Chapter 2
There wasone thing sacred in Robena’s life, and that was her music. Oh, there was the sacred sacred stuff, like religion and the Infinite Mystery, or whatever Father John was always going on about. But music…music was….
Well, she couldn’t touch it or taste it, but ‘twas there. It always had been and always would be there for her, even when her heart felt broken and there was a hollow pit in her stomach.
Which is why, when she stomped back into the ladies’ solar, she didn’t throw her pipes into the corner with all the anger she felt.
Instead, she arranged them very carefully beside her lute and exhaled, trying to push aside some of the pain.
It didn’t work.
Well, one of the benefits of piping was that ‘twas difficult to cry while doing so. ‘Twas possible, but between the tears and the snot and all the blowing, one tended to sound like a dying duck. So up there, on the battlements, just her and the wind and the pipes, Robena had swallowed down her tears and focused on her music.
“Are ye feeling better?”
The quiet question had Robena whirling, embarrassed that she hadn’t noticed Nicola at her worktable. Her sister was calmly, delicately, mixing a draught of some sort, her expression soft as she met Robena’s gaze. There was no pity in her eyes, just concern.
She was, after all, the healer.
Robena sighed, her fingertips lingering on the pipes. “Aye, a bit.” She did feel better.
Music always helped.
Mayhap she could feel and taste music, in some sense.
“I’m glad,” her sister said softly. “I saw yer face when ye brushed past me earlier, and I kenned ye were either on yer way to the battlements with yer pipes, or ye were going to have a good cry. Mayhap both.”
She’d tried both. ‘Twas easier to be angry than sad. “I figured there was enough commotion in the great hall that nae one would hear me.”
Nicola snorted softly, her attention on the flagon into which she was sprinkling something dried and green. “We can hear ye. Ye ken they’ve started calling ye the Ghostly Piper of Oliphant Castle?”
“‘Tis foolish.” Robena threw herself down onto her stool beside her harp. “I only go up to the highest point so I willnae disturb ye down here.”
“And we appreciate it.” Her sister’s lips curled slightly. “Harp and lute and wind instruments are one thing, but ye are particularly enthusiastic about the pipes.”
As her fingers strummed the harp’s strings, Robena felt more of the tension leave her shoulders. “I dinnae think I’m louder than other pipers.”
Nicola shrugged. “I’ve only heard a few besides ye. I imagine, at the grand competitions or on the battlefield, a piper’s music would need to be heard across a large field. So, loud is good.”
“Aye,” Robena mumbled in distraction, her fingers already plucking out a melody as she thought about her sister’s words. “Good.”
Grand competition.
The Highland Piping Competition was to be held at the end of the Highland Games.
Often the Games began with the musical competitions, but since the pipers spent the duration of the Games showing off their skills and encouraging their clan’s competitors—or scaring the shite out of their opposition—the piping contest was only a formality.
For the last few years, as Robena’s skill had improved, she’d learned everything she could about the Highland Piping Competition. There was a sort of perverse obsession with it, really; whereas ‘twas perfectly acceptable for a lady to play the harp or lute, the pipes were a man’s instrument.
And, she imagined, almost as fun as the other man’s instrument.
Although I dinnae think ye blow into that one.
Whereas usually such a bad joke would make her smile—even if no one else had heard it—today she wasn’t in the mood. To think that only a few hours ago she’d thought she had a chance to play with Kester’s instrument!
And no’ his musical instrument.
Although mayhap he’d sing if she put his—what had Wynda called it? Och, aye, his cock!—cock in her mouth.