“Do ye need some duties?” Kester snapped, wondering if Doughall—the Oliphant commander—was sparring this morning. Mook could use some sense knocked into him.
“Nay, milord,” the big man drawled. “I did my dooty this morning, just like every morning.”
As Robena bent double, her laughter now muffled snorts, the Oliphant grinned hugely.
“Morning, aye. We’ll miss ye, hmm?”
What?
But whatever he’d said made Mook straighten. One hand—the size of a small sheep—extended, holding a scroll. “Sorry, milord, I forgot.”
“Ye forgot,” Kester repeated, reaching for it. “Ye forgot ye did a doo—“ Nay, he wasn’t going to repeat that, not with Robena still snickering.
“I forgot Pudge told me to find ye and deliver this ASAP.”
Pausing in the process of unrolling it, Kester glanced at his man. “Asap? What does that mean?”
The big man shrugged. “He said that’s what the King’s messenger had said. Asap. He said it had to do with snakes.”
“Only if ye’re dyslexic,” gasped Robena, obviously still recovering from her laughing fit. “I think ye mean asps.”
“Asps, aye,” repeated her father. “Verra dangerous. One of them kicked in the head of my brother.”
“Ye dinnae have a brother, Da,” Robena reminded him.
“No’ anymore,” intoned Mook, showing surprising grasp of the situation.
Mayhap attempting to delay the inevitable—Kester’s heart had begun to pound at the words King’s messenger—he cocked his head at the banter. “Asap sounds like a singular something. What’s a sap?”
“Sap, aye,” repeated the older laird. “‘Tis stuff that comes from trees.”
“Lose yer energy,” Mook threw in.
Robena was shaking her head. “Its archaic meaning is to tunnel under a fortified position. Undermine, more or less. Why are ye all looking at me like that? I share a chamber with Wynda, of course I ken weird words.”
He had to clear his throat. “We’re just wondering, lass, what archaic means.”
“Och, ‘tis easy. It means…ye ken.” She gestured about. “Now. The dark ages.”
As one, they all turned to the window.
“Doesnae look too dark to me,” Mook rumbled. “Now, what’s dyslexic mean?”
“Mean, aye,” Robena’s father repeated happily. “Forget the language lesson, what does the King say, mmm?”
Shite. Well, no use putting it off any longer.
Kester took a deep breath and unrolled the scroll in one fluid movement. Aye, there was the seal he’d expected, although ‘twas likely stamped by some counselor’s hand. Still, ‘twas the King who ordered him to collect the missive Gordon—the royal messenger who’d died last month when he’d attempted to rape one of Robena’s sisters—had left undelivered.
The recipients can be found at this year’s Games. Your men will likely be pleased to represent the noble name of MacBain in contest against the other Highland clans.
The King was correct;Kester’s men would look forward to the chance to test their skill against others at the yearly Highland Games. They hadn’t the coin to attend last year, but they’d been on their way there this summer when they’d stopped on Oliphant land…and been delayed by a pretty set of brown eyes.
And Gordon’s murder.
True.
“Well?” rumbled Mook. “Was Pudge right? Are we off to slaughter some Murray pigs?”