The Striker by Monica Mccarty Read Free Book Online Page B

to get her attention.
    When she could finally break free, her friend dragged her outside of the Hall into a small corridor.
    Brigid looked like she was about to cry. “What is it?” Margaret asked.
    â€œI heard them,” Brigid answered, twisting her hands anxiously.
    â€œHeard who?”
    â€œAll of them,” her voice broke. “The ladies.”
    Margaret pursed her mouth. She might have thickened skin when it came to gossip, but Brigid did not. If someone had hurt her feelings, Margaret would see them regret it. “What did they say?”
    â€œThey called us heathens ,” she said in a hushed voice.
    â€œIs that all?” Margaret laughed and shook her head. “That’s ridiculous, Brige. You can’t let people like that upset you.”
    Brigid shook her head. “That’s not all. They are saying . . . horrible things.”
    Margaret frowned. Clearly those horrible things must be about her, as Brigid seemed reluctant to say more. “It’s all right. You will not hurt my feelings.”
    Brigid chewed nervously on her bottom lip. “It isn’t you . . . exactly. It’s more your clan. The MacDowells do not have the, er, best reputation.”
    Margaret’s frown turned sharper. Fiercely proud, she had been raised to think of the MacDowells as akin to royalty. They’d ruled over Galloway like kings—and queens—for hundreds of years. “What do you mean?”
    â€œThe MacDowells are thought to be . . . uh . . . a little uncivilized. A little wild .”
    Margaret was indignant. “Because we do not act like Englishmen? Because we hold true to our ancient Gàidheal culture and Brehon laws more than the feudal yoke of English kings?”
    â€œThey see it as backward.”
    â€œYou mean us as backward.”
    Brigid shrugged indifferently, but Margaret knew it mattered to her. As much as she just wanted to dismiss it, she knew it wasn’t so easy for Brigid to do so. “They have their ways and we have ours. Just because we do things differently doesn’t make them wrong.”
    â€œI know that,” Brigid said, her eyes swimming with tears. “It’s just not as easy for me to ignore them as it is for you.”
    A wry smile turned her mouth. “It isn’t always easy.”
    Brigid appeared shocked by her admission. “It isn’t? But you always appear so confident. You never take anything from anyone—even your father.”
    Margaret had always thought her friend intimidated by her father, but at that moment her voice held something more like fear.
    â€œI am the only girl in a home of nine overbearing—or on their way to overbearing—men,” she said. “How long do you think I would have survived if I’d shown any weakness? Appearing confident was a matter of survival. I learned early that if I didn’t assert myself, I would be lost. I had to shout pretty loudly to be heard over all those male voices,” she said with a smile. “But eventually I learned to make myself heard without raising my voice.” She paused and said gently, “You can’t let them intimidate you, Brige. People like those women, if they sense blood, they’ll dive in for the kill. The trick is to not let them see that their words have wounded you.”
    Brigid eyed her skeptically. “And how might I do that? I’m not like you. I don’t have a rebellious nature.”
    Did she? Margaret had never thought of it that way, but maybe Brigid was right. She was a MacDowell, and the MacDowells were always ready to fight. “By smiling in the face of their rudeness and remembering who you are,” she replied. “A MacCan. A proud member of an old and respected clan. You are not ashamed of your family, are you?”
    For the first time since they’d arrived, her friend showed a flash of the spirit Margaret knew was lurking