I hesitated a moment, then thought, stick to the truth, so far as you can, and answered, "It's an old connection, and not a close one, but such relatives as I may have there come from the north, near Compiègne." I was mildly startled to realize that at this point, my relatives were in fact near Compiègne. Stick to the truth, indeed.
"Ah. Never been there yourself, though?"
I tilted the glass, shaking my head as I did so. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the wine's perfume.
"No," I said, eyes still closed. "I haven't met any of my relatives there, either." I opened my eyes to find him watching me closely. "I told you that."
He nodded, not at all perturbed. "So ye did." His eyes were a beautiful soft grey, thickly lashed with black. A very attractive man, Colum MacKenzie, at least down to the waist. My gaze flickered past him to the group nearest the fire, where I could see his wife, Letitia, part of a group of several ladies, all engaged in animated conversation with Dougal MacKenzie. Also a most attractive man, and a whole one.
I pulled my attention back to Colum and found him gazing abstractedly at one of the wall hangings.
"And as I also told you before," I said abruptly, bringing him out of his momentary inattention, "I'd like to be on my way to France as soon as possible."
"So ye did," he said again, pleasantly, and picked up the decanter with a questioning lift of the brow. I held my goblet steady, gesturing at the halfway point to indicate that I wanted only a little, but he filled the delicate hollow nearly to the rim once more.
"Well, as I told you, Mistress Beauchamp," he said, eyes fixed on the rising wine, "I think ye must be content to bide here a bit, until suitable arrangements can be made for your transport. No need for haste, after all. It's only the spring of the year, and months before the autumn storms make the Channel crossing chancy." He raised eyes and decanter together, and fixed me with a shrewd look.
"But if ye'd care to give me the names of your kin in France, I might manage to send word ahead—so they'll be fettled against your coming, eh?"
Bluff called, I had little choice but to mutter something of the yes-well-perhaps-later variety, and excuse myself hastily on the pretext of visiting the necessary facilities before the singing should start. Game and set to Colum, but not yet match.
My pretext had not been entirely fictitious, and it took me some time, wandering about the darkened halls of the Castle, to find the place I was seeking. Groping my way back, wineglass still in hand, I found the lighted archway to the Hall, but realized on entering that I had reached the lower entrance, and was now at the opposite end of the Hall from Colum. Under the circumstances, this suited me quite well, and I strolled unobtrusively into the long room, taking pains to merge with small groups of people as I worked my way along the wall toward one of the benches.
Casting a look at the upper end of the Hall, I saw a slender man who must be Gwyllyn the bard, judging from the small harp he carried. At Colum's gesture, a servant hastened up to bring the bard a stool, on which he seated himself and proceeded to tune the harp, plucking lightly at the strings, ear close to the instrument. Colum poured another glass of wine from his own decanter, and with another wave, dispatched it via the servant in the bard's direction.
"Oh, he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, an he called for his fiddlers threeee," I sang irreverently under my breath, eliciting an odd look from the girl Laoghaire. She was seated under a tapestry showing a hunter with six elongated and cross-eyed dogs, in erratic pursuit of a single hare.
"Bit of overkill, don't you think?" I said breezily, waving hand at it and plumping myself down beside her on the bench.
"Oh! er, aye," she answered cautiously, edging away slightly. I tried to engage her in friendly conversation, but she answered mostly in monosyllables, blushing and starting when I spoke to her, and I soon gave it up, my attention drawn by the scene at the end of the room.
Harp tuned to his satisfaction, Gwyllyn had brought out from his coat three wooden flutes of varying sizes, which he laid on a small table, ready to hand.
Suddenly I noticed that Laoghaire was not sharing my interest in the bard and his instruments. She had stiffened slightly and was peering over my shoulder toward the lower archway, simultaneously leaning back into the shadows under the tapestry to avoid detection.
Following the direction of her gaze, I spotted the tall, red haired figure of Jamie MacTavish, just entering the Hall.
"Ah! The gallant hero! Fancy him, do you?" I asked the girl at my side. She shook her head frantically, but the brilliant blush staining her cheeks was answer enough.