When Blair opened her eyes one at a time the next morning, the pitter-patter of raindrops was the first thing she heard.
Rubbing her face to wipe away the few drops that had already landed there, she saw Slaine had lighted a new fire under the tree canopy and made a pot of porridge. She could smell the oats. He was watching her and brought her a bowl as soon as she sat up and stretched.
“Good mornin’, lass,” he said, and handed her a small wooden spoon.
That was one of the things Blair loved about Slaine—he never dwelled on the past and left it where it belonged.
“Mornin’ yerself,” she replied with a yawn. “How long have ye been up?” She came to sit beside him under the thick tree leaves. The rain had not picked up yet, but from the look of the clouds hanging so grey and low in the skies, she knew it would not be long before the heavens opened.
“Nae much longer than yerself,” he said, cocking his head to one side and looking up at the clouds too.
Blair tried to imagine what someone’s life would be like, never having a home to run inside when it rained or snowed. A life where shelter meant a bed at an inn or on the ground under whatever refuge was available. Suddenly, the apprehension she could see in Slaine’s face as he looked at the sky seemed to take on a more complex meaning.
“How long have ye traveled thus, Slaine?” She took a spoonful of porridge and swallowed. “I mean, what do ye do when it snows in winter? Do ye have somewhere to stay?”
He was silent for a minute or two, and Blair held her breath in case she had offended him. Perhaps he had a wonderful cottage somewhere he kept specially for the colder months, and he would set out on a few adventures when spring came. But from what he had said last night, she would not bet on it.
“Sometimes I go south in winter, beyond these shores. Ye’d be amazed at how warm the weather becomes if yer ship goes far enough. I’ve been to places where the sun bakes the ground as hard as a hazelnut shell while the Highland mountains are still covered in ice.”
Blair loved the sound of that. It was similar to one of her father’s stories, only when Slaine said it, it was impressively true.
“Tell me about the lands to the south of our fair isle. Are they as barbarous as folks say? What about the lands to the west? Have ye been across the Atlantic?”
“Southern lands are warm but full o’ disease and slave traders,” Slaine mused. “I havenae visited west, but it’s nae for lack of offers. Settlers and merchants have fallen over themselves tryin’ to get me to look after them once they disembark and set foot in those endless forests. A sword is no match for a skilled bowman, and those same endless forests are inhabited with some of the most skilled bowmen in the world.”
Blair listened to his words, her eyes wide with admiration. She wished she were a man ready to jump on board any ship and have it take her to some exotic location.
She said as much out loud to Slaine.
“Ye must be alone in yer wish that ye were a man, Blair. Have ye no ardent swains waiting for ye back at the farm?” Slaine could not stop himself from asking. She was bewitchingly beautiful; there must be a beau somewhere.
Blair shrugged. “Faither is awful strict, Slaine. If he even caught a whiff of me up to some skuldudrie, he would tan me hide and then chase after the man with his pitchfork!”
They both laughed heartily at the image of some lusty youth sprinting across Farmer Carmichael’s fields with his trews around his ankles, with an irate Angus in hot pursuit. Then the rain began to pick up, so Slaine and Blair hoisted their traveling cloak hoods over their heads, harnessed the horses, and began to make their way to Cromachy.
The day passed in a blur of rain and mist. Blair was vaguely aware, when she was courageous enough to lift up her hood, of sloping hills and soaking dells pouring their waters down toward an enormous loch that seemed to lie across the path.
On either side of the road clustered white lichen-covered rocks and straggly brambles; not a tree or shelter in sight for mile after mile. Blair had to agree with Slaine when he shouted over the drumming of rain on her hood. “Adventures are nae all sunshine and field picnics, eh?”
Prompted by his teasing question, Blair asked, “So, ye’ve no home of yer ownanywhere? Nae even for weather such as this?”
Slaine replied in his usual tantalizing style, “Me aunt did sewing for the local laird an’ his lady in exchange for her croft. When she died, I was hardly likely to agree to having the same arrangement now, would I?”
Intrigued, as Slaine had never before opened up as much about his past, Blair hit him with a barrage of questions: “Tell me more about this aunt? Where was this laird of whom ye speak? How auld were ye when she died?”
But Slaine simply shook his head after giving her a grin, which caused a spray of raindrops to spin off his hood, and rode on ahead.
Even though the delectable smell of damp heather wafted in from the hills, a goshawk or eagle sighting or change in scenery did not happen, and Blair’s boredom intensified. She had to agree with Slaine that the road became decidedly less adventurous and appealing when it was raining. Blair had almost reached her breaking point, sick and tired of the dreich and the road, when she looked up and saw a church spire on the horizon in between Pooka’s twitching ears.
Feeling more thankful this part of the journey was over than she believed was possible, Blair kicked Pooka into a canter. The sound of her horse hooves gaining speed alerted Slaine. He scanned the skyline and saw the blurry outline of Cromachy town too. The road dipped in a half circle around the loch and the town was nestled above its dark waters.
There was a haze of smoke hanging over the houses and towers as they got closer. It made Slaine and Blair think of firesides and dry clothes. They urged their horses to go faster, heedless of the mud the hooves kicked up onto their clothes. The sooner they reached an inn or other friendly hostelry, the sooner they would be warm, dry, clean, and well fed.
Maximus drew alongside Pooka as they raced along the rutted road. Blair risked a glimpse at Slaine as she clung to the stallion’s saddle, using all her strength to hold on to the big brown horse. He was concentrating on urging Maximus forward on this final leg of the journey but gave her another of his quirky grins when he glanced sideways briefly before the grey stallion inched ahead.
On the left side of the road as they entered the town was an inn. By the time Pooka brought Blair to the inn’s stable courtyard, Maximus was already being led away by the groom. Exhausted and starving, Blair indicated to one of the grooms who ran up to help her that he should stall the two horses together. Then she plodded wearily inside.
Slaine had been busy in the few minutes he had gained on her during their gallop. The innkeeper was waiting for her downstairs, ready to show her up to his finest set of bedchambers and parlor where he promised a maid would be up very soon with a hot meal and warm bathwater. Not too tired to think ahead, Blair said, “We’ll only be needin’ the one bedchamber, thank ye. Me husband is too generous with our coins.”
