Down the Rabbit Hole

“Fowl, m’laird. And yer favorite, warm bread puddin’.”


Beth watched as Colin’s face creased into a smile, which completely transformed him from stern warrior to dangerously handsome rogue. She couldn’t decide which one intrigued her more. She was prepared to stand toe-to-toe with the warrior. The rogue, on the other hand, presented a much greater problem. She couldn’t imagine any weapon she could use against that heart-melting smile.

“You do know how to please me, Mistress MacKay.”

“And have, since ye were a wee bairn, m’laird.”

Laughing, Colin walked to the head of the table and indicated a wooden bench to his right. He remained standing until Beth and his guests were seated.

Old Maura hurried over to ask, “Will ye have ale or mead, m’lady?”

Recalling her dream, Beth quickly discarded the idea of blood-red mead. “Ale, I believe, Maura.” She noted with a sense of unease that her host had been right when he’d warned her that she would be the only female in the room, except for those who were serving the men. “Why are the other women not here, Maura?”

The old woman whispered, “’Tis too early for highborn ladies. They prefer to break their fast in their rooms, and then allow servants to help them prepare for the day.”

“I see.” Beth glanced around. “Will they mind that I’ve joined their men?”

The old woman gave a mirthless laugh. “They’ll not give you a thought, m’lady.”

The men seated around the table were too eager making plans for the test of skills to even acknowledge the presence of a lone woman in their midst. She could have been invisible for all the interest they paid her.

“Where will we hold the contest, Ian?” one of them asked.

Colin’s stepbrother was quick to respond. “In the high meadow.”

“So far? Just below Stag’s Head Peak?” Hamish raised a brow. “We dare not tarry up there, or we could encounter the Beast.”

Ian sent him a chilling look, and in that moment he became a sly, cunning fox, his eyes alight with sudden knowledge. “The forests around the high meadow are lush with game this time of year. ’Twill be an easy matter for the lads to scare up enough quail and pheasants to make the contest interesting.”

Another man spoke up. “If the lads are busy shaking the bushes for game, we’ll be scattered in every direction. Who’s to fetch our game as we take it down?”

The fox merely smiled, as though anticipating the argument. “We’re all honorable men. We need no judge riding alongside us to keep a tally of the kill.” He turned to his brother. “Unless you’ve a better idea?”

Colin shrugged. “Murdoch has a right to question. We’ll send as many lads as we can spare to retrieve the dead game when the contest is over. Since every man here has his own distinct feathers affixed to his arrows, it will be an easy matter to see who brought down the most.”

The fox’s eyes glittered. “There. The laird has spoken. Eat up, lads. Then we will make haste to the high meadow.”

“And if we’re delayed until darkness?” Hamish persisted.

The fox shot a meaningful glance at the others. “I’ll send some lasses from the village to hold yer hand and help ye forget yer fear, coward.”

The others around the table burst into gales of teasing laughter, and Hamish ducked his head, while the fox transformed from animal to human.