I set myself the task of finding dry kindling for a fire. The sun had obligingly risen strong and warm in the early morning sky and the air around me stirred with little more than a breeze. I combed the ground for anything that looked remotely suitable for burning. Having been marginally successful in my quest, I returned to the small makeshift campsite to find Simon sitting on the edge of the loch, hands clasped around his knees. Hearing my approach he turned to me with a smile sweeping over his face and patted the ground next to him.
“Come, sit with me,” he said. Gathering my sodden skirt I sank wearily next to him. There was a long silence as we sat looking at the reflections in the water of the loch. Simon was the first to break the tranquility. “We should ride under the cover of darkness,” he said thoughtfully. “We covered our tracks when we crossed the river but the military will be looking for their horse and money. I can’t hide it if we are out riding with it for all to see.” He rubbed his head in frustration. “You will need to get out of those wet clothes or you will catch your death. There is a cotton shirt and pair of trousers in the saddlebags, not quite as lass-like as you may wish for, but dry at least.”
“You want me to wear trousers?” He nodded absently.
“Thank you Simon, but I will be fine with my dress.”
“No, Corran, you will not be fine in that dress, you are soaked to the skin in it. Now take it off and it can be drying while you sleep,” he raised his hands to his head again.
“Will you stop rubbing your hands through your hair like that? You do it whenever you are frustrated and right now you have no right to be annoyed. You can’t expect me to wear men’s clothes.” Much to my shame I realized that I had actually stamped my foot. A flush of embarrassment filled my face.
“Bloody hell lass!” he exclaimed. “Will you just for once do as I ask?”
“I don’t need the clothes. I am fine,” I barked in reply, making a decided effort not to stamp my foot again.
He sighed heavily, lifting his hands to his head. He checked himself and then dropped them back by his side. “If you are as fine as you say you are, then please explain to me why you are turning a rather odd shade of blue?”
I knew I looked a sight and was in imminent danger of freezing to death, but I objected fervently to being told what to do. I also disliked intensely being treated as a child, even though I had to admit, if only to myself, that stamping my foot was a rather childish thing to do. So therein lay my real objection to changing into the dry trousers. It was not what I would look like in them; it was the simple fact that I was not prepared to be told what to do. The question that remained however was in whether I was prepared to suffer the unpleasantness of the wet gown and possible death for the sake of my objection. The sun had risen warmly but the air still held the icy chill of winter. The colder I became, the less convinced I was that freezing to death was a worthy way of proving my maturity. I shivered involuntarily and glanced at Simon to see if he had noticed. Shaking his head in disapproval, he frowned, leaving me in no doubt that he had noticed the shiver.
“Eee lass you are a foolish, stubborn one,” he muttered, getting up from the bank of the loch and strolling over to the horse. Removing a bundle of cloth from one of the bags, he dropped it next to me. “Put these on or by God I will do it for you and I shouldn’t think you would like that very much.”
I needed no further encouragement as the shivers had taken hold of my body so forcibly that my teeth were chattering. His large frame stood over me, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
“Well turn around then,” I snapped, reaching for the trousers and shirt.
“Alright, but you had better be out of that wet gown when I see you again,” he ordered, turning to retrieve the wood and retreating to the bank of the loch to build the fire.
Removing the wet dress was by no means an easy task and I rather wished he could have helped me. It clung to my body like a limpet and the added disadvantage of an injured arm meant that it took me much longer than it normally would to change out of the heavy dress and shift. Eventually, however, I did manage to extract myself from the gown; and the crisp dry cotton shirt and woolen trousers proved a very welcome exchange, although I was not prepared to admit that to anyone but myself. Self-consciously I gathered the bundle that was my soaking dress and shift and took it over to the fire. One corner of Simon’s mouth quirked up as he saw me. Outraged, I dropped the bundle and swung my good arm to slap him, but he caught it before it reached him. He was now smiling broadly down at me.
“Now that wouldn’t be a good idea, would it?”
“Let go of me,” I insisted.
“Are you going to try and slap me again if I do?”
My eyes were wide with indignation but his grasp on my arm was firm, leaving me in no doubt that he was not about to let me vent my frustration on him. Eventually, I shook my head and he released his grip on my arm. We faced each other, his eyes twinkling with amusement, mine burning with defiance and anger.
“There are worse things in the world than to wear a pair of men’s trousers,” he said, throwing his head back and laughing heartily. Anger and humiliation burned in my face as I retrieved my sodden dress from the ground and flung them untidily over a rock by the fire.
“Are you going to get some sleep?” he said, absentmindedly prodding the fire with a stick.
“No thank you, I will be fine,” I said, immediately regretting my haste to decline the opportunity to rest. With the throbbing in my head and ache of my arm, I felt thoroughly exhausted and actually longed to wrap up in a plaid and lie down.
“Are you planning on catching up on your sleep while we ride then?” he replied flippantly.
I shot him a defiant stare, my eyes once again burning angrily.
“You think I could sleep on horseback?” I barked.
“Well you wouldn’t be the first,” he broke off, his eyebrows raised in jest. “And you won’t be riding alone.” A teasing smile spread across his face as he handed me a plaid, adding, “Besides, it’s not like you have never slept in my arms before.”
I snatched the plaid from him and wrapped it tightly around me. Refusing to meet his eyes, I turned my back on him, looking for a suitable spot to lie down. I heard him rise and fumble in the saddlebags. He came back over toward me and stretched a rough woolen blanket between two bushes creating a canopy above me. “It might rain. This will not keep you totally dry but it should keep out the worst if we do get a shower.” He bent down and patted the top of my head affectionately, “Sleep well, Corran.”
I awoke just before sundown, to the ache of my arm and the cramp of hunger in my stomach. Using my left arm to steady myself and my thigh muscles for leverage, I pushed myself up from the ground. A quick glance around the camp told me that Simon had packed up the saddlebags and killed the fire. The blanket above me was gone and I watched him as he fixed our newly acquired possessions to the horse. Its ears stood up as he stroked his hand over its head, whispering something as he did. He turned to see me watching him and smiled softly. “Are you alright lass? You look a little pale,” he said as the shadow of a frown passed over his eyes.
I nodded, touched by his obvious concern. “It’s just my shoulder that pains, but I am sure it will be fine in a bit,” I said, casting a concerned eye over the rock on which I had left my dress. “Where are my clothes?”
“They are not dry enough for you to wear yet, but I think your boots will do.”
He strode purposefully toward me, holding my boots out to me. I nodded, taking them from him and bent to put them on. A sharp pain pierced my shoulder; I moaned loudly, dropping the boots and grabbed my shoulder with my left hand.
“Let me look at that arm?” he said.
Slowly, I moved my hand from my shoulder. He took my hand and raised my arm in front of me. I winced with the pain, but bit my bottom lip. Looking deeply down into my eyes, he held my gaze steadily.
“This is going to hurt Corran,” he said, not moving his eyes from
mine. Before I had time to realize what he was doing, he was pushing hard against my shoulder joint with the palm of his free hand. I gasped with the pain as the joint popped neatly back into place. “Are you alright?” he asked.
I nodded, sagging to the ground and fighting to catch my breath.
“It shouldn’t hurt so much now, but tomorrow you will feel like you have been trampled by a horse.”
“Oh that’s fine then,” I quipped sarcastically.
Grinning, he ruffled the hair on the top of my head. “You are not the first to put your shoulder out lass and I wager you will not be the last.”
I scowled up at him. “Simon, you do know I am not three years old don’t you?”
“Aye.”
“Well then would you please stop treating me as if I were? I warrant you I can look out for myself as well as the next one.”
He laughed out loud, a deep throaty laugh that did nothing to improve my mood.
“I am sure you can Corran. In the meantime, and while you are with me, it would be helpful if you would just listen to me and do as you are told,” he choked through his amusement. “Now, do you feel strong enough to ride?” I had to admit that my shoulder was feeling much better. I was however, not particularly inclined to thank him for it just at this minute.
“I will be fine to ride,” I replied, straightening my shoulders and raising my eyes to meet his.
“Right then, get your boots on and we’ll be gone.”
******
CHAPTER 5
The evening settled swiftly, the moon pitched high and full in the sky. Our pace was steady and calm as we finally rode into Dundee.
“Are you alright Corran?” he asked, helping me off the horse.
I nodded, unconvincingly. “You don’t look alright,” he said.
“I feel as though we shouldn’t be here. What if the Red Coats find us? I am afraid of all these people, Simon.”
“Just follow my lead and you will be fine. Don’t worry, Corran. This is a big place and it is easier to hide amongst people in a city than it is to hide amongst trees in a forest. Trust me, I won’t let any harm come to you.”
I took his hand and let him lead me through the doors of an inn. He walked with the arrogance of a man who had nothing to fear or hide. I clung to his arm like a timid, frightened creature.
“You, man,” Simon said, summoning a shifty looking individual, huddled in a darkened corner of the room. The small, untidy creature scurried toward us, mopping frantically at his brow as he came to stand breathlessly beside us. “Are you the owner?” Simon asked.
“Aye,” he rasped, wiping fervently with his dirt-stained cloth at the new beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead.
“Good. The lady and I have need of a room for the night,” Simon boomed.
He raised his eyebrows in suspicion of Simon’s request. “Just the one room, for the one night, or will the lady and you require separate rooms and a longer stay?”
“Just the one room and the one night for now, and don’t let me hear you disrespect the lady again, you impertinent scrawny little ferret,” Simon growled dangerously, thrusting a fist full of coins into the palm of the owner’s tobacco-stained hand. The yellowed, sunken eyes of the grubby man lit up immediately.
“Ahh, yes, thank you sir, that is most generous and err... forgive me my, err... disrespect to your lady, sir. You will find the room to the left at the top of the stairs,” he groveled, hurriedly tucking the coins into a leather pouch round his waist.
“Mrs. Brun and I require a meal and a jug of ale in our room,” Simon said, taking my arm and turning toward the stairs. “Let’s hope your cooking is better than your manners,” he added, throwing his voice for all to hear. A gruff murmur of laughter rumbled across the room and I ducked as someone, without a particularly good aim, threw a crust of bread at the dark-haired owner.
“Why did you just make fun of him?” I whispered, hooking my hand into the crook of his arm.
“To knock him down a peg,” he answered bluntly.
The floor of the room was covered with straw that smelled sweet and fresh, like a meadow on a spring day. The walls were bare stone; a tiny window lay behind closed shutters and a fireplace, set in the center of the wall, waited patiently for the spark that would ignite its warmth. I frowned at Simon. “Mrs. Brun? When did I become Mrs. Brun?”
He smiled, “Well, I don’t think it will do too much good to announce who we really are.”
I nodded, thinking how odd it felt to be called by a name other than the one I had been born with. “What will you call yourself then?”
“Mr. Brun,” he said, a twinkle of mischief glinting in his eye.
“Oh,” I said, understanding him. “So we are to tell folk that we are married?”
“Aye, that is exactly what we will say.”
A knock on the door interrupted our conversation. Simon opened it to find the owner cowered in the doorway, a tray balanced precariously on his long scrawny hands. His shifty eyes darted around Simon, as he opened the door, trying to see past his large frame and into the room.
“The food,” he said, thrusting the tray toward Simon.
“Thank you,” Simon replied curtly, taking the tray from the grubby man and shutting the door firmly in his face.
“Simon, why was he trying to see into the room?” I asked, genuinely wondering what he could possibly have been hoping to find.
Simon scowled. “He is a nasty, grubby little man with a mind to match and I don’t doubt that he had hoped to find some seedy gossip.”
“But why would he expect us to provide him with gossip?” I asked, wide eyed with indignation.
“Probably, because he has seen enough folk in his life to know we aren’t married, but don’t worry your mind about it,” he comforted, “he won’t bother us again tonight. Can I pour you a mug of ale?” Not waiting for my reply, he steadily filled two large bone vessels with the thick dark liquid. I held the mug under my nose, deeply inhaling the pleasant bitter sweet smell of the ale. The heady aroma of the food hung teasingly in the air of the room and my stomach cramped in eager anticipation of its taste. Two bowls overflowed with a steaming hot beef stew, packed with cubes of bacon, wild mushrooms and leeks. I took a small sip of my drink, savoring the liquid as it slid down the back of my throat. Simon meanwhile emptied his mug in one deep mouthful, returning it forcibly to the table. Pushing his chair back, he rose and made his way to the fireplace. Hunching in front of it he removed his flint from his pocket and proceeded to spark the fire. A glorious yellow and orange glow filled the room as the sparks fed off the kindling; growing stronger and brighter.
“Now!” he said, seating himself opposite me at the table, “Let’s eat this fine smelling meal.” Emptying a large spoonful of the stew into his mouth and swallowing hard, he smiled affectionately across the table at me. “How is the food?”
“It’s delicious.” I looked up to see him staring intently at me; both elbows perched on the table, his chin resting in his hands.
“What?” I asked, unnerved at being watched.
“I was just thinking.”
I shifted uneasily. “Simon?” I said eventually, “What are you staring at?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he smiled lazily, a soft tenderness in his eyes. “I am looking at you,” he replied simply. At last his arm went out and touched mine. “You are a very lovely lass and I will do my best by you, Corran.”
The smile on my face froze as I realized with devastation that I was nothing more than a responsibility to him. Eventually, when he said no more, I rose from the table and made my way across to the fire. Standing close to it, I rubbed my hands together in the warmth of the flames, angry at my own stupidity and at him for using me to ease his conscience.
“Have you had enough to eat?” he asked from the table.
I did not turn to face him. “Aye, thank you, I am full,” I said, lifting my hand to wipe a tear from my eye. I heard the legs of his chair scrap
e across the floorboards as he rose from the table.
“I have some work to do in the city. I won’t be late. You go to bed and I will see you in the morning.”
I did not turn to face him, but stood, staring into the flames of the fire. He came up behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Are you alright wee Corran?” he said, his voice gentle and soft.
I nodded, “I am fine thank you, Simon. Just tired.”
“Right, I will bid you good night then,” he said, heading toward the door. I turned my head slowly to see the door shut behind him.
My shift was so travel worn and dirty that I did not dare to climb into the clean cotton sheets of the bed wearing it. Naked, I slid in between the smooth crisp bedding. It felt soft and cold against my skin as my bare legs glided across its surface. My head sunk against the softness of the feather pillow and I sighed deeply, closing my eyes to the world.
However, despite the luxurious comfort of the bed and the warmth of a cozy room, I did not settle well to sleep. The shutters hung open a crack, allowing a tiny sliver of moonlight to stream through the window. I could see Simon in the glow of light as he slept, hunched on a high backed chair in the corner of the room, a woolen blanket draped carelessly over him. I lay perfectly still, watching him sleep and thinking how much younger and softer he looked in the thin line of moonlight. “Simon Campbell; I love you,” I whispered to the darkness.
Dawn broke to another damp and cold day and I opened my eyes lazily to see Simon hunched over the fireplace, striking a flint on some new kindling. The air in the room was cold and I instinctively pulled the covers higher in an attempt to ward off the chill. Hearing me move, he turned around. “Morning,” he said softly, his face drawn and tired. Judging by the dark rings under his eyes, I guessed he had not slept any better than I. “I have some errands to run this morning. Will you be alright if I leave you alone for a few hours?”