That was what Niall announced around his mother’s table. Sabine looked at him, over her plate of tough meat and mushed root. He did not offer her an explanation nor did she expect one. He continued to discuss the “gathering” with Rory, his mother, and a woman about Sabine’s age, with straw-colored hair and penetrating eyes. Her name was Agnes. Niall spoke of Highland things. She did not wish to know of them. She wished she were anywhere but here, where she was clearly unwelcome. Agnes continued to stare at her with those unsettling eyes. Oui. Sabine was most unwelcome. “Rory,” Niall said, “at first light ye will ride to all corners of our land and rally the clansmen for a gathering.” “A gathering,” Rory repeated around a mouthful of meat, raising a thick black brow. “Aye.” Niall scooped up a large piece of meat and root with his Highland knife and dropped the food into his mouth. He chewed vigorously. No one could guess that earlier in the day he had been close to death.
