Page 2 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

“Well, see ye in the morn, Miss,” said the lad, winking to her. “They do a muckle clootie pudding in there, or so I’m told,” he said, before snapping the whip on the ponies and trotting slowly along the rain-soaked street.

Almost immediately, the heavy oak door opened again, bringing with it bawdy singing.

As their guffaws grew louder, Teasag’s face tensed. Inside, she could feel the whooshing of her heart, throbbing in her chest cavity. But this was stupid. She needed to get a grip and fast.

Her traveling clothes were soaked, and she had to find somewhere to rest for the night.

Gathering up her skirts, Teasag tightened her hood and pushed at the creaking door.

It was only a small country town tavern, just like the one back home.

Home the word resonated in Teasag’s head. It was many years since she had been back to Blackness. And when she had left, she had promised herself that her fortunes would be very different.

Her friend, Caitriona, at the McCallum castle, had persuaded her to pursue her ambitions. She’d started out as a lowly maid, but in the end, had married the laird!

Although marrying a laird might not be a path open to Teasag, it had inspired her to rethink her life. Caitríona’s story had reignited her passion for painting, something she had - even before leaving for the McCallum lands.

Yet, here she was, eleven years later, with little more than she had started with! And in that time, her mother had passed on, something that Teasag had still had not begun to process. She knew her mother would have wanted to see her settled by now, another reason to make something of herself this time.

Feeling a little braver and shaking herself down, Teasag steeled herself and pushed at the tavern door. After all, how bad could it be?

The door blew open, filling the room with a raging wind. It shook at her caul and thrust her blonde hair wildly until it was impossible for the girl to see.

Composing herself, Teasag shook down her hood and squared her shoulders to look around. Every eye in the room seemed upon her.

It did not last long. The men soon returned to their drinking, and Teasag made her way to the bar, through the stench of men.

Inside, the young woman’s heart pumped hard, keeping a strange, jerky time. Her usually tamed hair fell around her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. As she tiptoed through the packed tavern, Teasag could not have known how alluring she looked to the hungry men.

Finally, Teasag made it to the bar. Momentarily, an older man flitted into view, but then he disappeared again, leaving a younger man in his stead. The bartender stood before her, his face hidden in a greasy mop of hair. Teasag waited for him to look up. When he didn’t, she coughed slightly.

“Excuse me,” she said, as wearily, the man looked up. When he did, Teasag choked a gasp. Every inch of his face was covered in marks and pocks. Teasag steadied herself at the bar and tried not to look shocked.

“Aye, an’ what can I get ye?” said the barkeep.

Teasag felt her mouth go dry. Judging by the look of him, he had had the pox, recently.

The man’s hooded eyes scanned hers curiously. In the flickering half-light, it was hard to make out what shade they were. The only color she could see was red, framing the edges of his eyes.

The barkeep glanced again up at her. “Nae from around here, are ye miss?” he said observantly.

“Nae,” replied Teasag, unable to stop herself from counting the lad’s pockmarks. Twenty-three on his face and another seven around his neck.

The bartender looked expectantly for her to elaborate, but she did not. “From oot o’ town, anywhere I ken, miss?” he continued, unabated.

“Nae,” she said again, abruptly. She usually loved to chatter, but right now, she wanted to take some refreshments and be left in peace. “I’m in toon for the night an’ I need to tak’ lodgings,” she said, trying her hardest to keep her eyes on the pockmarked barman and away from the men at her side.

“Aye, nae bother, lassie,” said the lad. “We can sort ye oot wi’ somethin’ I’m sure…”

“Thank ye,” she said to the barman. “An’ I’ll have a small ale when yer ready,” she continued.

As she spoke, Teasag’s tongue stuck to her mouth and scraped dryly against her throat. She had not drunk anything since that morning. One of the elderly ladies had drunk her water after swooning in the uncomfortable cart. Now the inside of Teasag’s mouth was as dry as a cracked well.

“Och!” spluttered Teasag, as she coughed and her eyes watered as she groped for her handkerchief.

Dabbing at her mouth, Teasag pressed tight on the embroidered corner of the kerchief. Her eyes alighted on its’ motif, ‘MCM’.

Instantly, she felt homesick for the McCallum Keep and her friend, Caitriona. As her coughing fit subsided, Teasag kept the linen handkerchief pressed to her brow, thoughtfully.