Page 6 of A Merry MacNaughton
Peigi spent thenext week organizing and leaving instructions for Mairi. The woman was as efficient as a clerk, and knowing she left her home in good hands gave Peigi some comfort.
“Dinna forget to—”
“The castle willna crumble around us while ye are gone. We will survive a week or so without ye, though I’ll miss ye something fierce.” The older woman wrapped Peigi in a tight hug. “We’ll be waiting to celebrate Hogmanay and drink to a new year when ye return.”
“Or lament our losses. We canna even afford the spices to make the Scottish buns for the First-footing.” She clung to the woman who had taken her mother’s place in so many ways. Peigi’s mother had always loved the Hogmanay tradition of neighbors visiting each other just after midnight, bearing gifts. Peigi had accompanied her mother many times bearing Scottish buns, a cake of currants, raisins, citrus peel, and spices. The sweet treat symbolized good food and a promise that the family would not go hungry over the next year. Another punch to their dwindling hope. Collecting herself, she thought aloud, “Perhaps I should reconsider the earl’s offer.”
“Yer mother will reach down from the heavens and give ye a good skelping if it crosses yer mind again.” Mairi gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Now get some sleep and remember how much we all love ye, lass.”
Peigi slowly made her way up the winding stone stairs. Her inherent optimism was failing her. Her last trip into the village tugged at her conscience. One of the remaining crofters was caring for a sick child and husband. The woman had looked so weary and thin, as had the fevered child. After giving them bread and broth and administering a tea for the fever and a compress for the cough, her heart still ached at their plight and the others. Food was scarce with so little good soil left for planting. Cloth, spices, and salt were expensive.
She had the power to make their lives better. Was her happiness worth more than those suffering souls? The knot in her stomach tightened as her heart told her the answer. If their diplomatic mission in making peace with the MacNaughtons was not successful, she would go to Lord Fulton. But she would have some conditions of her own…
*
Angus MacNaughton satbehind a massive walnut desk in the study. A sliver of light peeked out from the long, heavy drapes that had been drawn against any draft. The cherry wood panels lent a cheeriness to the dark room and glints of red cast from the glow of firelight danced across the walls. The chieftain looked up and grunted, returning his attention to the ledger in front of him.
Calum moved to the hearth and warmed his cold hands. “That doesna sound good.”
“Weel, the balance is good but the loss of lambs is no’. I had planned to give each family a bit of mutton. But now we are down two more.”
“And ye dinna think the wolves picked them off? If the Craiggs were responsible, why would they take the lambies instead of grown sheep?”
“To irritate me and ruin my plans, of course.” Angus scowled at his son. “Did ye come to argue with me?”
“No, Da. I came to cheer ye up, on yer wife’s orders. She’s tired of yer sour countenance.” Calum stopped at the side table, poured a swallow of whisky, and held up his glass to his father with a questioning look. After receiving a nod of approval, he poured another.
“How many families are there now, and how short are ye on lambies?” he asked, settling onto a leather chair across from his father.
“Seventy and sixty-seven. We only started with seventy so there was no room for error—or raiding.” Angus leaned back and blew out a long breath. “However, we’ve done well this year and can afford to purchase a few. Yer brother, Finley, is establishing a tidy tobacco trade in North Carolina. We’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Always waiting for the hammer to fall.” His father had never been known as an optimist. His middle brother Finley, though, was a hard worker and outgoing. They had known he would make the right contacts and quickly establish himself among the colonists.
“The fighting between the English and the colonists is beginning to cause some disruption. Hamish wrote just before they left America. More British troops had arrived along the coast. When they were waiting at port, they even saw a Highland unit disembarking to join His Majesty’s troops.”
“Let’s hope Hamish doesna join them. He always enjoyed a good fight.” Calum had been on the receiving end of his youngest brother’s fist more than once. Though quick-tempered, he rarely held a grudge. Unlike the old goat sitting in front of him.
“It will be good to have all my sons at home for the Hogmanay festivities. We will have much to celebrate.” Angus tipped his head back and finished off the scotch. “They should have made Edinburgh by now and arrive within the week. Yer mother canna talk of anything else.”
“So Da, did ye read the letter from Lord Fulton?” He shook his head as the old man grinned.
The earl had written, informing them of the Craigg chieftain’s death and that the clan now wanted to make amends. If an agreement was made, their own business arrangement might be altered but not ended. For the Craiggs’ sake, Calum hoped a truce was made. He thought of his last conversation with Malachi.
“Aye, the son of a whore will answer to his Maker now.” Angus smacked his knee with glee. “The stubborn eejit let his pride get in the way of doing right by his clan. Good riddance to him.”
“Da, the man’s dead. Ye could be a mite gracious.” He paused and readied himself. “Ye ken his sons wanted to quit this feud long ago. Perhaps—”
“If that be the truth, they wouldna be stealing my lambs.” Angus spit at the floor. “That is my answer.”
“Now who’s the stubborn eejit? It was an argument between two obstinate chiefs generations ago. There’s at least a dozen different versions of how it started.” He spread out his hands. “Can ye no’ see reason on this point, now that the Craigg is gone? His eldest son wants to help his kin. Surely ye can understand that.”
He narrowed his eyes, and Calum fought the urge to squirm. “And why do ye care so much about our enemy? The upcoming holiday got ye feeling warm and woman-like?”
“Och, Da. I’d just like to see peace for a change,” he scoffed. “They’re Scots just like us and suffering from no livelihood and few choices but leaving.”
“The only choice ye should concern yerself with is which lass ye’ll be marrying. It’s time to stop enjoying the milk and find yerself a cow. I need a grandson.”
“I’m nigh on six and twenty. What’s the hurry?” Again, he struggled to keep himself in the chair. “Stop changing the subject.”
