as she hated the idea of Toran’s company. The true test would be if she could actually concentrate on the evening with him there beside her.
“Where to first?”
“Mack’s.”
This was the local tavern she’d first gone to when her brother left, to gauge the sense of loyalty and purpose among their people. With the increasing numbers of dragoons on their doorstep and rumors surely spreading of Prince Charlie’s impending arrival, she was certain there would be much buzz over ale and whisky.
The ride to Mack’s was short, and they tied their horses up outside, their plain saddles not giving anything away. As was their usual, Dirk took the lead and Jenny followed, head down, keeping her features in shadow. The rest of the men walked behind her, almost hiding her from view should anyone be looking.
Inside, the tavern was crowded, and a mix of pipe and hearth smoke clouded the air. Through the haze, Jenny spied an empty table in the far corner and nodded for Dirk to lead the way. Though the table was in the corner, there were men drinking in clusters around it, but it was off to the side enough that it warranted them a measure of privacy if they kept their voices low.
Toran waved his hand in the air, which brought over a sweat-drenched serving lass with circles so deep beneath her eyes Jenny wanted to offer her a bed to rest in at Cnàmhan Broch. Her gown was threadbare, her apron stained, but she had a pleasant smile when she greeted them.
“What’ll ye be having?” she asked, her voice raspy from overuse.
“Five ales and five whiskies,” Dirk replied.
“Any food for ye? We’ve got a little bit of stew left.”
“Not just yet,” Archie answered.
They must have practiced, the four of them, for it was normally Dirk who did the talking so Jenny didn’t have to.
They bent their heads, pretending conversation as they listened to those around them. At first she only picked up on the mundane talk of work and horses, drinks and women, but then something new caught her ear. She tensed and underneath the table felt Toran’s thigh press to hers. He’d heard it too.
“Redcoats were knocking on me door earlier this morning, they was,” a man said, slurring. “Tried to tear off my daughter’s dress until she told him she was on the flux.”
Jenny swallowed hard, pressed her own thigh back to Toran’s.
“Where’s Mistress J when ye need her?” one of the men he was speaking to murmured.
“Aye. She’d have kicked his arse back down to hell.”
If only she was given the chance. Jenny’s heart ached. She would have loved to go in there and run her sword through every dragoon who dared to touch a Scotswoman without her permission. Was it Boyd again? How many women had he tormented?
“Where did they go off to?”
“I dinna know, but I’ve a sense they’ll be back. One of them was eyeing Molly with a greedy eye. I’ve a mind to send her to my cousins in the isles.”
Unless they fought, unless they stuck together, even the isles wouldn’t be safe.
They listened to more of the same, and in a low voice, Jenny asked Dirk and Toran, “Did ye come across any of them? Alive?”
Toran tapped her thigh with his, and she resisted the urge to reach under the table and grab his leg, to massage the thick muscles and pretend that none of this was happening, that Prince Charles Stuart was already reigning as regent over Scotland and England, uniting the kingdoms in peace.
“A lot of fresh prints,” Toran said. “They are everywhere.”
“Seem to be going circles ’round each other,” Dirk added.
“They are swarming the lands. Looking for something.”
“Me,” she said.
“They burned the croft down.”
There was only one croft she cared about. A chill ran down her spine. How relieved she was she’d had the forethought to get them the hell out of there.
“And the neighboring crofts?” she asked, worried about those who’d helped conceal them.
“Harassing them.”
She wasn’t surprised. “They won’t stick with harassment for long. They will become violent.”
“Aye.”
“The men all need to be armed. The women trained to defend themselves,” said Jenny.
“The men are armed,” Mac added.
“And I’m happy to train the women.” Toran’s thigh had found a permanent place pressed to hers now, and she got a certain measure of comfort from the strength of it.
“I’ll help ye,” Jenny added. “That’ll be our next message.”
They stayed another hour, listening until the tavern started to thin of guests and those remaining behind were