Wee hellions.
Wild ones.
Wicked bairns. Eli had nearly slugged him over that one, claiming her dearest Gwendolyn was as sweet as could be. Logan snorted and asked her if she’d ever met her daughter.
Over the years, the number of bairns had grown considerably, but the ones who drew all the attention were the ones born in the same spring and summer five years ago. Dyna and Derric’s surprise daughter, Halli; Brynja and Hagen’s youngest daughter, Liv; Eli and Alaric’s daughter Gwendolyn; and Broc and Merryn’s daughter Yrsi, who visited often.
They were comical to watch. But Logan had made certain to be around on this day when the lad was to join them. He chuckled to himself just as Connor finally sat down.
“What makes you laugh, old man? Am I missing something?”
“Aye. The wee hellions are here and guess who’s about to join them? Daran. This should be my entertainment for the day. Any time a strapping lad jumps into the middle of four lasses, it’s likely to be a good show. Doesn’t matter how old they are.” His mind jumped to a few occasions over the years when Gwynie had gone to battle.
Gwynie always won.
“I cannot argue that. I’ve packed enough, so I’ll keep you company. Sounds interesting enough to me.” Connor rubbed his hands together and took a sip of the warm broth the serving lass had given him.
Alasdair and Dyna joined them.
Connor glanced up at his nephew and his eldest daughter. “Are you both all packed for the morrow?”
“Nay,” Dyna replied, peeking over her shoulder at the wee ones in their favorite play area. “But I couldn’t miss this. Someone has to defend poor Daran.”
“My son will be fine on his own,” Alasdair declared.
Dyna tipped her head at him and arched a brow. “Have you seen the wee hellions together yet?”
“They’re too young to be hellions, Dyna. Shame on you for labeling your own daughter.” Alasdair pulled his chair closer to the area where the young ones had settled around a pile of wooden weapons and fabric animals before speaking to the adults behind him. “Which one has the strongest personality?”
Logan snorted. “Beware. Don’t let them hear you, or you’ll learn the hard way.”
“Ignore the old grumpy one.” Dyna glared at Logan before turning to Alasdair. “Pay attention and you’ll find out.”
Alasdair covered his chuckle. “I can’t wait to see this with my own eyes. I’ve heard so much about these lassies.”
Logan grinned, sitting up taller in his chair. “I’m warning you. You’ll not see anything like it. Never in all my years. And I’ve had a pile of them.”
Young Daran entered the hall. He looked to his father first, but Alasdair motioned for him to join the bairns playing.
“Hush now.” Logan waved his hand at the adults. “Do not ruin my entertainment.”
Daran reached in and grabbed the largest sword for himself.
Logan nearly cheered.
Golden-haired Liv jumped up and grabbed it out of his hand. “My sword. You cannot have it.”
Alasdair stood up, but Logan grabbed the back of his tunic, yanking on it. “Sit your arse down, Grant. Do not ruin my fun. The lassies will take care of him.”
Alasdair slowly sat on the edge of his seat as if he were ready to jump in again.
Daran crossed his arms and glared at Liv. “But I’m the only lad, so I get the biggest sword.” He swiped it from Liv again.
Alasdair leaned back, quite a smirk on his face.
Liv shoved his chest and when Daran lost his footing, she grabbed the sword and said, “It’s a Norse sword and you are not Norse. Mine.” Her mother Brynja was half Norse.
Daran scowled but got back up and reached for another sword. “Then I’ll have this one.”
