“There’ll be food, and entertainment, and dancin’. It goes on till dawn, but I’ll make extra sure that I get back on time,” Alaina added, eyeing Megan worriedly. “There’s nothin’ to fret over.”
“I’m nae frettin’,” Megan responded. “But if Ryder finds out we’re gone, there’ll be reason enough to fret.”
Alaina sniffed. “Well, he willnae. I’ve done this before, and he doesnae ken.”
That was an interesting piece of information. Megan tucked it away in her head to investigate further. For now, she had other things to think about.
They approached the village, which was bustling with light and sound. Laughter and conversation drifted out of the gates, along with strains of music.
The horses slowed to a trot, then to a walk. They all dismounted as they reached the entrance. A couple of yawning guards stoodat the gateway, wearing MacCulloch tartan. Alaina hurried over to stand by Megan.
“They willnae recognize us,” she whispered. “They never do. I daenae believe they have the faintest idea of who we are without Ryder standin’ beside us. People only ever look at the Laird.”
They passed through the gates. There was a place to tie up their horses, with food and hay available, so they did just that. A wide, hard-packed dirt road led into the village square, which was full of people.
Braziers burned on every corner. Candles and lanterns hung everywhere, and a huge bonfire burned right in the middle of the square. There were stalls selling food and drink—cider, mulled wine, ale, cakes, porridge, sugared fruit, and more. One stall sold pieces of roast meat, and people handed over money for a dripping chicken leg or a piece of pork, soaked in gravy and wrapped in a slice of bread. The smell of food filled the air, making Megan’s stomach rumble.
Other stalls sold trinkets. There was jewelry carefully fashioned from wood, bone, and twine, occasionally with a piece of polished glass. One stall sold nothing but hagstones, polished and hung on various necklaces—strips of ribbon, plain twine or rope, and even what looked like a silver chain.
“There’ll be a sword dance later,” Hamish interjected, “and other dances. Jigs and whatnot. Do ye like to dance, Lady Megan?”
“I suppose so,” she managed, offering him a faint smile. It still felt odd to hear herself called “Lady”anything.
After a few moments, it was clear that Alaina was right. Nobody had looked at them twice. The square was packed with people of all ages, clustering around the storytellers and poring over the hagstones for sale. The other girls and Stephen hurried off toward a stall selling cake, leaving Alaina, Hamish, and Megan alone.
“Go on, get some cake,” Alaina said to him with an encouraging smile. “Ye must be starved.”
He gave her a wry smile and hurried off toward her friends. Alaina watched him go, then turned on Megan.
“Me braither hired ye, did he nae?” she said flatly. “Ye are just another guard.”
Megan had not been expecting this. She floundered for words, stuttering, until Alaina rolled her eyes.
“Daenae worry, I am nae upset,” she muttered. “I should have kent it was all too good to be true. What am I meant to think when ye carry a bow and arrow around with ye?”
Megan flushed, reaching up to touch the bow hooked over her shoulder.
“Well, maybe I thought there would be an archery competition.”
Alaina snorted, shaking her head. “Ye are a bad liar.”
Megan bit her lip, glancing away. “I cannae answer yer question, lass. I’m sorry. Nae without getting’ ye and meself into trouble.”
Alaina stared at her for a long moment before nodding faintly.
“I understand. For what it’s worth, Megan, I like ye. I like ye very much. Have ye a penny?”
“What?” Megan managed, a little taken aback by the change of subject. “What do ye need a penny for?”
“That stall,” Alaina explained, pointing. “It sells black buns. I adore black buns, but I havenae got a penny.”
“Oh, I see,” Megan fumbled in her pocket and came up with a penny. “Will this get a bun?”
“It’ll get us two,” Alaina answered, grinning. She snatched the coin and hurried over to the stall. Megan followed her and watched as Alaina chattered and laughed with the old woman behind the stall. Two black buns were handed over. Alaina dug in with relish, and Megan eyed the treat. It looked like a fruitcake—heavy and fragrant—wrapped up in pastry. It was warm, clearly freshly made, and she took a large bite.
“They’re delicious, eh?” Alaina asked, with her mouth full. “Me mother loved them. Ryder never has them served at feasts, as he hates fruit cakes.”
Megan paused, frowning. “What, even though he kens it is yer favorite?”
