HIGHLAND SONG BWWM

Chapter Seventeen

Author: Can I say, I'm so happy that this story is getting so much love. It's been a dream of mine to writer something like this...and to have you guys enjoy it, as much as I enjoy writing it makes glad i started on this journey of becoming a writer. As you all know I usually stay within the 1,000 to 2,000 bracket...it's makes it easier on me, bu~~~t, I might do a little more for all the love you guys are giving.

Chapter Seventeen

Marching the four girls downstairs, Lyla was amazed at how close in age they were. The eldest resembled her elder brother with freckles and grey eyes, but where her brother had dark brown hair, she carried a long, thick mop of black hair.

It had been braided into two rows by Ericka, who currently held the hand of two of the girls. Their matching deep rose colored hair and deep blue-grey eyes made Lyla assume their looks came from their mother. The two were obviously twins as well. The two babbled to Ericka, who simply nodded, not understanding any of it.

The eldest turned and spoke to Morag, who frowned and turned her gaze to Lyla. "She wants to know what a naming ceremony is. I donnae know how to explain, as only men go through such things."

Lyla stopped, causing the other who'd been following her to stop. The three boys who'd been running back and forth behind her bumped into each other, their shared dark brown eyes looking up at her in confusion.

"Ah, that's right!" Lyla whipped around and pointed towards the kitchen. "Tell the girls to follow me to the kitchen."

Morag stared at her in wide-eyed confusion.

"Morag?" Lyla said, waiting.

"Uh... yes, Lass." She turned to the girl and quickly spoke. The girls nodded and all four followed her. The boys, having separated after their collision, stared after them, while Ericka motioned for them to sit with her in the Great Hall.

"How old is the eldest?" Lyla asked as she went into the pantry, grabbing the bag filled with flour.

"She says she's fifteen summers. She doesn't ken her birth date," Morag said, plopping into the rocking chair near the hearth. Noticing Lyla grabbing up supplies, she asked, "What are ye about?"

Lyla plopped the bag of flour in front of the four girls: one black, two reds, a mahogany head turned to face her. Surprised at the sight of the large bag of flour, she said, "They will get their name once they can bake a loaf of bread."

"What?" Morag said, slack-jawed. "Even the youngest?" She glanced at the shortest of the four. "She can only be nine summers old."

Lyla stood straight, placing her hands on her hips. She gave the girls a hard look. "A woman earns her name with her hands. She doesn't let anything be given to her."

Morag shook her head in mild amusement. "Ye ken ye're a funny lass? Truly funny."

Lyla gave the woman an annoyed look before she let it melt and smiled. "Well, it won't be so funny. You'll be the one speaking for me... and you'll be judging their loaves of bread, Morag."

Morag gave her a disgruntled look and opened her mouth having half a mind to scold the lass and tell her she willnae be doing anything. But, seeing the pitiful faces of the lasses made her close it with a click, and letting out a defeated, she said, "Aye, I'll help ye, but nae more. You must learn Gaelic, Lass."

"Yes, yes," Lyla said. Grabbing her apron off the wall, she quickly tied it around her waist. "Well, let's get started."

"What happened to you?" Ericka asked, astonished by her sister's appearance. "Did the girls not like your idea?"