Highlander's Trials of Fire

Laird MacLagain sighed again. He drank deeply from his goblet until all his wine was finished with. As if by fate, a maid entered the room bearing a pitcher of what Matthew assumed was fresh wine. Matthew realized that the maid was Freya.

She slipped silently around the room as she refilled the goblets to their brims, pandering to the Laird’s love for drinking. When she made it around to Jonathan, Matthew noticed that she lifted her eyes to look at him, her gaze growing longing, but Jonathan appeared to be too deep in thought to notice it. Perhaps, he did not always see everything that passed him by.

Ah, well then. That is surpisin’. It seems Freya might have feelin’s for someone. Matthew resisted the urge to smile.

Freya’s lips tightened a bit. She made her way over to Matthew and bowed her head, saying, “Forgive me, but I will have to fetch more.”

“Aye, take yer time,” Matthew wondered briefly if there might have been something more in the look she had given Jonathan, but it had passed by so quickly that he could not be certain.

“Now, tell me, Matthew,” Laird MacLagain said, breaking into Matthew’s thoughts. Matthew returned his attention to him, no longer paying the departing Freya any mind. “How fares yer relationship with Jonet?”

Laird MacLagain did not seem to be the only one interested in Matthew’s response. Dougal lifted his brows in expectation and Jonathan’s gaze grew sharp and focused. Matthew felt a tiny bit of pleasure in his next words.

“I think things have been goin’ marvelously between us. It seems she nay longer despises me so much.”

Dougal laughed loudly. “If that is all ye need to marry a lass then I would have been married ten times over already.”

“So ye think, Dougal,” Laird MacLagain smirked. “Though I dinnae think ye will ever find a woman like Annis. She was the only woman kind enough to overlook how ye look.”

Dougal, as usual, was quick with his comeback. “Ye seem to forget that ye and I look very much alike.”

“I doubt I am anythin’—”

“Let’s nae forget,” Jonathan cut in, his voice more serious than Matthew had ever heard it, “that Matthew was sayin’ somethin’.”

“Aye, right.” Laird MacLagain diverted his attention back to Matthew. “Do ye think she will consider marryin’ ye?”

“It is too hard to tell. She is quite stubborn, as ye all should ken. Though, I admit that is one of her charms.”

“Ah, would ye hear him?” Dougal grinned from ear to ear, shaking his head. “It has been some time since I’ve last felt such things. Now I only get such a rush whenever I’m huntin’.”

“Ye dinnae get that rush when we’re sparrin’, Dougal?” the Laird asked. “Perhaps, once we are finished here, we should take it to the courtyard.”

Dougal stood up tall, his response in the challenging tilt of his head and the Laird grinned in intense anticipation. Matthew chuckled to himself. At that moment, the door opened again, but it was not Freya who walked in. Another younger looking maid approached him with the pitcher.

“Where is Freya?” he asked absently as she poured him his wine.

The maid blinked, clearly not expecting to be issued a question. “She is currently assisting Miss Jonet with a matter in the scullery, Mr. McDulaigh.”

“In the scullery?” Both the Laird and Dougal exclaimed at the same time. Jonathan only sat back with his arms crossed and a grim look on his face, appearing to be rather deep in thought.

Matthew could not help smiling. He supposed they were all worried Jonet might create another mess in there, or worse. He lifted his goblet to his lips.

He paused.

It smelled the same as the one he had in his room this morning. Certainly, wine should not smell so raw and bitter? He swirled it in his goblet, studying the deep red color as if he would spot speckles of poison lurking at the bottom, but the liquid appeared quite smooth, even as every inch of his body told him that something was wrong.

Sharply, he looked up at the maid, but she was already heading through the door. Before he could call out to her, she stopped and bowed at someone just out of sight before continuing. Jonet appeared in the doorway.

“Good day, everyone,” she chirped. “I come bearin’ treats!”

Matthew rose to his feet, but the maid was already too far away. He suppressed the unease swirling within him, focusing his attention on Jonet and her smiling face instead. In her hand, she held a tray of what appeared to be sweet cakes.

Her father and uncle gathered close.

“Did ye make these?” Dougal asked.

“Aye, I most certainly did!” she said happily. Her eyes shone, casting a light through Matthew’s dark agitation.