He shook his head. “Can I nae look upon ye wi’ approval?”
She huffed, suddenly unsteady. How could a glimpse into someone’s eyes cause her heart to beat faster and her knees to suddenly lose their strength?
“Come, wife.” He reached for her hand and she did not object. His hand was rough and callused and he held her in a strong grip.
Both Tormod and Lamend were waiting outside the stables, Lamend already mounted on his gray pony. A stable boy held the reins of two sturdy, Highland ponies. They had already been saddled and were standing impatiently, tossing their long manes and sniffing the fresh air, no doubt keen to be on their way.
Tormod pointed to the pannier attached to Lamend’s saddle. “The cook has prepared food fer ye , so ye’ll nae be hungry and thirsty during yer ride, although ye might be a touch sore.”
Edmund dipped his head in thanks, before taking the reins from the stable boy and mounting a fine, mouse-colored, Highland pony.
As was fitting, Edmund’s pony was much stockier and larger than Annora’s lighter and daintier cream mare.
“These ponies are bred fer the crags and hillsides of Skye. They’re sure-footed and hardy and they’ll ne’er let ye down. In a snowstorm, or rain, they’ll keep on.” Lamend patted the neck of his gray stallion. “This lad has been wi’ me a long time. He almost kens which way I wish tae go.
Annora glanced dubiously at the sharp peaks and the rough terrain ahead of them.
“Ye’ve nay need tae worry yerself about riding here, lass. Yer pony will guide ye.” He chuckled. “And if ye manage tae get lost, she’ll bring ye home safe and sound.”
They set off at a pleasant walk which took them along a track leading to a grassy clifftop where they had a fine view up and down the coast. They paused, allowing the fresh sea breeze to enfold them, tasting salt, breathing the cool air.
Annora caught her breath at the sheer beauty confronting her. As far as she could see were dramatic cliffs, home to a myriad of sea birds, waves breaking on the rocks below.
Edmund crinkled his face, gazing at the bounty below and beside them. “Why ‘tis bonnie indeed.”
Lamend gave a satisfied nod. “Indeed, there’s nay finer land. I’ve been tae England, and tae the war in France as a lad, but I’ve ne’er seen aught tae compare tae the bonnie lands of Clan MacNeacail.
He pulled his pony around and they followed him down a tortuous track leading to the seafront. They continued along the rocky track where the sure-footed ponies showed their worth, never putting a hoof wrong, guiding them through seemingly impassable rock-faces. The track at last opened out and they arrived at a small cluster of houses beside a stretch of sand.
“’Tis the village of Scorrybreac. The home of fisherfolk and weavers.”
Edmund nodded. “Ah. This was where our cargo of wool was bound fer.”
“Och, lad. And very welcome it was. The work of our spinners and weavers is greatly sought after. ‘Tis one reason why our folk are well fed and happy. Their hard work is well rewarded.”
He gestured along the little cobbled street lined by neat fences and well-tended gardens. The cottages, although tiny, were newly whitewashed.
Annora observed the manner in which Edmund was carefully studying the street and the houses, seeming to pause and take stock of everything from the well-constructed fences to the tubs of flowering plants at the entrance to a cottage. If he were to become laird, these would be his people and their wellbeing would be his concern. Surely that was all on his mind.
As they walked, several villagers greeted Lamend, looking with curiosity at Edmund, who nodded to each man as he doffed his bunnet and to each woman who curtsied.
What were they thinking of this lad? He looked tall and strong, his shoulders wide and he held his head as befitted a leader. Confident in his purpose.
After they dismount and walked their horses a short distance, Lamend turned to Annora. “Would ye like tae visit and see the weavers’ wares?”
“Oh, yes. That would be grand.”
She glanced at Edmund and he nodded approvingly.
“Mayhap ye might buy a length or two of fabric so the seamstress can sew ye some new gowns.”
They turned along the path to the weavers’ cottage. Outside, two women were laboring over a cauldron dying a length of wool a most glorious indigo. Annora stopped and smiled at the women.
“This is very hard work,” she declared.
One of the two women, whose arms were stained blue, bobbed a quick curtsey. “Aye, milady, it is indeed hard work.” She screwed up her nose. “And it smells.”
The air was filled with the smell of ammonia drifting up in the steam from the vat.
