell halfway through last night and swore a curse so strong the sheep stopped chewing.”
“The sheep did stop,” a man put in. “I was there.”
Zander eyed Mason. “We’ve spare timber?”
“From the south wood,” Mason said. “Short lengths.”
“Good enough. Send two men to Achnadarroch—Tamhas can oversee—and put a plankway in by sundown. After Kirn we’ll cut proper beams. Elrig gets first crossing rights for a week if he agrees to keep his curses to under a dozen words.”
Laughter loosened the room’s shoulders. The baby hiccupped triumphantly.
Easy.He thought, and noticed Mason’s slow nod next to him. They were thinking the same thing. Which was good. Especially since he and Mason but heads where Skylar was concerned. But it was always good to show alignment in front of the villagers. Zander was grateful for his man’s concurrence.
A pair of fishermen from Glen Caillich shouldered forward next, smelling of nets and salt though the sea was a day’s walk away. “Laird, the miller’s taking too much toll,” the elder said. “Says the gears are grinding rough since the spring flood and we owe him extra grain to mend them. We’ve naught left for bannocks, never mind Kirn cakes.”
Zander looked toward the far table where the miller of Burnfoot, a barrel-chested man with flour clinging to his beard, tried to make himself smaller. “Gears grinding rough?”
“They are,” the miller said, almost apologetic. “The big wheel’s teeth chewed to splinters on one side. I’ve patched what I can with pins and prayer.”
“Ye’ll get oak pegs from the store,” Zander said. “And wages for two lads to help turn the wheel and lift the axle—Mason, here, will choose men with backs that havenae forgotten their youth. Ye’ll nae raise toll in a harvest year without the laird’s word. Toll returns to what it was. The keep shoulders the repair. Bring me one of the broken teeth for me table. I want to see what passed for oak the last time they fitted it.”
“Aye, laird,” the miller said, relief softening him like warm water.
“All else fails, ye’ll use the keep’s wheel for the festival, and we’ll go from there with repairs.”
“Aye, thank ye, me Laird,” the miller said again, tipping his hat and backing away.
Zander leaned over to Mason then, “I’ll need ye to see to that one, especially, as a priority.”
“I’ve got it. Ye’ll have the wheel here by sundown today. I’ve already spoken with the miller ahead of this meeting tellin’ him to send a lad ahead of him back home to get started on it.”
Zander nodded, impressed by Mason’s initiative, and then waved forward the next in line.
It was a man from Little Corrie, a knot of five speaking at once in such a tangle of Isles burr and Glen slang that even Zander, who could make sense of the thickest heather on the tongue in his clan, caught only every third word:sheiling… peat-cut… rights of way… the coo… nae that coo, the other coo… wee bridge…
He cut a look at Mason. Mason leaned, listening, his head cocked like a collie’s. “Translation,” Zander muttered.
“They’ve been cutting peat on the wrong side of a marker stone that rolled downhill in the rains,” Mason said. “Two families. Each is calling the other thieves. Also someone’s coo—na, the other coo—has a habit of sleeping on the track and scaring the ponies.”
“Right.” Zander rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The marker stone goes back where the charter sets it. I’ll send Fergus with the map and a length of chain. As for the coo, tie the beast up nights until the Kirn’s done. If she’s still sleepin’ in the way after that, we’ll move her to the keep’s byre a fortnight and feed her turnips till she forgets the road.”
Mason nodded, and translated for the man.
All Zander could think about was Skylar getting frustrated bythataccent, and it nearly tugged a smile from the corners of his lips, before Mason was stepping back beside him. The two men shared a nod, and Zander quickly called for the next group.
His eyes landed on the window, where the sun was creeping lower, nearly touching the tree line.Supper will be soon, would like to check on Grayson before…
Two men from Knocklea pushed forward arguing about a marriage portion. Zander kept his face as smooth as he could manage and let them pour it all out.
“Enough,” he said finally. “Bring the chest tomorrow so Cora can look at the lining; she’ll see whether the silk lies. The coo will be led to the kirkyard and walked past three men with eyes in their head. If all three name her sound, she stands as portion. If one names her spavined, portion’s cut by half a stone of grain each quarter for a year. And if either of ye speaks over the other again in me hall, I’ll set ye to counting barley until yer tongues learn to wait their turn!”
Silence, quick and chastened; then grudging grins. Mason fought a smile and lost.
