The Night Side by Melanie Jackson

wha manner o’ people these sassuns are.”
    “No one is clasped at my bosom. Nor shall they be,” Frances Balfour said stonily. “My bosom is quite alone and contentedly so.”
    “And what manner of person is that, ancient one?” Colin asked, more amused than offended. While the old man searched his memory for more insulting words, he hurried on, “Any road, I am only part sassun. I am of clan MacLeod on my mother’s side.”
    “And mair the shame for it! A MacLeod! As well to hae a starving wolf in our midst.”
    Colin was inclined to agree but could hardly say so with Frances and George standing about. “Be that as it may, if you are to remain with us, I must insist upon silence while I instruct my students. If you cause them to miss a shot I shall have to throw you into the sea to collect their balls,” he explained pleasantly, earning a look of approval from his new mistress.
    “Aye! You and wha’ army, ye fiery pimpled pillico— Ack!” The old man got no further before Colin picked him up and hove him over the side of the short cliff.
    It was not a long drop and there were no boulders below; still, Colin watched attentively to see that the oldster did in fact emerge from the surf with limbs unbroken. His present goal was to instruct, not maim.
    “He fell in the water,” Frances said on a note of disappointment, watching as the bedraggled man toiled back up the cliff face.
    “Aye, but it is very cold water,” Colin answered consolingly. “And now he shall have to go and find dry clothing. So we will be left in peace.”
    However, Tearlach did not follow this sensiblecourse. It took him a few moments to regain the cliff top, but when he did, he turned immediately in their direction. His expression was dogged.
    “So, it is as I feared. The man is daft,” Colin said softly to MacJannet.
    “So it would appear.”
    “This may prove fatiguing.” Colin selected a club at random and handed it to Frances Balfour. “I should like to see your form with my stick in hand,” he said blandly.
    She did not react to his leading remark, suggesting to Colin that in spite of her horrifying vocabulary she truly was an innocent.
    “As you wish.” Frances’s face and voice were both dubious, but she calmly set about addressing the ball. Her swing was clean and forceful, and it sent the leather pouch straight into the air, where it fell to earth only a few feet away.
    “ Mon Dieu !” she breathed, dismayed.
    “Not at all, mistress,” Colin said quickly. “That is the design of this club. I thought we should see how they all performed before resuming the game.”
    “Ah! That is sensible,” she said, relaxing. “George, you must try this one. It will be good for sand.”
    The dripping Tearlach rejoined them. “You must be one for coo-kissing,” he said, squinting at Colin through dripping gray locks.
    “He means that you are rough, sir,” MacJannet translated, sotto voce. He added, before Colin could react violently: “Coo-kissing is a mild vulgarism but not actually indecent speech.”
    “I shall be rougher still if you use impolite language in front of your mistress again,” Colin saidsternly, handing the club to George. He instructed the lad: “Move up a wee bit and try to keep your head down.”
    Tearlach searched Colin’s expression, and finding strict purpose there, wisely waited to speak until George had finished his swing and the ball landed back in the same place it began.
    “How should I ken yer intentions tae the mistress? There were a sassun here once what went after a lass, and before he went away she was left in full disgrace and broken-kneed.”
    “What? He broke her knees?” Colin asked, distracted in spite of himself. “Try again, George.”
    “The saying is actually ‘she hath broken her leg above the knee,’” MacJannet explained.
    “Aye—and so she had been! Hit on master vein, she was by this sassun fancier of the kirtles! And he didnae do right by her.”
    “He means