Jane smiled tightly at Fionnula. “Thank you very much for pointing that out, Fionnula.”
“Is that so?” Garia asked with a smirk.
“Off with you!” Catrina said. “There ye go again, speaking when ye havenae been spoken tae.”
“Sorry, Lady Catrina,” the girl said and walked out of the room. Catrina pointed to a chair. “Dae sit, please, Jane.”
Jane sat down and Catrina made her way to the table where Fionnula had dropped the fabrics. “The laird suggested that ye might have nothing tae dae in the room, and I had hoped that ye might sew. Since ye dinnae, ye may want tae watch. These are blankets. All we are doing is sewing the edges so they dinnae fray. See?” She held the end of one of the fabrics up. “Of course, you may go back up if ye so wish.”
“It would not hurt to watch a while,” Jane said, “that is, if you would all have me.”
“Pay nay mind tae Garia,” Mary said. “She’s a sweetheart at heart, this one. Of course we would like tae have ye.”
“Speak fer yourself, Mary,” Garia said. Her voice carried such authority, and Jane mentally stood on guard. The woman seared Jane with an intense stare. “Englishwoman, we dinnae want ye here.”
“I understand,” Jane said. “Believe me, I do not want to be here, either. In this situation, that is. I shall go back.” She turned to Catrina. “Thank you.” She then stood up.
“Garia,” Mary drew out, “that was a tad harsh, was it nae?”
“She is a captive. An English captive, might I remind you. A captive does not sew unless the task is inflicted as labor. A captive is not a guest to be entertained.”
That did it. Jane sat back down. “Your laird does not seem to think so,” Jane said. She had their rapt attention. If a needle had fallen to the floor, they would have heard it. “If he did not like the idea of my being alone in my room, perhaps it is for the best that I am not? A laird is not only brave, but he is also wise. Is that not right, Catrina?”
“Yes,” Catrina said, and Jane wondered if the quality in her voice was amusement.
“So, madam,” Jane said, once again addressing Garia, “if you have better ideas on how to spend my time, I would be more than happy to hear them. If not...”
Garia regarded her darkly, and inwardly, Jane kicked herself for going too far. But then a smiled appeared on the woman’s face and she said, “I have none. You may stay.”
Mary made a sound that was akin to a squeal and Catrina chuckled.
“She can help with the folding,” Garia said to Catrina.
“Yes, Maither,” Catrina responded, and Jane’s eyes widened. She had had no idea that Garia was Catrina’s mother. All afternoon, Jane helped with the folding of the fabric while the other women sewed. In about two hours, they had exhausted discussions on the best fabric for blankets, the best kind of stitches for different items, the similarities and differences between English and Scottish fashion, Catrina and her twin Keith’s childhood, and Mary’s enormous bunion. Jane found herself enchanted by this simple fellowship. The closest thing she had ever had to this were her French classes, as the tutor, a well-sought-after matron, took on many young girls at once. During breaks, the girls would share gossip, but Jane would always find herself excluded because she considered the things they gossiped about to be mundane indeed. Here, she felt like she was a part of it. When she got to Loch Lomond, she might take up sewing, if she found someone to teach her. She revealed nothing private of herself, and they did not ask. For that she was grateful.
Garia had just suggested that Mary attempt to take out the bunion with a knife heated over the fire when a bell sounded.
“Tis time for the hearings,” Catrina said. “Let us go to the hearing room now. We must be quick, for there will not be many cases to hear today, on account of the feast tonight.”
“There is a feast tonight?” Jane asked.
“Nae really a feast,” Mary said. “A ceremony. Smaller than a wedding but bigger than a child’s first anniversary of birth.”
“Bigger than a small wedding,” Garia commented, and Mary seemed to think about it before she said, “Yes, I suppose.”
“What is it about?” Jane asked.
“Oh, it is a celebration of the oldest man in our clan,” Catrina said. “’Tis his sixty-second anniversary.”
“Oh,” Jane said. “That is… spectacular indeed.” How could the oldest man in the clan be only sixty-two?
“Aye,” Mary said. “All his peers are long gone, you see, due tae wars with other clans and wars with…”
“The English,” Garia finished.
“Come now,” Catrina said, getting up and motioning to Jane.
“Of course, he is nae the oldest in the clan,” Mary said. “The oldest is sweet Ayleen. Poor old thing is more than a hundred and yet gets nay recognition. Only her children and grandchildren remember.” She smiled wryly. “Well, ye must get going, Jane Marsh!”
