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She didn’t know which was worse, the pain under her ribs, or her difficult breathing, but she bore it in silence, glad he hadn’t abandoned her to save his own skin. He didn’t seem to even notice her weight. He was as lithe and sure-footed as one of the deer that roamed these hills, but after a while even his breathing became harsh and laboured.
They crested two more hills and then he stopped. ‘Get your head down.’ He threw himself flat and she did the same, lying on her back, trying to catch her breath.
‘If I tell you to run, head for the burn at the bottom,’ he instructed, his voice a rough rasp. In a crablike crawl, he went to the top of the rise behind them and once more lay flat, looking out. She tried to listen, but all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. She kept her gaze fixed on Ian, ready to run should he give her the signal. Or at least try to run. She wasn’t sure she could take another step.
He sauntered back to her with a grin on his face. He actually looked as if he was enjoying himself. She wanted to shake him. She pushed to her feet. ‘I assume they took the bait?’
‘They did that.’ His grin widened. ‘If we are lucky, Beau will beat them back to Dunross.’
She couldn’t help an answering grin.
His expression turned serious. ‘We are not out of the woods yet. They no doubt have a glass and, if they realise there is no rider, then they will circle back. We must hurry.’
‘Hurry where?’
He grinned. His blue eyes danced. ‘Over there.’
This time he directed her across the hillside, rather than down. He seemed to be searching the ground, for what she couldn’t imagine. There was nothing here.
He dropped to his knees and parted the heather around a large boulder. ‘Ah, here it is.’ He pulled aside what had looked like twisted clumps of dead heather on solid ground, but was really more like a thatch covering a deep scoop in the side of the hill.
‘In you go.’
A quick breath of fresh air and she crawled in. A strange smell filled her nostrils. Peat smoke and something else. Trusting he knew what he was about, she turned around and waited.
He followed, pulling the undergrowth back in place. It wasn’t completely dark inside. As her eyes adjusted, she realised they were in some sort of earthen room and that daylight came in through chinks in a roof made of brush.
The space, a sort of earthen cave, contained a couple of stools, a rotten straw pallet in one corner and a rusted metal object standing on the remains of a fire. A twisted piece of metal hung down beside its chimney. ‘What is this place?’
He drew her close and placed a finger to her lips. ‘Listen.’
Over the thud of her heart, she heard a different kind of thud. Horses. The sound vibrated up through her feet. They sounded very close. Would they trample over what was a very flimsy roof and end up falling in on top of them? The sound of her breathing and her heartbeat filled her ears.
She could only imagine what was happening outside. Without thinking, she drew close to his large protective form. Strong arms went around her, holding her firmly. She snuggled closer, listening to the strong steady beat of his heart instead of the sound of nearby horses, drawing strength and courage from his warmth and his closeness, wanting to burrow deeper every time they came so close she could hear the laboured breathing of the horses.
Slowly the sounds receded.
‘Whoever is in charge has a brain,’ Ian murmured into her hair. ‘I’m thinking the rest of the group followed Beau, but he sent a couple this way just to be sure. No doubt they will be back the moment they discover they were tricked.’
‘How comforting,’ she said, easing away from him. It seemed to her that he was reluctant to let her go, as if he had drawn some comfort from having her in his arms.
What an imagination she had. The sooner they left here the better.
She patted her hair, smoothing her skirts, hoping she did not look as if she had just huddled against him like a frightened child.
He hissed in a sharp breath. One of pain.
She recalled his jerk and the cry right after the shot. ‘Did they hit you?’
She felt sick. Nauseous. Her father wouldn’t have ordered him shot. He wouldn’t.
‘A scratch. The ball was spent.’
Her knees went weak. ‘I should look at it.’
‘It is fine.’
She wanted to believe him. ‘Perhaps I should look at it just to be sure? It’s too dark in here to see anything. We should go outside.’
‘Not yet. Not until we are sure they are not coming back. It will be hard for them to return to this exact spot. Since they will expect us to run, we will stay put. We’ll move on in the morning. More carefully.’
‘What of Beau?’
‘He’s used to these hills. He’ll go home.’
‘And if they catch him?’
He shrugged. ‘They will eventually. Either on the hoof or at my house. He was an army horse before I bought him. He’ll probably be happy to rejoin.’
But Ian wasn’t happy. She could hear it in his voice.
She once more looked around the cave. The smell had an underlying musty scent. ‘What is this place?’
His mouth tightened as if he preferred not to say. She stiffened her spine against the hurt of his distrust. ‘It was an illegal whisky still.’
He had trusted her after all. Something inside her softened. She sat down on the stool, looking up at him. ‘How did you know it was here?’
He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the gloom. ‘Just brimming with questions, aren’t you, Lady Selina?’
‘How do you know the soldiers don’t know about this place?’
‘No one does.’ He crouched down and poked around in the fire. ‘It hasn’t been used in years. It was my father’s.’
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to say where they were headed. In a strange way she felt honoured.
‘Is your arm really all right?’
‘It stings like the blazes.’
She winced. ‘You could have been killed.’ Or she might.
‘Aye.’ He picked up the saddlebag and sorted through it, setting out its contents on the floor. ‘Flint. A couple of candles. Oats. Bannocks wrapped in cloth. A flask.’ He shook it and something gurgled inside it.
‘What is it, water?’
He opened the stopper and sniffed. ‘Something better. Whisky.’
She huffed out a breath. ‘Water would be better.’
He chuckled and the sound was warm and low and easy. ‘There’s clean water in the burn, lass.’
‘So now we just sit here and wait for morning,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Do you have somewhere we can go next?’
‘I’ve a friend to the south and east of here. Captain Hugh Monro. He has contacts. He might lend us a horse. Or even a cart.’ He looked at her. ‘The thing is, I am just not sure he would see my side of it. He’s a law-abiding man. I doubt he’d approve of smuggling, no matter the reason behind it. And he is more than a day’s walk away.’
More walking. And worrying about being shot at.
‘We’ll make ourselves as comfortable as we can tonight,’ he said. ‘When it gets dark, I’ll fetch water from the stream. We will eat the bannock and we will soak the oats for the morning.’
‘It sounds most appetising,’ she murmured.
He cracked a laugh. ‘A banquet.’
She rubbed her arms. The warmth she’d gained from walking and running had faded. Chill now seeped into her from the surrounding damp earth. In a while, it would be dark and much colder. ‘Do you think we can light a fire?’
‘If we hadn’t been seen, I’d risk it, but they might come back once they catch Beau.’
They would have to make do without heat, then. They had one blanket between them. Sadly, the other had gone with the horse. Although he did have his kilt, which had dried over the course of the day.
‘Why did your family abandon the still?’
He grimaced. ‘The gaugers get wind of them and destroy them. See, the kettle’s been split with a hammer.’
She stared at the odd-shaped stove. ‘How does it work?’
‘This metal kettle here is a wash still, and when it is heated up over the peat fire, the steam containing the alcohol passes up the chimney and then down the worm, the coiled pipe there, and into a spirit still. All that’s left here is the first part of the process. Father used to prepare the mash in a local farmer’s barn and then bring it up here to turn it into whisky. Good whisky, too. We’ve a dram or two left in our cellars.’
There was pride in his voice. Over illegal whisky. It was a world in which she was a foreigner. The thought made her feel rather dismal.
‘We should eat now, while we can still see.’ He glanced upwards and she became aware of just how much the light had faded.
He unwrapped the bannocks and handed her one. They were surprisingly tasty. Or was she so hungry that anything would have tasted good? There were six altogether. She ate two. When he had wolfed down three of them he eyed the one remaining. ‘Do you want it?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said lightly. ‘I couldn’t eat another bite. You finish it.’
He didn’t speak.
She looked up to see him watching her. It was hard to fathom his expression, his eyes looked so dark. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Why do you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘Lie to me in that stupid little voice. Eat the bannock.’
She flashed hot. ‘You need it more than I do.’
‘Right, and I am the kind of man who takes the food out of the mouths of women and children.’ He stood up and bent to rake around in the rubbish in the corner. A grunt of satisfaction told her he’d found what he was looking for. When he stood up, she saw he had an old and bent metal pot in his hand. She couldn’t understand why he looked so pleased.
He must have sensed her puzzlement. ‘I recall using it the last time I was here. If it had been gone, we would have had to use the flask for water.’
‘And thrown out the whisky,’ she said.
‘Never.’
‘You’d rather do without water, than waste the whisky. I should have guessed.’
‘Uisge-beatha, lass. The water of life.’
She watched him leave, a smile on her lips, then tackled the last of the bannocks.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_ebc0b239-5ab7-54d6-8cba-ae5d234abef9)
By the time he returned with water, their dwelling was pitch black and a chill permeated the air. Perched on the stool, wrapped in her blanket, she really wished they could light a fire. She forced her teeth not to chatter, though stilling her shivers was harder.
The sound of Ian’s breathing filled the small space. She sensed him fumble around, heard the clang of metal on rock and guessed he’d set down the pan of water. ‘I’d forgotten how dark the night can be out here,’ he muttered.
And how cold, she wanted to add. She shivered. ‘Are you sure we can’t light a fire?’
He hesitated, then sighed. ‘It would be a mistake. I think we can light one of the candles, though. Its flame is too small to be seen at any great distance.’
The sound of steel striking against flint only made her think more of warm fires. Yet when the wick caught and the small light flared, putting shadows in the corners of their small den, it did seem a bit warmer.
Then she noticed his grimace and the way he flexed his left hand.
She got up from the stool. It was a rickety old thing and did not sit flat on the ground, but it was all they had. ‘Sit down and let me look at your arm.’
‘Getting a little bossy, aren’t you?’
‘Sit.’
He sat.
She took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps you should take off your jacket, so we can see how bad the wound really is. It won’t help us if you become ill.’
‘Aye, I suppose you are right.’
‘I wish we had some basilica powders.’
Looking surprised, he eased first one arm out of his coat and then, wincing, drew it slowly off the other arm. The fabric was dark with blood.
She gasped. Her stomach rolled. The blood seemed to drain from her head and the small space spun around. His coat had hidden the extent of the wound.
‘Oh, Ian,’ she whispered, ‘you need a doctor.’
‘It is not as bad as it looks,’ he said through gritted teeth as he pulled the fabric away from the wound. He cursed softly.
Throat dry, she swallowed. ‘We should clean it.’
