Page 7 of A Merry MacNaughton
“I’ll make ye a bargain. The day ye decide to marry, I will consider ending the feud between the MacNaughtons and the Craiggs.” Angus nodded with satisfaction at his son’s silence. “Weel, looks as if this conversation is at an end for now.”
Chapter Three
Debts and Diversions
Snowflakes landed onPeigi’s face as she lifted her face to the weak December sun. She brushed the wetness from her numb cheeks and shrugged her shoulders from the heaviness of the wet wool. Her mare’s dark mane sparkled from the snow as her thick neck moved up and down, following the deep double tracks made by her father’s horse. She bent to give Honey a quick pat, thankful for her sturdy Highland pony. She was an odd goldish chestnut, a dun fox color her father called it, and had been given to Peigi on her sixteenth birthday. The breed was known for its endurance and calm temperament. Honey’s compact form plowed through a foot or two of snow as if it were as light and fluffy as the clouds above.
“I’ll be sure ye get an extra handful of oats when we get there, my sweet.” She smiled as Honey snorted in response. “Ifwe get there…”
Her father had insisted on going around a small loch instead of across. Though she understood his fear of crossing the ice that had almost claimed his life a year ago, the delay irritated her. She wanted this trip to be over and return home to her clan where the chores would be piling up.
She fidgeted in the sidesaddle Da had insisted she use. Peigi didn’t have time for social riding. Between running the household, keeping the medicinal herbs stocked, and minding the sick, there was always something that needed tending. When a family summoned her, she needed to get there quickly for they never called without good reason. In good weather, she often asked for a leg up and rode bareback to whatever neighbor needed her.
“We dinna want the MacNaughtons to think I’ve raised a hussy. I want yer mother to look down on us with pride when we represent the Craiggs.” Her father had waggled his forefinger at his fuming daughter before they left. “And no argument. Now fetch yer mother’s cloak with the rabbit lining. The green wool matches yer eyes.”
What in heaven’s name did the color of her eyes have to do with peace between their clans? Her father must be feeling sentimental. He always spoke more often of her mother in December. They had entertained and visited so much as a couple during this month. Peigi drew in a breath of the frigid air, her irritation receding with bittersweet memories. She needed to have more patience with him. This was a hard time of year for him.
“Get the frownoff yer lovely face, child. I believe ye’ll like the MacNaughtons. Most of them, anyway.” Malachi grinned. “Calum seemed a handsome enough fellow. And we had like beliefs of peace between us. I only hope he hasna changed his mind.”
“If he’s as sensible as ye’ve said, then we should be able to make a pact and be home by Hogmanay. I want to be with my own clan over the holiday.” Her eyes narrowed. “As should ye, Da.”
“As do I. I gave yer cousin, Jamie, the last bottles of my best whisky to be sure he’d be the First-foot across the threshold after the clock chimes midnight.” He winked at her. “Last year, that redheaded bastard Ian came calling and look how the year went for us.”
Peigi rolled her eyes but remained silent. She did not believe in the old wives’ tales or the magical stories her mother had told her at bedtime. According to this new year superstition, a redhead—or God forbid a blond, reminiscent of the old Vikings—was deemed bad luck. A raven-haired man was a good omen. Peigi chuckled to herself. If bribing the dark and handsome Jamie to make First-foot brought them good luck, then so be it. The next year certainly couldn’t be any worse than the last one.
In January, her aunt’s newborn had died within the month, then her father’s accident in the spring, two more families emigrated over the summer, and then her grandfather, the clan chieftain, was taken by fever just after All Hallows’ Day. Now, for the first time since she could remember, the Craiggs weren’t able to present their families with any of the usual gifts, which told their situation more plainly than any words.
She crossed herself quickly to avoid tempting the fates. Her grandfather’s words echoed in her head.It could always be worse, lass, and ye’d be wise to remember it.
Relaxing on her horse, she decided to enjoy the scenery. The snow-topped mountains were lovely in December, brightening up the gray winter sky. The pine boughs were heavy with their white burden; only a squirrel or bird disturbed the peace by sending small avalanches to the ground below. She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cold, clean air. After a day spent in the stuffy, hot kitchen, being out on her pony invigorated her soul.
They reached thecastle in the late afternoon of the second day. As she looked up the lane, Malachi pointed to the rectangular stone keep, three stories high. At one corner stood the original structure, a round tower with crenellations carved along the top. It was much larger than the Castle Craigg. As they entered the courtyard, Peigi took in the well-kept stone courtyard and thick stone walls of the residence. Arrow slits provided light on the lower floors with larger windows on the floors above.
She slid from the saddle, pulled the reins over her mare’s head, and straightened her skirts. She ignored her father’s glare, knowing he’d expected her to wait for assistance as anyladyshould. A young lad came running from the stable to take their horses.
“We’re here to see Calum MacNaughton,” announced Malachi as he pulled the saddlebags from the horse. “Is he in residence?”
“Aye, sir, as are most all the MacNaughtons.”
Malachi nodded and turned to his daughter. “Shall we?” He held out his arm and they made their way up to the main entrance.
She watched her father as he picked up the heavy brass knocker and rapped it three times against the thick, ancient wood. The handle was circular with a round tower in the center, matching the tower connected to the main building. She recognized it as the MacNaughton crest. Peigi waved away her father’s busy fingers as he tried to smooth her hair and adjust her cloak.
“Quit fussing over me!” What did it matter what the MacNaughtons thought of her? The only time women were included in clan politics was during negotiations for… “Sweet Mary!”
A chill ran down her spine, followed quickly by a flush of anger. “Da, what are ye planning?” She poked him in the chest with her gloved finger.
“Daughter, mind yer tongue—”
The door opened and a young woman in homespun skirts, an apron, and a cap stood before them. “Good day,” she said with a nod.
“We are here to speak with Angus and Calum MacNaughton,” her father answered.
“And who are ye, may I ask?” She opened the heavy door wider and stepped aside.
“Malachi Craigg and my daughter, Peigi.”
The woman covered her thin cheeks with her palms, her brown eyes wide. She crossed herself, curtsied, and hurried away. Halfway down the hall, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Weel, are ye coming?”
