Page 19 of Highlander’s Quest of Desire

Chapter Seven

Bruce was in danger. If he did not get rid of Elspeth soon, he would spill all his secrets to her. Over the past two days, since his nightmare, he had observed the Buchan girl closely and found nothing untoward. She didn't badger him with questions, seemingly focused on his wound and curing him. But there were times he had caught her looking at him with a strange light in her eyes. That light beckoned him, stirred the memories of that dream.

Bruce shook his head and concentrated on the task at hand. They had reached Loch Lomond, as the Bishop had instructed, but he could not seek the map with Elspeth as his shadow.

She had given him no grounds to doubt her allegiance, but he was still suspicious. It would be wise to search alone. But how to get rid of Elspeth without arousing her curiosity?

"This is the last of the bread," Elspeth said, handing him the heel of bread with a small chunk of cheese. "We're also running low on rations and medicine."

Bruce bit into the bread and considered. Food and medicine were the last things on his mind, but he was practical enough to realize that they wouldn't get far without it. They never explained this part of heroic journeys when they sang ballads and told stories before bed. There was little romance in the practicalities of survival.

It was only once he'd polished off his breakfast did he realize Elspeth hadn't eaten anything. He looked at her closely. She was pale and, to his eyes, much thinner than he recalled her being when he'd first seen her on the shore three days ago.

"Is there naught to eat?" he asked.

She looked resigned but still made a cursory effort to look through the saddlebags. "There's a moldy apple and a handful of peanuts. I'm afraid it willnae be enough for ye."

"I meant for ye," he said.

A look of great surprise animated her heretofore somber face. Bruce didn't know what it was that surprised her so. It wasn't out of place for him to be concerned for her wellbeing. All of his men knew that he was a compassionate and considerate Laird. Did she think him that ruthless?

It soured his mood. He didn't understand why it should, and that made him more furious. Why should he care what Elspeth thought of him? She was of no great importance to him or the cause for which he had been trained since a little boy.

Because Bruce now had the benefit of retrospection, he could look back and see that every interaction with the Bishop had been a veiled lesson. He was itching to get started.

"Ye can go into the town we passed and buy some provisions," he suggested, turning away from Elspeth. "Here." He pulled out a small pouch of money from his saddlebag. "I'll prepare the camp."

"Are ye certain ye'll be able to manage? I can build a fire before I go," she said, taking the pouch from him.

Their fingers touched, briefly, but it was enough to send a thrill down his arm. He dismissed it quickly. "I am nae maimed, nae did they rip my arms out," he said. "If I can climb down a rope and swim in the black of night while the English bastards rained down arrows, I can collect a few twigs and start a fire."

Elspeth pursed her lips. Her green eyes, usually warm and full of soothing shade, were cold. "Aye," she said, tying the pouch to the belt on her dress. That was all she said. Patting Willow on the nose, she smiled up at the horse. "Are ye up for a ride, my sweet?"

Bruce looked at the sweet exchange between woman and horse and found that he was jealous of the horse. And here he'd thought being captured by the English was the worst thing that could happen to him.

Elspeth mounted Willow and after a cursory look at Bruce, she galloped away. Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. He collected a few twigs and made a small fire, just to satisfy curiosity when Elspeth returned. Then he went to the banks of Loch Lomond.

Inchmurrin Island was far off in the distance. They had deliberately traveled to the south of the loch to be nearest Inchmurrin, but it would still take a fifteen minute swim to get there. Despite his pompous words to Elspeth, Bruce knew that it was beyond his ability to swim to the island in his condition.

There were a few boats in the water. Bruce wondered if one of them would give him a ride across. He still had a little money in his coat pocket. It would be enough for passage. Raising a hand, Bruce waved at the nearest boat. The man on it waved back and rowed over.

It was a small boat, no bigger than a raft. Bruce was skeptical about its ability to carry him and another person safely across the water. The owner of the boat was an old, hoary fellow. He had a mouth full of missing teeth; the ones that remained were wide and yellow.

"Hello, stranger! The name's Bifford. How come ye by Loch Lomond?"

"We're just passing through." Bruce didn't want to give too much away.

"Aye. So, ye want to buy a boat?" Bifford asked.

"Nae," Bruce said. "I want to purchase passage to Inchmurrin Island."

"Why waste good money and only buy passage to one island when ye can buy a boat and look at all the islands at yer leisure?" Bifford laughed. "Ye donae look like nae fool, then why're ye acting like one, eh?"

"I have nae use for a boat, good man," Bruce said, his strained patience wearing thin. "I just need passage to Inchmurrin."

"Aye, and yer welcome to go anytime ye like for the hunting and the fish." Bifford spread his hands. "Plenty of fish in the Loch, nae doubt. Do as much as ye want with a boat of yer own."

"Nae." Bruce stepped away. "Thank ye, but I shall find passage with someone else."