“Aye, lass. We should.”
With one last glance at theMermaiddisappearing into the horizon, they turned away and began walking. At first, they followed the cliffs and the going was relatively easy. Little vegetation grew so close to the cliff edge and the rock was covered only by a thin layer of turf. As they walked, Conall found himself constantly scanning the sea, searching for any sign of a vessel that might indicate the presence of the raiders, but the waves were empty in all directions, just an endless gray blanket that stretched all the way to the horizon.
Molly was silent, her head swiveling constantly from side to side as she gazed at the landscape. She didn’t complain even though he set a quick pace and the wind howled into their faces, making the going tougher than it might otherwise have been.
“Do ye recognize any of this?” he asked her. “Did ye grow up around here? In the future, I mean?”
She nodded. “Yes, sort of. South of here by quite some distance but still in the Highlands.”
“Has much changed between my time and yers?”
She thought about this for a moment. “In some ways. There are more people and roads and things, but the terrain is still pretty wild, especially in the winter. And the sea never changes. Or the weather. It’s still as much of an unpredictable pain in the arse in my time as it is in this one.”
He snorted a laugh. “Well, it’s good to know that some things remain the same.”
In fact, the Scottish weather decided to smile on them as they trekked through the morning. The clouds cleared, revealing a bright blue sky behind, the wind dropped, and the sun decided to make an appearance. Conall soon found himself sweating under his heavy cloak.
Molly halted abruptly, swung her pack from her shoulders, and took off her coat. “Too hot,” she muttered.
This left her in only a vest beneath her ‘dungarees’ as she’d called her odd trews. Her arms were bare as was the skin around her neck and top of her chest. Conall’s mouth went dry.
Dear Lord, did she have to do that? It was hardly decent and no Highland woman would be so brazen. But Molly seemed completely oblivious to his discomfort as she tied her coat around her waist, hefted the pack onto her shoulders again, and they set off.
The cliffs soon began to curve around to the west and it was here that Conall halted. “This is where we leave the coast,” he said. “It becomes broken the further we travel and turns into a patch of headlands and bluffs that would add miles to our journey were we to track them. It’s best if we turn inland now and cut straight across country.”
She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
They left behind the relatively easy path along the cliffs and instead began forging their way through calf-high heather and clinging hummocks of grass. Conall led the way, scanning the landscape to ensure they were going the right way and to keep his eyes peeled for anyone that shouldn’t be up here. Some of the raiders had escaped over the cliffs from Lanwick and might have fled in this direction. The last thing he wanted was to bump into them.
As the sun rose in the sky, the day grew warm and muggy and with it came the midges. Huge clouds of them rose from the heather until both he and Molly were forced to continually wave their arms to keep them at bay.
“Ugh! I’ve got some in my mouth!” Molly cried, spitting and coughing. She swung off her pack and scrambled to put her coat back on. Conall found himself praying the wind would return and blow the annoying little demons away.
They halted at midday and Conall managed to find them a spot in the lee of a stunted tree where the midges didn’t seem too prevalent. Molly threw down her pack and slumped spread-eagled onto her back, looking up at the sky.
Conall made them a fire, despite the warmth of the day, in the hope that the smoke would drive the insects away.
“I think I’ve been eaten alive,” Molly grumbled, sitting up and shaking some of the insects from her hair.
He smiled wryly. “Still sure ye wouldnae have rather stayed in Lanwick? They dinna have midges by the sea.”
“It will take more than a few midges to get the better of me,” she replied. “Although,” she added, scratching at her arm. “I wish the bites didn’t itch quite so much.”
Conall rose. “Wait here. I’ll see if I can find something for the itching.”
He left her by the fire and wandered from their little campsite a ways, looking for what he needed. At last he found what he was looking for: a narrow-leafed plant growing in a cluster around some tumbled rocks. He took out his belt knife, cut off some of the leaves, then returned to where Molly was waiting.
She eyed him curiously. “What’s that?”
“Bog Myrtle,” he replied. “Good for the itching.”
He took the leaves he’d picked and crushed them in his hand. They let out a pungent, sickly-sweet aroma, and Molly wrinkled her nose.
He grinned. “Ye willnae look like that in a moment.” He scooped up a handful of oozing mud, dropped in the crushed up leaves and then mashed it all together in his hands until he had a sticky paste. He held one hand out to her. “Here. Rub this on the bites. It will make ye feel better.”
She eyed the concoction dubiously. “Seriously? You expect me to smear this on my skin?”
He shrugged. “That’s up to ye, lass. Ye can put up with the itching if ye’d prefer.”
