Page 47 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“It shows the damp,” Fergus said. “See there.” He indicated stains and cracks.
“Could you patch it for now?”
“A patch will not do. It needs a new slate roof or at least new thatch,” Ranald said. “And the rooftree needs replacing. There is some rot there, see.” He pointed.
She was not sure what to look for. “Could you replace it properly later?”
“We cannot wait for long,” Ranald said. “The roof could collapse.”
“Oh dear! Is it so dangerous as that?”
“Could be,” Ranald said.
“Could be,” Fergus said.
“Oh my.” Fiona glanced through the window. Most of the students had finished eating and had begun kicking a ball between them. She turned back. “The students are doing so well. It would be a shame to interrupt their studies now.”
“It would not do for the roof to fall on their heads,” Fergus pointed out.
“Perhaps you could come back to Glen Kinloch later to teach,” Ranald said.
With sudden suspicion, she crossed her arms, tilted her head. “Did the laird send you here to tell me this?”
“Och, no, everyone knows the school roof is old,” Ranald said.
“Then why were we permitted to hold school sessions here?”
Fergus shrugged. “You must ask the laird.”
“I will,” she said firmly. The shouts from the yard were growing louder. “It is time to call the children inside now. Thank you, sirs.”
She went to the door, the MacGregors behind her, and saw near pandemonium taking hold in the yard as the children kicked the ball around. They had lost their earlier manners and decorum; now they shoved and shouted as they jammed together in a group, boys and girls both tussling over the ball.
Fiona had felt just such excitement in her childhood when she had played similar games with her brothers and friends. But as a teacher, she could not condone it. “Time for class,” she called, stepping outside. “Time for this to end!”
Ranald and Fergus hurried past her, and she expected that they would quickly end the rough play. Instead, they joined in, laughing and calling out. “Here! Here to me!” Fergus shouted.
Just then, striding out from between the trees, the laird of Kinloch stepped into the group to huddle with the others, who cheered and welcomed him.
*
“Where is thatba’!” Ranald called. Dougal glanced toward his uncles, who were shouldering into the thick of the group.
“Watch the wee lasses,” he told Ranald, putting up an arm to protect one of the girls as the group jostled and enlarged. He knew well that his uncles took any game of football a bit too seriously. “Fergus, mind the wee ones. Jamie! Lucy! Out with you now. The game is growing too rough.” Ignoring him, the younger two scrambled on with the rest.
“Da, which side are you on?” Andrew called out. “We need more players!”
“What sides are we playing today?” Fergus asked.
“Kinnies and Glennies,” Pol said. “Those related to Kinloch, and those not.”
“We are all on the same side,” Ranald called, amid laughter. He swept at the ball with his booted toe. “Nearly had it—damn!”
“What is this?”
Hearing a woman’s voice, Dougal glanced up to see Fiona MacCarran at the outskirts of the circle. He had not seen her for several days, and so looked toward her longer than he should have, long enough for a child to stumble near him. He caught the lad easily.
“Watch out for the little ones, if you please!” she called.
