Page 7 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

The stench of putrefied flesh hit her nostrils. Lissie wrinkled her pretty nose in disgust. The journey from the Highlands had been dangerous, arduous, and not without the occasional clump of dung, but in the five hundred miles she had travailed, nothing had smelled like this.

The acrid stench hit the back of her throat, almost making her choke. First light and the breeze from the river Walbrook brought with it the reek of the city.

Gasping, Lissie fastened the hood tightly back around her head and tried to cover up her mouth. Without seeing, she knew enough to be certain that she had arrived.

This was London.

Days it had taken for her sister and the elders to change their minds. To begin with, there had been incredulity; three straight days of laughter whenever she mentioned the London trip.

And then, the incredulity turned to arguing. Just how would she get there? Who would go with her? And where would she stay?

It had taken time, but eventually, she had worn down the elders and her sister with her dedication. At long last, details had been thrashed out about where she should stay and what she should do. A disposition had been assembled to accompany her and preparations made for her debut in the Sassenach capital.

"But it's dangerous," argued her sisters, hearing tell of the warring English kings. "London is nae safe."

Lissie only laughed. "An' the Highlands is?"

She had a point. Only that week had the castle been stormed by rival factions. Worse still, the Duncans lacked the means to fight it.

They needed this marriage.

So, she had been sent. The journey was long, arduous, and grueling. Many times, she felt like turning back. Until she remembered Donald.

And it was a strange day indeed when she finally did arrive. Lissie glimpsed the city through the early morning miasma; vast, loud, yet somehow cramped at the same time.

The sheer scale and noise of it blew her away. Life, it seemed, started early here. Every sight and every sound she could hope to see crammed into one square mile. Walking beside her horse, Lissie took her first eyeful, and gulped.

And then almost retched.

The smell!

The heavy aroma of excrement hung in the air, followed swiftly by a blast of putrid, rotting flesh. Lissie rubbed her eyes and looked again.

"Mind yer way, miss."

A gruff voice almost edged her off the road. But before she could look, she was pushed sideways by what felt like a torpedo of wool. When she finally got her bearings, it was to see a procession of sheep jettisoning across the narrow street, heading toward the gate ahead.

"Watch out!" the voice hissed. Lissie had not yet identified its owner, but no doubt it was the shepherd, or owner of the flock.

Either that or the London sheep were imbued with the gift of speech.

Bewildered, Lissie held on to her horse. In vain, she tried to remain upright as the wooly army surged along. Her eyes opened a little wider. The sheer number stunned her to silence.

"'Scuse me, miss," the shepherd muttered, raising his cap to her. Before she could reply, another contingent raced past her; this time snorting and grunting.

Pigs.

Millions of them seemed to colonize the tiny street, flattening Lissie into its edges and leaving her grasping to her horse for dear life. She had seen it all in the crippling journey from the Highlands, but the parade of pigs pushing them into oblivion was the final straw.

The stroppy mare flared her nostrils and let out a gigantic cry. With no further warning, the tired animal launched itself upon the parade of pink trotters foraging through the undergrowth.

"Florrie, lassie, nay!" urged Lissie, tugging at her reins. But it was no use. The stealthy white mare went careering into the fleshy river running through them.

What followed was pure chaos. As Lissie's horse bucked, so too did others. She had not noticed, but the guards behind her had followed, all of them racing to accompany her on her outing from the tavern that morning.

Lissie had thought she had left them sleeping, but they must have reached her. Their constant presence on this journey had been a blessing. Many times they had saved her, guiding her through the perilous Highlands and into English terrain. But just sometimes, Lissie longed to be alone.

So, under cover of darkness, she had left their lodgings unaccompanied, hoping to see London alone, at least for a while.