*
As soon as Macoran spotted Stefan riding into the village he grew concerned. Hiding it well, he stood on the landing with his hands clasped behind his back and waited until the young boys approached. "Good day to ye, laddies." He watched them nod and then had to know, "Is something amiss?"
"We have come to ask if ye want Jirvel's cow bred," Diarmad blurted out.
"'Tis Jirvel's cow, ask her."
"Ask a lass?"
"Ah, I see yer meaning. Let me say this then. I cannae be at hand always and I trust Stefan to do the right thing. If he happens to seek Jirvel's advice on a matter or two, so be it."
Diarmad found it very perplexing. Never had he heard of asking a lass's advice on a matter such as this. But if he suspected something, he held his words. "So be it."
"Have ye eaten?" When both shook their heads, he smiled. "Nor have I. Perhaps ye might share a bite with me and tell me all the news."
Diarmad was excited. Until now, he believed he was not yet old enough to be invited inside and especially not for a meal. He dismounted, let another man take his horse away as though he was an honored guest and followed Stefan up the stairs.
The two-story home of Laird Macoran was spacious and clean. It had a kitchen in the back, a stone staircase, a balcony leading to four bedchambers and a large great hall that took up most of the bottom floor. With a stone hearth at one end, the great hall was well furnished and held a polished long table and several high backed chairs.
A great hall was often a place to show off the clan's wealth and if not, the hunting or battle skills of their laird. As soon as he was inside, Stefan spotted an array of confiscated Viking weapons and at first pretended not to notice.
But Diarmad was entranced and slowly walked down the wall examining each article, so Stefan felt he should as well. He hoped he would not recognize any of them but the latest addition to the collection was his father's shield. It was all he could do not to gasp, but he held his face stoic and swore he would have that back someday. At least his father's sword was not among the prizes. The old ways of the Vikings demanded a man's sword be buried with him to take into the next life.
Diarmad came across a weathered rod with several leather strips attached to it, "What be this, Laird Macoran?"
"'Tis a whip used for flogging by the Romans. Blair found that when he dug his fruit cellar. I dinna believe the Romans made it this far into Scotland, but there's the proof. Wretched looking thing, is it not?"