Free Lady of Light by Kathleen Morgan

have are at yer disposal. Come in, I say!”
    Joyous relief filled Evan. Though the trip to Culdee had begun on a lark, now it seemed as if everything since he had left Culdee Creek Ranch had been leading him to this very moment. Far from his own home, he had found family once again—family whose roots were far more ancient than his, but of his blood nonetheless.
    He turned to Claire. “Do you mind visiting a bit with them before we head back to Culdee?”
    “Nay, I don’t mind,” she said. “I expected no less. It’s the hospitable thing to do.”
    Evan indicated Claire should precede him, then followed in her wake. His first impression, as he walked inside, was one of darkness and smoke. The source of the smoke was soon evident. A small peat fire burned in a circular hearth in the middle of the second and largest room. The hearth was surrounded by flat stones with a higher rock to one side where Evan knew the fire could be banked. Above the fire, suspended from an iron chain, hung a fat, cast-iron cook pot.
    On closer inspection, he noted the walls and rafters were covered with a thick coating of soot. The main room was sparsely furnished. Two wooden chairs, their frames formed from bent tree branches, sat beside the fire. Nearby were a scarred wooden table, a chest, and two stools. Along one stone wall, several shelves protruding from iron brackets were filled with an assortment of chipped pottery jugs, mugs, plates, and wooden cooking utensils. In one corner were a wooden washtub and several barrels. Baskets hung overhead from the rafters, keeping company with three fat hens that, at their arrival, clucked loudly in disapproval.
    An old woman, her arms full of blankets, walked in from the other room. “Well, well,” she croaked in a voice gone rusty with age, “what have we here?” She paused to peer first at Claire, then Evan. “I canna recall invitin’ anyone to come callin’. Can ye, Donall?”
    “They’re kin, Lainie,” her husband offered, raising his voice a notch. “Or, leastwise, so the young lad claims. What did ye say yer name was, laddie?” he asked, glancing back at Evan.
    “Evan MacKay. Sean MacKay’s great-grandson.” He turned to the old woman. “I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
    “Ehhhy?” Lainie said, cupping her right ear. “What did ye say?”
    “Sean MacKay,” Donall repeated even more loudly. “He’s the great-grandson o’ my mither’s brother. Dinna ye recall that braw, strapping young MacKay who left here when ye were a wee lassie, headed for America?” He hobbled to one of the chairs, sat, then looked up at Evan. “Och, but there was some weepin’ and wailin’ over his departure. The finest flower o’ Scotland left the Highlands in those sad days o’ the Clearances, ne’er to be seen in these parts agin’. “
    “He’s kin, ye say?” Lainie queried. “Well, put on a kettle o’ water, will ye, Donall? I must get these blankets aired ’afore the day’s gone. We can all sit then, have a spot o’ tea, and chat a bit.”
    Claire hurried over and held out her arms. “Here, let me help you. We’ll be done in the wink of an eye. Then we can all chat together.”
    “Och, and aren’t ye a kind lassie?” Lainie laid the blankets in Claire’s arms. “Are ye wife to the laddie then, and a part o’ our family by marriage?”
    At the old woman’s question, Evan straightened and shot the auburn-haired girl a quick look. To her credit, Claire managed to hide her discomfiture well, the only hint of her embarrassment the becoming rosy tint that suddenly washed her cheeks.
    “Nay, I’m not wed to Evan,” she all but choked out. “He’s but a friend.”
    “Too bad,” Lainie observed matter-of-factly. “Ye’d make a bonnie couple.”
    If Claire responded to that blunt statement, Evan didn’t hear. She hurried from the house, Lainie stiffly bringing up the rear. He stared after them for a long moment, then turned back to Donall who sat by the fire