On a Highland Shore by Kathleen Givens

her for a moment, then smiled mockingly. “Who are ye to have the ear of the king, Margaret of Somerstrath? Have I not been here since I left ye? Who is he more likely to listen to, a lass from nowhere or his cousin?”
    “But I will ask him nonetheless,” Margaret said.
    “If ye do,” Lachlan said, his tone glacial, “ye’ll pay the price for it.”
    Nell expected Rignor to protest, but her brother said nothing, watching with a wary expression as Margaret and Lachlan glared at each other. Nell stepped forward. “Dinna threaten her!” she cried.
    “It’s the truth, Nell,” Lachlan said, glancing at her, “not a threat. But here is one just for ye: stay out of this.”
    Nell trembled with anger. “Do ye ken that if she doesna marry ye, I am to?”
    Lachlan threw his head back and laughed. “No, Nell, ye willna. I can assure ye of that. I’d sooner wed yer brother.”
    Both Margaret and Nell began to answer him angrily, but their voices were drowned by William’s voice booming from the doorway.
    “Enough!” her uncle cried. “Come in. All of ye.”
    William led them into a large stone foyer, obviously part of a great hall still under construction, for stone-workers were shaping stones at one end, and the sound of chisels on rock could be heard behind the tall wooden wall that shielded the rest of the building from their sight.
    “I’ll have none of this!” William said, his voice tight with anger. “Lachlan, she has a right to ask. And Margaret, he has a right to be insulted by ye asking. It’s a hell of a way for the two of ye to start a life together! Now, come, the lot of ye. Rignor, ye’ll sleep in Lachlan’s apartments. Margaret and Nell, ye’ll share the Comyn women’s quarters, and ye’ll mind yer manners, the both of ye. Not one word about Lachlan, aye? Have some pride, for God’s sake!”
    He threw a baleful glance at Lachlan. “And dinna look so smug, laddie, or I’ll ask the king to end the betrothal myself. Arguing in the close for all the court to hear! Ye’ll be the talk of supper, I guarantee ye that.” He waved at two servants, who apparently waited to take them to their chambers. “Now, go and get the dust off ye and prepare for the meal.”
     
    The first evening was a blur to Nell, the court a whirl of color and noise, words spoken in French and Saxon English, and Latin, accented Gaelic, and the strange mix of it all that the Lowlanders spoke. She sat quietly beside Margaret, while Rignor chatted with Lachlan and his companions as though they were the best of friends. Margaret hardly spoke, which suited Nell. There was so much to see.
    She was fascinated by the gowns the women wore, their bright overgowns sleeveless and worn without a belt or girdle, some with open side lacing, some with short overtunics, heavily embroidered, skirts contrasting with laced-in sleeves of different materials. All the married women wore headdresses, some a simple wimple of silk caressing their cheeks, their hair drawn back into a net. Or a barbette wound over a hat and wrapped around the neck. Some were adorned with fanciful headdresses, high and jeweled. The unmarried girls wore their hair loose, or caught back in a weave of plaits and ribbons that matched their clothing, or held by a simple circlet. But the shoes! She was astonished by what the women wore—long, pointed shoes, some with beadwork, some carved from wood and painted with amazing patterns. She could have looked at the shoes for hours.
    The men were dressed almost as colorfully. Some wore robes of velvet or silk, others tunics with buttons and laced-in sleeves and dagged hemlines over woolen trousers tucked into gleaming leather boots. Some wore soft leather shoes, painted like the women’s, obviously not made for travel or work or war. They wore embroidered caps or coifs or left their hair loose, or caught under a hood, and some were as bejeweled as the women, their gems flashing from rings and belts and brooches, or buttons