Fairy Tale
“A breacan and feilidh of blue-green tartan shot with gold swathed his powerful frame. The lower length of the plaid was pleated into a kilt, the upper part fastened to his shoulder with a bone pin. Beneath the coarse wool he wore a long white linen shirt with lace cuffs. Tartan stockings and buckled shoes completed the image of the deceptively proud chieftain.The chieftain whose own clan would lock him out of his castle.His clansmen behaved as though the drawbridge incident had never happened. ...As though he hadn’t had to climb up the latrines and take a boiling hot bath with lye soap afterward. They tiptoed around his chair and took their places at the table as if he were an ogre who would eat them. Marsali’s fate was foremost on their minds. He was surrounded by more moping faces and mournful sighs than had been at Queen Anne’s funeral. Everyone seemed to think the poor wee lass was about to be sacrificed to some cannibalistic Celtic god instead of being offered in holy matrimony to a decent husband.He glanced to his right at Marsali, a frown darkening his face.MoreLess
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