Page 35 of Highland Steel

“Yes. It was thought to be lucky. Or at least that is what all the men believed. Whenever they took the sword to battle, the MacKeefes came away victorious. They all shared the sword because, of course, the men are all vain and each of them thought they should be the one to have it.”

“Did something happen to it?” she asked.

“The Drummonds got a hold of it,” she said, seeming to be careful not to say too much. “It was Logan’s turn to have the sword and . . . and it was taken when it was in his possession.” Wren stood up. “Anyway, the MacKeefes went to battle with the Drummonds but the Drummonds won and kept the sword. So the MacKeefes think their good luck is gone now, because of Logan.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” said Rhoswen. “How did they get the sword to begin with? Logan hardly seems like the kind of man who wouldn’t fight to the death to keep what was his.”

“That part is not my story to tell,” said Wren. “If you want to know how it happened, Logan is going to have to tell you.”

“I see.” Rhoswen got up, picking up her gown. Looking down at it, she couldn’t bear to don it. She liked wearing the MacKeefe plaid. She felt good in it. It made her feel like part of a family, even if it wasn’t real.

Wren must have seen her indecision, because of what she said next.

“Why don’t you worry about changing later? Instead, can you find Logan and the others and tell everyone it is time to eat.”

“Thanks,” said Rhoswen, wanting to hug the woman, but she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to get too close to any of the MacKeefes. Because if she did, it was only going to make it harder when it came time to leave.

As Rhoswen left the kitchen, she ran into her sister who had stopped to play with a group of children on her way to the hospice to change. “Blaine, have you seen Logan and Newell?”

“I think they are down at the water’s edge,” said the little girl whose name was Sophie. “My brathair is down there with my da as well.”

“Your father?” asked Rhoswen, trying to remember who everyone was.

“Hawke,” said the woman she’d met named Phoebe who was Hawke’s wife.

“Thank you,” she said, heading down to the water.

“Newell?” she called out, stopping in her tracks when she saw Logan and Newell sparring – with swords. Hawke was doing the same with Oliver who was a few years younger than Rhoswen’s brother. “What is going on here?” She ran down the hill to the water. “Newell, put that sword down before you hurt yourself.”

“I won’t hurt myself, Sister.” Newell stopped and held up his sword. “Logan whittled swords for Oliver and me and now he and Hawke are showing us how to fight.”

“They are?” she asked, her heart going out to Logan for taking the time to do this.

“I think that’s guid for the day,” Hawke told Oliver. “Is the meal ready?” he asked Rhoswen.

“Aye, that’s what I came to tell you.”

“We’re havin’ haggis,” Oliver told Newell.

Newell made a face. “I don’t like haggis.”

“Ye dinna like haggis?” Oliver was the one to make a face now. “That’s because ye’re a Sassenach. Only real Highlanders like haggis.”

“Oliver, that’s no’ nice,” said Hawke.

“Well, it’s true,” said the boy.

“Mayhap Newell just thinks he doesna like it because he doesna ken how to eat it,” said Logan.

“What do you mean?” asked Newell.

“There are things we add to haggis to make it even more delicious than it already is. Mayhap Oliver can show ye.”

“All right,” said Newell, sticking his wooden sword through his belt. “I think mayhap I really do like haggis but just don’t know it yet.”

“Well, let’s stop talkin’ about it and go find out,” said Hawke with a chuckle. The three of them took off, heading back to camp.

“You whittled wooden swords for the boys?” asked Rhoswen.