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EL LOBO DEL MAR

Started by Welsh Wench, May 12, 2008, 07:28:47 AM

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Welsh Wench

"It looks like we have the right room, darling. Gran is giving us the room overlooking the meadow and this is the one."
Honour got out and looked out the window.
"The sun is starting to set and look at the beautiful colours reflected on the wildflowers!"

He opened up his haversack.
"Gran offered to make us dinner but I think we already sprung ourselves on her."
He reached in and brought out some cheese and bread and a bottle of merlot.
"You do think of everything, Mr. Wolfe."
"Have you ever known me to show up in a room without a bottle to warm you up?"
She grinned. "You don't need a bottle for that, darling. And I have no nightgown, either. The trunks are still with the ship."
"Just the way I like you. Vulnerable. Only a thin layer of a cotton chemise between me and thee."

Honour took her dress off and hung it on the peg. She padded over to the bed.
"It looks like Zara is sleeping with us."
Jack opened the door and a small room was off to the side.
"No, I don't think so. There is a trundle bed here. It was my mother's."

The bed was of carved oak and a handloomed blanket graced the small bed.
Honour tenderly lifted up her daughter as she stirred slightly but fell back to sleep.
"She's worn out. I think it was trying to walk in a straight line when she got on land."
"She'll be right as rain tomorrow.  I do think that Zara will charm Gran. She's always had a soft spot for the wean."
"Wean?"
"I'm sorry. It is the Scot word for child. It literally means we'an.  Or wee ane. Wee one."
She sighed. "I love your Scottish brogue, darling. It sends chills through me!"

He poured her a glass of merlot.
"This will warm you up."
She smiled over the rim of her glass.
"And when do you intend to approach Agnes about the legend of the MacGregors and the Stone of Destiny?"
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....

Captain Jack Wolfe

Jack took a sip of wine and smiled. "Right to business, you are."
He ran his hand through his hair as he sat down on the bed.
"I don't know, to be honest. She threw me with that frontal attack. I never thought to ask Thomas just what he had told the family about me. Now I know."
"But that's your past," said Honour as she joined him. "It marks where you have been, not where you are going. Jack, I think she was venting more than anything. You know her. If she were truly angry, would we still be under her roof?"
"No. We'd be out in the street, with half her heavy cookware lobbed at us."
"Then set it aside, darling. Let it roll off, and I'll wager she does the same."
Jack raised his glass. "We are all one big happy family, we MacGregors. When we're not at each other's throats."
Honour tried to stifle a giggle.
"What's that about?"
"You realise you just described nearly every family in the world?"
He thought for a moment, and laughed with her. "I guess you're right! Squabbling may be a MacGregor birthright, but it's not an exclusive one."

Jack took another sip of wine. "I don't want to rush things. My fear is seeming like an opportunist, or worse, a glory-seeker."
"That's the wisest thing you've said all day. Going slow has its merits."
"Says she who likes me to take my time."
Honour playfully elbowed his ribs. "I may be tired and this wine is going right to my head, but let's stay focused on the Stone for a little while longer. Shall we?"
"You expect me to concentrate when you're wearing next to nothing?"
"No, I expect you to concentrate when I'm wearing nothing at all. For now, the Stone."
"Aye, that elusive beastie of a Stone."
"There you go again."
"What?"
"Your brogue. I never knew you had it. You're such a chameleon anyway, the way you shift the way to speak to suit the situation. But this... it's different. You seem to fall into it."
"I suppose it's more a part of me that I wanted to admit."
"Just like the Stone is more than just another adventure for you?"
He thought for a moment, and nodded. "Your powers of observation never cease to surprise me."
"It wasn't difficult. I saw the look in your eye when Will put this idea in your head. The wheels were turning, and in the direction of Scotland. It was only a matter of time before we found ourselves here."

"Fine then. If you wish to play the mind reader, what am I thinking now?"
Honour peered seriously into his eyes, then got up and topped off her wine glass. She deftly drank it all down, and gave her husband a look that made his eyes go wide. His eyes went even wider as she shrugged off her chemise.
"Am I close?" she giggled.
Jack could only nod.
"Then snuff that candle. I need your powers of concentration!"
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Welsh Wench

#317
The next morning.....

"Shh, sweetheart. Let's go downstairs to make the acquaintance of your great Gran. But quiet so we don't wake up your Da."
Honour picked Zara up and ran a brush through her daughter's hair.
"It's your turn to make a good impression, sweetheart."

The third step creaked as the two of them climbed down the stairs, Honour holding Zara's hand as she took the steps very gingerly.
Agnes MacGregor looked up from kneading the dough on her worktable.

"Ah...there you are! I hope you slept well. And the wee lassie too."
Honour sat down at the table, lifting Zara onto her lap.

"We did. Jack is still sleeping. It's rare that he sleeps in."
Agnes sniffed, "He seems to be in good shape considering..."
"Considering the fact that he lead an unscrupulous life at one time?"
She shrugged. "And you are vouching for the fact that he is out of piracy once and for all?"
Honour nodded and took Zara's hand away as she reached for the dough that Agnes was working.
"Don't be keeping the little lass from the dough. Here, wean,."
She popped a bit of the dough into Zara's mouth.
"It be genuine Scottish shortbread. All the bairn cut their teeth on it."

Honour frowned a bit.
"Agnes? May I ask you a question?"
"Ask an honest question and I will give you an honest answer."
Honour took a deep breath.
"I notice that you never call Zara by her name. It is always 'wean' or 'wee bairn' or 'little lassie'. She is a living, breathing person and she has a name."

Agnes paused. "My apologies. It's just that....never mind. I'll be more mindful to call her by her Christian name. T'is a beautiful name but not one of the saints."
Honour replied, "Any child can be named after a saint. There are plenty of Margarets and Annes and Elizabeths. But this child here is unique. Yes, you are, aren't you, Miss Zara?"
Zara squealed with laughter as her mother tickled her.

Agnes reached out to touch Zara on the head. "She looks so much like my Edyth except she has your eyes and nose. But the hair is definitely MacGregor. Such a combination she is, too. English, Scottish and Welsh. No doubt all that blood coursing through her veins will make her tempestuous, yes?"
Honour laughed. "Well, Jack and I have had our moments."
"Jack, he is a good husband to you?"
"Yes, Agnes. He is wonderful."
She looked off out the window. "Still...he is faithful?"
Honour hesitated. Both she and Jack had their 'moments' in the eighteen months they had been apart. Celibacy was not a word in Jack's vocabulary and Honour had relieved her moment of loneliness with Cade Jennings. But that was over and done with and neither spoke of it anymore.
"Yes, Agnes. In all the time we have been together, I have never doubted that Jack has been faithful to me."
"Yes, well, he had best be. Marriage is like a besieged castle. Those who are on the outside wish to get in and those who are on the inside are looking to get out."

Agnes sat down. "Will you have some tea?"
"I'd love some. But without the whiskey."
"Ah,. you noticed. It's just a splash. To give it some flavor."
Agnes poured her a cup and handed Zara a shortbread.
"Do you love him, Honour?"
Honour was taken aback by the question.
"Why, of course I do."
"I'm sorry to hear that. When you love them, that is when they break your heart. Best to dwell in companionship. If you can face them at breakfast, so the much better."

Zara tentatively took the shortbread with a small smile.
"Sank you."
Honour laughed. "It's the way she says 'thank you'."
Aggie beamed. "A beautiful child and with manners too. All of Edyth's children had manners."
"I really hope we are not an intrusion, dropping in on you without proper notice. It isn't our way."
"Nonsense. This cottage has been added onto so much that it is practically an estate. My Tommy was a carpenter and a house builder among other things. He took any leftover materials and kept expanding the house. Not that we had more money than others, but Tommy made investments in land. He said land was the only thing worth fighting for and worth dying for. Viva Scotia was his motto. He even carved it over the door. At the far end of the meadow there are two other houses. They belong to Jack's cousins Rafferty and Flannery."
"Unusual names."
"Aye, it seems to run in the family. All my grandchildren are very industrious and enterprising."
"Are they farmers?"
"Of sorts. They...diversify. They breed the most beautiful sheep and you will never find any finer wool than those that come from a MacGregor sheep. And of course there are a few enterprises that the local constable looks the other way."
"Which is?"
"They make whiskey and heather ale."
"Heather ale?"
"Throughout medieval times, many ceilidh stories mention the brewing and drinking of heather ale. The legend goes that a Highland clan warming their heather ale over the fire on a cold night. The steam from the hot ale cooled against the stone roof and dripped into a drinking cup. The Gaelic clansmen exclaimed, 'uisge-beatha'."
Honour smiled, "Water of life."
"You know your Gaelic."
"Welsh. But Gaelic is close enough."
"Aye, uisge had been discovered that very night. And that is how we got our whisky."

"And what of their sister?"
"Fiona? She lives in the village. She's married to a very smart businessman. Donnan MacDougall. Very happy despite the fact that Fiona has a sharp tongue and speaks her mind but Donnan seems to be able to handle her. Yes. with Fiona you always know where you stand--and she is fiercely loyal. Donnan is a wool merchant and broker. Exports it and Fiona is a wizard at weaving tweed just for the creativity of it."

Agnes reached out to pick up Zara and put her on her lap.
"Ah, but this little lass. She is my first great granddaughter. The rest all have boys."

"Good grief, you mean to tell me that Rafferty and Flannery have actually procreated? What is this world coming to?"
Jack came down the stairs buttoning his shirt. As he hit the bottom step, the front door banged open.
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....

Welsh Wench

"For the third time, no! That's not the way it works," blustered the first man through the door. He was in his early thirties, stout and average height, with a fairly well kept beard. He was preoccupied with some slips of paper. "We keep things small for now. It's not like we're in this for fun. There's money to be made! Ah! Hullo, Gran."
"Rafferty. Flannery. Give a thought to leaving those muddy boots by the door? I've just cleaned."

Flannery, the second man, was tall and thin, almost gaunt. He was in his late 20's, with longer, disheveled hair. He reminded Honour of Eli Meredith in his demeanor of feeling out of place.
"Halloo, Gran," replied Flannery. He stopped in his tracks and unlaced his boots. "I'm just saying, Rafferty, that if there's money to be made - and halloo to you, Jack , good to see you - why not let more people know? Quietly, I mean."
"You don't understand how businesses works," said Rafferty. He looked up from his papers, and his eyes met Jack's.

In unison, they both exclaimed, "Jack! Jack Wolfe!"

Jack laughed. "Well, it's nice to see your powers of observation are still as keen. How are you? It's been ages– OOF!"
"Jack!" exclaimed Rafferty as he delivered a bear hug. "Ages doesn't begin! Word's all over town there are strangers from a private ship a-vi sting Aggie.  We had no idea it was YOU."

"Actually," said Flannery, "It was me said it must be Jack. Rafferty was certain you'd never set foot in Scotland again but I said  no, someday Jack Wolfe will be back. It's in his blood!""
"Shush!" said Rafferty. "I mean, Thomas told us about your.. dealings."
"Well, a lot has changed, Rafferty,"said Jack. "Let's all sit down and get reacquainted.""You'll have to forgive Rafferty, Jack," said Flannery with a smile. The two men embraced happily. "He gets a bit over cautious at times."
"Times when he's doing things he ought not, which is most days ending in 'y'," said Aggie as she made short work of some beets.

It was only then that the cousins looked over to see a little girl tugging on her father's shirt.
"Oh...and this is my daughter. Zara, please say hello to two of the most rambunctious men I have ever had the pleasure to call kin."
Zara stared at them wide-eyed. Flannery leaned over and took her hand and shook it.
"Why, hello, Miss Zara. You truly are a MacGregor. Look at that hair, Rafferty!"
It was then that the cousins noticed Honour sitting by the fire drinking a cup of tea.
They both took off their caps at the same time.

Raffery said, "Please, Jack Wolfe, don't tell me that this beauteous woman is your wife."
Flannery whispered to Jack, "You ARE married....aren't you?"
Jack laughed and said , "Most certainly. Honour, may I present Rafferty and Flannery MacGregor. Lads? This is Mrs. Jack Wolfe."

The lads broke out in infectious grins and rushed to give Honour a hug.
"Me first!"
"No! Me! Just because you are older...."
Aggie broke in with, "Oh good Lord, you two. The woman is not some sort of toy to fight over."
She raised her rolling pin in a mock threat.
Rafferty and Flannery gave her a hug in turn. Honour tried very hard to balance her tea cup and saucer as they almost toppled it.
"Please...call me Honour," she managed to squeak out when they finally released her.
"So...what have you two been up to?"
"Oh...a little of this..."
"A lot of that...."
"Two words, Jack...heather ale."

"Heather ale?" Jack asked.
Rafferty explained, "Heather ale--"
"The Gaelic word is 'fraoch'" Flannery cut in
"Do you mind, Flann? I am telling this."
"OK but get it right, will you?"
"Shush. The ancient Picts--which we descend from--brewed it. With various wars and conquests, though, the original recipe was lost."
"Or so they thought," Flannery added.
"Legend had it that a Pictish king when taken captive, leaped off a cliff rather than share the secret of the recipe."
"But about one hundred and fifty years ago, heather ale started to surface."
"Aye, not in the cities but in little places like this."
"Shards of pottery were found from the Isle of Rhum and it tested positive for a fermented drink made with honey, grains, meadowsweet and royal ferns."
"Made about 2000 BC, it was."
So, what do you use in it?" Jack asked.

The cousins looked at each other.
"Can we trust you?"
"Oh, good grief," Aggie exclaimed. "Do you expect him to say 'no'?"
Flannery shrugged. "We use two-thirds heather to one-third malt. Sometimes we add sweet gale to it."
"Sometimes ginger, too."
"Aye. Great flavor but the head doesn't last long. We are working on that."
"It stays fizzy the whole time though."
"Aye. Beautifully clear and richly coloured. Striking homebrew."
"It's a fairly mild brew but we are working on developing something that will give it more body."
"The heather does give it some slight bitterness without the addition of hops."
"That gives it the distinct flavor."
"And the honey pretty much ferments out."
"Aye. You can drink alot any time of the day."
"For the extra kick, we are adding whisky-soaked wood chips to the secondary."

Jack was intrigued. "And the tax to the Crown?"
Flannery and Rafferty both broke out in laughter. "And we answer with , what ale? Heather ale? Brewed here? The recipe has been lost for 2000 years! "

Rafferty put his cap on.
"Aye, well, we'd best be going. I am sure the wives will be over later to scrutinize the new addition to the MacGregor clan."
Flannery laced his boots back on. "Will you be at the ceilidh tonight, Jack?"
"Ceilidh? Tonight?"
"Aye. The entire village will be there. You'd best be there. We shall be."
Rafferty winked, "And with the brew not known as heather ale."
They laughed and walked out the door.

Jack turned to Honour.
"And that, my dear, are Flannery and Rafferty MacGregor."
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....

Captain Jack Wolfe

Aggie handed Honour a basket.
"Go. Have a nice walk in the highlands with your husband."
"But what about Zara?"
Aggie shooed her out the door.
"Never mind about Zara. I will take care of her. It will do the wee one good to spend time with her great Gran."
Jack took a blanket from the chair.
"And when we come back, will her eyes be big as saucers from the stories you are going to tell her?"
Aggie chuckled. "I haven't  been able to tell those piskey stories in quite a while. It's about time the Scottish lore gets told. And to a lass, no less. The lads just roll their eyes at me. But I can see it in her eyes. She's enchanted by the world around her."
"Gran...you don't honestly believe the stories of the wee folks who inhabit the hills, do you?"
She pushed them both out the door and whispered to Honour, "Just make sure you are on the bottom. I don't want Jack squashing the fairies."
With that she slammed the door.

Honour and Jack walked along the lane from Aggie's home, up towards a hill and the glen that lay beyond.
"Jack, what's a 'piskey story'"?
"You know how it is with out of the way places. Local legends take hold. The wee folk, the enchanted kind. You've likely heard of them as pixies or fairies."
"Fairies and pixies. Yes, I grew up hearing about them. But I never believed in them. Dyllis is certain she's seen them, but she's always had such an imagination."
"Well, the folk round here will tell you they are real, and play an important part in the good or bad fortunes people experience."
"Like when people are hoping for something, then they touch wood to ask for the help of the fairies? They really believe such a thing?"
"That they do. They look for omens and signs, like rings of mushrooms near their house which is more a product of prevailing winds than any sort of magic. It's a lovely bit of fiction, but fiction all the same. There are no fair folk, no pixies, no fairies, not any such thing at all. Just a lot of superstition, and stories to captivate imaginative children."
"It's all down to science for you, isn't it?" asked Honour. "But you still have a sense of wonder."
"How could I not, after the things we've seen? The faces of living stone in that jungle temple. How the whole building seemed to be stone yet living." He smiled at her. "How can I know such things exist, and have seen them with my own eyes, and not see this world as holding more wonders than I can ever hope to understand? Just as knowing you love me is a mysterious, wondrous thing?"
"There's no mystery in that," she replied. "It's simply the truth."
"A truth I cherish."
The couple walked up to the crest of the hill and stepped into the glen.

Honour spread the blanket down on the ground.
"Oh, look! Aggie packed some cheese and oatmeal bread...and some cakes."
Jack produced a bottle of wine. "Only the finest for you, love."
She gazed around the hillside and breathed deeply the country air.
"This is a beautiful place. I can see now why Aggie suggested it."
The hills before them gently rolled one into the other, and on into the mountains in the distance. The land was covered in a downy carpet of young grass and freshly bloomed heather. Soft hues of pale green, vivid blue, pink and purple wove together into a serene tapestry that seemed to go on forever.
"It is lovely, isn't it?" said Jack.
"I'm surprised you've never really spoken of it. The sea may have won your heart, but this land must hold a special place."
"The sea lost to you, remember? Besides, I was so young when I spent time here. I never fully appreciated things properly until later."
"What changed?"
"Learning how easy it is to lose the things you care about, and how nearly impossible it can be to find them again."
Honour blushed a little. "We both learned a lot."
"I am glad I can see all this again, through wiser eyes this time. It makes sense why it pained my mother so to be so far away from here. Portsmouth is nothing like this."
"How different is it?"
"You see how the hills keep going on, and it's almost like they're breathing ever so slightly?"
"Yes, I think I see what you mean."
"Portsmouth is a really big rock, with some other rocks clumped around to keep it company. It's bleak, where this is so... alive."
"I have to admit," said Honour, "I expected it to be more... well..."
"Harsh? Grumpy, even?"
She giggled. "Yes, since you put it that way. I suppose I was thinking the land would be much like the reputation of the people who come from it."
"Don't let the heather and grand old trees fool you, love. The land can be rugged and unforgiving. But the grumpiness? You can thank Edward Longshanks for that. The Scots don't take kindly to being under anyone's yoke, especially that of the English."
"Longshanks did Wales no favours either, Jack. If we'd had a William Wallace, things might have been different."
"Oh, no, dear. There's only room enough in the world for one country filled with perpetually cross people!"
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Captain Jack Wolfe

#320
"I can see why the Scots are so proud of their homeland. It seems almost magical."
"Careful, Honour. Are the piskeys whispering to you?"
"Of course not!" she laughed. "Do you seen any around?"
"Me? I'm too jaded to see them, even if they existed. But you? Well, there's another story..."
Jack stood up and and walked towards a majestic oak tree near where they had spread their picnic blanket. His eyes were full of mischief as he looked back to Honour.
"It's said the wee folk live in the very oldest of trees. This one looks old enough. Should I knock and see if anyone is home?"
"Only if it will get the urge to tease me out of your system."
"As if that will ever happen! All right, here goes..."

He raised his hand to knock upon the trunk of the oak tree. But something caught his eye that made him forget all about imaginary folk.
"Of all the things to find," he muttered.
"What's the matter, brave pirate? Lose your nerve to play with fairies?"
"Honour, you'll want to see this. Please come here."
Reluctantly, Honour got to her feet. "Jack, I know there is no such thing as fairies, so you aren't going to trick me into thinking you've found one."
"No. I found something even more unbelievable."
He pointed at a faded, weather worn inscription that had been carved into the tree's bark many years before. The outline of a heart could still be seen. Honour traced her finger over the writing.

Three simple words.

TOMMY
LOVES
AGGIE


"Jack, this must have been a spot they loved to go to when they wanted to shut out the cares of the world."
Jack smiled broadly.
"I guess old Tommy had a soft spot for Aggie after all."
"She loved him fiercely, Jack. That is why she put up with his infidelity. He loved women but he was in love with Aggie. There is a difference."

He put his arms around Honour's waist and she leaned back into him. He kissed her neck tenderly and she closed her eyes.
"Do you think they came back here often?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. Wasn't this the place that Aggie suggested to you that we go explore?"
She nodded. "She said it was a wonderful place and the scenery was breath-taking. And she was right. I wonder how Zara is?"
Jack smoothed her hair back.
"Don't you be fretting about Zara now. Gran is smitten with her." 'A MacGregor through and through' she says."
Honour laughed. "You would think that I contributed nothing."
"Knowing Gran, I am sure she thinks she was brought in on the wings of a fairy. She does like her fanciful stories. I bet she has Zara on her lap right now feeding her shortbread and filling her mind with stories of the wee folk."
"And knowing Zara, she will be entranced."

Jack took out his penknife.Honour picked up the bottle of wine.
He shook his head.
"Something better."
He walked over to the tree and carefully carved a heart. Inside he carved,

JACK
LOVES
HONOUR


"Years from now, people may see this and know that our love is eternal."
She reached out and touched his hand.
"Just like Tommy and Aggie."
"Just like Tommy and Aggie," he repeated.
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Captain Jack Wolfe

Aggie gave a puzzled look when she heard knocking at her door.
"What in blazes..? Who is it?" she called.
The door opened, and Jack and Honour stepped inside.
"Just us!" he said merrily.
"You gave me a fright, knocking like that! We're family, Jack. Come on in as you please. Only tax collectors knock."
"Well, I didn't want to be presumptuous."
"I put up with Rafferty and Flannery strolling in unannounced every day. If you manage to wipe your feet on the way in, you'll be far ahead of them in my estimation. How was the picnic?"
"Absolutely delicious," replied Jack.

Aggie glanced over, and immediately noticed the glow on Honour's cheeks.
"Aye," she said with a knowing smile. "And how was the food? Or did you skip straight to afters?"
"Of course we ate!" he protested. "Honour, tell her we really did eat the food."
Honour drew in a breath, then burst out in laughter.
"What, that's funny? Did I do a funny thing?"
"I never expected your Gran to know you so well!" she giggled. "But Aggie, I can attest we did eat the lovely meal you prepared. After afters, that is."
"Ha! I knew it!" said Aggie. "You'll have a grand family soon enough, what with the blood of Tomcat MacGregor running through his veins."
"We are married, Gran," said Jack. He touched his cheeks to see if the heat he felt was real or imaginary.
"You're a lucky man, Jack Wolfe. And I daresay Honour is a lucky woman." She gave Honour a wink, eliciting a giggle from the younger woman.
"Well, it's glad I be that you are married and settled. Tell me, was it a nice wedding? Because I got nary a word nor an invite. You didn't have an Anglican ceremony, did you?"

Jack tugged at his collar. "No, not an Anglican service, Gran."
"Aye and that is good. I'm taking it you got married in London or somewhere in France? France is still a fortress of the Church."
Jack bit his lip and gave Honour a look that usually resides on the face of someone about to have several teeth extracted.
Honour scooped Zara up. "I think it is time for this little girl to take a nap."
She put Zara over her shoulder as she said, "Say 'good bye' to your father."
Jack could only return Zara's sleepy little wave as he watched his last line of defense march up the stairs.
Aggie cleared her throat. "I said, where did you get married?"
"In St Lawrence. It's on Barbados. Quite a lovely island. You'd like it. They even have sheep."
"I've heard of it, I have. An English colony, they say."
"That's right."
"More English than England, they say."
Jack knew in his bones where she was headed with all this.
"Yeah....?" he offered warily.
"And not a Catholic church to be found."
"Well... no."
"Then what manner of ceremony did you have?" she demanded.

Jack cleared his throat. "As neither of us had family close by, we thought a small civil ceremony would be the most sensible. And we... we were in a bit of a hurry. But if it's any consolation, it was near the local church. I mean, I think I saw a steeple. Could have been a weather vane—"
Aggie blinked a few times before finally sitting down at the table with Jack. "A... a civil ceremony? And what was this blasted hurry you claim to have been in?"
"Do I really have to spell it out for you, Gran? Honour can be, well, a little old fashioned about things."
"I'm glad one of you is!" She shook her head disapprovingly. "I blame your da for this. Him and his Protestant ways."
"Well, I don't think it will trouble him much now if you do. He'd be hard pressed to debate the point. So there you are, an argument you can't possibly lose. It's a Scot's dream come true."
The absurdity of Jack's comment made Aggie chuckle in spite of herself. She rubbed her forehead and sighed.
"You got married on the spot, just to bed her? Is that what I'm hearing?"
He shrugged. "When you put it that way, it does seem a bit silly."
"And she's still with you're daft arse?"
"I guess you could say things backfired on me and we fell in love."

Aggie MacGregor looked her grandson in the eyes gravely and drew a deep breath.
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Captain Jack Wolfe

Then she snorted.

Loudly.

To Jack's surprise, his grandmother dissolved into laughter. Big, loud bellylaughs that had her pounding the table.
"Oh, sweet Lord," she said between guffaws, "I haven't heard anything so funny in ages!"
"I guess I missed another funny thing," said a mystified Jack. "Gran, I'm telling you the truth. That's what happened."
"Aye, and I believe you! Oh, Jackie, dear laddie... you didn't get just Tommy's blood, I think you got his mind as well. That's the sort of pure mad numpty sort of thing he would have done if he'd been wearing your shoes. Or your trousers, for that matter. Falling in love with the right woman by mistake? Now I've heard it all!"
"So... so you're not cross about Honour and I not being married in the church?"
"And what good if I was?" She took Jack's hand in hers. "If I have learned anything over my long life, it's that it is not my place to tell you how to live yours. That's up to you, mistakes and all. Any fool can see how happy you are together. How you got there is none of my concern. But I'll tell you this; you keep her happy. She's a fine woman. Better than most men deserve, you especially!"
"Gran, I don't know what to say."
"Say that for just this once, you'll listen to your old Gran, heed her advice, and do as you're told."
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Aye, Gran. I'll do as I'm told."

They looked up at the sound of Honour clearing her voice. She was standing at the foot of the stairs with Zara in her arms and a bemused look on her face.
"Zara didn't want to sleep. She heard all the laughter and was sure she was missing out on something fun."
"Did she now?" said Aggie. She got up from the table and walked towards Honour and the baby. "Well, since I'm the cause of the wee bairn missing her nap, it's only proper I set things right."
She held out her arms to the little girl. "Come here, Zara. Would you like to hear some stories?"
Zara smiled sleepily and went into her great-grandmother's arms.
"I'll make sure our Zara here gets some sleep," Aggie smiled. "You two might think about getting some rest yourselves before the ceilidh tonight. You know that's another thing people do with a bed, don't you?" she winked.
Honour's mouth fell open in surprise, and Jack wasted no time steering her towards the stairs.
"I think we can give it a try!" he laughed.
Aggie watched happily as the two went upstairs. Then she sat in her favourite chair by the fire, with Zara nestled in her lap.

"Now then, I promised you a story, didn't I?"
Zara nodded as she studied the old woman's face.
"Then a story you shall have. There once was a young lad named Thomas. Now, Thomas was known as a dreamer. One day as he lay on the Huntlie bank in the May sunshine he gazed up at the trees swaying in the breeze above him, dreaming. But then he heard the tinkling of silver bells, and as he looked across the lee here rode a beautiful woman. Her hair was blonde and cascaded over her shoulders, her eyes were the colour of forget-me-nots, and she wore the most rich velvet green mantle..."
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Welsh Wench

Jack, exactly what does one wear to a ceilidh?"
Honour stood there with the contents of her trunk dumped on the bed.
"Shall I wear a plain blouse and a skirt? Or something a bit fancier?"
She picked up a blue silk dress.

Jack was buttoning his shirt.
"Hmmm? Wear something you would be comfortable in, darling. A ceilidh is not a formal ball. It's....well, it is quite fabulous and in the Highlands, the Scots really know how to party."
Honour picked up her white blouse with a scoop neck. I guess this one will do with the blue skirt. What about shoes?"
"Shoes?"
"Jack, are you even listening to me?"
"What? Of course I am. You want to know about shoes. It doesn't matter because after an  hour or so, most of us are barefoot anyways. Things get really loose when the ale begins to flow. And I have it on good authority--namely, two cousins who go by the name of Rafferty and Flannery--that they will be furnishing the refreshments."

"What about food?"
"What about it?"
"What will they have?"
"Oh...salmon patties, I should think. Oatcakes....dill cucumbers....clapshot....Gran usually makes cloutie dumpling...haggis...."
"What is haggis?"
"You don't want to know. Take my advice and stay far away from it."
"I shall. What about drink?"
"As I said, Flan and Raff are bringing their heather ale to test on the male populace and I am sure there will be whiskey too."
"Do you really think this is the place for Zara to be?"
"There is no one to watch her, love. Aggie wants to show her off to her friends. After all, this is her first great grandgirl. And she wants to be the envy of all her friends. One of those 'make my friends hate me' moments."

Just then there was a knock on the door.
"May I come in?" Aggie's voice was heard from the other side.
Honour opened the door.
"We're decent."
Jack said, "We weren't a half hour ago."
Honour felt her face turn red.
"Jack!"
Aggie laughed. "Nothing new under the sun, lass."
She set Zara down on the bed. "She has been a perfect lass. And I have something for you."

Aggie handed Honour a box.
"What is this?"
"A little something for you."
She opened the box and reached in.
"Oh...my!"

Inside was a tartan skirt. Honour held it up.
Aggie explained, "It was mine. When I was a wee bit smaller. It is the MacGregor tartan. Of course for a long time we couldn't wear it--damn upstart of a king--but we kept it and wore it privately. Now that the 'curse' has been lifted and we can be MacGregors again, I think it is time the tartan made an appearance at the ceilidh."
Honour gave Aggie a hug.
"It is perfect. I shall wear it with pride."

Aggie produced another box.
"I was working on it when you were off doing whatever it is you and Jack do when you wander off by yourselves."
Honour opened the second box and almost cried.

There inside was a little white blouse, a MacGregor tartan skirt and sash, all in the size made for a two year old.

"Oh....Aggie. I am so touched."
"Aye, well, Zara is a MacGregor. I think my Edith would be pleased. Come, let Zara show you how she looks in it."

Honour removed Zara's playdress and slipped the outfit on her.
Zara stood there solemnly as Aggie pinned the sash.
She stood back and admired her handiwork.
"Now, Zara--show your mum and da what you learned to say today."
Zara looked up at her parents and very seriously repeated slowly, "Tha gao agam ort."

Proudly, Aggie said, "That means 'I love you' in Gaelic."
Jack gave Aggie a hug and kiss on the cheek, holding her close.
"You old softie," he whispered.
Aggie's eyes were beginning to fill with tears. "I wish your mum was here to see her."
She wiped her eyes before anyone could really see and blew her nose.
"And now....I have to get myself ready for the ceilidh. I will see you downstairs in half an hour. Don't be late--I have alot of bragging to do!"
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....

Captain Jack Wolfe

#324
Jack admired the two most important women in his life and smiled.
"Aren't you both just beautiful! And you, my love..." he said to Honour, "I'll have to keep the closest eye on you. Some scallywag might mistake you for a local girl and try to steal you away."
"It was so kind of Aggie to provide us with your - I mean, our - family colours. To be honest, I was more than a little afraid of standing out like a sore thumb. We are outsiders, after all."
"Welcome to my grandmother. She's taken you from being an 'outsider' to the perfect insider. The family tartan has been hidden away too long. You and Zara shall make a bold statement that the MacGregors are ready to step back into the sunlight."

Honour frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't have accepted her gifts, then. I don't want to seem like an interloper."
Jack shook his head. "Honour, no. If you had any question left in your mind as to whether or not Aggie has accepted you into the fold, you and Zara are wearing the answer. Otherwise she would have steered you into wearing something plain as a mud fence and twice as drab. Instead, you'll be the belle of the ball."

He turned back to the mirror and finished tying a modest white cravat around his neck. "Leave being the outsider to me," he continued as he pulled on his jacket. "I'm quite used to it. Look at me, I'm wearing trousers!" he laughed.

Honour smoothed his jacket lapel, and looked up at him. "I'm sure that, if for one night you decided to stop playing the outsider, Aggie could supply suitable colours to help you blend in."
"Tommy's kilt would be too small. And there's a chill in the air. I'd hate for the horse to catch his death."

A mischievous smile danced across Honour's face. Before Jack could say a word, she dashed to the door.
"Aggie!" she called downstairs. "Aggie, do you have any scraps of tartan lying about?"
"Aye, I do. But none are even enough to make a belt for the wee one."
"That would do nicely. May I have it?"
"Surely yes, dear. I'll find it."
"What are you up to?" asked Jack.
"You'll see!" answered Honour as she scampered downstairs.
"Zara, what will we do with her?"
Zara was too busy staring at the bright red tartan of her skirt to play along.

Honour came back into the room, smiling triumphantly.
"Here," she said as she pitched a length of fabric to her husband.
"What's this for?" It was a strip of tartan, roughly three inches wide and two and a half feet long.
"Your new cravat, Mister Outsider. Now finish getting dressed! We'll be late for the ceilidh!"
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Welsh Wench

 
Aggie stood there at the bottom of the stairs.
"Hurry up, you two. I have a few dances left in me and a great granddaughter to show off!"

Jack and Honour came down the stairs, Zara in Jack's arms.
"Give me the wee lass, Jack. After all, I have a grand entrance to make. And don't the two of you look like the perfect Highlands couple. You do the MacGregors proud,"

They walked down the lane to the barn on the edge of a property that was owned by the MacMillan family. Honour could hear the lively music as they neared it and when Jack opened the door, she was surprised as to what she saw.

A table was set with all sorts of food. Jack had set Aggie's cloutie dumpling down on the table. The chairs were set along the wall, but there were far too many people for each to have one.
"That's because no one sits down at our ceilidhs," Agnes explained. Couples were already lining up for a reel.
"Jack, I'm not sure I can keep up. I mean, I don't think I know this."
"We'll sit this one out and you watch and...."
"About time we saw each other."
"Fiona!"

Fiona MacDougall stood about five feet six, slender build and beautiful auburn hair held back by a green ribbon. Her eyes were sky blue and her complexion was flawless. Honour couldn't help but stare.
"I am sorry I couldn't get over to Gran's to see you but Donnell was up to his arse in business and...hello!"
She finally noticed Honour.
Jack put his arm around Fiona and said proudly, "Fiona MacGregor MacDougall, may I introduce you to my wife Honour. Honour, this is Cousin Fiona."

Fiona looked over at Honour and said solemnly, "You are wearing the same skirt I am."
Honour looked down, her face flushed, "I--I'm so sorry. I didn't think...I mean, Aggie gave this to me and..."
"I think it is grand! About time we MacGregors show our true colours!"

Fiona stood back and surveyed Honour. "Well, you are a bit more chesty than I am. But I am taller. You are blonde, I am auburn. But look! We have the same colour eyes. Are you a Scot?"
"N--no. I am Welsh."
"Makes no never-mind. You are kin."
She gave Honour a hearty hug.
"And now I am borrowing your lovely wife and  introducing her to Rafferty and Flannery's better halves. Go and find something to do with yourself till the dancing really gets cracking. Oh, look. Here come Rafferty and Flannery with their jugs of ale. Ta, Jack!"
With that Fiona linked arms with Honour and hustled her off in the direction of the womenfolk.

"Alright, time you met the family!" Fiona propelled Honour over to two women standing by the serving table locked in an animated conversation. They both looked up at Honour with pleasant grins on their faces. They were small and curvy with red hair in a single braid and wide hazel eyes which reflected merriment and mischief.

"Honour Wolfe, I would like to introduce you to Maura and Laura MacGregor. They are married to----"
"..Rafferty"
"...and Flannery."
My goodness, you are---"
"Twins."
The women said the word at the same time.
"We've been meaning to get over to Gran's to see Jack's new wife but...."
"...the children have been getting over colds and then there was the food we had to make for the ceilidh."
"Those are our children over there..."
"...and here."
About six children were playing tag and a couple were clinging to their mothers' skirts.
One turned to the other.
"My goodness, which ones are yours?"
They looked at each other with mock astonishment.
"I think that one over there."
"No, I think that one is mine. Yours is over there."
"You think?"
"Possibly."
They both looked at Honour and giggled.
"We were just putting you on."
Honour laughed. "Do people mix you up often?"
"All the time..."
"...except for Rafferty and Flannery because..."
"..you can't pull one over on them two...."
"...and they are the only ones who count."

Fiona guided Honour away from the twins. Over her shoulder she said, "Off to meet the other kin but we will be back."
Maura--or was it Laura?--called out, "Be sure and eat dinner with us. We made..."
"..neeps and tatties."
"Which did you make?"
"I think it was the neeps."
"I made the tatties?"
"You think?"
They both dissolved into giggles again.

Within the half hour, Honour was introduced to half the room as cousins. She looked over to see Zara bouncing happily on Aggie's knee, a shortbread in her hand. Two pleasantly plump women were making a fuss over her.
Fiona laughed. "Aggie is on top of the world. She is, anytime she can show off her grandchildren. This is her first girl-child though. You did good there, Honour. We all have boys."
"Where are yours, Fiona?
"That one....and that one....and the young one over there....the twins there by the food table..."
Fiona sighed happily. "Yes, we are a productive, happy lot. The MacGregors are lusty and full of life, for sure. Come by tomorrow. I will show you the tweed we weave from Rafferty and Flannery's sheep. MacGregor sheep. The wool is so sturdy yet makes the softest wool. No one can beat a MacGregor flock."
"I'd love to."
"And I will give you enough tweed for a cloak for you and Zara."
Honour impulsively hugged the woman.
"I'm so happy Jack and I are here. I don't have any cousins."
"Sisters or brothers?"
"Three sisters--Gwyneth, Dilys and Megan. Megan and her family just moved to Barbados a few months ago. They needed a change of scenery.
"And a change in the political climate, I dare say."
"We adjust our sails and move on."

Fiona glanced over at the sound of boisterous laughter.
"Oh dear....Rafferty and Flannery have opened up the heather ale. There's no telling what can happen now!"
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....

Captain Jack Wolfe

Jack took in the sights and sounds around him: the people buzzing merrily about chatting and laughing, the smell of the food that was still being brought in and arranged on the tables, the musicians warming up to provide the melodic portion of the night's entertainment, and the jugs, flasks, and wineskins that would no doubt provide its own entertainment. He was reminded of the times aboard ship when the crew would celebrate so with music, drink, and laughter. But those celebrations were always after the taking of prey. Not so here. This was about home, and family, and the coming summertime. Things truly worth rejoicing over. He found it impossible to drop his smile, what with all the smiles directed at him from faces familiar to almost foreign.

"There ya are, Jack!" said Rafferty happily. "Oh, now this will never do. Not ever!"
"What won't?" asked Jack.
The answer came in the form of Flannery pushing a full cup of vaguely sweet smelling liquid into his hand.
"Empty hands at a ceilidh, that's what!" answered Rafferty. "They should be filled with strong drink or the woman you're dancing with. Or both. It's enough you don't know how to dress yourself."
"There is nothing wrong with what I'm wearing."
"If you were strolling the streets of London Towne, aye," laughed Flannerly. "Aggie would have found a proper kilt for you, had you asked."
"How do you know I didn't?" said Jack.
"Because the sun didn't fall out of the sky," said Rafferty. "Now, are you going to hold that cup all night? Drink up!"

Jack lifted the cup and took a sip. He was surprised at the complexity of flavours; amid the barley and malt he could taste honey, and the floral notes of heather. There were other flavours as well, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what they were. One thing was certain, this ale was the smoothest he had ever drank.
"So this is the famous not-heather heather ale?"
"What do you think of it? If it were indeed heather ale, that is," said Flannery.
"I'd say you lads have a winner! But there's something different. I've had heather ale, but this..."
"Well, that's our special blend for the ceilidh!" said Rafferty. "We've been working on it these past few months. It's a bit stronger than what you might remember."
"'A bit' is an understatement."
"Probably the difference you're tasting is from me adding in a bit of young single-malt scotch, to fortify it," said Flannery.

Rafferty looked puzzled. "Are you sure? Because I know I added a fair amount of the same."
"And why would you do such a thing? We agreed I'm the master of the brew."
"Well, it is the ceilidh and all..."
"If you so much as looked cross-eyed at the mash, so help me—"

At that moment, a man in his middle years, wearing a brilliantly white starched collar, interrupted. It was the town's priest, Father McFadden.
"Begging your pardon," he offered hesitantly, "Could I have a wee word with you, Flannery? It's about our... arrangement."
"Aye, Father. Let's step over here and talk."
Flannery took the priest aside for some privacy. Jack watched them for a few moments and smiled to himself.
"I wonder what that's all about?" said Rafferty uncomfortably.
"You spent a lot of time of this run of ale, didn't you?"
"Well, yes, it's true. Why do you ask?"
"Because that is the look of a man who is expecting delivery of goods paid for in advance, and said delivery is overdue. Regardless of the cloth they wear, every unhappy customer in the world looks like your priest right now."
"It happens every year around this time. We did make more of the special blend this go round. Father McFadden isn't the only one wondering where his regular purchase is."
"I'm sure Flannery will smooth things over. If you can't get forgiveness from a priest, it's a dark day indeed."

"Have I mentioned how glad we all you dropped in like this? The years have done you well."
"I do appreciate it, Rafferty. I must admit, it's been a bit surreal the way people have been smiling at me. I didn't think anyone but our family would know who I was."
Rafferty chuckled. "It's more than people being glad to see you, Jack. They're glad to see you happy. Becoming a proper family man with such a beautiful wife and daughter has got rid of that black cloud that stayed over your head."
"Black cloud? I was just as easygoing as anyone else at that age."
"Bah! You were positively grim. Like a farmer's cart had run over your dog. Twice. And it's a wonder you ever saw a thing around you, the way you never stopped reading for a moment. A stack of books with legs, you were. "
"I... I didn't realise that was how people saw me."
"It could be trying at times, even to have a conversation with you. But it never kept us from caring about you. It takes all kinds to make up a family. You'll always be part of this one."
"I learned a lot over the years. Mostly that life doesn't happen between the pages of a book."
"You've done all right for yourself, I'll say that. There's still the question of what really brought you back among us—-"

Rafferty fell silent for a moment and took a long sip from his cup as he looked towards the door.
"So much for a pleasant little ceilidh. The Campbells are here."
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Welsh Wench

"Here, try this, Honour," Fiona said. The two women were standing with Maura and Laura.
Laura--or maybe it was Maura--poured a generous cup of a deep red liquid.
"Mmm...this is delicious. What is it?"
"Raspberry wine..."
"...or it may be strawberry wine."
"You think?"
One of them took a drink.
"Raspberry."
"Did you make it?"
"I don't know. Did I make the strawberry or the raspberry?"
"Possibly. Maybe both. We both were sampling it to see if it was ready."
"Oh yes, I forgot."
They both giggled again.

Honour was beginning to catch on it was a regular conversation with the two of them.
"Uh oh. Look what just walked in."
The twins and Honour looked over to where Fiona nodded with her head.
"Cor blimey, it's Alisdair and Callum Campbell."
"Who are they?" Honour whispered.
"Oh....just a couple of tossers from the next village."
"Aye...them and their plonker cousins."
"They have no business being at a ceilidh where there are MacGregors."
Maura took a deep drink of her wine.  "No good is going to come of this."
"Shall we gather the bairn?"
"Let's wait and see. The little ankle biters could be useful. Dinna look now but them eejits are starting to circulate."

Two of the Campbells sidled up to the twins. "Good evening to ye, Mistresses MacGregor. Ah, and I do see a new face."
Fiona stepped in. "Just kin visiting from over Strathclyde. Passing through."
"Ah, Strathclyde do breed bonny lasses."
"Awa' n bile yer heid, Alisdair."
Fiona turned her back on them and they moved on.

Within ten minutes, Honour felt someone touch her bum.
She turned and two men--Alasdair and presumably Callum--continued talking amongst theirselves.
A few minutes later, another touch. This time a bit more firmer.
"Excuse me...am I in your way?" Honour asked frostily.
"Hmmm? Oh no, beggin' yer pardon, ma'am...me hand just brushed against ye. Beggin' yer pardon again."
A few minutes later it happened again and as Honour turned around, she heard Alasdair say to his brother and cousins, "Aye...just as I suspected. Ripe as a peach."
Honour was beginning to feel the effects of Maura and Laura's homemade wine.
She turned to Alisdair and said, "Excuse me, but did you just refer to my arse as a peach?"
"Well, now that you mention it, it's ripe enough to be plucked and enjoyed."

Honour turned to Fiona. "Excuse me, Fiona...would you please hold my shawl?"
She placed it in Fiona's hands, balled up her fist and cold-cocked Alasdair right on the jaw.

Jack looked over and sighed. "Aye, it's not a party till a MacGregor throws the first punch...but I dinna think it would be her...."
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....

Captain Jack Wolfe

Honour stayed close to the wall. Her eyes darted from person to person, looking for anyone who had filled their hand with a knife or pistol. There was none to be found, much to her relief. This was not a Caribbean tavern mêlée between pirates, sailors, and other ne'er-do-wells. This was a Scottish clan dust-up, and there were rules.

A Scottish clan dust-up where she had thrown the first punch.

As for rules, it seemed the main one was that anyone could play.

She spied Maura and Laura right in the thick of things. Laura was hanging off the back of a Campbell man, pulling his head around by his full red beard so her MacGregor kinsman could escape his grasp. Maura, too, had found a Campbell to ride. This one had no beard, so she grabbed a fistful of his hair and bit his ear as hard as she could. A solid MacGregor punch to the stomach ceased the man's yelps of pain, and Maura dismounted and scampered back to Honour's side. Laura joined them moments later.

"I'm glad you're both all right!" said Honour. "I haven't seen a fight like this since my tavern days in Bridgetown."
"So that's how you got such a mean right hook!" laughed Laura.
"Don't be such a wallflower, then," said Maura.
"Aye, our men need us!" said Laura.
"Then where are the Campbell women?" asked Honour.
"Home fretting," said Laura.
"And rolling bandages!" giggled Maura.
"Well, this is easier than a tavern fight," said Honour. "If you want to know who to hit, just check their colours."
"Never mind their sash if they have one, and look at their kilt," said Maura.
"It saves time aiming a good swift kick!" Laura said with a wink.

Maura grabbed her sister's arm and pointed at one of the Campbell men. "Isn't that Callum, the one that said Raff and Flan's heather ale should be put back in the sheep it came from?"
"That's him, it is. You go left, I'll take the right. On my signal, we make him more stars than on a winter's night!"

In a flash, the fiery sisters were off to execute their plan of attack. She tried to watch them both as they manoeuvred through the chaos, but suddenly she found her view obstructed by the back of a man who could easily pick up two large branches and be mistaken for a tree. He had a MacGregor lad by the front of his shirt, his meaty fist drawn back to deliver a crushing blow.
Honour thought fast. She grabbed a heavy bottle and, with the help of a little jump, smashed it over the big man's head. She smiled with satisfaction and waited for him to drop.

Instead, the Campbell man-tree let go of his quarry and slowly turned to face Honour.
She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, the neck of the broken bottle still in her hand.
"L-look, you! Lay a hand on me, and you'll have to answer to my husband!" She pointed to where Jack was, as he landed a jab that sent his adversary stumbling backwards.
"I never hit a woman, not ever," rumbled the Campbell tree. "So I'll take things up with him."

As the big man made his way over to Jack, Honour could only watch in disbelief and frustration.
"I'm warning you, Campbell!" she shouted after him. "Don't you dare hit him in the face, or I'll... I'll kick you so hard your grandchildren will feel it!"

While her threat appeared to have no effect on the overgrown Campbell, every other man near her took a cautious step or two back.
"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I'm crazy about, though." ~ Opus

Welsh Wench

Aggie, with a wide-eyed Zara on her hip, found a safe place along the wall to watch the melee. She was flanked by her friends, Coira and Seonaid. Aggie and Seonaid grew up together, and Coira had moved to the village as a young bride. Now Coira busied herself by filling earthenware mugs with heather ale. The three women watched the ceilidh-turned-brawl, cheering on their kin.
A particularly burly man got caught by a flying tackle and was driven backwards into the table in front of the three older women. Coira found herself caught up in the moment and smashed her mug over his head.
The big man shook his head and looked back at her.
"Ma! What did ye go and do that for?!"
"Oh, Donald. I'm sorry! I dinna know it was you. When did you start going bald?"
"Years ago, Ma. Can I go finish beating the tar out of this bloke?"
"Serves ye right for getting so tall. What are you standing around for? Put him away!"
"You handled that well, Coira," said Seonaid.
"Shut up and pour me another."

Jack watched with satisfaction as the man he had just punched in the face reeled backwards and fell over a bench. It had been ages since he had found himself in any sort of a physical fight. It brought back fond memories of his days aboard ship, and some of the more feisty ports of call. It felt good to know he could still handle himself well in a fistfight.

"Ha!" he laughed with triumph. "Briggs, if only you were here to enjoy this!"
He began to notice the men around him backing away, all of them looking in the same direction. And that direction was not his.
"Jack! Be careful!" he heard Honour cry out.

He looked over to where he heard her voice and found himself staring at the biggest Scotsman he had ever seen in his life. A man so big that he probably took over pulling the plow when the oxen got tired. But rather than run or back away, Jack stood his ground. He waited for the big man to get close enough, and with a confident smirk and a lightning hand he reached for the pistol in his belt.

The pistol he no longer carried, and hadn't since he quit the account.

Jack's eyes went wide as he realised his miscalculation. He was scarcely able to gasp the word "Merde!" before he found himself picked up by his lapels and tossed backwards like a bale of straw into a stack of stoneware jugs. After a quick inventory of body parts, he struggled to stand up. It was then that he noticed the smell of strong ale, and that his back was soaked in the stuff.
Rafferty hurried over to help him up.
"Thanks, Raff," he said as he got to his feet. "I think I'm all right."
"Aye, you're fine. You didn't spill the good stuff."
"Thank heaven for that. Any advice here?"
"Bloody oaf that one. Strong but slow. Keep moving!"

Rafferty pushed Jack out of the way just before the Campbell giant could grab him again.
He got to a safe distance and turned back to his attacker.
"That woman, with the flax hair," said the Campbell. "She's your wife."
"Yeah, what of it?"
"She hit me with a bottle."
"Honour," Jack shouted over his shoulder, "Is that true?"
"Well, yes," she replied.
"Next time, hit him HARDER!!"
Show me your tan lines..and I'll show you mine!

I just want to be Layla.....