Reaching the small shelter, he kicked the door open with his foot and laid the girl down on the single cot there, covering her with the sheepskin. Then he stirred the embers of the fire that had burned through the night, coaxing it alive once again. He added more wood from the store near the hearth. He and his father had come to fetch the cattle when the storm had caught them. Arriving at the little hut, they had sheltered for the night. Even inside with a fire it had been cold. The fact the girl was alive at all was a miracle. Swinging the iron arm from which a kettle hung, he added a bit of whiskey from his flask to the water in it and warmed it over the fire.
He turned as a weak voice said, “Where am I?”
Pouring some of the hot liquid from the kettle into a little tin cup, he put an arm about the girl, helping her into a sitting position, and put the cup to her lips. “Drink some of this, mistress, but take a care. ’Tis hot,” he advised her.
Alix sipped, coughed, but sipped again. Then, pushing the cup away, she repeated her query. “Where am I?”
“Yer on the lands of the Laird of Dunglais,” Robbie answered her. “My name is Robbie, and I’m one of the laird’s herders. My da and I found you out on the moors huddled between the cattle. They saved yer life, they did, mistress.”
Alix took the cup from him more to warm her hands than to drink the harsh brew he had given her. Aye. She had thought she was going to die when she had fallen between those two great beasts. Yet they were warm, and she fell asleep thinking about her mama and her papa. The Laird of Dunglais. Then she was in Scotland. Alix sneezed.
“Take more of the whiskey and water, mistress,” Robbie said.
“I’m so tired,” Alix told him, but she sipped until the cup was empty. Then, falling back against his supporting arm, she closed her eyes.
The young herder slid his arm from beneath her, and going to the fire, added more wood. Then he stood by the hearth, waiting for his father to come and tell him what to do next. After some time had passed, the older man entered the shelter, shaking the snow off of him, going to the fire to warm his hands.
“How is she?”
“I gave her warmed whiskey and water, Da, and she fell back to sleep,” Robbie replied.
“Who is she? Did she tell ye her name?” the chief herder wanted to know.
The younger man shook his head. “I dinna ask, and she dinna say.” “I’ve got the cattle outside.” He looked over at Alix. “The lassie looks like she’ll sleep for several hours. There’s plenty of wood, and I’ll leave one of the dogs with her. But we’ve got to get the cattle home, and the laird should be told about the lass. He’ll know what to do. She isn’t strong enough to come with us, and you canna carry her all the way to Dunglais Keep. Leave yer oatcakes and some whiskey. If she awakens she’ll know we haven’t deserted her, especially if the dog is here. Shep, stay!” he commanded the younger border collie. Then he left the small shelter.
Robbie followed his father’s instructions, pulling the stool near to the cot, leaving two oatcakes and his flask. The girl was sleeping heavily, and as his father had said, probably would for many hours. She was very pretty, he thought. Then he hurried to join his father, and together the two men drove the herd of shaggy Highland cattle the several miles through the still-falling snow into the safety of their winter pasturage.
While his son secured the beasts, Jock went to find his master, who was seated in the hall of his keep breaking his fast. His small daughter was with him, and the laird was smiling. Jock could not recall having seen his master smile in years. He made his way through the hall, stopping to stand before the high board and patiently waiting for Malcolm Scott to recognize him.
“Did you bring the cattle in safely, Jock?” the laird said in his deep, rough voice.
“Aye, all are accounted for, my lord,” the herdsman replied.
“Good,” the laird responded, turning his attention to his little daughter again.
“My lord, there was something out on the moor that you should know of,” Jock began, and when the laird looked up, his dark gray eyes focusing directly on the herdsman, he continued. “We found a lass, my lord.”
“You found a lass? Where? Out in this storm?” the laird asked sharply.
“I cannot say for certain, my lord, but it would appear that the lass was traveling alone on foot and was caught unawares by the storm even as we were. She was clever enough to secrete herself between two of the cattle. It kept her from freezing to death. Robbie and the dogs found her when we went to fetch the cattle home.”
“Where is she now?” the laird wanted to know.
“Robbie carried her to the pasture shelter where he and I had spent the night. He heated some whiskey and water and gave it to her. She fell back asleep, but after a night in the open she is, I suspect, very ill. We built up the fire, left food and water, and one of the dogs with her. We had no means to transport her, my lord, being on foot ourselves.”
“Who is she? Did she tell you her name?” the laird asked sharply.
The herdsman shook his head. “Nay, my lord. The poor lass was barely conscious at all. If my son and I might take the cart and fetch her to the keep.”
“Here?Why not your cottage, where your wife can nurse the wench?” the laird said. “She’s probably some tinker’s lass who got lost or separated from her people.”
“Nay, my lord, I believe her to be a lady,” Jock quickly responded.
“Why would you think a lady would be traveling alone and on foot across the moors?” the laird wanted to know.
“Her clothing, my lord. ’Twas not poor stuff. Her cloak is an excellent heavy wool, its hood edged in fur, its closure polished silver. She had good leather gloves upon her hands. I will wager they are lined in fur. I caught a glimpse of her gown beneath her cloak. Jersey of the best quality, and she carried a fine leather pouch strapped about her. She is not tinker’s brat, or servant. She is a lady, my lord, and must come to the keep.”
“Fiona, my angel, go and find your nurse,” the laird instructed his little daughter. He kissed her cheek, and with a smile at him the little girl ran off. The laird turned back to Jock. “We’ll ride out,” he said, and then he called out that he wanted two horses saddled immediately. Standing up, he came down from the high board and, with Jock following in his wake, he hurried to the stables.
