Page 35 of Highland Spy

“Nay. Wait, Caleb. I canna go without my faither.”

“Brigham, hurry. The king awaits ye,” Caleb called out across the room. The man mumbled something and fumbled with his plaid. “Egads, man, what are ye doin’? Ye canna keep the king waitin’.”

“I’ll get him,” said Bridget, hurrying across the room. “Caleb, can ye put the Highland Chronicles in my bag so I dinna forget it?”

“Aye. Of course,” he said, heading to her writing table.

When Caleb reached for the open book, something caught his eye. It was his name on the page. Hadn’t Bridget said she’d been writing in the chronicles all morning? It made him curious as to what she’d written about him. “Did ye scribe somethin’ about me on this page?” he asked, picking up the book to read it.

“No’ only on that page, but on many pages,” she told him, heading back across the room with her father in tow. “And I promise ye, they are all guid things.”

Caleb chuckled lowly, flipping back a few pages, seeing his name there as well. She wasn’t jesting. She’d written a lot about him and he couldn’t wait to read it. “Ye didna have to write so much about me, lass,” he told her, saying the words but secretly glad she did.

“Well, I felt terrible for what I did and wanted to make it up to ye. Plus, I didna want ye to tell the king my secret.”

“I understand,” he said with a smile. He’d never intended on telling the king or anyone about her secret. But if she thought he might have, all the better for him getting his name in the book more times than even his friends.

“Caleb, what the hell are ye doin’?” growled Logan, sticking his head in the open door. “The king is anxious to have his chronicler record everythin’ that happens regardin’ this competition.”

“Just a moment,” said Caleb, flipping back to the first page with his name on it. He really needed to read this.

Logan snatched the book out of his hands and slammed it shut, handing it to Brigham. “Everyone is waitin’ on the food because the king says he wants to see his chronicler first. Ye were sent here to get him and yet ye stand here readin’ a book. What is the matter with ye?”

“Aye, let’s go,” said Bridget, hurrying out the door with her father.

“I need to check on Slink first,” said Caleb. “Ye didna let him out of our room, did ye, Logan? I dinna want Jack to eat him.”

“Nay, I didna, and Jack is in the barn,” said Logan. “Slink is fine, so check on him later. We need to get to the great hall. Oh, and by the way, I dinna think the finalists are goin’ to like yer nocturnal pet in the room when they’re tryin’ to sleep tonight.”

“What are ye talkin’ about?” asked Caleb.

“Didna ye hear? The lairds who are the finalists will be sharin’ a room with us now. Storm says they need special treatment so he is bringin’ them into the castle overnight.”

“Nay!” whined Caleb. “I canna share a room with ye as well as five other lairds. It’ll be too tight to even move.”

“It’s either that or stay out in the barn,” said Logan. “But Jack has made himself comfortable out there, and I’m no’ goin’ to make him move, if ye decide to sleep with Slink in the hay again.”

“Fine, I’ll share a room,” said Caleb with a sigh. “But I’m no’ givin’ up my pallet,” he added, heading out the door.

Chapter 12

“Bridget, where have ye been?” asked Caleb’s sister, Trea, as Bridget entered the great hall with her father.

“The king has been callin’ for yer faither and is no’ happy,” added Caleb’s youngest sister, Finnea. While Trea had dark hair, Finnea’s locks were more like her mother’s, being a reddish-brown.

“Well, we’re here now,” said Bridget, feeling extremely nervous. Everyone was watching her. Her father mumbled some nonsense to himself, and she was afraid he was going to start seeing hallucinations and screaming again. If that happened, they would be doomed.

“Trea, my da is no’ doin’ so well today,” Bridget whispered to the girl.

“Here is some more of the tincture that will calm him.” Trea slipped a small glass vial to Bridget. “It’s a strong batch so be sure to only use a drop or two in his wine. Any more than that and he might fall flat on his face and go into a deep sleep right at the table.”

“I understand,” said Bridget, slipping the vial into her pouch as they got seated. No sooner did they sit down than Logan sat across from her at the trestle table. The raised dais was being used for the king, and also Storm and Wren. Also sitting up at the dais were the five other men who were to compete in the finals. “Where is Caleb?” asked Bridget curiously, her eyes scanning the crowded room.

Servers busied themselves carrying large trays above their heads, loaded down with venison in a thick brown herbal gravy, haggis, and loin of lamb with a mint and rosemary sauce. The most ornate dish being served for the king was a peacock stuffed with chunks of buttered and grilled white bread. It was surrounded by sautéed root vegetables glazed with honey. The bird had its feathers reattached and spread out in a beautiful array of colors. The sight was breathtaking and almost too pretty to eat.

The servers placed the food on the dais table. Then, a boy carrying a big pot and ladle poured cockaleekie soup into bowls that were made of etched metal. Tall, gold goblets graced the table and were filled by the cupbearer with the king’s favorite – heather wine. It was a delicacy of the Highlands.

“Ah, there’s my chronicler,” said the king, spotting Bridget and her father. “Brigham, I hope ye’ve been fillin’ my book with wonderful stories.”