Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T he sea grew choppy as they approached the Firth of Dornoch and it took all of Maxwell’s strength to hold their southerly direction as their little birlinn danced and bounced over the ever-mounting waves.
Once they’d made the crossing and entered calmer waters, he kept a watchful eye on the surging water, hoping to find a naust or a natural curve in the coastline that indicated a cove where they might take shelter. Aileen held the sail steady but he could see from the way her head drooped she was in sore need of a rest.
At last, he felt the rushing of water that told him they were nearing an inlet. He allowed the surge to guide them through a break in the coastline which after some time took them into a small pebbly beach. He seized both oars and rowed them as close as he could to the dark outline of the shore. Once there, he kicked off his boots and tied the laces at his neck before going over the side into the ice-cold water and hauling their craft as far up the beach as he could. Then he swung Aileen into his arms and helped her walk across the pebbles to a place where rocks and bushes offered some shelter from the bitter wind.
She took off the leather satchel that she had slung over her good shoulder.
“Here.” Unlacing the tie and opening the bag she held it out to him. “There are salves and stockings inside ye can use to bind my shoulder.”
After taking a stocking from her pack, he peeled back the fabric of her tabard, now stained with her blood. He dabbed at the cut, cleansing it with salt water he garnered from a pool in the rocks.
She winced, gritting her teeth, and he paused, concerned at causing her more pain.
“Keep on, MacNeil. ’Tis nae a deathblow, ‘tis just a mere nuisance that will hamper me arm fer a day or so.”
Gingerly spreading the pungent ointment over the deep cut, he grinned at her show of toughness. “Aye lass, it will be good in nay time.”
Once her shoulder was dealt with and her tabard and cloak adjusted, she snuggled closer and he took her in his arms, warming her.
“We’ll catch a few winks of sleep here fer what’s left of the night. But we must be off at first light. That swine Sutherland will likely be hot on our trail.”
She nodded sleepily, and in no time her breath was steady and deep as she slept. Gazing at her sleeping form he was mindful she was now in his care, just as he was in hers. From here on, each of them depended on the other. It was a bond that could never be broken without lives being put at risk. This could have been an onerous burden, yet it seemed a simple thing to place himself at her disposal and, in return, accept responsibility for her protection.
Holding her fast, he dozed, determined not to succumb to the sleep he so desperately wished for. It would not take much for Sutherland’s men to estimate how far they had come. As this was the only refuge they’d encountered, anyone in pursuit would readily calculate this to be a place they might be found. He made up his mind that when dawn came, they’d be on their way.
But from here on, they would leave the sea and make their way along the shore, abandoning the little birlinn that had brought them this far.
In his mind he mapped the route they must take. The distance was great. They had to cross Scotland from the east to the west, and it would be many days before they reached his home island. Without doubt, Sutherland would be aware of their destination and, while he might not send men to track them overland, when they crossed the sea to the Isle of Barra, he was in no doubt Sutherland’s men would be waiting for them.
Meanwhile, one thing he could be certain of, the wicked Scottish winter rapidly closing in was a constant danger.
Despite his determination to stay awake, he finally succumbed to Morpheus’s lure and slept fitfully until dawn’s grey light penetrated his dreams. He stirred, waking Aileen, who grumbled at being disturbed.
He chuckled. “Mayhap ye’ve forgotten where ye are, lass. We’ve nay time tae be snuggling asleep. We need tae be up and on our way with all speed.”
She groaned and rolled out of his arms, rubbing her eyes. Maxwell got to his feet and reached a hand to help her up.
The drank greedily from the flask of fresh water Aileen had brought in her satchel and then set off. They skirted the shore, eventually reaching a path that led them inland. Not far along that path they joined a road already busy with farmers’ carts.
Walking alongside one of the carts loaded with hay, Maxwell asked the farmer where he was heading.
“Along the road. Further a few miles.” It turned out he was not heading to market in the nearby town of Dingwall, but was on his way to a neighbor’s farm with hay for his wintering cattle. Maxwell thanked him and turned to Aileen.
“It seems we sailed further than I thought last night. We entered the Cromarty firth, and this road leads into Dingwall. Mayhap fer a coin, one of the farmers would be kind enough tae let us ride in his cart as far as the village.”
Aileen was happy to oblige, extracting a silver coin from the pouch she had slung at her waist. In no time they were in a farmer’s cart, along with a load of carrots and neeps, lumbering along the road, surrounded by cattle and sheep being driven to market.
Once they arrived at the bustling market town, they made their way to an open-air stall, hoping to break their fast with hot sausages and bannocks.
The stout woman in charge of the sausages looked Aileen up and down, casting a disapproving look over her britches and untidy hair.
“Where did ye two come from?” she said, narrowing her eyes “Ye look like the devil’s spawn.”
Seeing Aileen straighten her shoulders and stand tall, Maxwell placed a gentling hand on her arm as she drew in a sharp breath, preparing to make what he had no doubt was a stinging retort to the woman.
“Aye, good lady,” he said using a pleasant tone accompanied by a sweet smile at the woman. “I’ve often told me wee wifey that she should look more like a lass than a lad. But she does like her britches.” He gave the woman a wink and she visibly wilted under the sparkle in his blue eyes.
Aileen huffed and walked away, pausing to purchase some apples from another stall while Maxwell, having sweet-talked a smile out of the sour-faced woman, joined her with his bounty of a good serving of the peddler’s hot sausages and bannocks.
They found a quiet spot under a tree to break their fast.
Aileen couldn’t contain a snort of laughter. “I didnae ken ye could charm the birds out of the trees and soothe the crankiest of old harridans.”
Maxwell couldn’t resist teasing her. “Which old harridan did ye have in mind? I thought I’d been soothing ye ever since the night we met in Ullapool.”
“Och. Ye’re nae funny, Maxwell.” She laughed at his cheek, despite herself. “Ye kent well what I meant.”
He laughed with her and they settled to breaking their fast with a sense of merriment that had long been missing from their exchanges.
They made short work of the little feast and once they’d brushed off the crumbs, they were ready to face their journey again.
“I say we head west from here. It will make it harder for Sutherland’s soldiers to find our trail if we avoid the sea from now on. We can make it to Torridon in two or three days if the weather holds and we meet no further mishaps along the way.”
Aileen nodded. “Aye that’s a plan. From Torridon we can sail the sea loch and along the coast again.” She looked around nervously, aware of the curious stares of the villagers.
“We’ll be recalled as strangers if anyone comes seeking us.” She dipped her head, not wishing to allow anyone a clear view of her face. “We need tae call ourselves by lowland names. I ken this burgh belongs to the Laird Ross. He’s nae friend tae Sutherland, but I dinnae ken if I’d meet wi’ his favor either.”
“Mm. Mayhap the Lord doesnae favor pirates.”
She offered a wry grin. “Mayhap.”
“Turnbull.”
“What dae ye mean?”
He chuckled. “That’s a fine Lowland name. Let us from now on become William and Alice Turnbull, of Dundee, two servants in search of a master.”
“Aye, William. And are we wed?”
“Indeed Alice, we’re nae braither and sister.”
She laughed. “I’ll be yer wee-wifey again.”
He looked at her with his penetrating blue gaze. “Mayhap we’d best find a pretty gown fer ye tae wear instead of those britches. That old wife will recall ye as a witch in yer trews if anybody comes asking.”
She sighed. “But they are so much more comfortable than a kirtle.”
“And mayhap we should make yer hair look less like a bird’s nest than it is right now.”
She tossed her head, glaring at him. Nevertheless, she undid her braids and ran her fingers through her hair, untangling it and smoothing it so that it fell over her shoulders and down her back.
They found their way to a hawker selling all kinds of implements from hoes to scythes, as well as a selection of garments. Among his wares they found a blue gown that was a fit for Aileen’s tall figure. After they’d gone beyond the crowded market, she slipped into a secluded spot in a small woodland where she stripped off the britches and replaced them with the gown.
“Very fetching, I must say.”
She growled. “Ye may keep yer mouth closed.”
Smiling broadly, Maxwell shouldered her satchel and they made their way along the road to the west.
They trudged throughout the day enduring sudden rain-squalls, Aileen protecting her shoulder, Maxwell’s back and shoulders aching from his extended time at the oars.
Stumbling on the rutted cart tracks, Aileen cursed.
“Dinnae fash,” Maxwell soothed. “These roads are the shortest ways tae travel between villages. We’ll make better time if we stick tae them.”
They passed a number of farmers carts slow-walking back to their farms, and before long the village and the farms were behind them. The only sign of life for many miles was a straggle of stone cottages where crofter families worked their small plots of land.
Many times throughout the day, Maxwell turned to watch the road behind them. Once or twice a horseman cantering toward them had them leave the road and find a hiding place in the thickets of undergrowth lining the road, until the fellow passed.
Aileen peeked out at one of the riders. “He’s nay one of Sutherland’s. With crimson cheeks and a nose such as his, he’s likely the local innkeeper, or a landed gentlemen wi’ too much money tae spend imbibing wine and porter.”
It was dusk when their steps began to slow.
They’d called at one croft and purchased some hard-boiled eggs and oat bread. Aileen had refilled her flask from the cold, clear water of a bubbling stream they’d passed and as the darkness fell, they hunkered down beside the road to dine on their modest repast.
Aileen shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth and tugging her cloak more firmly around her. As the road had climbed higher into the hills, the temperature had dropped alarmingly and now the first flakes of sleet were falling around them.
“I’m tempted to ask the crofters if they’ve room in the animals’ quarters. It might nae smell pleasing, but their creatures would keep us warm.”
“Nay, Maxwell. Dinnae ask fer aid from these poor folk. It would please Sutherland nay end tae torment or torture them if he found out they’d offered us shelter.”
“Aye. Ye’re right. I dinnae wish tae risk harm coming tae these kind folk. ’Tis best we keep tae ourselves. Let’s press on a little further and see if we can find a better place tae shelter.”
He helped her rise and the two of them set off into the gathering gloom, his arm wrapped protectively at her waist.
It was almost dark when Maxwell noticed the looming shape of a cottage as they passed by on the road. There were no lights and the place seemed deserted.
“Wait here.” He left Aileen to wait by the road and went to investigate. It was as he’d thought; the cottage was empty, but still standing. Where once it must have been sturdy, with strong roof beams holding up a peat roof, some of the turf had crumbled and fallen and birds had nested in the space in the roof. But the stone walls held fast, with no holes to let in the draught. There were even a cooking pot and a kettle on the floor by the circle of stones that had been the fireplace. An old timber bench and a rough palette stood in mute testimony to the life that had once been lived here.
His spirits lifted and he hastened back to Aileen.
“The crofters are long gone, but they’ve left us a bonny space tae spend the night.”
She greeted this with a giant grin and hurried with him along the path to the cottage. Once through the creaking timber door she looked around and was quick to give instructions.
“I’ll seek fer some dry kindling while ye find some bigger branches we can use fer a fire.”
He laughed at her imperious commands but, all the same, set off into the little woodland behind the cottage. It was almost impossible to see where he was going, but he stumbled upon a fallen branch and then another large log. He lugged the pieces back to the cottage. They’d provide a fine fire that would keep them warm through the night.
Aileen was already kneeling beside the stone fireplace at the center of the room, having gathered a supply of twigs and dry leaves they could use fer kindling.
He struck his flint, and within moments small flames were leaping up. A spiral of smoke went straight to the space in the roof above. Before long he placed one of his logs on the little fire and slowly it caught fire.
Without waiting any longer, Aileen went outside again, returning some minutes later with an armful of bracken.
“This will give us a soft bed fer the night.”
As the ferns were damp, she placed them close enough to the fire for a while to dry off. Once the makeshift bedding was dry, she arranged the fronds on the wooden sleeping palette.
“There.” She looked at them proudly. “With yer cloak as a cover they’ll soften the timber fer us to sleep.”
He grinned, pleased that she’d still the energy to think of making their sleep comfortable. “Good work, lass.”
He went to the door and looked out, scanning the dark shapes of the trees, straining his ears to listen over the wind. Satisfied that they were alone, he pushed some heavy stones against the door, keep it firmly closed against the chill of the breeze.
“I fear that the sleet is already becoming snow.” Aileen rubbed her hands in front of the flames.
Maxwell shrugged, offering her a sly grin. “I can think of worse things than being snowed in wi’ ye in a wee cottage.”
She smiled back, her green eyes sparkling. “’I’ve faced many fates worse than that.”
He reached over and brushed the hair back from her forehead. Then he leaned in and planted a soft kiss where his hand had been. She grasped his hand and pressed it to her lips for a second before releasing it.
Gazing at Aileen’s face shining in the firelight he decided it could snow for a week and he’d be happy.
Once they were certain the fire was established and glowing, Aileen fished around in her satchel and came up with the apples she’d bought at the market, a small parcel of the remaining sausages, and a large chunk of oat bread.
It was only a small feast but Maxwell savored every mouthful, leaning back against the old wooden bench as they rested their worn bodies, slowly breathing in the earthy smell of peat in the smoky air.
Aileen gave a contented sigh. “I dinnae think we have aught tae fear from Sutherland’s men this night.”
He chuckled. “They’ll never find us here. If only for tonight, we can rest easy, sleep with peace, and embrace each other without fear of discovery.”
She leaned in closer. “I like that.”