On a Highland Shore by Kathleen Givens Read Free Book Online Page A

night.”
    Lachlan’s eyes were merry. “Somerstrath always entertains me well. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy ourselves this day.”
    “I look forward to it,” Fiona said.
    “We all do,” Margaret said with a smile, letting Lachlan lead her away.
     
    That evening the hall was filled with music and laughter. Her father was always a warm and generous host, and, as usual, all of the villagers and half the clan outside the walls were in attendance. The meal was noisy, the people crowded at the long benches and tables, eating venison and the fish caught that day as well as soup and summer’s fruit, accompanied by ale and the wines her father imported from the Continent. Trenchers were filled and filled again, shared with smiles. Iron chandeliers glowed with candles, the soft light illuminating the tapestries her mother had lined the walls with, tapestries that only a wealthy man like her father could afford. In the corner a harpist played softly, a prelude to the wilder music to come. Underfoot the rushes were clean and fragrant with herbs and the summer flowers strewn among them, and more flowers graced each table, leaning from their pots to touch the scrubbed pine surfaces.
    Margaret was pleased to see that Lachlan’s men seemed to appreciate the splendid hospitality her father was known for, and told herself that she would host evenings like this in her own home, full of music and laughter, meals more lavish than this hastily arranged one. She’d fill Lachlan’s hall with comforts and the finest of things. And someday, children. She threw him a glance. She was, as she’d told him, ready to learn every wifely duty. Handsome man, she thought, watching him laugh at Rignor’s jest. Not everyone liked Lachlan—certainly Rignor often made disparaging remarks—but tonight she was pleased to see her brother and betrothed laughing together.
    “Ye look so pleased, child,” Mother said.
    “I’m thinking of the future,” Margaret. “And enjoying this night.”
    Mother nodded absently, her attention already on to something else. Margaret did not mind. She watched the sennachie gathering the children for a tale of the old days. The priest had blessed the meal and said a prayer in which all joined, but more than one made the blessing gestures of the old gods, the spirits and deities of sea and shore, of trees and burns and the creatures who lived there. Christianity might have been the recognized religion here for centuries, but the old ways were still practiced in every glen. Above the hearth the crossed antlers of red deer shone white against the stone, a reminder of the land they shared with God’s creatures. And of the ancient days, when a king might rule for only a season, then be sacrificed for the good of his people. When shapeshifters roamed the earth and trolls and fairies lived among men instead of underground. When seeing too much or venturing into the wrong place could result in a spell or a curse that would haunt generations.
    It was those stories that the sennachie told now, her younger brothers among the children gathered before him. Tonight it was the tale of valiant Somerled, from whom they were all descended. The mighty warrior, known for his valor, love of peace, and for founding an empire in Scotland and its islands. Margaret stepped nearer, listening, although she knew the words well enough to tell the tale herself. Somerled, Lord of the Isles, who married the daughter of a king, who fathered Angus, whose descendants ruled nearby Moidart, whence her father’s family had come. And fathered Dugall, from whom sprang the MacDougalls. And Ranald, who himself fathered Donald, whose deeds were so dark that he’d had to go on pilgrimage to Rome. The bard went on to explain her family’s patrimony for ten generations, a history that the boys were meant to learn and pass on to their own children. As she would someday pass it on to hers.
    The music changed now, the harpist retiring, replaced with the Scottish