Charming the Shrew Read Free Page A

months, though the midwife says it could be a bit more. Mairi is uncomfortable, but happy.”
    Duncan filled a tankard with the dark ale Tayg had missed so much in his travels, and Tayg raised it.
    “May you have a strong and healthy bairn,” he said, then took a long, slow draught.
    For a time there was silence as they ate and Tayg mulled over the ramifications of Duncan’s impending fatherhood. He had not worried much when Duncan had announced that he and Mairi would be wed. That event had changed Tayg’s life little. Duncan had happily followed Tayg and Robbie off to war even though it meant leaving Mairi behind. But he had not rejoined them after his injury healed, and now Tayg knew why. Duncan had responsibilities that now went far beyond a pretty wife.
    It seemed he and Duncan both had responsibilities they had not held a year previous.
    After Tayg had devoured a second helping of everything, he refilled his tankard and looked about the hall. The bard had left his dinner and sat before the fire, quietly playing on his harp, stroking the strings with his long-fingered hands as a man tenderly strokes a woman’s cheek. ’Twas no wonder lasses tended to flock about bards, giggling and vying for their attentions, when the bards all but seduced them with their playing and singing.
    He shook his head at the thought then turned his attention back to Duncan. For the next candlemark they traded tales of all the men they’d fought beside, even planning a foray to visit auld Gair who lived but a day’s ride from Culrain. As the conversation wound down, they sat companionably drinking their ale, each lost in memories of earlier days. Slowly Tayg realized that his name was being sung. ’Twas a song he had never heard before, a song that repeated his name again and again. He sat forward, concentrating on the lean bard and the words he sang with such fervor.
    Braw Tayg of Culrain slashed his way through the line,
    But two hundred Sassenach more did he find.
    So he took Buchan’s men with naught but his blade
    Till none save he stood on that cold winter’s day.
    “That is utter nonsense,” Tayg said, looking to Duncan for agreement. “’Twas nothing like that when we faced Buchan at Balnevie.”
    “True,” Duncan said, “but nevertheless, ’tis a most popular song.” He nodded in the direction of the bard. Tayg’s quick glance startled more than one lass out of making moon eyes at him. The lads were less circumspect, openly grinning at him. A granny even held his gaze for a moment, then nodded her head as if she had taken his measure and come to some conclusion.
    There were groups of women, three here, five there, who bent their heads together in hushed conversation, then they would giggle and each would steal a look at him, then more giggling and more whispered talk.
    “There will be trouble in this hall, mark my words,” Duncan said.
    “What kind of trouble?” Tayg asked.
    “The kind only you can create, my braw lad,” his mother replied from his other side. She had sat in silence, observing for a long time. “The lasses—and their mums—are plotting over you already.”
    Tayg laughed. “That has never caused trouble—well, never much trouble—in the past.”
    “Do not laugh, my darling boy. There is nary a lass within a day’s ride of Culrain who has not swooned over the stories of ‘brave Tayg’ in battle, ‘charming Tayg’ in the hall. Your time in service to the king has honed you like a fine sword. You are more handsome than even your brother was, bless his soul. You are returned from war a valiant warrior of the king, and you shall be chief after your father. Nay, ’tis nary a lass within two days’ ride of Culrain who has not dreamed that you would return and fall at her feet, begging her to wed you.”
    He listened absently to the bard, watching the lasses and wondering if one of them would someday make him wish to marry. They seemed so…alike. He hadn’t been gone so long that he