“This again?” snapped the old man. “I was resting my eyes!”
“And I had to take a piss, aye?” chortled Mook. “Only I didnae ken ye were under there!”
Kester shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He remembered this, aye, and how angry Auld Gommy had been.
“Robbie!” Mook called, hardly able to breathe, he was laughing so hard, “Robbie, ye should’ve seen the way—the way Auld Gommy rose up out of that bush!”
Giric was doubled over with laughter, while Weesil snickered. Pudge, ignoring them all, kicked his horse into a trot to take point, while the others clustered around Robena’s animal.
She strummed the lute, making the notes loud enough to gain attention. “I think I have an idea where this is going.”
“I’ve changed my mind, Robbie lad,” grumbled Auld Gommy. “I dinnae want to hear a song after all.”
“Well, I do!” hooted Giric.
Robena frowned thoughtfully, her lips moving silently as she strummed. Finally, her face broke into a smile.
Kester found himself urging his horse closer to hear her words.
She began to hum, a spritely little tune which matched the notes she was playing. Then:
“In the merry month of May—“
“Och, nay!” interrupted Auld Gommy, frantically shaking his head. “Robbie, lad, ye cannae start a good song with ‘in the merry month of May’! Everyone kens that!”
From ahead, Mook rumbled, “‘Twas September, I think.”
“Aye, ye dobber, but ye cannae rhyme aught with September,” Weesil pointed out.
Mook frowned. “September rhymes with remember.”
Weesil glanced, wide-eyed, at Giric. “Is he right?”
Giric grinned hugely. “He’s right. Good work, Mook!”
“I think I could rhyme January with ‘wee’,” mused Robena, her fingers plucking at the strings again. “Any chance ‘twas January?”
“January’s too cold to take a piss outdoors,” snapped Auld Gommy. “What kind of lad are ye, ye dinnae ken that sort of thing?”
Kester began to chuckle.
“Oooh,” Robena teased. “So ye only piss indoors all winter?”
“When ye get to be my age, Robbie, ye’re afraid a bit of cold might freeze yer willie!”
“Who’s Willie again?” asked a confused Mook
With a lewd gesture toward his crotch, Giric bragged, “Have to be more than a bit to freeze mine, auld man!”
This time, even Robena laughed.
Kester found himself shaking his head in bemusement. She was a lady. A lady born and raised in a castle, the daughter of a laird, trained in the fine arts of music and singing and embroidery.
Yet here she was, paying no mind to what things should be, laughing with his men about their cocks.
“In the merry month of January—“
“Nay!” interrupted Auld Gommy with a scowl. “Anytime a song starts with in the merry month, we ken it’ll be a folk song.” He spat out the words. “We want something real, something that stirs our blood! Give us a ballad, Robbie!”