“She’s gone. Hire yerself a nag and come with me.”
“But, I have no money, and our bill here is unpaid! What d’ye mean ‘she’s gone’?” Angus was confused from the two mugs of ale he’d drunk so early in the morning.
“Get this man a cider,” Slaine ordered the barkeep and went back to the stables to pay for Angus’s hired horse himself.
He returned to the innkeeper. “Here’s what we owe ye for the rooms, and here’s more to hold them for us. We’ll be back before nightfall.” He turned to leave and then thought of one more thing. “And here’s what we owe for the taproom.”
Slaine threw coins at the startled innkeeper and ran back to Angus. The farmer had just finished his cider. Before he even had time to visit the privy, Slaine had him by the elbow and was dragging him to the horses waiting for them outside.
“But...but...I dinnae want to go back anywhere near those brigands! Let me go!” he blustered.
“Too bad ye didnae make yer feelings on the subject more familiar to yer daughter, Angus, because guess what? Ye an’ me are off on an adventure together!”
Slain bundled Angus onto the hired horse and gave it a hard smack on its dock. The animal leaped into a canter with Angus holding on for dear life on top, not even a hat on his head. Slaine vaulted onto Maximus and followed, praying he was not too late.
Blair knew exactly which track would lead her to the bandits’ hideout. On her dreary journey up to Cromachy, she had spied a distinct trampling of grass heading around the loch, toward the forest behind it. Bushes and brambles had been hacked away, and even though the clearance had been done a good few seasons ago, she recognized the same method of creating an opening in the foliage as had been used by the men who had made the barrier in the woods.
She galloped Pooka off the wide lane and onto the beaten track. Soon, she could hear the lapping of loch waves on the shore above the sound of her horse’s hooves pounding on the grass. A strong wind had sprung up, causing the black water to chop and hiss as it pounded the loch’s banks. Blair slowed Pooka down to a canter, keeping her eyes open for the lush plant growth and bright green that would indicate marshland. She followed the track carefully, and it meandered around the loch, tapering off into the forest.
Before she entered the thicket of trees, Blair looked up at the forest’s dark green canopy tossing in the wind. It was not long before she saw what she was looking for: a thin ribbon of grey smoke coming from amidst the branches before being blown away in the breeze. Knowing from here on she must be more cautious, Blair dismounted, leading Pooka behind her. The trees seemed to swallow her up as she pressed into the bushes; they were no longer able to stick to the path because that was where they would have sentries posted.
Bringing Pooka with her was not a good idea. The horse was making a dreadful racket as it plodded through the bushes. The sound of snapping twigs, swishing branches, and occasional whinnies were loud enough to wake a drunk blooterkin.
Since running away from the inn, this was the first time Blair was struck with doubt.
Should I risk alerting them with the noise? Or should I go on ahead alone and risk nae being able to make a quick and clean getaway with the woman?
Blair knew she could not stand there dithering all the while. She knew Slaine would have cottoned on to her disappearance by now and would be riding like the wind to apprehend her.
Leave the horse. I will tether dear Pooka to a tree branch and go as silent as I can toward the camp. The woman will be there somewhere, and they wilnae see me in the darkness provided by the forest.
A small voice deep inside Blair said, “Ye’ve come too far to turn back...but ye ken in yer heart ye’re taking the biggest risk of yer life...an’ no one is here to rescue ye this time.”
When Blair continued shadowing the forest trail, she knew it was the bravest and most foolish thing she had ever done.
She made an extremely stealthy approach to the encampment. It was easy to know when to proceed with caution; the outlaws were noisily preparing dinner, and an open cask of ale was already being put into constant use. Many flagons of wine and bottles of whiskey could be seen lying on the ground when Blair soundlessly parted a particularly thick bush and peered through the leaves.
The scene she saw before her showed every sign of becoming a drunken revelry. There was a cauldron of stew boiling over the fire and a group of about six men supposedly tending to it. They were far more interested in putting away as much of the liquor as they could. In between clinking mugs together and making slurred toasts to one another, one of the men hollered over his shoulder, “Wumman, get yer peely wally face over here and stir this pot!”
Blair held her breath.
True to what Angus had told her, there was indeed a silk pavilion erected amidst the slovenly tents pitched in a circle around the camp. When the scoundrel raised his voice and summoned her, a tall, slender woman crawled out between the silken flaps. It was the first time the woman became a reality to Blair and not just some stricken figure in a story.
She was indeed pale, but it suited her blazing red hair. Her face was drawn and marked with the suffering of many years, but traces of a handsome beauty could be discerned from her regal cheekbones and striking green eyes. Blair gauged her to be no older than five and thirty years of age, but the life she had been forced to live might have aged her beyond her years. Her bearing was almost haughty and proud, as though her stance was able to reflect her resilient spirit.
She approached the cauldron and began stirring the contents. One of the men picked up a carrot from the pile of vegetables beside him and threw it at her. “Put in some more o’ these,” he growled.
The woman said, “I’ll need a knife for peelin’.”
“Dinnae gi’e one to that crabbit crone,” one of the men grumbled. “She’d stick ye with it as soon as look at ye!”
The man who had ordered the vegetables peeled said drunkenly, “Och, she’s alright. She doesnae have anywhere to run to.”
He tossed the woman a small knife from his pocket. “There ye go, wench, all right an’ tight. How’s the chief doin’ in there? Still sleeping it off?”
The woman ignored him, so he taunted her silence. “Ye wait until tonight after the weddin’—ye’ll only be too happy when he goes to sleep!”
All the men in the group howled with laughter.
