“Because they were built to hold his lemans,” said a woman’s voice.
They all looked at the black-haired woman standing inside the now open door. Gybbon was relieved that he was not the only one who had not heard her open the door. Even Sigimor looked surprised. Quickly counting the buildings in the row of cottages, he decided the old laird had been a randy old goat. There was a dozen, if one included the burned out one. Looking at the older woman’s still very pretty face surrounded by a thick fall of curly black hair, he also decided the mon had had very good taste.
“The old laird?” Sigimor asked.
“Aye. The son is a bit of a pious fool.Hissons, though, are nay so good. Eldest is pure evil. I willnae let him cross my thresh stone.” She looked them all over and grinned. “What can I do for all ye fine lads then?”
“We were told that ye might ken something about Maggie, the woman who lived in the cottage. The butcher said ye were her friend.”
“Aye.” Tears glistened in her eyes and Gybbon felt his heart sink as she shook her head and waved them inside. “Take a seat and I will fetch some cider for us. Dinnae sit on my dog,” she called out as she disappeared into another room.
Sigimor stood in front of one of the settees and glared down at a mottled gray ball of curls. “That isnae a dog. ’Tis a furry rat.”
“I heard that!” the woman said as she came into the room with a tray of tankards. “Impudent boy.”
“Boy? Havenae been called that in a long while.” Sigimor nudged the dog out of the way and sat down right after the woman did.
“When ye are my age near every mon who isnae gray and bent is a boy. Do the lads with your horses want anything?”
“Nay, they are fine. Ye dinnae need to serve them.”
“I wasnae going to. I was going to make ye do it.”
Gybbon saw her mischievous grin, then looked over to see Sigimor’s surprise quickly change to a narrow-eyed look with a strong hint of laughter behind it. “Ye stayed with the old laird the longest.”
“I did indeed. How do ye ken that?”
“Ye picked up some of his bite.”
The woman’s laugh carried a strong hint of bawdiness. She shook her head and retorted, “Och, nay. Nay. He got that from me. I will fetch ye some tankards and the jug for the other boys.” When she stood up, so did all the men. “Ye dinnae need to do that or ye will be bouncing up and down all the time. I am nay one who can sit still for long. Come along,” she said, signaling Sigimor to follow her.
Sigimor did and then went to serve some cider to each of the men watching their horses. Watching closely, Gybbon saw Sigimor give Fergus a rap on the head, then hand him some cider. When Sigimor stepped back inside, the woman rushed to meet him and hand him a tray with four little tarts on it.
“Go on. Give them to the boys.” She nudged him outside and dashed off again.
With a heavy sigh, he walked over to give each of the men a tart, then paused to glare at the smoldering pile that used to be Maggie’s home. “Hate to reward that brat Fergus for whining about food,” he said as he came in and sat down.
“He is fore’er hungry. Dinnae ken why he isnae so fat ye could roll him along the road to spare the horse,” said Nait. “Fire still smoldering?”
“Aye, and it troubles me that no one has done a thing about it.”
“Well, there are four men out there,” said Nanty.
“True enough, but we dinnae have any water.”
“Ye need water for something?” asked Morag as she came back in the room with a tray of tarts.
“That fire is still smoldering under the wreckage and it troubles me. Could just go out but could also flare up of a sudden.”
“Aye, it could. Could take down this whole row if it did. If ye have the men, I have barrels of water at the side of the house. I collect the rain when it falls. Use it to water the horses and all.”
“I have men.” He stood up and walked toward the door and then strode back to grab a tart, wink at Morag, and go out.
“Oh, that is most certainly a Cameron.”
“I apologize, ma’am,” Gybbon said. “I cannae believe we ne’er told ye our names. Aye, that was Sigimor Cameron, Laird of Dubheidland. Those men outside are his brother Fergus and three MacFingals of Scarglas. Here we have Nait Cameron and Nanty, Sigimor’s brother by marriage. I am Sir Gybbon Murray.”
“Oh, I once met a Murray at the king’s court. Lovely man. All the lassies sighed after him.”
