A/N:

Just a heads up, here are the suitors' names.
Young MacGuffin - Connall MacGuffin
Young MacIntosh - Dougal MacIntosh
Wee Dingwall - Colin Dingwall

Dougal's name comes from TrivialQueen's bloody marvellous fanfic, A Merry War - a Young MacIntosh x OC I recommend every Brave fan should read, even if you don't normally like OCs. Colin is Wee Dingwall's name in GAM3R G1RL 13's brilliant story, The Ties That Bind. Her take on Young MacGuffin is really unique and just a must read. Anyway, I wanted to pay homage to these stories as they pretty much pulled me out of my writing slump.

Red Sky in Morning, Shepherd's Warning

oOo

My forefather was Finn McCool

That man who made the Devil howl

The skies cracked when he would scowl

And troubled all the air

He had a wife, she towered high

Her head was lifted to the sky

The heavens shifted when she passed by;

She was no slender lassie.

- Blind Harry and the Cailleach

oOo

The fever that took her lasted two long nights. Consciousness slipped in and out like grain through her fingers. Merida tried to hold onto wakefulness as long as she could, but the fever dragged her away like a current, plunging her head under, over and over again, into the depths of darkness. Her mother stayed by her side through most of it, and once or twice Merida was positive she heard her father's voice close at her ear, singing tales of Fingal's giant-slaying adventures as he had when she'd been a bairn, but when she woke, he was gone - if he'd ever been there at all.

It wasn't long before she slipped back into a fitful sleep again. There the Dark was waited for her, alive and full of malice, like terrible purpose given to the shadows that lurk under bridges and eves, and behind the smiling eyes of men and women who would do you harm.

Worse than the suffocating darkness was the presence of the old standing stones. She could feel them on her, always watching, even in her brief moments of waking. With them came the low, steady beat of distant drums and chanting deep beneath the mountains. Instinct screamed at her to get away from those unseen eyes full of malice. Being in their presence felt like standing under a thundercloud before it burst, the air thick and heavy, like she was a drawing in a storm with a reel. She struggled against its grip on her, tunnelling upwards, trying to claw her way out of the dark, while the auld stanes drew in on her like a net.

Then her dreams suddenly changed and Merida found herself walking alone misty fen and moor. But in this strange, solitary land she gradually became aware of another creature walking, similar to the old stone megaliths but... older somehow. Much older. It lumbered across mountains as if they were stepping stones, and everything it touched blackened and died. Snow trickled through its huge body, as if the beast were not completely whole; a taibhs searching for its kin. Soon it caught her scent, and Merida scrambled through the night mists to outrun it, but she knew the creature was hungry as it was old. Three times it caught her and tore her apart. On the third attack, Merida awoke with such a scream both her mother and Maudie nearly took the door off its hinges as they burst into the room.

Her brothers lurked in the doorway for long minutes after the incident, watching their sister with undisguised concern. But Merida saw neither hide nor hair of her great big stupidly stubborn father.

By the time she recovered, the first day of Samhain was under way. Voices drifted up from the main hall below, warm and cheerful now that the danger of the travelling storm from the north seemed to have passed, and all were safe and sound within the King's fort. To the clans and folk of Dunbroch, the storm seemed far away for now and the raucous celebrations briefly distracted them from their fears.

Music and sweet smelling smoke from the bone-fires drifted through Merida's bedroom windows from the castle grounds, where young lads and lasses foretold their fortunes and their future partners by performing various rites. Samhain celebrated the end of summer and the spoils of harvest, but it was also a festival of fire and premonition, culminating on the third day when the veil between the living world and the next would lift. All the coupling was a bit too lovey dovey for her tastes, but at least the food was good and she enjoyed the dancing. Likewise, King Fergus had always taken the supernatural elements of the holiday with more than a pinch of salt, but it would be a snowy day in June before he turned down a good ceilidh.

Merida slouched at her window, resting her cheek against a balled fist and watched a thin white mist rise up with the red dawn. Ghostly fingers of cloud streaked across the hilly land, giving everything an otherworldly feel. From her bedroom window, she could just make out white peaks of the tents sheltering refugees from the three clans. They had been raised on the grounds where Clan Dunbroch held its annual games on Beltane, commonly referred to as the 'high green'. The clan banners flew stubbornly in the breeze blowing in from the loch.

"Red sky at night, Shepherd's delight," she hummed, leaning her cheek against the cool window pane. "Red sky in the morning, Shepherd's warn-"

She stopped. A familiar figure on the tussocked grounds below caught her eye. Merida squashed her face against the cold window, squinting to get a better look.

Lord MacGuffin and his eldest son had arrived at Dunbroch the night she had fallen ill, battered and bruised for their adventures, but thankfully very much alive. The younger MacGuffin's head was still bandaged and he was sporting a nasty looking bruise down one side of his face, but he looked in much better shape than the brief glimpse she had had of him before the fever took her.

Her bedroom door flung open as the maid came flying in carrying a plate of bread and meats, and looking harried.

"Miss! What are you doing out of bed? Your mother well be terribly vexed if she hears you've been moving about."

Merida resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the young woman. "I'm fine, Nessa, it was just a wee cold." She eyed her breakfast hungrily, digging in without so much as a customary glance at her cutlery. "Aw, yum, thanks."

Nessa set about plumping the cushions and pillows around the box seat, dragging over blankets and fussing with the Princess's impossible tangle of hair. It wasn't long before the maid got to chattering about everything Merida had missed while she had been ill. Nessa was well known in the village as Dunbroch's number one source for news and gossip. Normally Merida tended to tune her maid out, but even she couldn't help being a little curious about Lord MacGuffin and his son's recent adventures.

"Well! From what I hear the storm that cut off the MacGuffin lands has now covered everything north of MacIntosh territory," Nessa gushed excitedly. "Lord MacGuffin and his son barely made it by the skin of their teeth! By all accounts it would have swallowed them whole had it not been for their lucky rescue by a group of passing travellers."

"Pedlars?" Merida wondered out loud.

Nessa looked scandalised. "Oh no, Miss! Nothing o' the sort. You should see them for yourself. I never saw such a strange or strikin' party a'fore in my life. A dozen of them or so, and mostly unattended ladies would you believe? Terribly curious. The entire party is led by a fine Lady in a velvet gown black as night. Oh and she's ever so tall, almost as tall as King Fergus himself." Merida's attention began to drift as the maid went into excruciating detail about the Lady and her eight daughters' beautiful dark dresses adorned with silver trimmings and bangles. "To wear such a royal colour- do you suppose they're high borns from another kingdom? Oh! And here's the best part! Rumour has it one of the daughters has taken a wee fancy to Young MacGuffin."

That did pique Merida's interest. She sat up, blinking in perplexity. "Wait- Young MacGuffin? Heir to the MacGuffin clan, shy as a mouse, cannae understand a word he's sayin', Young MacGuffin?"

Nessa tsked. "Och, he's come a long way since then. I think the lad's quite sweet in his own way. Not a patch on your handsome Young MacIntosh, however." Nessa sighed dreamily, then giggled and nudged the Princess with a teasing look. "If it's not too bold, I know who I'd be choosin' if I were in yer place."

"It is too bold, Nessa," she grunted around a mouthful of food. "And he's definitely not my MacIntosh. Nor do I have any desire fer him to be. Frankly yer welcome to them aw. They're not exactly my type. Or anyone else's, far as I can tell."

"Well anyway," Nessa brushed her off, eager to continue relating her carefully collected gossip, "you would never believe it but Lord MacGuffin is said to be a bit sweet on the grand Lady hersel'! He spends most of his time visiting her in her tent. But," Nessa frowned, her tone changing pensive, "it's a strange thing that none of them will enter the King's hall." Her fluttering hands stopped fussing with Merida's hair and she gave a mirthless little laugh. "It's silly, isn't it? But I actually find the Lady a wee bit frightening. There's a.. a sort of stillness to her."

As the morning wore on, Merida caught a glimpse of the strange party from her window. The Lady was indeed tall, with a pale face and sharp features. She was also incredibly thin, but for her thinness she did not appear gaunt or weak. She stood out amongst the crowd like a black thorn in winter, all sharp angles and commanding authority. The strange party rarely left the comforts of their tent, but they had sent the King and Queen great treasures in thanks for their hospitality, and Lord MacGuffin often went to and fro, usually accompanied by his eldest son.

Young MacGuffin.

Connall.

Merida leaned her cheek against one balled fist and let her eyes linger on him for a while, puzzling. The idea that Connall might be courting one of the Lady's daughters seemed off to her. She couldn't imagine the awkward young man flirting or taking a fancy to anyone. Over the years of their acquaintance, since their first formal meeting during the presentation of the suitors, Merida had never seen him speak to any of the ladies at a ceilidh or invite a girl to dance a reel. He was sociable and friendly enough. She seemed to recall he had particular enthusiasm for her father's tall tales, particularly the ones featuring Mor'du and or battling great fanciful beasts. When it came to the women at court, however, the MacGuffin heir barely bat an eyelid. He was quite different from his six brothers, who were a loud, friendly and rambunctious lot who tended to remind her of her father's hunting dogs. When it came to dancing, the younger sons of Lord MacGuffin were never shy about requesting her hand. Connall, however, could usually be found sitting on the sidelines, fidgeting nervously with his hands and looking like he wanted the castle walls to swallow him up. The few times she had danced with him had mostly led to disaster.

Something didn't feel right. It didn't sit with her that Young MacGuffin – gormless, awkward, nervous Young MacGuffin - had set his sights on someone so quickly. Something was niggling at her, picking away like a mouse scratching beneath the floorboards. She spent the rest of the morning glaring daggers at the strange party's tent from her window, like a guard dog with its hackles raised.

At noon, she decided she was well enough, and bored enough, to join the the celebrations. Quickly dressing, a last glance in the looking glass left her less than impressed: red eyes, rosy nose, pallid cheeks, hair in disarray, despite Nessa's valiant efforts to tame it. Merida knew she wasn't exactly a looker on the best of days, but it couldn't be helped. It wasn't like she had anyone to impress, though Young MacIntosh was sure to make a snide remark about her bed-head while simultaneously making some equally bad attempt to woo her. It was almost impressive how he managed to balance the two.

She finished dressing and headed downstairs, still a little wobbly on her feet. At every corner she paused and peered around, half hoping half despairing for a glimpse of her father. He had not spoken to her since the night of his outburst. Her heart still felt sick and furious at his words, and the repeat of them in her fitful dreams had not helped mend the wound. Duties would distract her. No doubt there were still folk needing aid after their travels.

Collecting piles of freshly folded linen and woollen blankets, she hurried down to the main hall and found it in a flurry of activity. Though most of the clans had moved into the tents erected up on the games field, Queen Elinor had insisted the injured, orphaned, and elderly stay within the safe confines of the castle. Many children had lost their parents to the storm, and Maudie had offered to look after them. Unfortunately, Hamish, Hubert and Harris had also volunteered their services, which naturally led to chaos.

A shriek, followed by a loud crash instantly met her ears and a gaggle of children raced by, led by three curly-haired grinning boys. Maudie followed hot on their heels, red-faced and brandishing a rolling pin.

Merida deftly jumped out of the way. "Oi, boys! Watch it!"

"What's this?" a familiar sneering voice scoffed from behind her. "Our wee Princess playing nursemaid?"

"Not for you, Dougal," she retorted, looking him up and down. "Though you could use one. The only thing holding your clothes together is their stubborn under-stains."

Young MacIntosh smirked and clasped her hand to his unnecessarily naked chest, attempting what she supposed was a smouldering gaze. To her, he just looked gassy.

"Oh aye?" he purred while stroking her fingers. "Well, if you ever fancy offering your particular services, Princess, I'm all ears."

"And nipples, apparently," Merida remarked with a dry look at his goose-pimply flesh, yanking her hand away and wiping it down the back of her dress. So naked. "Why don't you ask Maudie? I'm sure you're just her type."

"And disappoint my adoring fans?" Dougal waggled his eyebrows at her. Behind him, a gaggle of pink-faced girls dissolved into excited giggles as he graced them with a wink. "Besides, I wouldn't want to make you jealous. Here. Allow me, M'Lady. MacIntoshes are gentlemen, after all."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh aye, I'm sure."

Ignoring her very unladylike snort, Dougal took the smallest pile of blankets from her heavy load, making a grand show of his generous spirit. Merida rolled her eyes, but let him follow her around the hall as she did her rounds, passing out blankets and checking on the injured. If she were honest with herself, after so long stuck in her sickbed she was glad of the company, even if it meant she had to endure the young laird harping on about his latest heroic feats. After all this time, Dougal was still a colossal pain in the arse, but oddly enough she had formed something akin to a friendship with the lanky young heir to Clan MacIntosh. She wasn't best impressed with his attempts to woo her and most of the time they could be found tearing each other apart with barbed jibes and cutting insults, but it was mostly in good fun. It was simply how their friendship worked - usually with the pointy end of a sword between them. She wasn't convinced MacIntosh truly intended to marry her and if pressed, of her three suitors Merida would probably have to concede she enjoyed Dougal's company most. That wasn't much of a compliment however. She barely knew Young MacGuffin as he seemed to go out of his way to avoid her, and as for Wee Dingwall... well, Colin Dingwall was another matter entirely. He was a strange, pasty wee thing, with eyebrows so fair they gave him a look of constant surprise. Accordingly, most thought him a little slow or addled in the head, which Merida was sure suited Colin just fine. He seemed to enjoy being underestimated. But when the notion took him, he could fight like a wild boar or flirt with the best of them- the latter of which she had the unhappy honour of being the target.

The injured clansmen and women were thrilled with the Princess's appearance, but it wasn't long before Merida began to feel flushed and a little feverish again. Evidently recovery was taking a little longer than she'd liked. She wobbled a little on her feet, then righted herself, and took a deep steadying breath.

"Ugh, this cold. My head's pounding!" She wiped her wet nose along the back of her hand, then picked up another load of blankets. "Think this will be enough for everyone?"

Dougal recoiled, as if she had just emerged out of a thicket like some kind of savage animal.

"Uch. Seriously? Princess, you look terrible."

"It's Merida, and thanks. So do you."

"I look radiant," he retorted flatly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like something chewed you up, thought better about it, and spat you out."

"Was there a right way to take that?"

He pulled her aside, one hand on her shoulder, and leaned in a little too close for comfort. Glaring, Merida pushed against him weakly, but Dougal stood firm, studying her sternly under long dark lashes. Concern briefly ghosted across his handsome face, and he lifted a hand to her clammy forehead with a grimace.

"Look at you, you're all... well, sweaty and disgusting." He wiped his hand on his plaid. "A delicate lass shouldn't run around this way helpingpeople. Besides, the only thing you'll achieve is makin' everybody else sick. I mean, did yeh even stop to think about me? If I weren't so excessively manly, I'd probably catch your cold myself." He smiled wickedly, stepping closer. "Of course.. there are certain methods of catching a cold I wouldn't be opposed to..."

Irritation bubbled up inside of her.

"Dougal," she smiled all too sweetly, pushing him non-too-gently away, "I'd sooner give you the plague before a kiss."

The laird gave an exasperated sigh as she marched angrily away from him. "What? What? All I'm saying is a real lady should'nae be carryin' out menial chores. It's demeaning. People talk. Say things. With words." He caught up with her, ignoring the exasperated look on the Princess's face and attention he'd managed to draw from gossiping onlookers. "Look, when we're married-"

"Oh-HO! Excuse me? When?" Merida barked a laugh. "You've been drinkin' on an empty head again, haven't you?"

Dougal merely waved her off with an airy hand. "You might as well face it, Princess. We're stuck with each other. Who else are you going to marry? Ship's sailed with MacGuffin. He's smitten with this new lady love of his," he grunted, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, utterly oblivious to the way Merida's eyes hardened at the mention of Connall's recent adventures in courting. "So unless you fancy marryin' Colin..." Again, Dougal waggled his thick bushy eyebrows at her suggestively. He clearly thought it was an endearing trait. It wasn't. Again he leaned in close to her ear, pouting. "Poor wee Colin is awfully fond of you. And Lady Dingwall has a lovely ring to it, don't you think?"

Dougal jutted his too long chin across the hall to the young laird in question and Merida made the fatal mistake of following suite. Right on queue, she caught Young Dingwall's watery gaze and her heart sank. The young man's vague expression immediately lit up like a new fire; he stood and began a slow plod towards her through the crowded hall.

Merida panicked. "Aw jings crivens- now you've done it. Get out ma' way!"

She shouldered roughly past Dougal, who wobbled, overbalanced and promptly toppled legs over arse with all the dignity of a drunk goat. Merida didn't stop to gloat- she was too busy searching for a place to avoid Colin's excessive shows of affection (he'd given her a rash the last time he'd lavished his wet kisses all over her hand, and she'd had about all she could take of his courting sonnets). She didn't get far before colliding with something broad and solid.

"Oof!" she grunted; the force of the crash nearly knocked her off her feet, but in an instant broad hands had caught her elbows, keeping her steady. Fearing the worst, Merida hazarded a sheepish look upwards. But to her surprise it wasn't her father's face looking down at her, but a red faced young man who looked flustered at the armful of red-haired Princess he'd unexpectedly received upon entering the hall.

And MacGuffin makes three, her mind supplied ruefully.

But she was a little relieved to see him in person. Closer up, the young man was in far better shape than he had been a few days ago, but that wasn't saying much. The bruising that ran from cheek to temple was turning an ugly mix of purple and yellow, and there was a bloody gash on his forehead which had been hastily bandaged up - probably by his own hands by the look of it. He'd changed a little over the past year, too. He still wore his cornflower hair in two braids, but a light beard now covered his gently squared jaw. His kind eyes were still hasty to meet her own though, slipping away from her almost immediately. What was it about her that made him so twitchy and uncomfortable?

"Princess ah'm sae sorry," he stammered, releasing her arms gently, "are yeh okay?"

Merida's hands were still braced against the man's stomach where, to her horror, she realised she had left a smear of snot upon their collision.

"Uhm, no don't be daft- I'm fine, really, it was my own fault. I didn't see you there."

Connall scuffled his feet and grinned. "Well that's a first, Princess. Ah'm a big man tae miss."

Merida felt her face break out in a warm smile, feeling full of affection for the big man. Thinking nothing of it, she laid her hand on his forearm, squeezing fondly. "Well we did. Miss you, that is. I'm glad to see you're safe and well, proud Connall of MacGuffin stock," she teased.

It was the first time she had ever addressed him by his given name, a fact that would have escaped her attention were it not for the look of shock and embarrassment that spread its way across the poor man's face like wildfire. Mentally, Merida cursed herself. She was always making social faux pas, no matter how many times her mother schooled her on the proper etiquette of a young, unwed lady - particularly if said unwed young lady also happened to be an un-chaperoned Princess. And never mind MacGuffin, Merida thought with a wince; her mother would have kittens if she ever saw the way Dougal had carried on with her!

She snatched her hand back a little too fast not to be suspicious and babbled loudly, "A-And yer father too, of course, I was concerned for him also, I mean of we were all worried about you! I wasn't worried more than most or anything, I just.. worried the .. natural amount." She cleared her throat and gave a short, royal nod. "Yes."

What. Was. That?

Merida felt herself flush from root to tip. A few of the people milling about the hall had stopped to stare at her little outburst, snickering amongst themselves. Well, it was always good to have an audience to her embarrassing blunders. It had to be the lingering effects of fever. That would explain the word vomit too. Where else could that mortifying display have come from? She gave the young lord a sheepish look. Connall, gods bless him, only smiled warmly, a glorious smile that lit his features up like a sunrise. Sweetly, shyly, he took a careful step back, creating a more respectful space between them and gave her a short bow.

Something in her chest fluttered.

"Thank you, M'lady. That means a great deal tae-" Connall suddenly gave her a long, strange look, frowning. "Forgive me, Princess, but ah heard ye wir no weil. Is it wise tae be footerin' aboot doun 'ere takin' care o' the sick while yer no weil yerself? Shouldn't ye be weil beddit?"

Merida blinked, cocking her head to one side. "Ehhh... Something about a wheel?"

Connall sighed, looking frustrated with himself. Taking a breath, his face turned contemplative and he began again, more slowly this time. "When ma' fither an' I arrived the other night, they told us you'd taken tae yer bed. Beggin' yer pardon, but you're no' lookin' yer normal cheery self. Should ye no be in bed restin'?"

"Oh. Right." Dismay settled in the pit of her stomach and she tucked a strand of lank hair behind one ear, feeling suddenly painfully self-conscious. "I keep telling everyone I'm fine. Just caught a cold in the rain, that's all."

Connall didn't look convinced, but before he could protest, Dougal firmly inserted himself between them, clapping a hand down on his friend's broad shoulder.

"Connall! Good t' see you out an about. How's the head?"

Connall took Young MacIntosh's arm fondly, returning the greeting by clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. The force of it made Douga's eyes water.

"Ach, cannae complain." Connall laughed quietly. "Wee bit o' a bump on the heid ne'er did anyone nae 'arm."

"No idea what you just said, but good t' hear you! We were almost worried for a minute." Dougal elbowed the larger man, with a teasing look, and winked. "Some mair than maist, from what I hear of the rumours. It's about time you bedded a sweet lass."

Connall's ears turned pink and his eyes darted to Merida then flitted to the floor, but he said nothing. Somehow that irked Merida more. She shot Dougal a sharp look; suddenly she had an overwhelming urge to kick him.

"Dougal sobbed his heart out like a wee bairn when he thought you weren't comin' back," she remarked icily.

"What?!" Dougal squawked as Connall's face lit up again.

"Away an' boil yer heid, ye never did? Were ye really greetin' fer me?"

"Shut your traps!" Dougal thrust his oversized nose into the air and folded his skinny arms with an arrogant swish of his long dark tresses. "MacIntosh men don't cry! Only soppy red-haired lassies do."

Connall and Merida shared a smiling look; for all his pride, it didn't take much to break Dougal's glass ego.

"My lady, Merida!" cried Colin breathlessly, having finally found them again in the crowded hall.

"Oh bollocks," she muttered under her breath, before turning to face the wee Dingwall with a tired smile. "Good afternoon, Colin."

It wasn't that she disliked Colin Dingwall. He was a bit dighted and away with the faeries at the best of times, but when something spurned him into action, the young man could be fiercely motivated. Unfortunately, his current motivation seemed involve his infatuation with her. Too bad he looked like a wet chinless fish.

"M'lady," he gushed, sweeping kisses up her arm, "my heart is warmed to see you up and about again. It would please me greatly if you would listen to my latest ballad. It concerns the deepest depths of yer storm blue eyes, and the wild torrents hidden within," he said, procuring a small lyre from seemingly nowhere.

Merida felt her smile wilt to a grimace. Where had he been keeping that?

"Ah-aactually-" She slipped away and grabbed the first excuse she could find, which happened to be Young MacGuffin's arm. Her stomach flipped. Connall too nearly jumped at the unexpected contact, but Merida was already steering them both towards the open door leading out into the courtyard before he could protest. "I'm afraid I already promised Young MacGuffin here I would show him around the grounds for the celebrations planned. But I'm sure Dougal would love tae hear your music. Did you know the lyre is the MacIntosh crest? He's a big fan."

Behind them Dougal was spluttering in outraged protest, but Merida and Connall were already walking out the open doors and into the courtyard, where the Samhain festivities were in full swing all the way up the sloping hill to high green.

"Sorry about that." She grinned up at him. "S'pose that was a wee bit rude of me."

"Nae problem, M'lady. I un'erstand," Connall stammered, avoiding her gaze and scratching the back of his neck. She was finding it was a much more endearing trait than Dougal's waggling eyebrows. "Wee Dingwall can be a character sometimes."

"Well, thank you for going along with it anyway."

"Mmh."

Connall's voice was strained. He didn't look her in the eye and the relative ease of their conversation became stilted, just as it always had done on the rare occasions they found themselves alone together, away from Colin and Dougal's company.

She tried to lighten the air between them with a laugh, anything that would make him warm him to her a little. "Nothing against Wee Dingwall, but I dinnae think my sore head could take another one of his recitals about the ocean depths of my eyes."

"Don't forget yer 'long fiery tresses'," he added, chuckling.

She pulled a face. "Ugh. How could I?"

"In his defence I'd have tae agree wae him. Ah've always thought they're yer bonniest feature."

Her heart tripped. Before she could fully register the honest compliment, Connall released her arm and stepped away, once again careful to put an appropriate distance between them. The loss of his body heat by her side made her shiver a bit in the chill afternoon air.

Merida hesitated, then tentatively asked, "I could show you about if you like?" She aimed for a casual shrug. "Mother seems to have pulled out all the stops this year, which I guess has been a bit of a blessin' in disguise. After all, we weren't expectin' guests." She laughed, while mentally kicking herself. Not the time to joke, not the time to joke. She tried to divert, clearing her voice. "Anyway, I may as well do what I told poor wee Dingwall I would."

But she could tell Young MacGuffin's attention was barely on her. His eyes kept flitting to the small round tent where she knew the strange party that had rescued him were staying, rarely roaming beyond the threshold.

His next words came as no surprise. He took her hands in his, and for a moment Merida could only marvel at how small her own hands looked in his.

"Thank you fer the kin' offer, Princess, but ah'm afraid I 'ave tae decline. You should be takin' care o' yerself." He gave her a wry look. "Yeh think I cannae see you shiverin', like?"

"It's just a cold," she said stubbornly. "I don't know why everybody's frettin'."

Connall shook his fair head, laughing like the answer was obvious. "Well. Anyway. I only came int' the hall tae look fer yer fither. Ah'd best be gettin' back tae-" He stopped himself short and his eyes slid away from her. "...Ah best be gettin' back."

He gave her one last shy smile and Merida had the strangest urge to stop him. But before she could collect her scattered thoughts, Connall bowed deeply and was gone.

oOo

Glossary:

Samhain: Pronounced sow-in. One of the two most important points in the Celtic calendar (the other being Beltane). Samhain marks the end of harvest and summer, and the beginning of the dark half of the year. In Scotland it was said the Cailleach ruled from this point on. It was during Samhain that the veil between this world and the next was said to lift. Halloween and Bonfire Night/Guy Fawkes has its roots in Samhain. The lighting of fires was especially important.
Deuchainn: Halloween traditions often involved fortune telling, usually to do with who your future partner would be.
The Muckle Mested Stoor Worm: The stoor worm was an enormous sea serpent from a well known Scottish fairytale, "Assipattle and the Stoor Worm".
Mair than maist: More than most.
Whit: What
Greetin': Crying

MacGuffin translations
I'm not going to have MacGuffin speak too much Doric/Old Scots in this fic because I think it might put people off, and I'd rather focus on plot/character than this running gag. But at the same time I do love Doric, so there will be bits and pieces. I promise to always provide a translation!

1: "Yeh shouldnae be footerin' aboot doun 'ere takin' care o' the sick while yer no well yerself, ma lady." trans: You shouldn't be messing around down here, my lady. You should be resting in bed."