Page 8 of Highland Steel

“He just means that ye dinna belong here,” said Ethan.

“That’s right,” agreed Hawke. “Ye are a lady who belongs in a castle sewin’ tapestries and weavin’ cloth, no’ travelin’ the roads atop a horse.”

If only they knew that traveling the roads atop a horse is where she preferred to be.

“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” she told them, not wanting to have to turn back home empty-handed. “I am going to marry a Highlander for the sake of an alliance, and you can’t do anything to stop me.”

“Which Highlander do ye plan to marry?” asked Caleb curiously.

“Well, I have never met him, but he is the chieftain from Clan Drummond in Perthshire,” she replied.

“Ranulph Drummond?” asked Hawke, almost choking on his whisky.

“Aye, I believe that’s his name,” she answered with a nod, watching the reactions on their faces.

All of the men groaned softly, shifted, and then turned and busied themselves with pouring more drinks.

“What’s the matter?” asked Rhoswen. “You all seem as if you know this man and do not like him.”

“Let’s just say that Ranulph Drummond isna the first person we’d invite to join us for dinner.” Logan sat down next to Newell, clutching the bottle of whisky. A serving girl placed a steaming hot bowl of pottage and a full tankard of ale in front of him. He smiled and reached for the food.

Rhoswen’s stomach flipped. She was so hungry that she felt like passing out.

“Have ye and the others eaten?” Hawke asked her.

“Nay,” she admitted, shaking her head and trying to keep down the bile rising in her throat.

Logan scooped up a big spoonful of pottage and was about to put it in his mouth but stopped when he noticed everyone staring at him.

“What?” he asked. “Didna they give ye chicken soup? Where’s the soup Callum called for?” His eyes scanned the empty table. “I paid Callum for food and he said he would send it over.”

“Ye paid for yer food, no’ theirs,” Caleb reminded him.

Logan’s smile quickly faded.

“I dinna see any food for them, do ye?” asked Hawke, scowling at Logan.

“That pottage will fill their bellies more than chicken-less soup,” Ethan told him.

Logan’s mouth closed and he silently lowered the spoonful of food back to the bowl. “Ye’re right,” he said softly, glaring at Caleb who broke off another piece of the loaf of bread and gave it to his pine marten. “And I believe a little bread will fill their bellies even more.” He got up and snatched the bread from Caleb, then returned to the table, pushing it and the bowl of pottage toward Blaine and Newell. “Eat up,” he said, picking up the tankard of ale and handing it to Rhoswen next. “Sit in my spot, my lady. Please. After all, ye’ve had a hard day.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take your food,” she said in apology, as she brought the tankard to her mouth and took a sip. It tasted wonderful.

“I insist,” said Logan, picking up the bottle of whisky and raising it to his mouth. Caleb reached out and snatched it away from him and took a swig before he had the chance to drink.

Logan nodded at the women and walked back to the drink board with his friends as Rhoswen and her siblings ate in silence.

Chapter 3

“Do ye believe her?” asked Hawke, sounding suspicious.

“No, I dinna,” said Ethan.

“Why no’?” asked Logan, settling himself on a stool.

“Somethin’s no’ right,” Ethan agreed. “I get the feelin’ she is lyin’ to us for some reason.”

“Me, too,” added Caleb, reaching out to pet his pine marten that was slinking around atop the drink counter.