Chapter Five #2
Jenna took it gingerly and looked around, seeing that other people were also using knives to eat with, spearing food on it like a fork.
She guessed it was probably an honor to be given the chieftain’s knife to eat with, but she would much rather have a spoon.
She speared a piece of beef in gravy and stuffed it into her mouth.
The meat was delicious, falling apart on her tongue like melting butter. Whatever else this place was, lacking in hospitality it was not.
Everyone else was digging into the food, nobody waiting on ceremony or paying her any mind at all.
Good. Jenna dived into the meal, allowing the simple act of sharing a meal with others to dispel some of her unease.
She might be hundreds of years from home, but no matter where you were, it seemed some things didn’t change.
As she ate, she listened. Arran was in conversation with Mal, discussing deployment of warriors and debating the best way to keep the settlements on the tip of the island in contact with Dun Tabor.
Garrisons? Forts? Relay stations? They sounded like a people at war.
“It’s hardly conversation fit for the dinner table, is it?” Lady Rosaline said suddenly.
Jenna turned to the older woman. “I’m sorry? What?”
Rosaline nodded at Arran. “No matter how many times I tell him, he will insist on discussing such things at the most inappropriate times.” She sighed. “I tried to teach him courtly manners. In that, I’m afraid I’ve failed badly.”
Rosaline’s affection for Arran was obvious from the way she looked at him, but her exasperation too. It was, no doubt, the way her aunts looked at her. It seemed the push and pull of familial relationships was another thing that didn’t change, no matter where or when you found yourself.
“Oh, I don’t think you did too badly,” Jenna replied, taking another sip of mead. “He’s been nothing but a gentleman since I arrived.” She remembered the feel of Arran’s hard chest against her back as they’d ridden here and colored slightly.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Rosaline said.
“Although I suspect ye are merely being polite.” She swiveled in her seat until she was facing Jenna and took hold of her hand.
“I will say this in case my unruly son forgets to: thank ye. I know how ye came to be here and I canna imagine how difficult it must be to leave not only yer home but yer time as well. So, on behalf of Clan MacLeod and everyone on Skye, thank ye.”
Jenna shifted uncomfortably. “I… er… no problem,” she muttered.
Rosaline patted her hand and then returned to her meal.
Jenna covered her discomfort by taking another sip of mead.
She’d already finished two cups, and the sweet drink was going down very well.
A little too well, actually. Her thoughts were starting to feel a bit fuzzy and there was a comforting glow burning in her stomach.
As the meal wore on, the people of Dun Tabor seemed to forget her presence—for which she was profoundly grateful—and the racket grew gradually louder until the sound of the musician was almost drowned out by people talking, shouting, arguing, and laughing.
Jenna looked around as she ate, trying to work out who everyone might be.
Closest to the high table where she sat with Arran and Rosaline, the benches were filled with rowdy men who were busy getting drunk, laughing, and making ribald jokes at each other’s expense.
From their size and the way they were dressed—the same plaid wrap as Arran and with daggers at their belts—she guessed they were his warriors.
Slightly farther away sat a group of men and women dressed in plain but well-made clothes.
A few of them bore silver brooches on their shoulders carved into different designs: a book, a hammer, a set of weighing scales, and Jenna wondered whether these were the household staff and those brooches signified their occupations.
She considered asking Arran, but he was still in conversation with Mal, ignoring her entirely.
Farthest away from the high table, the benches were filled with an assortment of people.
Men, women, children, young and old, and Jenna guessed these were from the local village or else visiting the castle.
The cacophony of sounds and smells—laughing, swearing, singing, wood smoke, food, sweat—was a little intoxicating.
And a little overwhelming. She took another sip of her mead.
“I need the privy,” Mal announced loudly. He climbed to his feet, weaving unsteadily.
Rosaline glared at him. “Malcolm MacLeod! What have I told ye about manners?”
“Oops, my apologies, Aunt.” He gave a shaky bow. “If ye will excuse me, I have… business to attend to.” He wobbled out of the room.
“Sorry about him,” Arran said, turning to Jenna. “But my cousin has resisted all my mother’s attempts to tame him.”
Jenna raised an amused eyebrow. If he thought Mal was bad, he’d clearly never been down to Jenna’s local bar on a Saturday night.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, waving a hand. “I think he’s kind of charming.”
Arran snorted. “Charming? Did ye take a whack on the head during the journey here, lass? That is not a word I would associate with my cousin. Loud, aye. Uncouth, aye. But charming? Not so much.”
Jenna laughed. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
Arran gave a lopsided smile. “Too late. I tell him all the time.”
They fell silent, both watching the proceedings in the hall. Jenna took another sip of mead.
“I know this must be difficult for ye, lass,” Arran said at last. “And everything must seem strange, but it willnae be for long. Tomorrow, after ye have fixed the magic, I will take ye home.”
Jenna choked on her mead, spraying it all over her lap. “I’m sorry? Did you just say tomorrow?”
Despite the amount of mead he’d drunk, Arran seemed not in the least affected by it. His gaze was still as piercing, his posture still as rigidly in control. The firelight reflected off his hair, making it look like burnished gold as he stared at her.
“Aye. Once ye’ve restored the magic, we can use the tide pool to take ye home again.”
“Just like that? Do you think I can just click my fingers and fix everything? It’s a little more complicated than that!”
His eyes narrowed. “But ye said—”
“I know what I said! And I’ll do everything I can to help you, but it’s not as simple as you seem to think. I can’t just wave a magic wand. It will take time. There are things I need before I can even begin.”
Annoyance flashed in his bright blue gaze. “Like what?”
“Like figuring out how the magic was made in the first place. Like learning everything I can about the spellweavers who created it. Like figuring out why it failed and what I need to do to revive it. Do you know the first thing about what you’re asking?”
“Nay,” he growled. “I dinna. Which is why I’m paying ye handsomely to know about it instead. Are ye saying ye canna do what’s needed after all?”
“Are you listening?” Jenna snapped. “What I’m saying is that I’m going to need some time and you are going to have to be patient.
I would love to waggle my fingers, say ‘abracadabra’, and then be on my merry way, but that’s not how this works.
” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “So I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with me a while longer. Okay?”
Arran glared at her. He opened his mouth as though for an angry retort but before he could speak, Jenna spotted Rosaline out of the corner of her eye. She was giving her son a stern look of disapproval. Arran glanced between Jenna and his mother and then snapped his mouth shut.
“My apologies,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all.
“Of course ye shall have everything ye need. We have a library here at Dun Tabor, and I will ask Brother Merrick to find everything he can on the MacFinnan spellweavers. Tomorrow, I will show ye the island.” Rosaline caught his eye again and Arran coughed.
“That is, I will show ye the island if that is agreeable to ye.”
Jenna nodded. “Fine. So now that’s sorted, pass me that jug of mead will you?”