The Time Traveler's Christmas - Amy Jarecki Page 0,96
other supplies pulled by two enormous oxen. Perhaps the five pack mules laden with tarps, cooking pots and candlesticks. But in all likelihood, the reason for his angst was probably a compilation of everything. Bottom line, he just didn’t feel right. The fact that he was armed with sword, dirk and daggers up his sleeves and in his boots didn’t make him any more comfortable, either.
Lachlan took up the rear while Hamish led the retinue. The best man for the job, the old guard knew nearly every byway between Avoch and Stirling. If anyone could lead them across the Cairngorms, it was he.
After they set out, Andrew raced ahead and doubled back several times.
“We’re nearly to Inverness,” Christina said. “Please stay near me.”
The lad rolled his eyes. “Ye talk to me like I’m a wee bairn.”
“Oh? How are ye to protect your mother racing your horse around like ye’re on a picnic?”
“Lady Christina’s right,” Hamish barked from his place in the lead. “Stay near your mother. Ye never ken when outlaws are lurking in the shadows until they’re upon ye.”
Lachlan further didn’t like it when Hamish led them straight into the town of Inverness, leading the horses into a yard alongside an alehouse. He spurred his mount straight up to the bumbling man-at-arms. “Why the hell are we stopping?”
“Supplies, ye maggot.” Hamish hopped down and loosened his horse’s girth strap. “Besides, we always call into Inverness to wet our whistles.”
Wonderful. They had at least five days of riding ahead of them and they were planning to mosey into an alehouse and inebriate themselves?
Christina stopped her mount alongside Lachlan’s. “My guess is ye still are not accustomed to these times,” she whispered so no one else could hear.
“You’ve got that right.” He helped her down and inclined his lips to her ear. “In my time, it takes no more than three hours to drive from Inverness to Stirling.”
Her mouth and eyes gaped in disbelief. “Ye’re jesting.”
“Nope. A lot of progress happens in seven hundred years. You’d be blown away.”
“I’d be what?”
“Amazed.” He pressed his hand in the small of her back. “Let us wet our whistles quickly so we can ride out of here. The hairs on the back of my neck have been standing on end since we left Ormond Castle.”
“I hope ’tis not a sign from the medallion.”
“Me as well.”
“Come along, Andrew,” she called over her shoulder.
Lachlan kept his hand in the small of Christina’s back while they walked through the oak door. Like most sturdy buildings he’d seen, the alehouse’s stone walls were at least two-feet thick. Inside, oil lamps hung from the rafters. And it stank like a locker room with too many male bodies packed together. As a matter of fact, Lachlan only saw two other women. Buxom and nearly spilling out of their low-necked kirtles, he was certain they did more for the establishment than serve beer.
It also seemed that every traveler in northern Scotland picked this alehouse and this time to call in for a bowl of pottage and a tankard. “It’s too crowded,” Lachlan grumbled as he led Christina to a table near the rear.
“I’m going to sit up at the bar with Douglas,” said Andrew, already heading for the rowdy mob up by the barmaids.
“Be ready to ride at any moment,” said Lachlan, holding a seat for Christina.
She slid down and patted his hand. “Ye must calm yourself. There’ll be enough time for caution after we cross into the mountains. But near everyone kens the de Morays in Inverness. We’re still amongst kin.”
Planting his ass in a seat with its back to the wall, Lachlan nodded and held up two fingers to a barmaid and made a spooning motion to indicate they wanted pottage as well. He’d been around long enough to know what to expect in a place like this; ale, a bowl of stew that had been hanging above the hearth’s fire for a week, and a crust of bread if they were lucky.
“What supplies is Hamish buying? Didn’t we pack enough food?”
“We need a spare wheel for the wagon and Malcolm didna have time to make one.” Her shoulder ticked up. “Besides, we always buy hazelnuts and a half-barrel of whisky for the journey. It keeps the clansmen happy.”
“I’d be a lot happier if the men stuck to weak ale. The last thing we need is a retinue of soldiers pissed out of their minds.”
“That word is horrible.”
“I beg your pardon,” Lachlan apologized. “Perhaps I should have said in