The Spirit Walker (BOOK ONE): The Ripple

Chapter Thirty-One: Airing of Grievances

Although I was greeted as though I were Bhanrigh at the beginning of The Gathering, and the Laird and Lady Alys and Elder Odina have been nothing but polite and deferential, I have no official role, here on the Tour. I won't until after my coronation cements my place.

Today- the final day of our stay in Clan Maclean- is The Airing of Grievances. As Bhanrigh and White Chief, it will one day be my duty to hear and settle all disputes brought before me. As I do not yet hold that title, though, the responsibility falls to Calum. Yet, because I am here, I must sit by his side to symbolically take part.

"I still don't understand," I murmur softly, leaning toward Calum so that I won't be overheard by the crowd filtering into the Great Hall. "Isn't this Laird Maclean's job?"

Calum rests his hand against my knee, and I swallow convulsively. He leans close, so close that his lips brush against the shell of my ear, and I burn.

"The Bhanrigh is the White Chief- she is the one who acts as mediator- domestically and abroad. If Laird Maclean is not performing in his duties, or is showing favoritism, or his people are unhappy with any of his decisions, they will make their appeals to you today. It will be your job to determine whether to uphold or override the Laird's rulings."

The sensation of his lips moving against my skin makes it difficult to concentrate.

"I thought I couldn't make any decisions until after the coronation."

"Not technically. But you will listen, and you will advise me, and I will heavily factor your advice into my final decisions."

Calum's hand slips from my knee to my thigh, and lightly squeezes. I suck in a sharp gasp of air, and Calum smiles knowingly before sliding his hand slightly higher and doing it again.

"The pheromones?" I murmur, and Calum inclines his head in response, lightly kneading my thigh. He angles his head to plant a soft kiss on my neck, just beneath my ear, and I bite my lip.

That has no business feeling as good as it does.

Elder Diyani clears her throat at my side, and I cough and pull myself away from Calum, with great effort. The closer we get, the more difficult it seems to be to put the distance back between us. I feel that strange rubber-band phenomena that was so prevalent in the beginning, but it seems to be worse now, tighter, harder to ignore.

Calum's stony gaze cuts up to Elder Diyani; it is strange to see him so formal and politely frozen in his treatment of someone. He has not yet forgiven her for my near hypothermia, and she stubbornly refuses to apologize for her role in it.

Sitting between them is uncomfortable.

A line has formed before us- and not an insubstantial one. Calum gestures for the first to approach, and The Airing of Grievances officially begins.

"Uku, My Lady," the first man begins, in Sagwu. "Three moons ago, I came to Laird Maclean regarding crops that were stolen from my land under the cover of night. It was my neighbor, Angus- I know it true, but Laird Maclean didn't hold him accountable!"

Beside me, Elder Diyani quietly translates the words into English, keeping up our ruse. Calum sits in silence once she has finished, looking to me. I glance between him and the man, and swallow hard when Calum inclines his head.

"Do you have any proof of your accusation?" I ask, and the man tuts.

"His corn got the rust and he had a poor harvest, but his wife has had no trouble selling her cornbread at the market. How could she be doing so if Angus hadn't stolen my corn?"

I blink, and glance back to Calum, trying to hide my incredulity as Elder Diyani needlessly translates. Corn. And cornbread. What is this, the seventeenth century? Of all the stupid issues...