‘It’s exquisite.’
‘But deadly. If you get close enough to a man, it will put a hole in his heart, Maren.’
‘Do you have a dirk I may take also,’ she said flatly.
‘Aye. Lawson handed over his own, and Maren bent to tie it to the strap on her ankle.
When she stood up, Lawson fisted his hands and looked deep into her eyes. She feared he was on the brink of kissing her again, but instead, he stalked away. Maren rolled the pistol over in her hands. She liked the feel of it. Some small comfort in a raging sea of uncertainty. She sighed into the wind. Lawson was right. Her reckless nature would be her undoing, and suddenly, it was as if doom had settled on her shoulders like a heavy cloak weighing her down.
Maren steeled herself as she walked towards Bryce Cullan. He wore a sullen expression.
‘If you have quite finished saying your goodbyes to your lover, let’s be off, that is, if you are still inclined to be my wife.’
‘He is not my lover,’she wanted to say, but to hell with Bryce Cullan and his judgement. She would keep silent. He would not know her, and she would not know him. Aye, keeping him at arm’s length was the way to go. So Maren mounted the horse and met Bryce’s gaze boldly, and they set off.
***
Maren was keen to leave Balloch and its memories behind, but Bryce insisted on primping her. ‘There is a village ten miles from here where we can rest at an inn and get you looking like a lady,’ he said rather bitterly as they clattered down cobbled streets. ‘But first, we must get you something to wear that is more…more…appropriate.’ He said this last whilst looking at her breasts, where they spilt over her torn bodice.
They soon found themselves at the only dressmaker Maren knew of in Balloch. Bryce hurried her inside and thrust her at the elderly proprietor within. ‘Can you get me something pretty that fits her?’ he barked.
The woman sucked air in through her teeth and said archly, ‘But she is…and you are not…. This is a respectable establishment, Sir, not some…some….’
‘Brothel?’ said Bryce unhelpfully. ‘Is my coin not worthy in here? It must be, for I see no other customers. I have plenty of it, and for God’s sake, I just want a fine silk dress that fits this woman, so she looks more ladylike and less….erm…ne’er do well. But if you are too fastidious to provide that, I can go elsewhere.’ He shook a heavy coin purse at the woman.
‘Alright. Let us not be hasty,’ she said and tutted and rushed off.
She returned with arms laden with jade silk, frothing with lace. ‘I made this for a fine lady who has since fallen on hard times,’ she said, her gaze falling on Maren with barely-veiled disgust. ‘The lady can no longer pay for my work, so you may have it. See how exquisite is the lace work and the embroidery along the bodice.’
‘Aye, but will it fit?’ snapped Bruce.
‘Of course,’ sneered the bitch. She looked Maren up and down. ‘They are of a size, but that is where the similarity ends.’
‘Now look here,’ said Maren, hands on hips, longing to slap the old harridan across her sunken cheeks.
Bryce intervened, throwing coins at the woman. ‘We’ll take it,’ he growled. His good humour seemed to have vanished since they had left the jail. He dragged Maren outside and threw the dress over his saddle. ‘Let us rid ourselves of the taint of Balloch. Come. Make haste.’
***
Maren was an excellent rider but was weak from the meagre rations in the jail and little sleep for days, so she was exhausted when they stopped at a crossroads ten miles from Balloch. A carved standing stone bleakly declared it was fifteen miles to Inverness. Thunder cracked overhead, followed closely by forked lightning piercing the sky like a golden vein. How she longed for a soft bed and sleep, yet she could not show weakness.
‘Should we not press on?’ she shouted at Bryce, her breath snatched by a buffeting wind chilling her to the bone.
Bryce looked down the road to Inverness and back at her and frowned. ‘We should rest a short while. The weather is set against us.’
‘Will we reach Inverness by nightfall?’
‘Doubtful.’
Rain started to pelt down in the fat drops, hissing against the path and making her horse’s coat steam.
‘Let us take shelter in that stand of trees,’ shouted Bryce. ‘Perhaps the storm will blow through and make the going easier.’
They were almost into the trees when three men emerged on horseback. Maren’s heart hammered into her ribs, and blood thudded in her ears. One man had a fearsome scar across his face from a blow which had taken one eye, and worse still, he wore a faded coat that might once have been red. It bore the insignia of the English army. The other two were similarly threadbare redcoats and had a grinning menace about them.
‘Well, what do we have here?’ said the one-eyed man. ‘A fine gentleman out for a ride with his lady love? No. I am mistaken. This one’s no lady.’
‘We seek shelter from the storm, so we will be on our way,’ said Bryce.
