On a Highland Shore by Kathleen Givens Page A

made of silver with a gem inset.
    The Highlanders were easy to spot: their tartan clothing, colored by plant dyes, drab against the plumage of the courtiers, their hair loose or tied back simply with a leather thong. Many of the Highlanders wore gold and gems as well, some as ornately adorned as the king’s retinue and visitors, while others were so simply dressed that they looked like clerics.
    In this rich mixture of color and texture and style, she and Margaret looked like foreigners from a benighted land. Margaret’s new clothing was well fashioned, but of a much older style, and while the sisters wore their best jewelry, it paled in comparison with that of the ladies of the court. Rignor, in his simple tunic and leggings, looked like an outsider. He seemed not to notice, but Nell saw Margaret observing the same things she did, the women and how they moved in their fine clothing, their sense of belonging obvious, their assurance daunting. Nell had never felt so insignificant. How did Margaret think to sway the king? She could hardly see King Alexander and Queen Margaret from where they sat halfway down the hall, far from the door, far from the king. Above the salt at least, she saw with a sigh, and actually well placed, for they sat close to Uncle William and two other Scottish earls, all well attended.
    The meal was lavish by Somerstrath standards, with so many courses that Nell lost count. There were birds so small that they could be eaten whole, and some so large that a wing was larger than Nell’s hand. There were whole fish served, eyes and all, which had always turned her stomach, and whole beeves brought in on huge silver platters that had to be carried by four men. There was fruit she had never seen, sweet and full of juice that dripped down her chin, and sweets laden with honey. And this, she was told, was not a feast, just an ordinary meal. The court lived very differently. And while the meal was overlong by Nell’s standards, there were music and jugglers, and so many people to observe that she watched it all with fascination.
    And being watched, she soon realized. Several of the men who sat with Lachlan made comments to each other behind their hands. Some, like the tall man with the copper-colored hair, simply watched, seeming to note everything Margaret and Rignor did. The red-haired man’s gaze shifted to Nell now. He gave her a smile, fleeting, but warm, with the slightest of nods, accompanied by a rise of his eyebrows, as though they were already well acquainted. She stared, trying to remember if she’d been introduced to him earlier; she did not think so. He turned away then, responding to something Lachlan said, and Nell leaned closer, hoping to hear his voice, but the noise in the hall drowned it out.

    Margaret tried to control her yawns, but they would not be denied, and at last she stood, a very sleepy Nell at her side, and gave her farewells to Uncle William, who nodded and returned to his serious conversation with the man next to him. A Stewart, she thought she’d been told, but in truth could not be sure. She’d met so many people that their names all ran together, and their stories, which she’d been meant to learn as well, were long forgotten. She said good night to Rignor and Lachlan and his men; Rignor, too far in his cups to care, simply gave a weak wave of his hand, but Lachlan insisted on accompanying them to their room, saying that they might get lost.
    “The castle is not that large,” Margaret said. “Someone would direct us.”
    “Directing ye is my task,” Lachlan said to his men, with a wide smile. “And a large one it is. I fear I shall be occupied with it all my life.” He joined their laughter.
    Margaret kept her silence as they left the hall and went down the long corridor to their apartments, hoping the evening breeze let in by the arched windows would cool her temper. Norman arches, she thought, with a wave of resentment at all things not Scottish. French spoken