A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,68
over the saddle, revealing leather breeches beneath her skirt, riding astride like the resilient Scotswoman she was.
The contact with her shapely thigh and calf, even through the layers of clothing, warmed Stuart’s blood. This was a woman made for loving, for lazing in bed with on a cold winter’s day.
He’d take steps to ensure that happened once he was finished with Gair and Padruig. The war was over, Scotland in ruins. Fiona should not stay here. After he discovered whether his house was in one piece and retrieved some items from it, he’d take her to France, and they’d wait for time to pass. Together. His heart wrenched at the thought of leaving Scotland again, but he thought he could weather exile with Fiona.
Stuart gave Fiona’s leg a pat. She glanced at him then quickly away. Stuart couldn’t see her cheeks beneath her scarf, but her forehead went a pretty pink.
Before Stuart could turn from her, Una more or less used him as a climbing tree to hoist herself behind Fiona, riding pillion. Stuart grunted as Una kicked him—surely she hadn’t meant to do that—as she settled herself behind the saddle.
Stuart made certain both women were steady before Fiona took up the reins. She spoke softly to her mount, who flicked her ears at Fiona’s voice. The beast had a wooly brown winter coat and a lighter brown mane and tail. A horse, not a pony, as rugged as the hills around them.
The stable boy tried to hand Fiona’s bag to Una, but Stuart intercepted it and slung it over his shoulder. Fiona pretended nonchalance, but Una’s silent concern was palpable. Interesting. What was in the bag they feared he’d see?
Stuart settled it on his back with his own small sack of belongings, and at last, they set off.
The bulk of the Macdonald realms lay on Scotland’s western coast and the islands, which was why those clans had been among the first to support Prince Teàrlach—the prince had arrived on the islands and worked his way eastward, recruiting his army along the way.
Not all Macdonalds had joined the cause, which had created a bitter split in the clan, dividing families and friends. Fiona’s brother had firmly stood against supporting the prince, and had finally taken up arms against his fellow Highlanders.
Broc Macdonald’s castle lay south and west of Inverness, some twenty miles distant. Very near the lands of the Camerons. They were neighbors, if uneasy ones.
They couldn’t skirt the long lake south of Inverness, because they’d run too close to Fort Augustus and other strongholds of the Hanoverians, who were still hunting Highlanders. Stuart doubted they’d give up even for Christmas.
No matter. Stuart knew these glens well, probably better than Gair and Padruig, who preferred hugging the coast so they could slip off over water. Stuart also knew the people in each village, though whether they’d hide him if asked, Stuart couldn’t say. Too much fear lay in these lands, and no one wanted to be caught with one of the rebel Scots.
Fiona rode serenely along, gazing at the surprisingly clear sky, the hills rising to their right. Stuart walked next to Fiona’s horse, where he could grab its bridle if the mare tried to bolt, though the horse seemed tame enough.
Gair, who walked a few paces ahead, following Stuart’s directions, took them up a path that rose through woods, avoiding the more habitable places along the lake. Padruig brought up the rear. Unlike Gair, he used no walking staff and had strapped his small pack to his back, leaving his hands free.
Roads in the Highlands, once off the main thoroughfares, were more like wandering tracks made by cows sometime in the Middle Ages. Stuart’s boots were coated in snow, ice, and mud before they’d gone a few miles.
“I see why ye’re up there,” he grumbled at Fiona. She hadn’t said much except for bland remarks on how lucky they were in the weather. As this time of year was usually full of pissing rain or blinding snow, Stuart couldn’t argue.
“It is drier on horseback, I grant,” Fiona said. “And Piseag is so warm.” She sank her gloved fingers into the horse’s fur.
Stuart rumbled a laugh at the name. “Ye call her ‘Kitten’?”
“What’s wrong with that? She’s gentle and soft.”
“When I was a lad, a kitten climbed me and scratched my face all over.”
Fiona’s eyes crinkled as she studied him. “Poor Stuart. I don’t see any scars on you. Well, it toughened ye for the army.”