Or it could be that they’d all had plenty of the barkeep’s ale and only nuts to soak it up.
He wasn’t certain exactly what the difference was, the reason behind it, only that it was so. The men had relaxed, and so did he. A smile had even dared curl his lips when Fin shouted his latest jest. The only thing that would make it more perfect would be Fiona sitting beside him, her warmth seeping into his body.
Brogan shook the thought from his mind. He had to remember that the union they shared would one day be broken. A ruse was all he had, nothing more. Nothing would ever go beyond where they were now. But Lord, did he want to lay her down and kiss her the way he had a week before. To touch her skin, savor her. His body reacted and he shifted uncomfortably, grateful for the table to hide from his men just how affected he was by thoughts of Fiona.
Instead, he picked up another walnut and cracked open the shell, expending a marginal amount of frustration on the nut and forcing thoughts of her out of his mind.
Walnut shells littered the floor of the tavern from the men cracking them open and dumping the meaty contents into their mouths between sips of ale before tossing the shells. A wee lad, who looked an awful lot like the lass who’d taken Fiona upstairs, was going about sweeping up the mess. For his part, Brogan kept the shells on the table and scooped the remnants into the lad’s pail when he came by.
He was a lot of things, but lazy and inconsiderate weren’t among them.
“Thank ye, sir.” The lad beamed up at him gratefully.
Brogan nodded, with a small smile and a wink. He might be a soldier now, but it didn’t make him forget where he’d come from or that at one point in his life he’d been just like this lad, walking around sweeping up everyone’s rubbish. Having been through so much at a young age made him appreciate others much more. Though he still knew the privilege he’d been afforded as a chief’s son, even if he was a bastard, went worlds beyond that given the son of a tavern keeper.
A cheer went up by the bar, and Brogan watch Fin climb onto his stool to stand on the bar. The barkeep handed him up a fiddle and Fin started to play it, tapping his bootheel in time with the chords.
His first song was a lively tune that had the other men tapping their feet, clapping in time, and singing along to the verses during the chorus. They raised their glasses in raucous cheer, even Brogan. The second song was a bit more subdued. Brogan recognized it as “Siúil a Rún,” an Irish song that was normally sung by a woman lamenting the loss of her lover to the military.
The men started to jeer and toss their walnut shells at Fin, calling him a weak sap. Fin broke down in a fit of laughter, changing his song to something lively again.
Milla jumped up from her place at his feet and trotted toward the door, and Brogan noticed Fiona standing there watching the spectacle. Annoyingly, his belly tightened and he sat up a little straighter, suddenly all of his attention solely on her. She bent to pet and coo at their hound and scratch behind her ears. What he wouldn’t give to be in the dog’s position! Fiona had a soft smile on her face, and her shoulders were relaxed. He’d not seen her, or any of the men, looking so tranquil in weeks. Perhaps it was that they were nearly there. The end to a long journey, the prince’s location.
Of course, they weren’t really. But they could see Skye from here, and hadn’t that been their destination for weeks?
The men did not yet know about what the barkeep had told them about the prince being on South Uist. Brogan would tell them on the morrow; let them have fun for now, and in the morning they’d be on the ferry, where he’d tell them what to expect next. There was also the chance that the prince would be back on Skye. He had been hopping all over the entire country for weeks, trying to avoid dragoons and keep them off their game.
Fiona joined Brogan at the table, sliding onto the chair beside him and greeting Keith and Dugall. He resisted the urge to reach for her hand.
The first thing he noticed was her warmth beside him and how much he’d missed her. The second was that she smelled clean and sweet and he could have closed his eyes and breathed her in all day.
“Care for some nuts, lass?” Dugall asked, pushing the bowl across the table.
“Aye.” She fished one out and cracked it open, dumping the inside into her mouth just as the men had. He didn’t know why he would have thought she’d pick at it daintily. The very idea made him want to chuckle, but he held it in.
“Ale?” Keith asked her, beating Brogan to the punch.
“Please.”
He poured her a cup and passed it, and Fiona drank heartily.
“Have I missed anything besides the opening of Fin’s concert?” she teased.
“Well, in fact, aye. Ye missed Sorley balancing a mug of ale on his forehead while he danced a jig,” Brogan said with a chuckle.
She whipped her head toward Sorley, who still had a few droplets on his shoulders as proof.
“The lot of ye have been having a good time then,” she said with a smile.
“Aye.” Brogan leaned a little closer, wanting to press his lips to her temple, and somehow managing to hold himself back.
“Well deserved.” She cracked another walnut.
“Ye’re deserving of it too,” Brogan said, trailing his fingers over the braid of her hair at her back. “Do ye want to sing and dance?”
She laughed, a little bit of pink coming to her cheeks. “I’ve got the voice of a rusty portcullis, and I’m afraid my dancing days never did arrive. I’m more liable to elbow someone in the face and trip over my own shoes than make a go of anything remotely close to dancing. But rest assured, husband, I am perfectly content to sit and watch.” She ended her speech by leaning affectionately in toward him, a move that seemed so genuine, it shocked him to the core.
Husband… She’d not called him that in public before. And the way she’d done it so naturally made him almost believe that it was so.
A few minutes later, the savory scents that had been teasing them throughout the last hour or so wafted more heartily into the tavern dining hall as the barkeep, his wife, and children began to serve supper.
Steaming bowls of stew were placed before everyone, and platters of freshly baked bread were set in the center of the tables. It was the heartiest stew he’d ever seen in a tavern. Thick with vegetables and meat, and it smelled like heaven. How was it possible? And the bread…soft and light and dripping with butter. Was this a dream?
“She’s known for her cooking,” Fin said, joining them at the table. “Or so says the bloke over there.”
The rest of the men dragged over their stools and bowls to join them as well, which made Brogan and Fiona have to squeeze in closer.
“Oh aye?” Brogan said.
“Aye,” Sorley agreed. “Barkeep said men come from miles around just for a taste.”