Elyne was too busy thinking about her future husband to be concerned about where she was going. She headed for the great hall on the way to the kitchens, where she could request a repast for her guest. Though if Eileen Douglas was still hungry after sitting through six hours of feasting, she had a stronger stomach than most men. No, she simply wanted to make trouble for the Campbell sisters any way she could.
The noise emanating from the great hall should have given her pause, but she was too accustomed to a multitude of large, boisterous male relations to give it much mind. Within the great hall, the majority of the more sober, older, or feminine (respectable feminine that is) folks had retired, and what was left were drunken young men and giggling serving wenches.
A rowdy group was cheering at a tower of tables with a chair balanced precariously on top. The object of the cheers was a man standing high on an oak crossbeam in the rafters of the high ceiling.
"Tavish Grant!" shouted Elyne, for the man on the beam was none other. "Ye come down here before ye kill yerself dead."
Tavish picked her out of the crowd and gave her a cheeky smile and a salute. "As ye wish," he shouted, and jumped.
Elyne gasped, watching his body fall from a fatal height, but in defiance of gravity, he landed in the chair on top of the table tower. He had time enough for a smile before the chair slipped and he scrambled off to the table beneath, which also began to topple along with the entire tower, so he jumped again from considerable height, landing on his feet and rolling several times until he collapsed in a heap along the rushes on the floor.
Elyne pushed her way through the crowd and kneeled beside him, pretending not to notice how his kilt was rucked up to his thighs. "Are ye dead, ye fool man?"
Tavish opened one eye. "No' yet. Night's young though. Ask me again in the morn."
Elyne sighed in relief, though why she should care if he broke his neck she could not say. "Fool man," she muttered and turned to leave the party to their drunken sport.
"Hello there, my wee bonnie lassie." A large man with a considerable gut stumbled toward her and attempted to put his arm around her shoulders.
Elyne scooted out of his way only to be confronted by a wall of smiling men, none of whom she knew. She glanced around for one of her brothers or cousins but none were to be seen. She vaguely remembered David telling them to stay out of mischief and steer clear of the drunken aftermath of the feast. And now she was here.
Alone.
"Ye be a bonnie thing. A verra bonnie wench." Another man grabbed her waist and pulled her tight to him. She pushed away but only succeeded in pushing herself into another drunken man. She was surrounded.
"Och, but she's a lusty one!" shouted a man.
"I am Elyne Campbell, sister of Laird Campbell. Let me pass!" she commanded with as much authority as she could muster. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. The men did not move. Someone grabbed at her backside, causing her to yelp. The men laughed in response.
"Come spend some time wi' me."
"Ne'er mind him. Come wi' me."
"I'll give ye a coin or two, my pretty."
"Enough!" Tavish Grant's voice boomed across the great hall. He stepped forward and the men parted like the sea for Moses. "Ye be addressing Laird Campbell's sister."
The men gave her a series of sheepish bows and then returned to their sport, casting lots to see who would jump next. Somehow Tavish's words held considerably more weight than hers. She would be irritated if she were not so grateful.
"May I escort ye back to yer chamber, m'lady?" Tavish bowed and came up with a grimace.
"How's yer back after that fall?" Elyne accepted his arm and they walked out of the great hall.
"Hurts a wee bit, which means by morn I'll be crying like a babe." He gave her a lopsided smile and she could not help but return it.
"I want to thank ye for coming to my rescue." Elyne swallowed a lump in her throat. "I dinna ken what I would have done wi'out ye."
"No trouble at all. Hardest part was standing up." Tavish laughed. "They be good lads, only drunk and foolish. They mistook ye for another sort o' lass."
Elyne knew exactly the kind of lass they mistook her for—and what might have happened had he not intervened. She shuddered.
"There now, ye need to go back to yer chamber and warm yerself." He raised his arm and she thought for a moment he was going to put his arm around her shoulders, but he thought better of it and moved on down the stone corridor.
Several comments flashed in to Elyne's head, but none seemed fit to speak. She should not encourage a friendship with Tavish. She was conscious of wishing once again that it was Tavish and not Grigor she was to wed, but viciously banished the thought.
"If ye dinna mind me asking, why were ye in the hall?" asked Tavish. "Not the company I'd think ye would want to keep."
"Mean 'Leen!" Elyne all but hissed the name.
"Pardon?"
"That woman! She sent me to fetch some food for her. She is always making trouble." Elyne stopped in front of the door of the bedchamber she shared with her three younger sisters. "I suppose I should find a ghillie to bring her some food."
Tavish leaned a shoulder onto the gray stone wall, his face illuminated by a flickering torch on the far wall. "I dinna see why ye should bother yerself. She can send a ghillie herself if she is hungered. Though I canna see how anyone could still want for food after such a feast. Is this Mean 'Leen a hefty woman?"
Elyne laughed. "Nay, but mayhap I'll tell her tomorrow I forsook delivering food after hearing a man comment on her girth."
"Ye got a bit o' mischief in ye, Elyne my lass."
Heat rose to her cheeks. He called her "my lass," causing a warmth she could not name spread from her fingertips to her toes. This was not something she was supposed to feel, and certainly not for her betrothed's cousin.
"Good night to ye," she spoke softly, opening the door to her room and putting a foot on the threshold. She needed to clear her head.
"Good night to ye, m'lady."
