Montague knelt and gave the dog quiet words of praise. Rubbing the animal’s back, he said to the women, “I am not participating in the games.”
A chorus of protestations erupted from their blanket.
The handsome duke gave them a small smile. “Rothchild is, however.” He cocked his head at his friend. “Yes, why are you not wearing the appropriate uniform for the games?”
“I’m not showing my knees like a schoolboy!” The earl’s nostrils flared. “I borrowed these clothes from my groom, and they will serve me well enough.”
“Good luck to you,” Winnifred said. If Sin didn’t win everything, it would be nice to see England represented as a champion.
Montague rose and held out his hand. “Yes, don’t let our northern neighbors pummel you too badly.”
Rothchild merely glared at the offered hand and with a nod to the ladies, stomped away.
Montague chuckled. “Might I watch the games with you ladies?”
“Of course.” Winnifred spread her hand over the wide blanket. “Anywhere you can find a spot.”
Banquo popped to his feet and trotted over to her. He flopped across her legs, stretching out to his full length and pinning her to the ground.
She gently tapped the dog’s head. “This isn’t a spot.”
The dog sighed, and settled deeper, and Winnifred couldn’t help but scratch behind his ears.
Montague gracefully lowered himself on a patch of blanket slightly behind her and to her left. “You shouldn’t allow the animals to countermand your authority. If you’d like, I can show you some training techniques that will help to keep them in order.”
Banquo twitched an eyebrow and gave her an appraising look. She patted his side. “It’s all right, your grace. I don’t mind a bit of disorder now and then. Besides, they’re good dogs.”
Banquo huffed out a breath before closing his eyes for a nap.
“Filthy, flea-ridden creatures.” Lady Abercairn took a small bowl of strawberries Lady Margaret handed to her and picked out the largest berry. “I don’t understand why anyone keeps them.” She bit into the red flesh, just below the stem, her white teeth flashing.
Horatio crept toward the new food source, keeping his eyes pinned on the bowl of fruit. His paw left a bit of dirt on Lady Abercairn’s skirts.
Deirdre patted the ground beside her hip. “Horatio, come here. Ye wouldn’t like that anyways.”
Winnifred didn’t know if she meant the strawberries or the woman. Both were accurate, she supposed.
Montague stretched out his legs. “What am I to expect? Dunkeld said that in the past his clan has met with others for a gathering that included games, but didn’t mention much else.”
Winnifred stroked Banquo’s ear. “I’m not certain. I believe there is a log toss—”
“Caber toss,” Deirdre corrected.
“And the men throw rocks—”
“A stone put.” Deirdre sighed. “Truly, I’d hoped my son would have taught ye some of our customs.”
Winnifred shrugged. “I will learn about your gatherings by observing today. Besides, he has taught me much of your history.”
“Has he?” Lady Abercairn drawled. “I wonder. Which version of history have you learned?”
Winnifred drew her brows together. “There is only one version. History is a set of facts, immutable.”
The woman chuckled. “In your history books, I assume the Jacobites were merely a bunch of rebels, hung for treason.”
Winnifred slowly nodded. According to the Treaty of Union, in point of fact they were. The Scottish politicians had signed an accord to form the United Kingdom, and it would take another treaty to sever that union.
“To your new family, the Jacobites were martyrs to the cause. Freedom fighters.” Lady Abercairn leaned forward, her gaze so intense it made Winnifred recoil. “That is the version that we live and breathe by. Your husband has spent too much time with the English if he teaches you any different.”
