Surviving Scotland by Kristin Vayden Page B

chuckled.
    “Ioan was always yer partner in crime but, as ye got older, something changed in him. I donna ken what. Probably the realization that ye were a girl, and him bein’ a boy meant he couldna play with ye and no’ get teased fer it. Ye didn’t take it well, his change. A few times ye stuck frogs in his bed, but he returned the favor and ye quit.” Morag shook her head. “Yer father passed from a wound in the battle of Sherrifmuir. Yer mither lived a few years longer, but passed when ye were only about seventeen. Yer uncle has been yer guardian since, and takes his job verra seriously, as ye have noticed.”
    I nodded. The loss of my parents was difficult to swallow. Hearing the details made it more real. So much loss. No wonder my uncle was suffocating in his care. He had lost just as much as I.
    “Is my uncle married?”
    “He was, years ago. A bonny lass, but she died during childbirth, both her and the bairn dinna survive. He swore he’d never marry after that and has kept his word.”
    “I canna imagine losing a child.” I shook my head.
    “‘Tis a difficult thing, ta be sure.”
    “Is that why he’s so cautious with me? He’s afraid I’ll die as well?” I asked after a moment of contemplation.
    “Aye, ye’re a quick lass. ‘Tis the truth, or so it would seem. So donna be hard on him. Ye’re his only family and lass, ye’re the heir.
    “Heir?”
    “Aye, his last relation. When ye marry, yer husband will be laird.”
    The realization startled me. It made sense but, me? I couldn’t keep myself out of trouble; how was I to help lead a clan?
    “Donna fash yerself, lass. ‘Twillna be fer a long while. By then you’ll be married to a braw warrior with bairns tuggin’ at yer skirts.”
    As she mentioned a braw warrior, a picture of Ioan appeared in my mind, grinning at me. Another picture of him standing in the mist this morning, strong and unwavering, flickered next, and my face warmed. Perhaps he wasn’t as annoying as I’d originally thought.
    “Well, lass, I best be leavin’. We’ll see ye fer dinner tonight.” Morag slapped her knees and rose carefully. She came over to my chair and patted my shoulder, then walked toward the door.
    “Morag, wait…” I called and stood up. “Speakin’ o’ dinner… what are neeps an’ tatties?”
    “Turnips an’ potatoes… why do ye ask?”
    “Oh, no reason. Thank ye.”
    She nodded and left. I sat back down and amended my thoughts on Ioan. Yes, he really was that annoying.

Chapter Five

    As evening approached, I walked to the large hall for supper. The room buzzed with people conversing and women serving ale and food. I scanned the crowd and picked a table sparsely populated and waited. After a moment, Ioan came up and plopped himself beside me. He reached across the table to pick up a roll and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. He grinned at me with overstuffed cheeks, and I couldn’t suppress a giggle. He winked at me and I rolled my eyes and reached for one as well, but tore off a tiny piece and popped it in my mouth. The heavy richness of the bread made my mouth water.
    Soon we filled trenchers with food, and I glanced around for some kind of utensil. To pick up the food with my bare hands seemed strange, wrong. Surely there was another way?
    “What? Ye’ve forgotten how ta eat as well?” Ioan asked, once he swallowed a mouthful.
    “Nay, I just don’t want ta eat, like that.” I regarded the men around me, eating with their knives from trenchers, using their hands more often than not.
    “What’s wrong with it?” Ioan picked up a hunk of meat with his hand and made a show of shoving the whole thing in his mouth. I suppressed a gag reflex at the juice dripping down his chin.
    “Disgusting.”
    “Thank ye.” Ioan spoke with his mouth full of food. His eyes twinkled, and I found myself laughing at his inability to chew the large bite in his mouth. I raised my eyebrow at his effort to manage it. His eyes narrowed and he