Page 17 of Savage Kilted Highlander

“But we have already come miles!” she said quietly in obvious dismay. “How much further are you going to force me to go?”

“Today, I wantae cover another ten miles at least.”

Her face fell even further. “What! That is impossible! I will never make it.”

“Aye, ye will.”

There was short pause, during which she picked up an oatcake and examined it dubiously. “Well, will you at least tell me how many more days we have to travel before you demand the ransom? Frankly, it cannot come soon enough. I cannot wait to be rid of you.”

“Likewise,” he replied, wondering why he did not merely tell her to shut up and stop pestering him with questions. As it was, for some reason, he had found himself telling her far more than she needed to know. “Three or four. It depends on how fast we travel and if the weather holds. I have a place in mind that’ll be far enough.”

“And what will happen then?”

“I’ll contact yer faither and arrange an exchange.”

“And what will you get in exchange for me?”

“I’ve told ye before, mind yer own business.”

“And I have told you before, you have made it my business.” She held out the oatcake. “What is this?”

“ Ye’ve never seen an oatcake before?” he asked in amazement.

“If I had, I would not be asking you what it is, would I?” She hesitantly ate the cheese.

“’Tis a Scottish delicacy.” That was stretch. “Made from oats, obviously. ’Tis best eaten with butter, maybe a bit of cheese and pickles or jam, anythin ye like really.”

“Honey?” Her eyes lit up.

“Aye, ye can eat it with honey if ye like.”

She held out her hand. “Can I please have some butter and honey?”

Silently, he gave her what she asked for and watched while she slathered butter and honey over the oatcakes. Inwardly amused by her changing expression as she chewed and then swallowed, he found himself waiting for her verdict. She brushed the crumbs form her hands and said, “Mmm, that is surprisingly pleasant. I think I like oatcakes. With honey at any rate.”

Bane reached over for the knife and butter. “So, ye admit tae likin’ at least one thing that’s Scottish then,” he remarked, buttering his own oatcakes and eating them with the cheese.

“One thing,” she said with a meaningful look. “And it’s definitely not you.”

During the first part of the journey, they stuck to the forest trackways. Bane forced a protesting Constance to ride with him again, her wrists tied and hidden beneath her cloak, lest they meet anyone. Lucy followed behind, attached to them by a long leading rope. The tracks were muddy and interspersed with water-filled ruts. In order to protect the horses from mishaps, progress was necessarily slow.

Constance subsided into silence as they rode, which surprised Bane. He expected that at any moment, she would start complaining about the cold. He could not deny it was indeed cold, with pockets of freezing fog lurking in the hollows of the forest. In addition to that, Bane could smell rain in the air. When he periodically looked up through the canopy at the sky, it concerned him to see it growing increasingly overcast.

Rain would come soon, he was sure of it, and if last night was anything to go by, it would likely be another deluge. The forest would provide them some shelter, but once they came out into more open country, as they shortly would, he feared it might become of a problem. He worried that if the weather continued to deteriorate, they would not make his target of ten miles that day, and he did not know what they would do for shelter if that happened.

He had not bargained on the poor weather disrupting his carefully laid plans. He had gone ahead days before and prepared an old, deserted farm cottage for them to stay in that night, with plenty of firewood and a stock of food. There were even beds to sleep in, which he thought should please Constance. It would be far more comfortable than the cave, so she would have less to moan about.

But as time passed, and the rain began bucketing down again, he knew that without a miracle, they would not make the cottage that evening. He knew he was hardy enough to survive despite the conditions, but Constance? No. He had to find a shelter of some sort for her benefit and fast.

As he expected, once they emerged from the partial shelter of the forest, the rain hit them. Within minutes, their cloaks were soaked, though he did his best to shield Constance from the worst of it. She huddled between his thighs, pulling her hood about her head with a shiver.

Trying to ignore the icy rain drops slanting into his face, blurring his vision, he turned them up the track which ran up the side of a steep, rocky hillside to the top. On one side was a precipitous drop of a couple of hundred feet, scattered with shale, small rocks, and larger boulders.

“Oh, my God, do not make me go along there!” Constance cried when she saw it, her face a picture of terror. She covered her eyes. “It is too narrow and slippery. We shall fall and be killed!”

As though to emphasize her point, his horse chose that moment to catch its hoof on the muddy rut and slipped. Bane’s heart almost burst with fear as he clutched at the reins, half expecting they would indeed go plummeting down the hillside, just as Constance had predicated. But by some miracle, the sturdy beast managed to right itself and plodded onward through the driving rain.

More relieved than he would have liked to admit, Bane slowed down even further. He patted the horse gratefully and spoke encouraging words to it. And though, in truth, he shared Constance’s trepidation, he nevertheless sought to deliberately play down the danger so as not to frighten her even more. He worried she would become completely hysterical and thus unmanageable if he did not try to reassure her that they were safe.

“Dinnae make such a fuss. We’re nae tae near the edge. ’Tis just a wee bit muddy, ’tis all. Besides, we’re nearly at the top and it’ll be more sheltered there.” That was a bare-faced lie. They had at least another half a mile to go to the top. But he had to keep her calm somehow.