Embrace The Lace

“The Riot”

A scant half hour later Van found herself firmly entrenched in the Castle MacIver sewing circle, consisting of eight women ranging from mid-teens to the aforementioned Mrs. Ferguson, who appeared to be in her eighties. It took Van all of a minute to recognize the large, embroidered tapestries they were trying to repair as a lost cause. “You can’t fix this—see, these are moth holes here,” she pointed to a large, ragged hole, “and this part is so faded you can’t tell the colors apart. It’s a total dumpster fire.”

While the gathered ladies did not recognize the reference, they understood the implied meaning and murmured their agreement. “Aye, but there must be coverings on the wall and nae time to make new ones. The laird will be sorely represented if his castle looks poor and him looking for a bride.”

Van’s ears perked up at the last. “I’m sorry—did you say he’s getting married?”

“We all hope it is so,” one woman offered, keeping her gaze carefully fixed on her stitching. “His poor wife died these two years past, God rest her soul.” She crossed herself automatically as did the other women, murmuring in sympathy. “None of the lassies here have caught his eye; more’s the pity. Our clan will be coming from all over MacIver lands to welcome Andrew as chief and renew their sworn fealty, but the gathering is in part to find him a new bride. A Scot bride, mind,” she added pointedly.

“Keep a civil tongue in yer head, Mairead,” Mrs. Ferguson chided. “Just because Himself never looked twice at yer own lass is nae reason to take it out on this innocent.” She gave Van a kind smile and patted the piece of heavy fabric covering her lap. “Have ye any ideas at all, my dear, we should love to hear them. We’re all at wit’s end with yon dusty rags.”

Still stinging from the unexpected barb, Van felt the blood rushing to her cheeks while she thought fast. “Do you have any colored thread? Like silver or gold metallic, maybe?”

“Aye,” a slender, middle-aged woman offered eagerly. “And some lovely scarlet and ebony as well. Let me show you.” She rose from her seat on the heavy banded chest and lifted the lid. After a minute of rummaging around near the bottom, she held up several large spools of the sparkling strands in triumph. “Cost a pretty penny, this. I remember when the old laird brought it back from his travels to England. Said it came from the Holy land, he did.”

Van tugged at the top of the large tapestry until it stretched out flat on the floor. She dropped it with a soft thud and a large poof of dust flew up, tickling her nose. She sneezed twice and glared down at the culprit. “You need a good beating, that’s for sure.”

“Ye heard the lass—a good beating!” As one, the women all jumped to their feet and laughing, hoisted up the tapestries onto their shoulders. “To the yard!” With a great deal of giggling and companionable teasing, the women wrestled the heavy materials outside, and folded them over the clotheslines in the bailey. After a number of brooms materialized from the kitchen, the women set to gingerly tapping the damaged carpet.

Van whistled for them to stop. “Hold up, now—we’ll be here all day at this rate. You gotta put your shoulders into it. You there,” she said, pointing to one of the women. “Are you married?”

The collected group hooted. The woman dropped her raised broom at once and grimaced. “Aye, and a dour man he is too, never a kind word for anything I do, and too drunk to do me any good once night comes.”

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Bro…Brodie, Milady.”

“Then watch this, it’s kinda going to be like an interactive anger management exercise.” Van faced the ragged tapestry, shouldering the broom like a baseball bat. “Listen up, Brodie—I work and slave for you and this is all I get?” She gave it a mighty swing. “How dare you insult my cooking? And just what have you done for me lately?”

A heavy thud accompanied each accusation, and soon a huge cloud of dust rose up into the sky. The women cheered and before another minute passed, a plump matron picked up her own broom and rocked the heavy fabric with a mighty blow. “And ye, Errol—staggering home full of drink, smelling of the butcher’s daughter, and think ye I willna notice when ye come crawling into my bed?”

Shrieks of raucous laughter, ferocious insults, and delight filled the courtyard along with the grey cloud. The women continued to beat even after the moths and centuries of dust flew away, ranting and raving about the various inadequacies of the menfolk in their lives. None noticed the crowd of incredulous clansmen gathering to watch.

“Leave off, Bessie. Dinna ye ken it be dead already, ye daft hen?” one finally called out, much to the amusement of his brothers in arms.

Bessie stopped short and it was clear to everyone except the hapless jokester that she made a significant effort to keep her temper in check. “Aye, clotheid—I ken that fine. What I doona ken,” she turned a narrowed eye to the object of her ire, “is why I still keep ye around, useless as ye are, Erroll Dubh.”

Erroll sputtered with indignation amid the uproarious laughter at his expense. Before he could speak in his defense, another woman spoke up. “Doona ye even dare laugh at him, Fergus my lad—ye are just as bad if nae’ worse.”

More sputtering, more laughter—each woman began berating her significant other as the crowd grew larger to watch the ensuing drama. Van found her voice just in time to squeak, “I think the tapestries are all—”

“Keep me around? Tis I who put up with ye, useless female. Canna cook, canna keep a clean shirt on my back. Why, were it not for me, ye’d be—”

Whack! Erroll dropped like a rock to the ground as the broom handle broke over the top of his head. Van watched it happen in an almost dreamlike state, thinking the tall, slender man just folded like a map as he fell. The courtyard erupted into a riot with shrieking women and bellowing men, flying broomsticks, splattering clumps of reeking mud, and anything else resembling a weapon.

Van thought about creeping away unnoticed during the commotion and hunkered down in anticipation of quietly disappearing. That plan died when a gargantuan clansman with hands the size of frozen turkeys grabbed her by her shoulders, lifted her off the ground, and shook her until her teeth rattled. “Here is the wee bitch what started it all!”

The next events unfolded at an alarming pace. Van broke the hold with a practiced sweep of her arms and leveled a closed fist directly into the unsuspecting man’s solar plexus. He dropped her and doubled over with the whoosh of outrage dying mid gasp. As soon as her feet touched ground, she grabbed her skirts, hiked them to mid-thigh and felled the next rushing soldier with a spinning tornado kick that she knew would have made Sabum Jontae proud. She had a quick rush of guilt, remembering how hard her exasperated Taekwondo instructor had pushed her to test for the next level but she had been reluctant, thinking her red belt so much prettier against the white of her dobok than the stark black.

A single pistol blast rent the air with a deafening crack, and the courtyard melee screeched to an immediate halt. Mrs. Norris lowered the still smoking barrel and smiled serenely. “I believe the tapestries should be good and aired now. If ye ladies would be so kind as to bring them back inside?” The formidable woman strode through the crowd, the way parting for her like Moses on the banks of the Red Sea. Upon reaching Van, she took her by the arm and went back the way she came with her charge firmly in tow. She stepped over Errol, his bloodshot eyes blinking in confusion. “Get yerself up, fool,” she snapped.

“I’m very sorry about…” Van stopped and began to bend down, only to be shushed and dragged off. Pushing her way through the rapidly dispersing crowd, Mrs. Norris quickened her step, and her startled captive had to scamper to keep up. The pace did not slow until safely back inside the castle and the heavy doors closed. “I guess I kinda started all that,” Van muttered, wilting against the door in defeat.

“Aye, ye did.” And with that, the older woman burst into uncontrollable laughter.