pull her up onto his horse and melt against him. To feel safe in his arms. But all of that was a fantasy, when reality was that they were on contested land in the middle of a war with an enemy known for its brutality.
“We need to make camp for the night. Have ye seen many dragoons?” she asked, ignoring the exhaustion and weariness that seeped into her bones.
“Too many.”
It was not the answer she wanted but the one she’d expected. “’Haps we ought to ride on, then. We have already split into three groups to avoid any attention three dozen of us might gain.”
“Smart. The bastards are looking for any reason to put their shot into us. We should try to get a few more leagues in, just to be safe.”
“Aye.” Jenny remounted her horse, and they rode side by side, the dozen men behind her quiet and on high alert.
The pelting icy rain started again, making the roadways slick and dangerous for the horses and skewing their senses, forcing them all to find shelter among the trees. The only good thing about it was that it would force the dragoons to stop their patrols too.
Wrapped in plaids, they crowded together, unable to make a fire which would signal their presence. They kept warm with whisky, plaids, and huddled body heat. The horses did much the same, covered in wool blankets to keep them warm. Jenny managed a few hours of sleep, jolting awake every half hour or so with the image of Hamish rushing at her and thrusting his blade into her chest.
Just before dawn they all gave up on trying to sleep and left their makeshift camp, bodies aching. They rode slowly throughout the day, shivering and cramped, until they came to a village near Perth that Jenny knew to be Jacobite sympathizers. They were able to house their horses in several barns that night, getting them warmed up, brushed down, and fattened with sweet oats. The men were also able to sleep out of the weather on piles of straw, with warm bread and stew from the crofter’s wife. Jenny prayed the rest of her men were faring well.
In the morning, they were off again. The icy rain had ceased, and they were able to pick up their pace, but snow had begun to fall in thick clumps by the time they reached the Cairngorm mountains, slowing them down once more. Her limbs were mostly numb from cold, and she’d long since lost any sense of appetite.
Once more they found a crofter who was willing to take them in for the night. When they woke the next morning, a thick snow blanketed the earth, but at least they’d had a chance to thaw their bones. They wrapped their horses’ forelegs in woolen strips for warmth and protection from the snow and then picked their way slowly along the thick snow-covered road.
Jenny had lost track of the hours and days, and the men were so exhausted none of them spoke. She’d had barely a moment to think about how grateful she was that Toran had come to join her. And every time she looked at him, she remembered their moments in Dunipace Castle. Heard his whispered words of love, saw the affection in his eyes, felt his kisses on her lips. How she longed to fall into his arms again. How she wanted to go back to that tiny room and the small cot made smaller by the bulk of his body.
That night they slept in an abandoned croft, with only half a roof and half the house filled with snow. Jenny leaned against him, accepting some of his body heat.
“Are ye all right?” he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. None of the men around them stirred, and she was grateful for his discretion.
“I will be when we get back to Cnàmhan Broch.”
“Ye’re freezing.”
There was no use denying it. No matter how much she clenched her jaw, her teeth still chattered. He took her hands in his, warming fingers that felt numb. Then he slowly tugged off her boots, pulled off her hose, and did the same to her toes. The heat of his touch sent stabs of pain through her frozen digits, but she closed her eyes and forced herself not to wince. She needed this, else she might lose a few toes and fingers.
“Sip.” He held a flask to her lips, and she drank greedily, the warmth of the liquor swirling in