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“Eight.”
He dropped his forehead into his hand and groaned. “Eight verses of this song? And each time, we sing it faster?”
“Here now, cheer up, my lord. You won’t be singing alone.”
He lowered his hand to peer over it, narrowing his eyes. “I am not fond of public performance, Miss Frost.”
“This isn’t a performance. It’s a leadership exercise. He who leads men in song can lead them to battle.”
“What famous Irish man said that?”
“I don’t know that any of them have. I made it up myself, just now.” She pushed the large mug of warm cider toward him. Mr. Bloom had served the ladies a spiced cider to warm their insides, but like most beverages served in a public house, there was certainly an extra kick to the drink. Not enough to make someone of Simon’s size even so much as tipsy, but Isleen planned to sip demurely at her own mug. “Take your drink and go.”
He grumbled as he picked up his mug but went to stand by the large hearth. Everyone in the room talked amongst their own parties, including Josephine and Andrew, who were at a table with a local gentleman and his wife who had been stranded by the storm, too. A storm that continued to drop snow outside the windows.
The drifts would be ten feet deep if they were an inch. Isleen sighed and hoped, not for the first time, that her family wasn’t worrying after her. Her mother would be in a state, and Teague would likely curse himself for not coming with her when she invited him on their ride. But it couldn’t be helped.
All she could do was make the best of the situation. And that included giving Simon yet another ridiculous task.
He cleared his throat, then spoke in a tone that carried through the room. “My friends, since we are all trapped here together, I thought to offer my services in providing entertainment. I have learned a new song from a friend.” He met Isleen’s gaze as he said that, and she waved happily from her place along the opposite wall. “And I would like to teach it to all of you. If you want to make things interesting, sing the verses along with me when you’ve picked it up. And if you miss a word, take a sip of your drink. Oh—and I suppose we should all start with full glasses. Mr. Bloom, if you please? This round is on me. Whatever your choice of drink.”
Mr. Bloom went around pouring out drinks, and Mrs. Bloom did the same for those who didn’t want anything too strong. Around the room they went, and murmurs of appreciation and thanks filled the air in a pleasant buzz. Josephine and Andrew gave Simon their full attention, too, both of them wearing large, knowing smiles.
“This song is new to me, but I am told it is as old as the hills in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales.” Simon cleared his throat one last time. “‘The Rattlin’ Bog.’” And then he started singing, his voice neither sweet nor sour to hear, but pleasant enough to encourage others.
“Ho, ro, the rattlin’ bog
The bog down in the valley o
Real bog, the rattlin’ bog
The bog down in the valley o
Well in the bog there was a hole
A rare hole and a rattlin’ hole
Hole in the bog
And the bog down in the valley o
Ho, ro, the rattlin’ bog
The bog down in the valley o
Real bog, the rattlin’ bog
The bog down in the valley o
Well in that hole there was a tree
A rare tree and a rattlin’ tree
The tree in the hole
And the hole in the bog
And the bog down in the valley o…”
