“The scorpion and the applemoyse?” Greer echoed with bewilderment.
“Aye, I fear I was too late getting the apples to Cook and he did no’ ha’e time to make the applemoyse before the sup.”
“I see,” he said slowly. “And what has that to do with a scorpion?”
“Oh.” Saidh frowned. “Well ye see, when Lady MacDonnell’s father was on crusade there was this scorpion that wanted to cross this river.”
“And did my aunt’s father ken this scorpion?” Greer queried.
“No, he did no’, dear,” Lady MacDonnell said, leaning forward from where she sat on the other side of Greer. She smiled at Saidh around her nephew’s body, and then shifted her gaze to him to explain, “Saidh is telling ye a story that me father brought back with him from the Crusades. It was told to him there. I do no’ believe he e’en saw a scorpion himself.”
“Oh,” Greer said with a smile. “I see.”
Lady MacDonnell smiled then and stood. “I find I am still weary tonight. Perhaps my humors are out of balance. I think I shall retire and hope that rest helps fight off whatever ails me.”
“I’ll wish ye good sleep then,” Greer said, standing when she did.
“Thank ye, Greer,” she reached up to kiss his cheek and pat his arm.
“Good sleep, m’lady,” Saidh murmured.
“And to you, dear,” Lady MacDonnell said with a gentle smile, reaching out to touch her shoulder affectionately as she passed.
Greer waited until Lady MacDonnell had reached the stairs before retaking his seat. Flashing a smile at Saidh then, he said, “She appears to be becoming quite fond o’ ye, and quite quickly.”
Saidh noted his pleased expression, but merely shrugged. “I like her too.”
“Good, good,” he said happily.
“Why is that good?” she asked.
“Ne’er mind. Tell me about me aunt’s father’s scorpion,” he suggested.
“Right.” Saidh shifted sideways on the bench to face him and began, “Well, as I said, the scorpion wanted to cross the river, but could no’ swim, and—”
She paused and glanced to the side when Bowie appeared behind Greer. He offered Saidh an apologetic smile, but then the first leaned over to murmur something she couldn’t hear in the MacDonnell laird’s ear.
“Excuse me fer jest a moment,” Greer said apologetically to Saidh, then stood and followed his first out of the keep.
Saidh scowled after him, glanced down at her uneaten food, but then just pushed it away and stood up. She headed toward the stairs, thinking that she should go have her talk with Fenella, applemoyse or no applemoyse. But halfway to the stairs it occurred to her that Fenella was the one who had asked her to stay and could easily ask her to leave as well if she handled this incorrectly. That thought brought her to an abrupt halt. She didn’t want to leave MacDonnell. She liked it here, she liked Lady MacDonnell, and she definitely liked Greer, and if she left she would not get to enjoy any more of his lovely kisses and caresses and—
Turning abruptly, she started back toward the table, deciding that she would talk to Fenella tomorrow . . . when she had the applemoyse . . . and had sorted out how to get the information she wanted without offending Fenella and getting sent away.
Saidh had only taken a couple of steps when she paused again. She didn’t really want to sit on the hard bench, staring down at her uneaten food as she waited for Greer. She would sit by the fire instead, she decided, and turned in that direction only to stop again when someone tapped on her shoulder. Spinning back, she peered up at Greer. He was grinning. She scowled.
“Ye looked like a lost lamb the way ye were standing here first turning this way and then that,” he teased.
“I was going to go above stairs and check on Fenella, and then thought to leave it until tomorrow and—” Saidh waved away the rest of her words, unwilling to explain the thoughts that had followed.
Greer merely nodded and suggested, “Come sit by the fire with me.”
Nodding, she allowed him to walk her to the chairs by the fire.
“So,” he said as they settled in the seats. “This scorpion?”
“Oh, aye.” She paused briefly to gather herself, and then said, “The scorpion wanted to cross the river, but—”
“Why?” Greer interrupted.
Saidh paused and blinked. “What?”
“Why did the scorpion want to cross the river?” he asked.
“Well, I do no’ ken,” she said with irritation. “Yer aunt did no’ explain that part.”
“And ye did no’ ask?” He seemed surprised.
“I am quite sure why he wanted across the river was no’ important to the story,” Saidh told him grimly.
“O’ course, it is,” he said scornfully. “A person’s intent is always important.”
“The scorpion is no’ a person, he is a little buglike creature who can kill ye with his sting,” she said with irritation.
“Still, if he wants to cross the river, there must be a reason,” Greer said calmly. “Was there a lovely lady scorpion on the other side? Was he following his wife who already crossed? Did he—?”
“Fine,” Saidh snapped. “He wanted to cross the river to escape the battling Crusaders.”
“Ah.” He nodded and smiled, eyes twinkling. “Very well, continue.”
Heaving a sigh, she shook her head, regathered the thread of the story and said, “So the scorpion wanted to cross the river but could no’ swim, so he asked—”
She paused abruptly and turned a warning look on Alpin when he suddenly appeared next to Greer’s chair.
“Sorry,” the lad muttered, and then turned to Greer and cleared his throat before saying, “If ye’ll no’ be needing me again this night, m’laird, might I retire?”
Greer appeared surprised at the request and narrowed his gaze on the boy, then reached out to press the back of his hand to Alpin’s forehead. “Yer warm and flushed. Are ye no’ feeling well?”
Alpin grimaced, but shrugged. “I’m sure I’m fine. Just a little under the weather.”
“Go on then,” Greer said firmly. “Ye can sleep on the foot o’ me bed and take as many furs as ye need to stay warm.”