Plaid to the Bone (Bad in Plaid 1)

The door pushed open once more, and when they all turned to face it, their oldest sister Coira stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“What, what?” Wynda asked.

Coira’s eyes narrowed. “Why are ye all standing around staring at me?”

“We’re eating tarts.” Leanna gestured innocently to the almost-empty tray.

“Mayhap they’re eating tarts,” Coira growled, “but ye’re up to some shenanigans. I can smell it.”

Wynda murmured, “I told ye so. Mischief.”

Pretending offence, Leanna clutched at her chest. “I dinnae smell. My shenanigans dinnae smell.”

“Last week ye snuck a sack of cow manure into the fire in the great hall,” Nicola pointed out. “That stunk.”

Leanna waved dismissively. “It was dried manure. When it’s a solid patty like that, everyone kens it’s a viable fuel source. That wasnae a shenanigan, ‘twas an experiment.”

“I dinnae ken ye could have only one shenanigan,” Robena pondered. “Can it be singular?”

With a sigh, Coira turned to Nicola. “What is she up to this time?”

“A prank on Mother. Mostly harmless. It involves green paint and fennel.”

Coira scowled at Nicola. “Nay, dinnae tell me the rest. I want to plead innocence.”

“I still dinnae think this is the right kind of oil,” Fen mused. “What do ye think?”

She thrust the cup at Coira, who had no choice but to take it, and she sniffed the concoction. Glaring down at the cup, she shrugged. “How, in all damnation, would I ken what’s the right kind of oil? Unless ‘tis the kind to oil steel?”

“Speaking of which,” Wynda spoke up, “why are ye no’ out in the training yard with the men?”

Scowling—naught unusual there, Coira often scowls—their eldest sister looked up. “Bandit activity has been reported in the east. Doughall snuck off and took the men in that direction afore dawn to investigate.”

“Our brave Commander left ye at home?” teased Nicola, one of the few bold enough to tease the eldest Oliphant sister.

“Did ye no’ hear me say he snuck off afore dawn?” snapped Coira in return. “Likely so the auld buzzard wouldnae have to face me.”

Her sisters all nodded. It was no secret Coira considered herself as worthy as any of the Oliphant warriors, and it was also no secret she hated to be left out.

Leanna, thinking to change the subject, held out her hand, the other clutching the hand mirror. “Might I have my paint returned? I need to give it time to dry on the looking glass afore I sneak it back to Mother’s chamber.”

A smirk crept across Coira’s face as she held out the cup. “This? Ye want this back, despite me telling ye I wanted to ken naught more of yer scheme?”

“Shenanigan, I think ye called it,” Leanna said loftily. “Which I dinnae think is even a word.”

Rather than replying, Coira’s smirk grew. “Catch.”

Catch? Catch what?

Instantly, the cup left Coira’s hand and began arcing gracefully through the air, not a single drop spilling. Leanna cursed and held up her hand, hoping she’d be lucky enough to catch it—as her sister had commanded—without spilling any of it.

She was, in fact, not so lucky.

The cup bounced off her forehead, and she squeezed her eyes shut in time to keep the green paint—which she felt splash over her face and hair—out of them. Then there was a clunk as the cup hit the floor, and Leanna peeked out to glare at her sister.

“Whoops,” declared Coira happily, as Nicola and Robena tried to contain their chuckles.

Leanna looked down at herself and breathed a sigh of relief that the tinted oil—paint, she reminded herself—hadn’t dripped on her dress. A glance at the floor revealed the rushes were already soaking up what had spilled. So, all-in-all, it could’ve been worse.