Cimmerian Sunrise

Chapter 10 - ***REVISED***

The festival did not only take place inside the manor as Breanne thought it would; it spilled out onto the grounds, in and out of the gardens, even beyond the stables and outbuildings. In addition to the gala being held in Reese's honor, the colony had set up Scottish games. Small children chased each other on the grass; their laughter clung to the dancing wind, its music trickling through the gathered clusters of clansfolk, prompting many of the women to glance toward the scampering children affectionately before turning inward once again to their deliberations over cooking and weaving, tending their menfolk, and how fast the little ones grow.

In the midst of all of this, a whittled man of meager stature rose to a makeshift platform, calling for the attention of the present company. Men and women gathered 'round--children paused in their play, bright eyes lifting in curiosity. Standing at the back of the crowd, Breanne waited, Finlay by her side, everyone intent on hearing what it was this man wished to say, seeing as how he hazarded the very real possibility that a slight breeze might catch his tiny, hollow boned frame and spirit him off the stage altogether.

Once all was quiet, he spoke. "Many of you know of me," he stated, puffing up his puny chest a bit. "But for those of you who do not, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Greenway, and I've held the privilege of overseeing the construction of your town at Port Jackson."

When the light applause died down, he continued.

"This is something that I could not have done on my own, which brings me to the reason I give this poorly written speech, and why we're enjoying this grand party. Besides the need to partake of his wonderful food, our host, Reese MacIntosh, has been my right hand man for years now. Without him, I doubt our Port Jackson colony, and your little Scottish colony out here," he added, scanning the crowd, "would stand as beautifully constructed and designed as it is presently."

"Aye!" A tall, burly Scotsman called out; a sentiment that other Scots soon echoed like a low, rolling thunder. Once the 'aye's' faded into the air, Mr. Greenway continued on.

"It is in his honor that we hold this party. Now," he said, stuffing a hand into his trouser pocket, and rocking back on his heels, "because Mr. MacIntosh refuses to come up here and display himself to all the fine young ladies as I've done," he continued over the chuckles, "I must thank him from where I stand on behalf of all gathered here today. Mr. MacIntosh, please accept our deepest gratitude and admiration. And, that's it!" he called out, holding up his hands in forfeit. "Now, please, return to your games; may all enjoy the festival."

A crashing roar of applause rippled, then blasted throughout the crowd, making Breanne wonder if everyone was so enthusiastic because of the man's speech, or rather, because the festivities could enter into full swing. She, however, did not clap; still trying to process all of the information she'd been given.

"Close yer pretty mouth, lass."                                

Head jerking to the side, Breanne stared at Finlay until what he said sunk in; she promptly snapped her mouth shut, flushing profusely.

Finlay grinned at her expression, silent.

"Did he...did he really build Port Jackson?" Breanne asked, curiously.

Finlay shrugged and lifted a brow, amused. "Well, nae by 'imself," he drawled.

"Of course," Breanne stated, nodding. "He assisted Mr. Greenway...but he designed it as well?"

"Aye," Finlay answered, and then suddenly chuckled. "And why do ye look so surprised, hmm?" he asked in a teasing manner.

"Be-because I thought that he..." was a churlish brute.