Page 44 of Taming the Heiress
"This is the lad's celebration," Dougal said in his defense.
"It is," Iain agreed.
Meg shook her head. "He will be exhausted tomorrow when it's time for his lessons—"
"Lessons?" Dougal asked.
"Berry is teaching me English and reading and maths at the Great House," Iain said. "I'm doing good."
"The baroness is teaching him?" Dougal asked Meg, confused.
"Mrs. Berry," she answered, bewildering him further. "Oh, look, my grandfather is about to say something," she added quickly, as Iain began to talk. "Go on, now." She gave Dougal a small shove.
He stepped forward as Norrie waved him to the hearth, setting down his fiddle. The old man took up a glass of amber whisky and sipped it. Then he began to speak in Gaelic.
Unable to understand it all, Dougal was grateful when Meg leaned toward him to explain Norrie's words. Soon, though, Norrie began to speak in English.
"When Mr. Stewart first came to Caransay," he said, "we were not of a good mind toward him or his working men or their lighthouse. Some of us have not changed our minds about that." Dougal shot Meg a quick frown and saw her cheeks turn fiery.
"But we are of one mind that Mr. Stewart is a good and brave man," Norrie continued. "He rescued our wee Iain and plucked him safe from the sea. And then he drove off a shark, even if it was a basker," he added wryly. "I am thinking he is the equal of the great hero Fhionn MacCumhaill himself! He is as great as any kelpie or selkie in the sea, a man of true courage, capable of magical feats!" He grinned. "To Mr. Stewart—the Great Toast!" Norrie stepped up on a stool and raised his glass.
Everyone who held a glass or cup lifted it, then lowered it, held their drink out and pulled it in, all the while chanting in unison, first in Gaelic, then in English.
Up with it, up with it,
Down with it, down with it,
Over to you, and over to you,
Over to me, and over to me.
May all your days be good, my friend!
Drink it up!
They shouted the last line together, walls ringing, and drank. Norrie smashed his drained glass on the hearthstone, and a rousing cheer went up. Dougal, laughing and accepting handshakes and claps on the back, hoisted Iain to his shoulders. The little boy raised his hands to touch the roof beams, yelling happily.
"Aye, my wee friend. Celebrate," Dougal said, grinning. "All this is for you." As he held Iain's legs, he turned to see Meg. For a moment, her sparkling smile and the strange undercurrent of sadness in her eyes dimmed all else around him.
"Thank you, Mr. Stewart," she said, so quietly that he bent to hear her over the ruckus, "for saving our wee Iain."
"You are very welcome, my dear Miss MacNeill," he answered. Norrie spoke again, this time in Gaelic, and he turned. The crowd cheered once more, and glasses clinked in another salute. "What did he say?"
Meg blushed. "Oh, they're drinking a toast to me now."
"'And here's to our Margaret,'" Angus translated, standing nearby, "'the finest lady with the kindest heart in all the Western Isles. May she have all the happiness she deserves!'"
"That is quite a compliment," Dougal remarked.
"Grandfather has half a keg of whisky in him by now," Meg said. "When his fiddle begins to sound wild and beautiful and he calls for the Great Toast, the drink has opened his soul."
"Ah, they do say the more whisky in the fiddler, the better the fiddling," Angus remarked, grinning.
"Whisky or not, I agree with Norrie," Dougal said. "She's a fine lady, our Meg MacNeill." He leaned toward her, lowering his voice so that only she could hear. "If Mackenzie had let you go into the water, I know you would have saved the lad yourself. And fought off that shark, as well."
Her somber eyes were so beautiful that he ached. "I would never have let the sea have him," she said fiercely.
"Iain should learn how to swim. I've offered to teach him. Perhaps his father will allow that, if I talk to him."
