Fen leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Nay, but at least Wynda will have the best-educated sisters in the Highlands. Do ye think we might go someplace else and discuss this?”
Like underground. In the darkness. Where no one could see her blush.
“How about the falconry?” Robena offered. “We could visit Pherson.”
Wynda looked a little panicky. “Or the stables. Or the sparring ground.”
“Have ye noticed?” Robena nudged Fen. “Whenever I bring up Pherson, our sister becomes all flustered and out of sorts?”
“I do no’!” declared Wynda, flustered and out of sorts.
In retaliation for the humiliation of being forced to take notes during Wynda’s measurements, Fen nodded solemnly. “Pherson is considered handsome by some, ye ken, but is built verra differently from Craig. Mayhap we should measure him. For scientific purposes.”
Wynda glared. “I’ve decided I hate ye today.”
“Good. My lute and I are safe!” Robena declared happily.
Since they’d begun strolling—albeit slowly—toward the castle, Fen felt comfortable enough to once more step between her next two elder sisters in order to keep the peace. “Leanna appreciated the Gray Lady’s teaching for certes,” she offered.
Robena smiled. “Och, aye! Have ye seen her lately?”
“How could I?” Wynda asked. “She and that new husband of hers rarely leave her chambers!”
“Well, at times they do, and when they do, she’s floating around and humming like an idiot.”
Wynda rolled her eyes at Robena’s description. “’Tis because she’s in love.”
“Aye,” sighed Robena. “She was lucky, eh? Da tells us we have to be married; Leanna declares she’ll only marry for love, and then bam! Kenneth falls in her lap.”
Fen, who had heard a bit about how that relationship had progressed, cocked her head to one side. “I dinnae think ‘tis quite how it happened. Although, considering what they found in the secret passageway, someone was doing some kind of falling!”
All three sisters chuckled at that, and Wynda said, “At least they’ve put the Ghostly Drummer of Oliphant Castle to rest afore they leave for the McClure holding! ‘Tis one less specter I have to contend with!”
“I’m a bit disappointed,” Robena confessed, “although I cannae be sad the puir man’s found his reward at last. I can appreciate music of any type, ye ken.”
The Ghostly Drummer had been a family legend, telling of a drum beat portending doom to the hearer, but Fen had never heard it. There was another legend which stated the doom foretold was only the act of falling in love, but Wynda had once explained that was due to shenanigans from their great-grandfather’s day.
Either way, the specter hadn’t been active recently and, thanks to Leanna’s adventure, likely had been buried in consecrated ground and would bother them no more.
Wynda, however, had shrugged. “I wouldnae have minded being doomed to fall in love. With Da’s mad scheme forcing us to marry, I would prefer it to be to someone I loved.”
“Da’s scheme is madness,” Robena scoffed, as they strolled through the gate, “so I’ve decided to ignore it.”
But Fen clutched her slate to her and shook her head. “Demanding his daughters marry is no’ mad. He wants to ensure he has an heir.”
“And he thinks this is the way to do it?” Robena snorted and shook her head. “Whichever of us marries and births a son first, our husband will get to be the next laird?”
“Well, what would ye have him do?” Fen defended. “He has nae legitimate son.”
“As if only sons can rule the clan? Why no’ a daughter?”
Robena was right to be offended, but still…
“So ye’re volunteering for the position?” Fen asked.
Their musical sister stopped in her tracks, eyes wide. “What? Nay. No’ me. But…ye ken”—she flopped her hand about in a circle, managing to encompass the courtyard, the sky, the archery butts, the left tower, and what looked like two dogs fooking in the shadows—“daughters in general?”
“She means Coira,” Wynda deadpanned. “And since when do ye support Da’s plan, Fen? Are ye so anxious to get married?”