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“I love you.”

“I love ye as well, mo leannan. We are coming up on the historic battlefield.”

“Do we need to tie on the cloths again?”

“Nae, the smell will be long gone and there will be little tae see. The birds finished their work long ago, and the ground has taken it back.” He watched the open stretch of glen ahead, where the river ran through flatter land. “But it is a battlefield all the same.”

“It makes me uneasy.”

“Aye, tae think that a King was forced tae flee this way with almost nothing, beaten and frightened.” He scowled. “The same man who held me in the dungeon at Dunstaffnage once fled through this place with his cause hanging by a thread.”

“That’s an interesting thought. On this road, right here.”

“And though I was in his dungeon, now I am here a free man, not fleein’, but ridin’ slowly on my fine horses, talkin’ tae my wife on the history of Alba. Fortune can change at any time.”

I chuckled. “My husband — we’re riding through battlefields, talking about losing battles, and he remains ever hopeful.”

He dramatically swept out his arm. “Tis easy tae be hopeful when we ken how somethin’ will turn out. We ken that Robert the Bruce is an important king, that he vanquishes England, completely, and Scotland rules history forever, always free from the scourge of English tyranny.”

“Um, not exactly.”

“Wheesht, mo leannan, ye canna interfere with m’pronouncements. I am always right.”

I rolled my eyes.

We rode across the King’s Field without stopping and it looked like any other piece of wet ground — rushes, old hoofmarks, a few black cattle in the distance.

I was exhausted by the time the wide, beautiful valley of Glen Dochart opened ahead of us and then we got to Killin.

Torin had told me that there would be a cascading river, but I was still surprised at how loud it was — a hard, steady roar. We heard it before we saw the village, the Dochart river, tumbling over the rocks. Beyond it was the long dark reach of a loch.

Torin said, “That is Loch Tay. At the far end of it is another Campbell stronghold, Balloch castle. Ye ever heard of it?”

I shook my head.

“I would like tae show ye sometime. In two hundred years the Campbells will hae castles all across this land, but now, I daena ken if it exists yet. We ought not take the time tae see.”

“Too bad we don’t have the drone.”

His eyes went wide. “Och, that would hae been useful. But I will bring ye back again in my time and show ye the castles when we know they are guarding the lands.”

I said, “Deal.”

There was no bridge to speak of.

I huffed, then said, “I’m not huffing at you, Torin, it’s just that I’m tired and told myself that when my feet touched the ground next it was going to be in an inn, not a riverbed.”

“I canna carry ye. Yer feet will hae tae be in the water.”

“I know.” I sighed, dramatically. “I will have to suffer.”

The crossing was only a few laid stones, slick with spray. Dude slept through it, not worrying one whit, and for all my complaining, my shoes didn’t even get wet. The horses splashed through because they didn’t care.

On the other side were a handful of low buildings built of turf and stone, with thatch roofs, dark with age. Smoke rose from a chimney into the damp air. Cattle moved in a muddy enclosure, and that river roared.

The inn was the largest of the grouping of houses, but that was not saying much. One long room, a door that hung unevenly, a yard of churned mud, and a lean-to stable that smelled strongly of horse. I wrinkled my nose and really hoped we wouldn’t have to sleep in the stable again.

The sign, if it had ever had one, was long gone. The smell of peat and boiled grain greeted travelers at the threshold.