Highland Scoundrel by Lois Greiman

Author:Lois Greiman [Greiman, Lois]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780380794355
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1998-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The hall was crowded and noisy at the evening meal. Someone called for a song. Hadwin yelled for Shona to sing, but Lachlan, one of her five brothers, laughed out loud. If they wanted stag for dinner they could call on his sister, he said. But if they wanted a musician, they would be wise to ask a maid who was not born with an arrow clamped between her teeth.

The hall burst into laughter, and Shona did not bother to hide her smile. Far be it from her to be insulted by her own abilities.

Finally Sara was begged forward. Her voice, sweet and melodious as that of a song thrush's, lifted in a Scottish ballad as ancient as time. It filled the space, shushing the noises, soothing the nerves, binding the assemblage in blissful harmony, if only for a short span of time.

So powerful was her song that it took several moments for the crowd to realize the music was ended. But finally the company shook itself from its trance, cheered, and called for more.

"Still she sings like an angel," Shona murmured.

"Aye. She is sweet," Roderic said.

Shona turned to her father who sat to her right. Twas no great difficulty to tell when he was truly angry and when he only thought he should be. When he was angry, she wanted nothing more than to hide behind the tapestries. When he merely felt it was his fatherly duty to be upset she was wont to tease him until he laughed.

Bethia had once said there was a special pit in the hereafter set aside for lasses who tormented their fathers so. Shona sincerely hoped she was wrong, since she doubted it was anywhere she'd care to visit, much less spend eternity.

"Father," she said softly, "I hope the archery tournament didna worry ye."

He raised a brow at her. "Worry me? Why should it?"

She smiled with all the brilliance she could muster, which, she knew, was just short of the sun's.

"Just because I bested the best of the men, does not necessarily mean I could best ye also."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady on hers. "So ye think ye have surpassed your sire's skill?"

“Nay. I just said I have not... Not on your good days."

"My good days?" He reared back.

"Well, there was that contest at Sara's wedding. But ye were not at your best. What was your excuse? Ye were distracted, I think."

"I've a question for ye, Daughter," he said, leaning slightly closer.

"Aye?"

“Might ye think ye be too old for me to take ye over my knee."

She managed to hold back her laughter, though if the truth be told, he had never yet, in more than two score years of mishaps, taken her over his knee. "Why, Father, I was just trying to make ye feel better. I probably could not best ye if ye were at your prime."

He snorted, but his eyes were gleaming with laughter. "Tell me, Daughter mine, is there a reason for your baiting? Or have ye merely run out of swains to torment?"

She dabbed daintily at her mouth with a napkin.

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