"Exactly," the priest agreed.

"What is the current speculation?" Gabriel asked.

"Most of the barons believe King John had Arthur killed. He's denying any knowledge of his nephew's fate, of course."

"The king is the only one with a strong motive," Calum said.

"Perhaps," Father MacKechnie agreed.

"A toast to a fair day's work."

The shout came from Keith. The Maclaurin soldiers all stood with their goblets in their hands. The MacBain soldiers followed. They met between the two tables, struck their goblets against each other's, and then downed what was left of the dark ale. Most of the drink had spilled to the floor.

Johanna excused herself from the table. She went upstairs to collect her bag with her half-completed tapestry, needle, and threads and then returned to the hall. She sat down in one of the chairs and began to work.

She had just pulled the first stitch through the burlap when she was asked to move.

"You're sitting in the MacBain chair, m'lady," Keith advised. He stood in front of Johanna with his hands clasped behind his back. Three other Maclaurin soldiers stood behind their commander. They blocked her light, and every one of them looked terribly concerned over what they obviously considered to be a serious slight.

She let out a sigh. "It matters where I sit, doesn't it, Keith?"

"Aye, m'lady. You're wearing the Maclaurin colors tonight. You should be sitting on the Maclaurin cushion."

The three soldiers flanking their leader immediately nodded.

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh at the disgruntled-looking soldiers or shout at them. A hush descended over the group as they waited to see what she would do.

"Let her sit where she wants to sit," a MacBain soldier shouted.

Johanna found the entire situation ludicrous. She peeked around the soldiers to look at her husband, hoping for a bit of guidance. Gabriel was watching her, but he didn't show any outward reaction to what was going on. He was leaving the decision to her, she supposed.

She decided to placate the Maclaurins. It was still Thursday, after all. "Thank you for your instruction, Keith, and for being so patient with me."

She tried to sound sincere. She couldn't quite keep the amusement out of her voice though. The men moved back when she stood up. One even bent down to move her bag of threads for her.

Johanna walked to the other side of the hearth and sat down in the Maclaurin chair. She adjusted her skirts, tucked in a loose pleat, and then picked up her tapestry again and went back to work.

Her head was bent to her task. She pretended intense concentration, for the Maclaurins were still watching her. When she heard several grunts that she assumed were rude noises of approval, she had to bite her lower lip so she wouldn't start laughing.

Father MacKechnie stayed by Gabriel's side throughout the rest of the evening. He was catching his laird up on all the latest happenings with the other clans. Johanna found the discussion fascinating. The topic was feuding, and it seemed to her that every clan in the Highlands was currently involved in some sort of an argument. The reasons the priest gave for the warring were even more astonishing to her. Why, the slightest breach or insult set tempers boiling. Sneezing seemed to be enough of a reason to go into battle.

"The Highlanders like to fight, don't they, Father?" Johanna didn't look up from her tapestry when she called out her question.

Father MacKechnie waited until the Maclaurin soldiers had filed out of the hall before answering her. Johanna was pleased to see the men leave. They were so loud and rambunctious, and it was difficult to discuss anything without shouting every word.

It was blissfully quiet once the men had taken their leave. None of them had bothered to bow to their mistress. She tried not to take offense, for at least they had given her husband that bit of respect.

She repeated her question to the priest. "Aye, they do like to fight," Father MacKechnie agreed.

"Why is that, do you suppose?"

"It's considered honorable," the priest explained.

Johanna missed a stitch, frowned, and set about righting the damage. She kept her gaze on her task when she asked her husband if he agreed with the priest.

"Aye, it is honorable," Gabriel said.

She found their opinions daft. "Banging heads together is considered honorable? I can't imagine why, m'lord."

Gabriel smiled. Johanna's choice of words, added to her exasperated tone of voice, amused him.

"Fighting lets the Highlanders show off those qualities they most admire, lass," the priest explained. "Courage, loyalty to their leader, and endurance."

"No warrior wishes to die in his bed," Gabriel interjected.

"They consider it a sin," the priest advised.

She dropped her needle and looked up at the men. She was certain they were jesting with her. They both looked sincere, however. She still wasn't convinced. "Which sin would that be?" she asked, her suspicion apparent.

"Sloth," Gabriel told her.

She almost snorted. She caught herself in time. "You must think me naive to believe that tall tale," she scoffed.

"Aye, you are naive, Johanna, but we aren't jesting with you. We do consider it a sin to die in our beds."

She shook her head so he'd know she wasn't believing any of his nonsense, then went back to sewing. The priest continued with his news. Gabriel was having difficulty paying attention. His gaze kept returning to his wife.

She enchanted him. Contentment such as he'd never known before swelled inside his chest. When he was very young and foolish and all alone, he would fall asleep each night thinking about his future. He made up dreams about the family he would have. His wife and his children would belong only to him, and they would, of course, live in his castle. Gabriel often pictured his wife sitting by the fire doing some feminine task… such as sewing.

The images he'd conjured up in his mind as a little boy kept the harsh reality of his stark life from overwhelming him. The fantasies helped him survive.

Yes, he'd been terribly young and tender back then. Time and training had toughened him, however, and he'd outgrown the need for such foolish dreams. He no longer felt the need to belong. He'd learned to depend solely upon himself. Dreams were for the weak. Aye, he thought to himself, he was strong now and his dreams were all but forgotten.

Until now. The memories came flooding back as he stared at his wife.

Reality was a hell of a lot better than fantasies, Gabriel decided. He'd never imagined having a wife as beautiful as Johanna. He hadn't known what contentment was or how he would feel or how fierce his need would become to protect her.

Johanna happened to look up and caught her husband staring at her. His expression puzzled her. He seemed to be staring through her as though he was lost in some important thought. Aye, he must be thinking about something troublesome, she guessed, because his frown had become ferocious.

"I could use a spot of uisgebreatha," Father MacKechnie announced. "Then I'll be looking for my bed. Lord, I'm weary tonight."

Johanna immediately got up to serve the priest. A jug filled with Highland brew was kept on the chest against the wall behind Gabriel. She carried the jug over to the table and filled the priest's goblet.

She turned to serve her husband next. Gabriel declined the drink with a shake of his head.

Father MacKechnie took a long swallow and promptly grimaced. "I'd wager this hasn't aged more than a week at most," he complained. "It tastes like sour swill."

Gabriel smiled. "You'll have to complain to Auggie. The drink came from his kettles."

Johanna's curiosity was captured by the priest's remark about aging. "Is it important how long the drink waits?"

"It ages, lass," the priest corrected. "It doesn't wait. And yes, it's important. The longer, the better, some experts say."

"How long?" she wanted to know.

"Why, as long as ten or twelve years in the oak barrels," Father MacKechnie speculated. "It takes a patient man to wait that long for a taste, of course."

"Is the drink more valuable then?"

Johanna put the jug down on the table. She stood next to her husband's side while she waited for the priest to finish his drink and answer her.

She put her hand on Gabriel's shoulder. Her gaze was intent upon the priest, and Gabriel doubted she was even aware she was touching him. The unconscious show of affection pleased him considerably, for it was proof to him that she'd completely conquered her fear of him. And that, he decided, was an important first step. He was out to gain her trust. Oh, he remembered demanding she give him her trust, but he'd realized right after giving her that high-handed order that trust would have to be earned. Gabriel believed he was a patient man. He would wait. In time she would realize her good fortune and value his protection. She would learn to trust him, and with that trust came loyalty.

A man couldn't ask for anything more from his wife.

The priest pulled him away from his thoughts when he said, "The drink is very valuable once it's been allowed to age. Men would kill for pure uisgebreatha. The Highlanders, you see, take their drinking seriously. 'Tis the reason they call it the water of life, lass."

"Would they barter for goods if aged brew was offered in trade?"

"Johanna, why does this topic interest you?" Gabriel asked.

She shrugged. She didn't want to tell him about the barrels of liquid gold Auggie had mentioned to her. She would have to gain permission from her friend first. She also wanted to see for herself that the barrels were still inside the cave. Besides, it would be a nice surprise for Gabriel; and if the value was as high as Johanna guessed, her husband would have something to barter with for supplies.