Evening's were his favorite time in MacKenzie Keep. As the day wound down, everyone would be freshening up for their supper, after a long day of being and feeling productive. Warmth from the blazing hearths made up for the cold night common in the Highlands which the MacKenzie clan made their home, and his clansmen trooped in eagerly awaiting their usual supper prepared by the efficient kitchen in the Keep. Mrs. O'Leary was perhaps the best thing in his keep, in Hammond's opinion, for the old lady kept a tight ship running to be able to feed the hungry troops, and farmers of the clan.
The younger boys ran to the communal bathhouses outside, eager to wash off the grime after a day of performing their duties as pages, stable boys and apprentices. Hammond had to be alert to be able to avoid the sprightly young lads and girls. He greeted his clan members as he made his way to the dining hall, his stomach growling when he saw the platter of cheese and corn bread. As he looked up, maids were bringing in trenchers of poached fish, placing them in the tables scattered around the dining hall.
"Laird, ye be early fer sup. Worked up an apetite, eh?" Mrs. Griselda teased as she walk past in her classic brown skirts and white shirt, with the clan plaid draped around her shoulders. Hammond smiled at her tease, not giving much of a reaction as his old nursemaid walked away. Mrs. Griselda had seen him since he was in leading strings and diapers, and was perhaps one of the few who could get away with teasing him.
Making his way across the entrance, he took the route around the various, smaller tables arranged from the middle of the hall, and took his seat at the head of the long table placed right in the center, towards the head of the hall. Hammond rearranged the plaid held up by his wide black belt, before taking his usual seat at the head of the table, pulling up the sleeves to his white shirt. His messy, rust red hair fell in locks, which he brushed away from his eye. The keep's main hall began slowly filling with people. It wasn't difficult to catch sight of the bright red locks dressed in a ballooning wide, peach colored dress, as she entered on the arms of her dark haired husband, his first-in-command, Connor Gilroy.
They had been residing in the Keep whenever they returned from their trips to England, where Evie's heritage resided. Cavalon Castle would eventually go to the husband and wife, but Evie loved the Highlands too much to leave it for now, which was why they had decided to go back and forth every 6 months. With Evie's form growing rounder with each passing day of her pregnancy however, the next trip back to England in a month's time would be the last time they would go, before she prepared for her labor upon MacKenzie land's.
He had grown to be very fond of his cousin over the year he had gotten to know her. Evie's fiery attitude had also been a good balm for his best friend and first-in-command, whose brooding attitude had lightened up considerably. Now he often heard him laugh, which was usually not a common thing before within the Keep. While many of the ladies had been disappointed at the loss of Connor as a eligible bachelor, he had never seen the dark, brooding commander happier, and Hammond couldn't be more delighted for the couple.
"I thought yer gonna be late fer sup again, Connor." Hammond teased, as his friend pulled out a seat for his wife. Evie flushed, remembering how late they had been to dinner the night before. For reasons they'd rather not disclose as husband and wife, of course, but it didn't take a genius to figure out why, and Hammond was no green boy. He chuckled as his best friend shot him a glare, smoothening out his own plaid before taking a seat between Hammond  and Evie, just as the other redhead in residence sashayed her way into the dining hall.
Gillian had always been the light of the Keep, for her laughter kept the broodiness of Connor and the strict, no-nonsense attitude of Hammond at bay. It was obvious by how his clansmen greeted her that they all loved her, and in turn, Gillian bestowed them with a warmth that Hammond wondered would ever putter out of his younger sister. Her red locks were not quite as rusty red as his natural curls, neither were they as vibrant as Evie's, but settled somewhere comfortably in the middle, with the brown eyes that always glittered with life.
"Oh, ye two are early." the younger MacKenzie teased, Â her green kirtle swaying as she took a seat, it's silver trimmings catching the myriad of candles lighting up the hall. Hammond laughed at his cheeky sister's words.
"I told ye, I wasna the only one." the laird grinned at Connor.
His first-in-command just rolled his eyes at his laird, but decided to let the topic rest as the rest of the MacKenzie clan streamed in. Mealtimes in the Keep had always been a daily affair of merriment and familial warmth. It was what Hammond and Gillian had grew up with when Quinlan MacKenzie still had his wife next to him. The days following Ailsa MacKenzie's death had been dark and dreary, where Hammond attended two funerals within six months of each other.
Upon taking the mantle of Laird, one of his main goals had been to re-instill the warmth and affection one would feel upon coming home. Now, it was becoming habit for him to preside over his clan at his spot every evening during supper, the now familiar ache of pride in his chest as he accepted the trencher of fish Gillian presented to him.
"Yer woolgathering again, brother. What troubles yer mind now?" Gillian, ever his intelligent and astute younger sister asked. Turning to look at her, Hammond couldn't help but smile when his eyes met her identical, warm brown ones as she cheerfully offered a trencher of fish.
She was brighter than her years showed, extremely bright even as a child. When Gillian was fifteen, her capabilities at problem solving already rivaled her brother, despite him being a good six years older. Quinlan MacKenzie had recognized his daughter's talent early on, and much to the twenty-five year old Hammond's consternation back then, their father had decided to take into account the advice of the young Gillian when it came to any dealings with the clan.
With a six year gap between them, the siblings had never had much of a relationship when they were younger. When even his father took the young MacKenzie seriously however, Hammond had to concede to his father's wisdom. Eventually, Hammond saw the truth for himself, on just how wise and worldly Gillian was despite her age.
He did notice however, that while he respected his sister as his equal, not many others within the clan did. Entrenched into the common belief that women were not supposed to be as outspoken and intelligible as Gillian had proven to be, many men were intimidated by the bright young MacKenzie. As such, she remained unmarried even at twenty-five. Hammond however, was in no hurry to marry her off. He had already told her before, that her husband was her choice.
"Nuthin', Gilly. Just.... content." Hammond murmured in return as he took the trencher offered. Breathing in the scent of lemon roasted haddock, the laird eagerly portioned out some for himself, popping a roasted carrot in his mouth as he passed it on to Connor on his right.
Gillian turned her gaze to the clansmen, with clinking goblets of mead, metal cutlery against wooden trenchers, and happy chatter around. The bare brick walls of the dining hall did nothing in softening the echoes, but it was how they liked it. The roaring, crackling fire lent a homely sense to the hall, and as she gazed over, Gillian could see just why her brother felt so content. "Papa would hav' been happy." her soft murmur drifted to Hammond.
"He would've, wouldna he?" Hammond replied. Sure, the small skirmishes with the Drummonds happened on and off, along with protecting their Keep and land from pillaging from warring clans and robbers alike. Yet all in all, life was pretty peaceful for the MacKenzie's. As he turned to his left to see his sister's tamer, red curls, he couldn't help but ask, "And ye, Gilly? Are ye happy?"
In a way, Gillian had took their mother's death just as hard as Quinlan had. She was the one who had suggested to their father to seek out the Kinloch laird for a joint effort to store their crops for winter. The night their father left, the Drummond's had attacked their keep. And in Ailsa MacKenzie's determination to save her children, she had perished.
It was, frankly, a night he did not wish to relive in his head. In response, his sister gave a small, wan smile. Even after three years, Gillian did not respond well when asked regarding that night. Hammond knew she hid something from him, but from what he knew of his sister, no amount of forcing, cajoling or threatening would fish the information out of her. He trusted Gillian's intelligence in not performing anything silly, and had left it at that.
Letting his hunting knife sink into the flaky, buttered haddock, the mildly salty, smooth flesh had just touched his tongue and burst in its flavors, when a loud reverberated across the corridor and into the dining hall. As if life itself had paused in its steps, the clan's usual chatter grounded to a halt, everyone exchanging looks with each other, before Mrs. Griselda finally stepped up from where she had been standing next to the entrance of the dining hall. "I'll go take a look, me laird."
Hammond nodded his thanks, and waved a hand at the rest of his people to continue with whatever they had been going on about. Scarce few minutes later, Mrs. Griselda entered with an uncertain face, heading straight, as fast as she could for Hammond. Spying his housekeeper's anxious look of worry, he pushed back his seat, seeking to meet her halfway. Hammond had barely taken two steps, when another figure emerged from where Mrs. Griselda had just entered. All eyes fell upon the blonde head, damp from running with locks of hair plastered to the side of her head from the sweat. Her serviceable brown dress looked muddy at the edges, and was obviously patched over and over again. Her palms were dirt-streaked, and sky blue eyes roamed the hall, as if searching for someone.
The flustered lady looked back, and wrung her hands in worry, muttering, "I told her to wait there."
"Dinna fash yerself, Missus Griselda. I'll-" Hammond tried to calm, taking the two steps towards the elderly housekeeper.
The blonde had turned her head when he spoke, and when their eyes met, his breathe caught itself in his throat. Even across the span of at least fifteen feet from where he stood at the head of the table, and she at the entrance, Hammond would not have been able to forget the blonde headed girl which had piqued his interest even in the brief hour or so which they had been thrown together. "Amhuinn Kincaid?"
"Laird MacKenzie, you've offered my brother Tamhas and I help a year ago. I'm here to take you up on your offer."