Chapter 10
“Now this is the one ye should’ve turned into a painting.”
Kate knew without looking that the sketch Roderick had plucked from her portfolio would be the one of the copulating badgers.
Three weeks had passed since the disastrous badger incident, and she, Roderick, Arthur, and Colin had gathered for dinner at the Sheep Heid Inn, an old pub near Holyrood Park.
Kate and Nathaniel would be departing on their expedition to the Isle of Lewis tomorrow, so they had gathered to toast her departure.
She glanced across the table. Surely enough, the sketch Roderick was holding up was of the badgers, locked in their furry embrace.
She sighed. In retrospect, she supposed it was a bit funny. Even Colin was snickering.
She cast Roderick a baleful look. “I’ll give that one to you, as that’s apparently the sort of thing you like. You can hang it next to your bed.”
Colin and Arthur hooted their approval. Roderick grinned, taking the barb in stride. “I can’t say I have anything similar.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Of badgers, anyway.”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Arthur said. “Nobody wants to hear about your collection of ‘special drawings.’”
“The ones you hide under your mattress,” Colin added.
Kate felt her cheeks grow warm. She tried to hide her embarrassment by taking a sip of her ale.
She knew they were referring to scandalous prints, not that she had ever seen any.
She was always nervous when the conversation strayed in this direction.
So far, Colin or Arthur had always changed the subject before things grew too bawdy.
But she was given to understand that men sometimes discussed this sort of thing amongst themselves, and she worried that it was only a matter of time before someone made a comment that she would rather not hear.
Arthur fixed her with his blue-eyed gaze. “Was it awkward, sketching something like that?”
Kate shrugged. “A bit. But it’s part of the job. Did you know that copulation amongst badgers can take up to an hour?”
This earned her a laugh from her friends.
“An hour?” Colin snorted. “No wonder this drawing is so detailed.”
“That is impressive,” Roderick mused. “Even my personal record is only—”
“Two minutes?” Colin guessed.
“Ha!” Roderick cried. “More like—”
Arthur threw a roll at him. “Nobody wants to hear about that, Buchanan.”
Untroubled, Roderick took up the roll, which had bounced off his forehead, and took a bite. “That’s all right. I’m accustomed to the jealousy of others.”
Colin rolled his eyes before turning to Kate. “I’m surprised the badgers hung around with you two lurking outside their den.”
“Farmer Ross built a little makeshift shed that served as our hide,” Kate explained.
“Ah,” Arthur said, flipping through the sketches. “That sounds more comfortable than your average expedition.”
“Not really,” Kate said without thinking. She immediately wished she could take back the words. It wasn’t as if she wanted to discuss why it had been so uncomfortable.
She looked up to find Arthur studying her with a piercing stare. “What was so uncomfortable about it?”
She tried to make her voice light. “The quarters were a bit… cramped.”
Colin leaned forward, weaving his fingers together in front of him. “Just how cramped was it?”
It was a good thing the lighting in the interior of the old pub was so dim, because Kate was certain her cheeks were crimson. “Uncomfortably so.”
Roderick snorted. “The way ye’re blushing, ye’d think ye had to sit on Mr. Sterling’s lap or some such.” Kate’s cheeks flamed, and Roderick gave a cackle of delight. “Jesus Christ—ye did have to sit on his lap, didn’t ye?”
She caught Colin and Arthur sharing an amused look.
“It’s not funny,” she muttered, reaching for her drink.
“Oh, come on,” Colin said. “It is a little bit funny.”
“Especially when you factor in the pair of badgers fooking a few feet away,” Roderick added helpfully.
Kate was desperately trying to think of a way to shift the conversation to a new topic when a shadow fell over their table. She glanced up and saw Iain Galbreath, the illustrator Nathaniel had hired and subsequently fired from the position she currently held.
Suddenly, their previous conversation didn’t seem all that bad. She forced herself to smile. “Iain! Good evening.” He said nothing in return. After a beat of awkward silence, Kate continued, “Are you enjoying a drink with your—”
“These are your drawings?” he asked, dragging her portfolio across the table.
Kate was grateful that Roderick was still holding the sketch of the fornicating badgers, so that wasn’t the first thing he saw.
Iain narrowed his eyes as he flipped through her recent sketches.
By the time he came to the watercolors of Marigold the puma and the snowy owl, his face had settled into a sneer.
“Hmpf!” He pushed the portfolio away. “I suppose these are passable, but it’s obvious that you are a generalist. As a specialist in entomology, I create illustrations of insects that are more accurate than you could possibly…”
He trailed off as Arthur pulled out the painting of the swollen-thighed beetle with its iridescent green shell and placed it on top of the stack.
Roderick was openly smirking. “Ye were saying?”
Iain’s face turned beet red. “That’s… That’s nothing! A cheap sort of… parlor trick.”
“That’s talent,” Colin said firmly.
“Not that ye’d recognize it,” Roderick added cheerfully.
“Fellows, really!” Kate shot them a pleading look. “I have not yet had the pleasure of viewing Iain’s entomological illustrations. But I am sure they are excellent.”
“Not really,” Arthur muttered.
Kate cast him a glare, then turned toward Iain. “Perhaps sometime the two of us could get a coffee and discuss the challenges of scientific illustration.”
Iain’s nostrils flared. “I’m sure you would like that! The chance to copy my ideas. My techniques!” He drew himself up. “No, thank you!”
Kate sighed. At least she had tried. “As you like. Let me know if you ever change your mind.”
“He won’t,” Roderick said. “’Tis the mark of a small man, not to be able to acknowledge the talent of others.”
“Roderick!” Kate hissed.
Iain looked as if he might explode. “What did you say?”
Roderick met his gaze steadily. “Ye heard me.”
Iain lifted his chin. “I demand satisfaction!”
Roderick laughed. “Are ye certain? Ye want to meet me with swords at dawn?”
Iain blanched. Kate didn’t blame him. He was as tall as Roderick, but based on his slim frame, he’d probably never wielded anything but a paintbrush.
Meanwhile, Roderick had brought a claymore with him to Edinburgh.
He often brought it along when they spent an afternoon lounging on the green beneath the castle.
Kate had even made some sketches of him drilling with it in his kilt.
She was planning on adding some watercolors to one and presenting it to Roderick for his birthday.
Iain’s eyes darted about. Kate suspected he was trying to think of a way to walk back his hasty threat. “You misunderstand me.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “My quarrel is with him.”
“What?” Kate cried. “I have no quarrel with you. Name one thing I’ve done!”
“Paint better than him,” Arthur muttered.
Iain lifted his chin. “You know precisely what you’ve done! You stole my post as Mr. Sterling’s illustrator. I should be the one going on that expedition to Lewis. Me!”
Kate felt a pang of sympathy because she could imagine how disappointing losing the position must have been for Iain. Still… “I had nothing to do with that decision,” she said gently. “I understand your disappointment. But it is misdirected.”
Iain’s expression remained flinty. “I disagree.”
“I tell ye what.” Roderick stood, stepping mere inches from Iain’s face. “We’re here at the Sheep Heid Inn, after all. What do ye say we settle this with a game of skittles?”
Skittles was a popular game often played at inns and pubs in which the participants tried to knock over a group of pins balanced on their ends using either a ball or an oblong disc.
The Sheep Heid Inn had a very old skittles alley in its courtyard.
It was said that James, the Scottish King who also ascended to the English throne, creating Great Britain, had once played a game there.
Skittles was certainly preferable to swords at dawn. But there was still an issue Kate wished to clarify.
“Who, exactly, is we?” Kate asked.
Ignoring her, Iain nodded crisply. “Very well. Meet me in the courtyard. We’ll start in ten minutes.” He turned on his heel and made his way toward the door.
Kate turned to Roderick. “Please tell me that you’re the one who will be taking on Iain in this game of skittles.”
Roderick pulled her to her feet. “Of course not, ye numpty. It’s not my honor he just impugned.”
Kate blanched. “But I’ve never played skittles before!”
Colin was busy gathering her sketches and putting them back into her portfolio. “Really? Did they not have a skittles alley at your local pub?”
Oh, err…” It probably seemed odd for a young man to have never played such a popular pub game. “I didn’t spend much time at the local inn. We didn’t have money for such things.”
Roderick did not look particularly bothered. “Eh. Dinnae fash yerself. It isn’t so very hard.” He grabbed Kate’s arm, towing her toward the door. “Come on!”
As they entered the courtyard, Roderick said, “As I was explaining, skittles is a simple game. There are nine pins. Ye roll the ball and knock them down.” He waved a hand. “I could do it left-handed.”
“Good for you,” Kate muttered.
Arthur came up beside her. “One rule to note is that you have to knock the frontmost pin down first.”
Roderick rounded on him. “What nonsense is this? Ye can knock the pins down in any order.”
Arthur crossed his arms. “I suppose you could, but any pins you knock down before the first one won’t earn you any points.”
Colin placed a hand on his arm. “I can’t believe I’m about to utter these words. But Roderick is right.”
Arthur bristled. “The hell he is!”
An argument ensued with the three of them debating the finer points of the skittles rulebook.
Kate decided the scant minutes she had before her clash with Iain would be better spent observing the game itself.
She headed toward the skittles alley. The current bowler had his back to her.
He was bent forward and frozen in concentration.
That was when Kate noticed that a crowd had gathered and was waiting for him to make his shot with hushed anticipation.
Kate glanced toward the pins. It mustn’t have been his first shot, because only three pins remained standing.
Two of them were on the left side of the pin area, and one was on the far right.
Kate frowned. The shot looked impossible, yet the crowd was waiting with bated breath.
Just then, the bowler drew back his arm and sent the ball spinning down the grassy alley.
To Kate’s astonishment, it clipped the rightmost pin at such a sharp angle that the pin flew to the left, knocking over both remaining pins.
A cheer went up from the crowd and Kate joined in.
Meanwhile, the bowler raised his fists overhead and spun around in celebration.
Kate started. The bowler was Nathaniel Sterling.