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“I know,” said Bedivere, his eyes flashing over to Morag.
“Oh, who have we here?” Willow appeared in the doorway and entered the room with her father right behind her.
“Bedivere, there you are,” said Rook. “I was looking everywhere for you. My brother, Rowen, just arrived and I thought the three of us could have an ale together.” Rook’s eyes lowered to Bedivere’s shoulder. “Hurt yourself?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” said Bedivere, closing his cloak over his wound. “Aye, I would like to join you, but I have an errand to attend to first.”
“Nothing can be that important that it can’t wait,” came a voice from the doorway. Rowen, the blond triplet, stood there with his daughter, Maira, at his side.
“Maira!” exclaimed Morag, happy to see her cousin again. “Did Jacob come with ye?”
“He’s down in the great hall. He said he wanted to sample the heather ale,” answered Maira with a smile.
“Come on, Morag,” said Willow. “We’ll share some girl talk below stairs. Now, all we need is Fia and it’ll be like old times.”
“I sent Branton to Scotland to get my faither and I dinna think Fia is comin’,” Morag told them.
“Morag, would you mind taking my family to the great hall with you for some food while they’re waiting for me?” asked Bedivere.
“I’d be happy to,” Morag answered, knowing he needed to get back to bury the body.
“I’ve never seen such a big castle.” Aunt Joan’s eyes lit up as she perused the room. “The man who gets the late earl’s estate is going to be very lucky.”
“Let’s go, I’m starving.” Percival zigzagged through the crowd, being the first to the door.
“Not you, Brother,” Bedivere stopped him. “I’d like you and Uncle Theobald to stay for a moment.”
“Whatever for?” whined Percival.
“I have a little errand I need you to help me with that needs immediate attention.”
