Chapter 12
“I had a thought,” Helena announced, leaning forward over her plate of sausages and egg.
“Dangerous, Mother,” Hunter drawled, raising an eyebrow.
She shot him a look.
“I had a thought,” she repeated, eyeing him defiantly. “We should host a cèilidh.”
He hadn’t been expecting that. He frowned, swirling his drink in his goblet. It was too early for wine, even though he couldn’t help but wish for the sweet-sour tang of it. Instead, he had decided to stick with water. It seemed safer.
Unlike some other lairds, Hunter preferred his family to eat separately from the rest of the ladies, councilmen, and important people.
The dining room was large, large enough to easily contain the main table—a heavy, long wooden thing—and a smaller table for him and the guests.
For special occasions, of course, he joined the main table, but usually it was easier to eat separately. More private, too.
He could feel Daphne’s eyes on him. She’d chosen to sit at the opposite end of the table, with Lady Pilbury on one side and Willow on the other. Whenever he glanced at her, she seemed deep in conversation, but when he looked away, he could feel her stare.
Best to ignore it for now, probably.
“I’m nae sure that now is the time for a cèilidh, Mother,” he said.
“Well, why nae?” Helena pressed. “Our guests will enjoy it.”
“We daenae want to tire them out. Besides, there’s a great deal of uncertainty amongst the clans at the moment.”
She leaned forward. “And that’s exactly why we ought to host one.
People need a morale boost. When yer father was Laird, we threw parties outside the keep, too, so that common folk could join in and celebrate with us.
They loved it. They kent that a celebration at the keep was a celebration for everybody.
People talked about it for days after and looked forward to it for weeks. It’s what we need.”
He cleared his throat, eyeing his food. None of it looked very appetizing. His appetite was simply nonexistent today.
“Lady Pilbury is here for her health,” he said firmly. “A cèilidh would exhaust—”
“Oh, don’t deny yourselves on my account,” Lady Pilbury piped up. “I love to see people enjoying themselves. I’ll sit and watch, and if I get tired, well, I’ll simply take myself off to my room. No harm done.”
“As for Daphne, I’m sure she’ll want to dance,” Helena chipped in. “Wouldnae ye, lass? To oblige an old woman like me?”
Daphne dragged her gaze up from the table. “Hm? Dance? Aye, if that’s what ye want, Lady Helena.”
“What’s a cèilidh?” Willow asked.
“Oh, it’s a party, lassie!” Helena explained, brightening. “Will it nae be fun?”
To their surprise, the little girl pulled a face. “I daenae like parties.”
“Ah, I think I’m to blame for that,” Lady Pilbury sighed.
“I have occasionally brought Willow to small, informal parties with my friends. They’re very quiet affairs.
We sit around and talk, drink tea, and so on.
I enjoy it, but I suppose it’s not much fun for a little girl.
Willow, dearest, I think that a cèilidh is very different from an English party. ”
“It is that,” Helena confirmed, nodding earnestly. “There’s music, dancing, and lots and lots of food. Oh, and games! We sometimes play games too. There’ll be children of yer age, so ye will have people to play with.”
Willow sat up a little straighter. “Friends? Might I have friends?”
Hunter’s chest tightened. “Aye, lass,” he said firmly. “As many friends as ye want.”
He caught Daphne’s eye as she shot him a quick, thoughtful look. The moment passed, of course, and then it gradually occurred to him that everybody was staring at him, waiting expectantly.
He was going to have to decide.
Really, was now a good time for a cèilidh? No, he didn’t think so, but they were all looking at him…
A soft, warm weight abruptly leapt up onto his lap, making him jump. Squinting down, Hunter found himself staring back into the bright yellow eyes of a red fur ball.
“It’s the bloody baby fox,” he muttered. “Nearly made me jump out of me skin.”
“Why didnae River jump up on me knee?” Willow mumbled, pouting. “I give him treats all the time.”
“Ye have to be patient with animals, lass,” Daphne explained quietly. “And the ribbons—”
“But the ribbons are so pretty!”
“Wild animals often daenae like ribbons, lass. I’m sorry to say it.”
Willow sank deeper into her seat, disconsolate. “Well, I suppose I will try nae to put so many ribbons on his ears, then.”
“A wise choice,” Daphne agreed. She briefly met Hunter’s gaze and seemed to be holding back a chuckle.
“Perhaps he likes warriors more, anyway,” Willow sighed.
Hunter reached down, tentatively stroking the baby fox’s soft forehead. He had curled up in a tight ball, for all the world like a cat, and closed his eyes.
“Well, if that’s the case, why daenae ye become a warrior yerself, then?” Hunter suggested.
Willow’s head snapped up. “Can I?”
“Aye, of course.”
“What does a warrior do?”
Hunter considered for a moment. “Well, it’s more than swinging a sword, but that’s a good place to start.” Leaning forward, he held the little girl’s gaze. She was transfixed. “Warriors protect people, just like ye protected this wee fox. Do ye think ye could do that?”
“I do,” she breathed. “When do we start?”
“Hold on for a moment,” Daphne interjected, a little uncertainly. “What’s this talk of becoming a warrior?”
“She ought to learn how to defend herself.” Hunter shrugged, downing the last of his drink and wondering if he should get to his feet. “Training is good for everybody, in me opinion.”
“Aye, but nae yet,” Daphne whispered in response. “She’s a wee bit young, daenae ye think?”
“I think that youngsters are in as much danger as anyone else. I’ll do nothing without yer consent, of course.”
The conversation around the table stilled. Lady Pilbury and Helena exchanged quick, uncertain glances. Willow’s eyes went wide, and she glanced uncertainly up at her mother.
“Mama? Can I?”
Daphne let out a long breath and nodded tightly. “I suppose it’ll do nay harm. Ye need to learn to defend yerself sooner or later.”
“Why?”
“Just in case.”
Willow seemed to accept that. Wriggling around, she slipped down from the bench and came pattering around the table. Hunter watched her approach, a little baffled.
How did one deal with a little girl of her age? He didn’t know much about children. Didn’t know anything. Daphne managed it with ease, and so did Helena and even Lady Pilbury.
He watched silently as Willow trotted up to him, beaming.
“Can we train now, then?” she asked hopefully.
He blinked. “Well, I… I daenae see why nae.”
Brightening, Willow seized his hand in both of hers and tugged. “Come on, then! Let’s go, let’s go! I ate all of me breakfast, all of it!”
“Willow…” Daphne warned, a hint of anxiety in her voice.
Hunter knew that she was about to scold the little girl for pulling him around. To forestall it, he gave her a smile and a nod.
“I daenae mind,” he murmured, and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet. The baby fox jumped off his lap, aggrieved, and scuttled off into the shadows.
Willow held onto his hand. Because she was so small, he had to lean right down to keep his hand in hers. If he straightened, he’d either pull away or lift her until she was dangling high above the floor.
She didn’t seem to notice. She tugged him out of the dining room and out along the hallway toward the front door, beyond which was the courtyard. She chattered as they went.
“… archery, but Lady Pilbury’s friend said that ladies cannae shoot bows and arrows. Can I learn to shoot a bow and arrow?”
“Of course,” Hunter responded. “Me sister is very good at shooting arrows.”
Willow twisted to look up at him. “Ye have a sister?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s in another keep, with her husband.”
“Will I meet her?”
“I’ll make sure that ye do.”
With a pang of guilt, Hunter realized that he hadn’t even thought of writing to Skye about his daughter. How would he even start? He and his sister had told each other everything, once upon a time.
Of course, lately, things had changed. She had her husband to think about and her own keep to run. She had worries of her own, and no doubt secrets too.
He missed his sister more than he cared to let her know. Nobody needed to know. Skye was safe and happy, and nothing else mattered.
They reached the courtyard, and Willow paused, glancing around, obviously at a loss as to where to go next. She twisted around to peer questioningly up at him.
“This way, lassie,” he murmured, bending down and scooping her up into his arms, lifting her high enough to sit on his shoulder. “We train on some fields around the back of the keep. It’s wise to keep a distance, because we throw javelins and practice archery.”
“Can I try throwing a javelin?”
He suppressed a smile. “Let’s decide when ye get there.”
He strode around the keep, and the training fields opened up before them. Rain had fallen recently, leaving the grass bright green and fresh-smelling. A handful of men sparred at the opposite end of the field. They paused when they saw him, glancing at him questioningly.
“As ye were, lads,” Hunter called, carrying Willow to the armory.
The armory was little more than a shed, although it was guarded by no less than four soldiers at all times. The soldiers in question stepped aside at once when they saw him, bowing deferentially. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, revealing a long wooden building filled with weapons.
Swords of all kinds hung on the wall, recently sharpened. Alongside them were javelins, pikes, maces, axes, and of course various types of shields. Quivers of arrows covered one particular wall, and the bows hung neatly in front.
Of course, the wooden training weapons and staves were closer to the door, to make them easier to grab. Gently, Hunter set Willow down on her feet.
She stared around her, open-mouthed. “There are so many,” she breathed.
“Aye, but this is only about half of the weapons in the keep.”
She swung around to face him. “There are more?”