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A Scot on the Rocks

Page 68

by Cynthia Luhrs

“Dinna take Mally through there.”

Olivia followed his gaze. “Why?”

“The stones are slick where the water narrows, and the current cuts deeper than it looks. Go higher, where the burn spreads.”

She studied both crossings before guiding the pony toward the wider one. “And those dark patches beside the rushes?”

He nodded. “Soft ground. See how the moss is nearly black around them and the grass grows longer?”

Olivia leaned slightly forward in the saddle, looking where he pointed.

“After enough rain, ye can put a foot through ground that looks sound and sink halfway to yer knees. Keep the pony on stone or firmer grass until ye ken the hill.”

The pony stepped through the burn without difficulty and climbed the opposite bank, pausing only long enough to test whether a tuft of grass beside the path might be worth a nibble.

At the next rise, he stopped Bess and pointed toward a shallow hollow below.

“Talk.”

Olivia looked at him. “About what?”

“Tell Mally what ye think of her.”

She looked down at the pony. “I think she’s stubborn, greedy, and a bit of a pig.”

Her voice carried across the hollow.

“Now ride behind that shoulder.”

She guided Mally below the rise until horse and rider disappeared completely.

Jamie waited until he could no longer see the top of her head.

“Olivia.”

“I can hear you.”

“Can ye see me?”

“No.”

He rode forward until she came into view. “The ground hides sound differently than it hides people. A man might hear ye without ever seeing where ye stand.”

She twisted in the saddle to look back at the hollow. “So if somebody was moving whisky, they’d stay below the ridge.”

“When the route allows it. Never ride the skyline if someone may be watching. A man against open sky can be seen from much farther away than one beneath the slope.”

“And the road?”

“Useful when ye want to be found.”

She smiled at that. “That sounds familiar.”

Jamie glanced across at her. “Does it?”

“People who don’t want the authorities noticing them tend to stop using the places they expect.”

There was nothing shocked in her tone. She’d found out he smuggled whisky, heard what the Crown charged, called the government thieves bastards loudly enough to nearly cost him a pan of eggs, then had gone on eating her breakfast. The widow Bennett was a most remarkable woman.