A Hellion for the Highlander

Cicilia had initially suggested that they should ride to the market in the next village over, using her buggy. Nathair had waylaid that suggestion with a made-up excuse about how carriages made him sick. In truth, he simply didn’t want to spend three hours or more in the company of Jeanie’s father alone, even with Cicilia as a buffer.

Both o’ Jeanie’s parents ken or have guessed more about us than I’m even a bit comfortable wi’. Best I avoid them for now.

And so they were supposed to meet at the stables after breakfast and the morning chores were over. Nathair had risen, washed, and eaten, and was on his way to read until it was time to meet. Just outside the library, he ran into a somewhat disheveled Alexander.

“Have ye given up on the whole organization thing, then?” Nathair had asked him, amused. There was straw in Alexander’s hair, and his shirt was rumpled. For him, it was the equivalent of not having bathed in months.

Alexander had glanced down at himself and scowled. “Never mind that,” he chided. “Here.” He’d pressed a small but thick bound book into Nathair’s hands. “When ye meet Cicilia, give her that from me. Tell her nae body read it.”

Nathair looked at it. It was a journal of some sort, or perhaps a ledger. “Can I read it?” Nathair teased.

“Nay!” The seriousness of Alexander’s face was no joke. “Nae body is gonnae read it. If she wants us to ken what’s in it, she’ll tell us herself.”

Och, Sandy. Ye’ve got it bad. If only ye were nae so blind to yerself.

“Aye, aye, all right,” Nathair had assured him. “Dinnae look so worried. I’ll take it wi’ me to the stables in an hour or so.”

A cross between guilt and a smirk found its way onto Alexander’s face as he had replied, “Maybe dinnae meet her at the stables. I’ve got the oddest feelin’ she’ll nae be wantin’ to head back there today.”

He hadn’t said anything else, but Nathair was no idiot. He wondered exactly how much teasing he could get away with on this trip before Cicilia slapped him in the face.

So now he stood awaiting her, Aibreann and Ailill tethered next to him, ready for a long journey. And here she came, dressed surprisingly properly.

An’ she may nae be me type, but it is nae so hard to see what Sandy does when she’s dressed up like this.

There was no straw nor muck on her, though that made sense. Cicilia would obviously have changed out of her work clothes after chores were done.

Now she wore a full gown that flared at the waist, with a white laced-up bodice and a thistle-purple skirt. Her bonnet was purple, too, except for the green ribbon tied around its middle. The whole ensemble sat very nicely with the color of her hair—why, anyone could have mistaken her for a proper little lady.

As such, Nathair thought it only right to bow when she approached, only a trifle overdramatically. “Madame,” he greeted in a silly attempt at a French accent. “I am to be yer escort this fine morn’.”

She looked confused for a moment, then her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Aye?” she asked. “Is that so? Well, now, how fancy, a farm lass such as me wi’ a fancy Frenchman to escort me! I’m honored.”

He grinned as he helped her up on her horse, delighted that she was playing along. “As ye should be,” he said, while she mounted Aibreann.

Nathair himself got on Ailill’s back, and they began their journey, continuing to joke and make small talk as they went.

It may nae be what we were expectin’ in comin’ here, but some time wi’ such a pleasant lass may finally do poor Sandy some good.

“…an’ not a penny more,” Cicilia said firmly, feeling Nathair’s gaze from where he stood a few feet behind her. She couldn’t see the Man-at-arms’s face, but she knew he was grinning.

“Off wi’ ye, ye crazy woman,” the pig seller huffed, folding his arms. “I’m already sellin’ ye me sows an’ a boar at near a loss. This weaner is gonnae grow to be a prize hog, I’m tellin’ ye.”

“Grand,” Cicilia said pleasantly. “An’ he’ll grow to be such on me farm, for the price I offered, or ye can keep yer sows an’ breedin’ boar, too.”

The pig seller narrowed his eyes. “I can sell to anyone, ye ken, lass. I dinnae need yer custom.”

Cicilia snorted. “Aye? An’ ye dinnae want to be kent as the prime supplier to the O’Donnels, is that it? That’s just fine, there are other sellers.” Pausing for effect, she turned on her heel. “Nathair, he doesn’ae want to sell to me. Let’s go find another.”

She took a few steps towards her escort but stopped almost immediately as the pig seller called, “Och, wait. Hald yer horses, lass.”

Cicilia turned back to him and smiled pleasantly. “Nay, sir. Nae me horses. Me pigs.”

A little more banter and the deal was done, three sows and a boar alongside the piglet who would be the twins’ new pet. They would join the four goats and six sheep that Cicilia had already bargained for, on the transport home from the farmer’s market. By the time she and Nathair returned to the farmhouse later that evening, the animals should already have arrived.

She handed over the money and then said her courteous farewells before returning to Nathair’s side. “Well,” she said, her cheeks flushed with the happiness that always came with a good bargaining session, “That was more productive than I could have hoped. I’ve even got some o’ Alexander’s money left. An’ he thought I needed help bargainin’!”

r /> Nathair snorted. “Nay, he dinnae. He just wants ye to be safe.”