and ’tis why we Sutherlands decided to descend upon ye like locusts.”
“In case ye assumed ’twas a divine punishment for some horrible sin,” offered Nolan drily.
“Aye, ’tis a natural assumption.” Callan rested his head against the back of the wooden chair with a sigh, and crossed his arms in front of him. “Ye lot eat more than locusts do.”
Grinning, Beck bobbed his head. “Emma’s to blame for that. She takes after Nolan when it comes to food.”
“And yer father’s the worst of the lot,” Callan offered, careful not to let his expression show he was teasing.
Nolan seemed to understand. “Aye, and the Sutherland Devil has torn men apart—with his bare hands—for acknowledging such a fact.”
“Bah! ’Tis a compliment!” Beck belched.
They were more or less alone in the great hall of the Mackenzie keep, and Beck was right; the hall was decidedly lacking in festive decoration or feeling this year. Callan knew for a fact that the ladies were gathered upstairs in the women’s solar, which Aunt Agata claimed once Aunt Jean had passed on. Where had Uncle Jaimie and the Sutherland gotten to? The two of them had grown friendly since marrying sisters.
“Truly, I am sorry for my dourness,” Callan finally offered. “This is no’ the Yule celebration ye were expecting.”
Nolan shrugged. “Fia’s been dead since the summer, Cal. We kenned ye were still mourning, and we kenned ye might need some cheer.”
“Aye, so we brought him.” Beck jerked his thumb at his older brother. “Ye need cheer? Everyone kens to call on Nolan Sutherland. The man can barely speak, for all his laughter. And jokes? Forget about it! He’s full of jokes!”
“Ha. Ha.” Nolan glared.
Still, their banter had Callan’s lips twitching for the first time all evening. Sighing, he shook his head. “I cannae believe ye all chose to come be miserable with me.”
“No’ all of us,” Beck corrected. “The lasses are with their husbands, mostly. But aye.” He shrugged. “We understand loss well enough to ken ye need distractions during holidays.”
And with comments like that, Callan was reminded that this happy-go-lucky cousin of his actually had a heart beneath that rakish grin. He was right; Callan needed the distraction. As Nolan poured himself some ale, Callan sat upright.
“Tell me about yer sisters and how they fare. Mary and Andrew welcomed another bairn this year, aye?”
The brothers took turns sharing stories of their large family, most of which Callan already knew. But it was a fine excuse to allow his mind to think of something besides the woman who should’ve been sitting with him.
Many years before, his Aunt Sapphire had married the Sutherland laird under interesting circumstances. When she did, she’d gained nine children—Merrick Sutherland’s bastards—and had since birthed more. Her eldest, Gavin, was a serious lad who was fostering with a neighboring clan, along with Callan’s youngest brother. Her two daughters were likely up in the solar with her and Aunt Agata and Emma and Isobel—the only of Sutherland’s bastard daughters to join them this year.
Agata and Saffy were two of the four daughters of the Sinclair Laird. Together with their sisters—Aunt Pearl and Aunt Citrine, both of whom lived in the Sinclair keep—they were known as the Sinclair Jewels, and when he’d been younger, Callan had never tired hearing the story of how the four of them had worked together to find the missing stones from the family’s ancestral brooch, and restore the clan to its power.
Now, as Beck and Nolan took turns sharing news, the three of them swapped fond reminisces. Each summer, the four Jewels met at the Sinclair keep to celebrate life, and the cousins—even those not related by blood—were able to rekindle friendships.
Of course, this past summer, Callan hadn’t attended the gathering.
But it was nice to have the chance to catch up with these particular cousins, even if Beck tried too hard to get him to laugh, and Nolan wasn’t the world’s best conversationalist. Callan even accepted a small cup of ale, although he didn’t care for the taste.
He could still remember watching his uncle battle his whisky-dependence, and had no wish to give up control like that.
“So, I told him, I said ‘Gav, ye’re no’ going to make it. Ye can either admit it now, and we’ll all think ’twas a lark, or ye can go ahead and attempt the jump and break yer damn leg’. Guess which one he chose?” Beck asked with a laugh.
Callan realized he was smiling when he shook his head ruefully. “He attempted the jump and broke