9
“A stranger woman is staying at the King’s House.”
Grainne, the youngest and prettiest of my sisters, brought the news, and the word soon spread around the glen. In a community such as ours, any new happening or event spurred our interest. When we were not discussing Old Man Hector’s latest illness and wondering when he was going to die, we were criticising Donnie Mackay’s cattle or wondering how the Shaw’s grew such w**d-free barley.
“What sort of stranger woman?” I asked, with my head full of Mr Gillespie and his lady.
“I don’t know,” Grainne said crossly. “I heard that there is a stranger woman at the Inn. Is that not news enough for one day?”
“You did well to come and tell us,” Mother soothed over the burgeoning argument, casting a hard look at me. I had been in a black mood eve
