She kicked herself under the table. She couldn't let her mind wander. She needed to stay focused on her goal: finding Davie.
“Do you not like the fish, then?” Bridget asked.
“Aye, I like it fine,” Marjorie said, mustering a smile. She wiped her mouth and reached for the loaf of bread.
“You prepared all this yourself?”
Gregor beat her to the bread, slicing off a thick hunk and handing it to her with a flourish. She nodded her thanks, and he winked in return.
Sighing, she glanced at Cormac. There'd been a day when all she would've needed to do was taunt him, saying Gregor would help her, and Cormac would've risen to the bait.
And Gregor might've helped her now. But in her short time at Dunnottar, she'd become convinced that she needed Cormac's help. At first she'd made excuses to herself. Cormac alone could help because he'd understand; he'd known the pain of losing Aidan. Cormac alone had experience, on both water and land, suited to spying around the Aberdeen docks.
She studied him from beneath her lowered brows. He was intent on exacting the meat from a crab claw, pretending not to listen to their conversation. But Marjorie knew he'd be picking up every word. He was attentive, steady, and strong, and she was certain she needed Cormac — only Cormac.
“Well, our Cormac catches the fish, of course. Even though he usually never joins us at the supper table like this. ” Bridget gave her brother a wicked smile, but he didn't look up from his plate.
Something fluttered in Marjorie's belly. Cormac had joined them at dinner, when normally he didn't. With a clean shave, no less. It had to be significant. She reached for the butter, biting her lip not to grin. Her plan would definitely work.
“But, aye, I do the rest. And who else? Not this one, certainly,” Bridget added, swatting Declan's hand. “Don't you take that butter before Marjie has a go first. ”
“Marjorie,” she muttered for the thousandth time since her arrival.
Declan passed the butter along with a rueful shrug, and his light brown hair flopped in his eyes.
“Thank you,” Marjorie told him, thinking how much he'd grown to favor the MacAlpins' mother. Unlike Gregor, Declan's likeness to her went beyond the mere fact of his lighter coloring. There was something of Mary MacAlpin there in the set of his full mouth and the faraway look in his eyes, as though one corner of his mind were always occupied elsewhere. At twenty, he was young yet, and an unconventional sort of handsome; Marjorie imagined he'd grow into a striking man.
“And Declan, I've been meaning to ask you… “ Marjorie cut her eyes to Cormac. He appeared to be focused entirely on his supper, but she knew him better than that. She spied a minute stiffening of his shoulders when she spoke.
The digging of his knife slowed ever so much. He was listening. Time to fire off a broadside, as Uncle would say.
“We're of a size. I'd like to borrow a pair of your trews, if I may. ” Declan's eyes widened, Bridget's hands froze over her plate, and Gregor burst into loud laughter. Most of all, she was gratified to see that Cormac nearly choked on his crab.
“My… my trews?” Declan looked to their eldest brother for help. Gregor merely shrugged, leaning back in his chair as though to enjoy the show.
“Aye, your trews. ” Marjorie carefully buttered her bread. She used her peripheral senses trying to gauge Cormac's response. “I'd like to fashion myself a disguise
. ”
Gregor grew instantly serious. “Does this have to do with your Aberdeen boy? Bridget was telling me—”
“I ken what you're about. ” Bridget put her cutlery down with a clatter. “A disguise? I suppose you'll be wanting to find this Davie yourself? Well, we'll be allowing no such thing. I'll borrow some trews as well, and go down to the docks with you. ”
Gregor sat up, his face stern. “Bridget Mary MacAlpin, the only folk who'll be gadding about Aberdeen wearing trews are me and your brothers. ”
Marjorie ignored him. “Really, Bridget, you don't need to come. I'll be perfectly safe. ” She waited a beat for Cormac to protest, but none came. “I'll go during daylight hours,” she continued. “I'm thinking perhaps I'll overhear something down by the docks. ”
Still not sensing any movement from Cormac, Marjorie risked a glance his way. He was chewing slowly. Silently.
“The docks?” Bridget's voice came out as a shrill yelp. “Cormac, tell her how we'll be allowing no such thing. ” There was a moment of quiet, then he simply said, “The boy is gone. ” He chewed and swallowed another bite. “I'd be of no help. I'm needed here. ” He finally looked up. “To feed the lot of you. ”
“Cormac. ” Everyone stilled at Gregor's dangerously low tone. The eldest MacAlpin wasn't much for conflict, but when he pushed up his sleeves and got in the fray, unpleasantness generally followed. “I'm expected elsewhere, or I'd help her. And Declan is too young. ”
“Elsewhere?” Bridget exclaimed.
“Young?” Declan slammed his fist down on the table. “I'm a man grown!”
“Where is this elsewhere you're suddenly needed?”