Page 17 of The Lion

Thankfully, her mother instantly cheered. “It will be held in the field just outside the gates. There will be food, music, and of course dancing. There will be an axe-throwing contest and whatever other unappealing things men like to do.”

“Women should be able to compete in things as well,” Beatrice chimed in.

“Goodness,” her mother said. “I came to fetch ye for midday meal. Let us hurry downstairs.”

They walked into the great hall. Unlike the days before, today it was only half full of people eating at the tables. The high board was filled as well, with Darach and three of his brothers along with Catriona and his mother.

Isobel kept her gaze away from the laird when she acknowledged Lady Ross and Catriona with a smile. They went to a table where Ella sat and joined her.

“Mother will be anxious that we may discuss the festival without her present,” Ella said with a wicked smile. “But I cannot keep from it. There is so much to decide.”

They quieted while a servant placed food before them, and another filled their goblets with ale.

Finally, Beatrice, who looked about to burst, said. “Can there be a competition for women? Why should only the men compete at the festival?”

Ella’s eyes went wide. “That would be good. Except, what would we compete at?”

“Archery?” Isobel offered, despite that she wasn’t sure how good she was.

“Stoolball,” Ella said with conviction. “We will have to wear shorter skirts.”

Lady Macdonald shook her head. “Nonsense, I will not have ye running about like milkmaids.”

All three younger women laughed. “Mother,” Isobel said. “We can change for the game and then put our dressier clothes back on.”

Her mother gave her a dubious look and then diverted her attention to the high board, no doubt wishing Lady Ross would come and take her side.

“We can discuss the women’s competition another time,” Ella said. “Now, we must plan a trip to the village to find items for the festival.”

They begin listing what all was needed and despite herself, Isobel began to look forward to the day the festival would begin.

After the meal, the women agreed to meet in the sitting room to work on a tablecloth that would be displayed at the festival. It would cover the table where the visiting lairds would sit. In Isobel’s opinion, it was a waste of time. No one would see their hard work since it would be covered with trenchers of food.

She sneaked into her bedchamber, grabbed her sketchbook and chalks, then hurried down the stairs and out the front door. Once outside, she went to a guard, who seemed flustered at her sudden appearance.

“Is it permissible to walk across the field? I wish to go to the wood’s edge.” She pointed out where she hoped to have good scenery to sketch.

“Aye, ye may. Would ye like escort, Miss Macdonald?”

“No, thank ye. I will stay where the men atop the roof can see me.”

Before he could try to talk her out of it, or her mother came out, she hurried through the open gates. Once a short distance away, she let out a breath. Since childhood, Isobel had been unable to remain inside the walls of a home for long before needing to be away.

It was as if she could breathe more freely, and her mind was at ease when taking her walks. She touched the strap of the knapsack that held her art supplies, not ready to sit yet. The field before her was enticingly uneven, patches of tall plants in some areas, while others were covered in low-growing clover. There was a narrow path that ran from the estate, down the incline on which it was built and on through a patch of trees. The path was well worn and must have been cleared for horses and carts traveling through the forest to whatever lay beyond.

Isobel turned away, deciding to go up a steep hill to get a better view of the surroundings. Hitching up her skirts, she began climbing and did not stop until breathless. Then she turned and inhaled the salty air that was as familiar as any part of her body.

From where she stood, she could see a loch and the sea that spread across the horizon circling the land. In the distance to her left, she caught sight of the small, thatched roofs of cottages on the edge of what had to be the nearest village.

She lowered onto the ground, then pulled her knapsack open. It was hard to decide what she’d sketch. So many beautiful views and so different from back home.

It was a long time before she stopped and studied her drawing. She’d drawn the opposite side, away from the village. It was the portion of land that looked uninhabited, untouched by man. Mountains provided a beautiful background for the sloping hills where sheep grazed lazily in the sun. A lone herder meandered about, his staff in hand as he watched over the flock.

For a long time, she wondered about the man’s life. Did he have a family? Where was his home as she could not spot one? Once again, she looked to her sketch and began to add the last few details. Such as the way the sun cast shadows from each animal, showing the way it shined on the side of the hills.

So enthralled in her drawing, she wasn’t aware someone was just below until the deep voice called out. Isobel looked down and groaned.

Darach stretched, his hands up over his head. A dark dog ran in circles around him barking and frantically wagging its tail.