Page 22 of Highlander’s Quest of Desire

"My husband," she said. "We're going back to Oban to family."

"And where are you coming from?"

He instructed one of his companions to check her saddlebags. Elspeth's throat was dry, but she kept a cool head. The man opened her bags and sifted through the things.

"Glasgow," she lied. "We tried to make a life there. He worked in a tannery and I took in laundry, and it was a bonny life too. But his Da wrote. Sickly he was. Didnae ken how long he was of this world. So, we're headed back." Elspeth was impressed by the web of lies she had just weaved. This journey was revealing secret talents she had been unaware of.

"And where's this husband of yours?"

Elspeth was stumped. Her mind was blank for a moment. What could she possibly say that would be believable? If her husband existed, why wasn't he with her? What kept a man from the side of his wife when they were journeying alone? Did he trust her to be safe? What kind of husband was this?

The soldier checking her bag pulled out St. Paul's Potion. It was used for all sorts of things but most commonly for stomach concerns.

"Upset stomach," she said, "he's been feeling poorly. He's resting at our camp up the road." She pointed back toward the woods where they had come from the day before.

"Is that so?" the soldier looked back skeptically.

"Aye. We're common folk, sir. We want nae trouble."

"So, you’re not looking to oust the English?" the soldier asked, stepping closer, too close for comfort.

"What difference does it make to us poor folk who sits on the throne? Our lives will be the same whether ‘tis English or Scot."

"You must have a lot on your hands with a poorly husband to care for." The soldier took her hands in his callous ones. Elspeth shuddered as if a slimy lizard had slithered down her spine. More revolting than his touch was the leer on his face. "We can care for you. Come up to the garrison. The English will treat you like a queen."

Elspeth pulled her hand away. Every instinct in her body was telling her to run, to flee, but she was frozen to the ground. How dare he touch her? How dare he take liberties?

"Nae, thank ye." She turned and paid for the butcher. "I must get back to my husband."

The soldiers surrounded her. She was trapped between the butcher's stall and the soldiers. Before she could do anything, Willow neighed loudly and pawed the ground with her front hoof.

Pushing her nose forward she thrust one of the soldiers aside, champing her teeth in front of his face. The soldier jumped out of the way lest the horse take a bite out of his cheek.

Elspeth was thankful for the distraction. She took the opportunity to mount Willow and wheel the horse around.

A hand grabbed at her ankle. Elspeth shrieked. One of the soldiers held her and tried to pull her down. Pulling her leg away she then pushed forward, and she kicked him in the middle of his chest with all her might. He went sprawling in the mud.

The black-eyed soldier unsheathed his sword, murderous intent clear in his face.

"Go, Willow!" she urged the horse.

Willow reared back on its hind legs and kicked at the approaching soldiers with its forelegs.

Then the horse wheeled around as if it understood the danger of pursuit and galloped toward the woods, away from Bruce and their camp.

Elspeth leaned forward, her hand resting on Willow's powerful neck. She kissed the horse, grateful for Willow's intervention in what could have been devastating for her. Risking your reputation by running away was one thing, having strange men push and pull at you was detestable.

Wiping tears from her cheeks, Elspeth sent a prayer of thanks up to God for gifting her with such a loyal animal, and then a prayer of safety for Bruce.

They needed to get away for now. Slowly they would make their way to the camp, avoiding the main paths and capture. Bruce would understand the urgency to get away. They could not risk capture. Capture meant death for Bruce, and much worse for Elspeth. She had read it in the black-eyed soldier's eyes.

The memory of them made her shudder.

After fifteen minutes of going South, she dismounted and walked Willow off the path. She took the time to scuff out Willow's tracks to confuse her pursuers. Then she wheeled West and took an overgrown path to Loch Lomond. She hoped the soldiers would follow her tracks and go straight to Glasgow for their trouble.

As she neared camp a new worry flourished in her chest. How would Bruce react? He was already strangely cold toward her. Now that she had risked his mission he would be furious. This alone would convince him that he had been right all along and that this was no place for a woman.

But when she reached the camp, Bruce was nowhere to be found. The fire was burning low, the saddlebags had not been disturbed, his horse was grazing peacefully nearby, but there was no sign of Bruce.