Lady Eilean

Chapter 5

With the Gathering in full sway, Stormway Castle was crowded from wall to wall as the visiting Lairds, banner men, advisors, and every man, woman, and child beholden to the estate descended upon the grounds. Farmers and merchants camped in the courtyards and beyond the castle walls, their tents spreading out into the distance until they were a multi-colored blur on the horizon. Everyone was loud and drunk, and after the sunset, they became louder and drunker still. I did my best to stay out of the fray, confining myself to my rooms and only coming out when I was required to be at banquets and hunts. Idly, I would scan the crowds looking for other girls my age, eager to form some kind of friendship, but conversations stalled once they realized I had no useful intelligence on how they might snag one of my brothers into a Standing engagement.

Thus, by the night of the Standing, a week into the Gathering, I was so swaddled in my world of haze and fog that I no longer tried to greet people with eye contact or make conversation. I sat at the head table with a bland, insipid smile on my face and let everyone else enjoy themselves.

The great hall hummed. Crowded and potent with the scent of hundreds of bodies, roasting meat, and stale wine and ale that had splashed and spilled onto the floors. Fires blazed in the enormous fireplaces that ran along the perimeter of the room. The heat from the flames mingled with the sweltering scent of the crowd until I was groggy. Though a violent spring storm howled outside, the chill could not permeate such a flushed and festive room. My chief entertainment in all the chaos was watching the bright explosions of light that came from the vicious lightning. The head table where I sat, was placed behind a low stage erected in the center of the hall. Mother and Father sat at the middle of the table, my brothers and I fanned out on either side of them — my seat was the last on the right. I passively listened to a story the twins, Rupert and Timothy, were telling to themselves.

"And then I bet him twenty gold shells that I could beat him, even without a horse."

"You ran the race on foot, against his horses?"

"Brother, am I not the very embodiment of the ideal male form? Of course I ran the race on foot! And I bested them all!"

"Hurrah! That is a MacLeod man for you!"

The twins clanged their tankards together enthusiastically and then drank deeply.

"You are so brave and courageous, brother," I said, turning to offer a compliment to Rupert, the hero of the story. It was an effort to force my smile.

Rupert looked at me peculiarly, Timothy turned and jumped; both of them realizing that I had been part of their audience.

"Thank you, sister," Rupert said tightly.

They then turned toward one another and started a quieter conversation to which I could not overhear.

Just as well. The twins, in particular, were keen on boasting about their physical prowess and often regaled the family at breakfast about their harrowing exploits. Most of them followed a similar vein: a challenge, a dare to complicate the challenge, a stunning success. I turned my attention to the crowd, studying the people in the hall. Less heroic, perhaps, than reliving my brother's exploits, but still a fine occupation. It seemed as if everyone from Ellesmure had arrived for the Standing. The hall felt more full than it had on other nights of the Gathering. Lords and ladies, captains and generals in my father's army, even servants and farmhands — eager for a night off — filled the room. Everyone laughed and yelled at each other, banging their cups together or on tables. Servants carried fresh glasses and tremendous platters of roasted meat on trays. doing their best to navigate through the room. A musical troupe played cheerful dance music, their tones fluttering down from their stage atop a walkway that encircled the upper half of the room. Couples danced, whooping and laughing with each turn and spin.