Ye Give Love A Plaid Name (Bad in Plaid 3)

“See?” she asked, scooping up the lassie and perching her on her hip. “That wasnae so hard, was it? Come along, ye can sit with me, and yer father can join us when he returns from his errand, aye?”

The little girl waved cheerfully. “Da!”

And Pherson looked more than a little stunned as he watched them go.

Wynda was smiling as she settled Wren beside her on the bench, with Robena on her other side.

“Wren, this is my younger sister Robena.”

Shyly, the lassie offered a small wave, clearly overwhelmed to be sitting at the high table. But Robena, being Robena, pulled Wren into a sideways half-hug.

“Hello, Wren, and welcome to our madness. I like music. Do ye like music?” When Wren nodded eagerly, Robena followed up with, “Do ye sing?”

The little girl’s expression fell, and she shook her head.

Robena shrugged. “That’s no’ a problem; I’ll sing for ye. Surely ye’ve noticed, if given the chance, Wynda will talk for ye?”

Wren shot Wynda an amused glance and tried to hide her giggle behind her hand. Wynda pretended offense, but gently lowered the little girl’s hand.

“Let everyone hear yer laugh, Wren,” she said softly. “’Tis as nice as yer father’s.”

“Da,” Wren agreed. Then she turned back to Robena and winked. “Da. Wind.”

It was the way she waggled her brows which had Robena and Nichola laughing, and they tripped over one another in their attempts to tease Wynda. Even normally somber Coira joined in.

Wynda shook her head. “I suppose I should be glad Fen and Leanna arenae here. I would be hugely outnumbered then!”

“They’re our younger sisters,” Robena explained to Wren. “Leanna just married Laird McClure, and we all pretend we’re glad to see her go, but we secretly miss her shenanigans.”

“I dinnae,” grumbled Coira.

But Robena continued as if she hadn’t heard the words. “And Fenella is the most wonderful cook in the world. Or possibly Brodie is; dinnae let them hear ye choosing sides. They’re married now, and we’ll be feasting on their efforts soon enough.”

Noticing Wren’s wee lips forming the shape of each of the names as they were listed, Wynda was inspired. She grabbed a bowl of nuts from the center of the table and dumped them onto the cloth, arranging them into the shapes of letters.

Nichola turned to engage Mother in a conversation about her Autumn Tetanus—whatever that was—so the older woman wouldn’t find cause to scoff at Wynda’s nut arrangement.

“This is an R,” Wynda traced the letter in the air over the nuts. “R sounds like rrrr. Rrrrrrobena.”

“Rrrrobena,” Robena cheerfully agreed. “I sounds Scottish. Or like a pirate. Arrrrrrr!”

Wynda frowned. “Ye are Scottish. And what the shite does arrrrr have to do with piracy?”

“Shite!” declared Wren happily. “Arrrr, shite!”

Both sisters stared in wide-eyed horror at the little girl. “Oh, shite,” whispered Robena.

“Forget that word,” Wynda declared firmly.

Wren smiled. “Arrr, shite! Rrrrobena!”

“St. Kelsi protect us,” Robena groaned with a roll of her eyes. “I thought ye said Wren didnae speak?”

A frantic Wynda was patting the air over the lassie’s head. “I said she didnae want to speak. She can. She just doesnae. How in the fook was I to ken that the first time she starts speaking, ‘tis—“

“Fook!” Wren was grinning. “Fook! E-R sounds like ehhhrrrrrrr.”

Robena dropped her head to the table with an audible thump and Wynda jabbed a finger at the lassie’s nose. “Ye’re doing this on purpose.”