A heavy pine trunk lay on the trampled grass, and two competitors were testing its weight, rolling their shoulders and flexing their hands. Around them, folk shouted advice and wagers.
Tay was there, Midge weaving busily around ankles like a furry shadow. He was deep in conversation with two farmers, coins changing hands.
When he spotted Fiona, his weathered face split into a grin. “Care to join us, lass?” he asked. “A silver penny says it’s Lewis who sends it the farthest. Or do ye fancy Brochan today?”
Fiona snorted. “A silver penny is too rich for me.” Indeed, she’d just sent most of her first pay back to her ungrateful kin in Craignure; she wouldn’t waste the coin she had left on a wager.
“Wise,” Tay said solemnly. “Gambling is the root of all evil.”
His terrier chose that moment to nose insistently at Fiona’s skirts. Smiling, she crouched and gave him the last crumb of her cake. Midge accepted it before darting away again.
As the men in the ring readied themselves, Tay drifted closer, the betting finished for now.
“How’s yer great tapestry coming along?” he asked.
“Well,” Fiona said. “I’m about to weave the first of the birlinns on the sound. I made a sketch from the scene ye told me about and showed it to the laird. He was very pleased.” She smiled at him. “He said yer memory serves ye well.”
Tay huffed. “It’s a compliment indeed if Maclean thinks so. He was there, after all, when those birlinns came in. Hard days, those were.”
“Ye should come up and see the tapestry sometime.”
His expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I don’t usually go above stairs in the tower house, lass … not unless there’s a rat on the loose. Not sure I’d be welcome.”
Fiona gave him a quick, conspiratorial smile. “The laird doesn’t need to know.”
Before he could reply, a roar went up from the ring.
The first man had heaved the caber, but it wobbled and fell wide. Now, the second—Brochan—lifted it with a grunt, balanced it for a heartbeat, and sent it end over end. It landed straight and true.
The crowd erupted.
“Cods,” Tay muttered. “That’s three silver pennies gone.”
Fiona winced. “A painful loss.”
“Aye. And I should’ve known better. Big men aren’t always the strongest.” He studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp. “Ye have settled in here, lass?”
“I have,” she said, suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Mostly.”
He nodded, then said quietly, “It hasn’t escaped me that ye and Carrie no longer sit together at meals.”
The words struck harder than she’d expected. She drew a breath. “Some friendships don’t last.”
“That’s a pity,” Tay replied. “We’re a small community. Makes life easier if folk don’t fall out.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Fiona said, meeting his eye once more. “She set her heart on a lad who didn’t return it. And when he turned his eye on me instead, it was me she blamed.”
Tay grimaced. “Och … I don’t miss being young. Too much fire, not enough sense.”
“I didn’t want to lose her,” Fiona said with a sigh. “But ye can’t force someone to stay yer friend.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I’ll say this … I’ll keep an eye out for ye, lass. Even if I’m not such fine company as young Carrie.”
She laughed, and some of the tightness in her chest finally eased.
Turning, she let her gaze wander over the sea of color and movement.
On a small platform, Grace and Arabella were dancing to the skirl of a piper, red hair flying like banners as they spun and laughed.
