* * *
At day break the next morning, Domelch and Malcolm prepared to take their small boat out fishing. Despite the man’s constant overindulgence, he worked hard. Having Uradech join them seemed to be at Domelch’s insistence and not of Malcolm’s choosing or liking. Lachlann found the vision of the huge man struggling to sit within thecurrach,which quickly ran aground, extremely funny.
Malcolm did not. He scowled. When he tried to shoulder the vessel into the waves with little success, Lachlann came forward to help, but paused, motioning Niall and Aldred closer and called out, “Niall and Aldred are true fishermen.”
The two exchanged puzzled glances. They were not fishermen.
“Mayhap ye can stay here," Lachlann moved closer to Malcolm, “and allow Niall and Aldred to go in yer stead.”
Domelch’s eyes lit up. “A verra good suggestion indeed.”
She preened as Lachlann knew she would. Having Aldred and Niall all to herself and without a husband to gainsay her? A dream come true.
“I noticed ye have some skins drying.” Lachlann tipped his chin toward the large, low table set up and ready to use just beyond the sand. “Mayhap ye and I can remain here and I can assist ye with the scraping. I have never prepared seal skin.”
One on one with Malcolm, he hoped to ingratiate himself with the man, mayhap gain his trust so his questions about possible hiding places or even silver would not seem suspicious.
“Indeed.” Malcolm nodded, scratching at his chin. “That would be a great help.”
Niall and Aldred made quick work of getting the boat afloat, jumping in when they were thigh deep in the water. Malcolm and Lachlann stood watching the vessel as it broke through the incoming waves.
Lachlann knew the way to loosen Malcolm’s mouth and opened his satchel. Before lifting out the dark clay jar, he skimmed his fingertips against the medallion safely tucked within. Withdrawing the jug, he swished its contents. “A drink before we start?”
As expected, he had Malcolm’s full attention. He nodded and reached for the jug.
“’Tis a fine silver arm band ye wear.”
“Indeed.” Malcolm sat up straighter, admiring it. “A wedding gift from my wife’s leader, Aidan.”
“And all the baubles yer wife adorns herself with?”
Malcolm’s hawk-like glance made Lachlann want to kick himself. He moved too fast. Unsure exactly how to appear innocent, he curled his lips and kept quiet.
“They are gifts from me.” The man shrugged. “And Aidan has sent word that our tribe’s celebration will be anon and that you and your friends are expected. The others in our tribe will be there as well.”
Lachlann remembered Aidan’s invitation. “How many are in yer clan?”
“Tribe.”
Malcolm’s correction surprised Lachlann, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Twenty warriors,” Malcolm continued. “Ye’ve met Thomas. Some of the others were at the fair as well.”
“I thought ye had trouble remembering the event.”
Malcolm laughed, a genuine chuckle that brought out a dimple on both cheeks. “Domelch had been nagging me that night. I did not want her to think I remembered any of it, but I did. I will soon be giving her the gift she requested.”
“Such generosity.” Lachlann smiled, drinking directly from the jug. “A true Scot. A drink before we start?”
Malcolm nodded, took a drink, then scowled slightly before answering. “My father was a Scot.Iam a Pict. That is how Aidan refers to us.”
That seemed odd. Aidan seemed fairly intelligent so he must know that Picts disappeared hundreds of years ago.
“Truly?”
“We all have Pictish blood in us from long ago. It’s what unites this odd group of men. That and Aidan’s leadership.”
Long ago would have to be even further back than the stories the bards told, but Lachlann remained quiet.
