Page 46 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

She huffed reaching for her cloak. “So, if we’re tae set off, we’d best go now in case the weather turns.”

As luck would have it, a cart must have travelled the road after the last fall snowfall. Treading in the wheel tracks, they were able to make faster progress than he’d anticipated. As they walked on, his spirits rose. Mayhap, after all, they would make it to Torridon before Sutherland’s men. He mentioned nothing of his thoughts to Aileen. His certainty that they would meet stiff resistance and have a fight on their hands when they arrived at Torridon was growing with every step.

Once the cart tracks had turned off, heading along a track that led to a distant farmhouse, their steps slowed. They plodded on, their spiraling breaths in the cold air making little puffs of mist as they went. On the road they encountered a drover and his dog walking behind a small herd of cattle travelling the route they’d just traversed. The man doffed his cap as they passed.

“Are ye heading tae Lochluichart?” Maxwell asked.

“I’m on the way tae the market in Dingwall.”

“The snow’s deeper further on. If ye’re stuck, there’s an empty cottage.” He counted eight cows and two calves. “There’s room inside fer ye and yer beasts. Ye’d find refuge there by nightfall if the weather goes against ye.”

The drover thanked him and they continued on their way.

“The lad will recall us if he is asked,” Aileen snapped.

“Aye. He might recall a fiery haired harridan in a worn-out blue gown. But we helped him, so I am hopeful he willnae. And we’ll be long gone if any of Sutherland’s men pass by. If the snow slows us down, it will dae the same for them. Besides, I dinnae ken if the Laird of the Mackenzies, whose clan lands we’re on now, would welcome the intrusion of Laird Sutherland’s soldiers.”

“Ah yes.” Aileen gave the matter some thought. “But could ye nae prevail on Mackenzie fer help? Ye’re the braither of a laird and Highland hospitality decrees he should come tae our aid.”

Maxwell shook his head. “I’d nay take me chances with either Mackenzie or Sutherland. I ken the Mackenzies are enemies tae the MacLeods. That’s too close to comfort when me dear sister is the wife of a MacLeod.”

Aileen nodded. “Aye. I see the problem. Better we avoid them all and make our way like ghosts in the night.”

“The best idea.” He gave her a quick squeeze as they went.

A little further on they approached the shores of a small loch, and there, close to the water’s edge, they found the snow had melted, making for an easy footfall. They continued on, traversing the shoreline. At the loch’s head, they entered a small village.

They drew a host of curious looks as they walked through the scattering of cottages, passing the blacksmith and a tiny stone-built church. The aroma of baking bread floating in the air drew them to a small cottage where the front door was open-wide and a sign bearing a rough-drawn outline of a loaf indicated this was the village baker.

They entered to find a tiny young woman with a mop of curly brown hair surrounded by four young ones. She greeted them with a smile. “Can I be of service?”

The children clustered around the two strangers. The woman scolded, “Ye’ve nay manners. Mind yer business and leave the lady and gentleman be.”

Maxwell smirked at hearing them referred to as lady and gentleman. Aileen, with her tangle of bright hair cascading over her shoulders and the now grubby blue gown and himself with the look of a ruffian, could hardly pass for gentlefolk.

He spoke politely to the baker. “D’ye have a loaf of bread, Mistress?”

The woman brushed a harried lock of hair under her cap and seized the hand of a child who was reaching for a berry tart where they cooled on a rack on the table.”

“Aye.” She bobbed a curtsey. “I’ve bread baking if ye can wait a while. In the meanwhile, I’ve tarts,” she waved a hand in the direction of the coveted tarts, “and fresh-baked venison pies.”

He raised a brow. “Venison?”

“The laird gives permission when there’s too many deer on the estate.” She said hastily. “Dinnae think me in league with poachers.”

Maxwell grinned, nodding to the woman. “I’d never think such a thing.” He turned to Aileen whose face had lit up at the mention of pies. “D’ye fancy a pie, lass?”

“Mmm. I fancy a pie and I fancy berry tarts and I fancy that bread that smells so good.” She took his arm and cast a beaming smile at the woman.

They left the baker’s house carrying a small tin coffret containing four berry tarts, venison pies, and a fresh-baked loaf of crusty bread. Aileen could hardly wait until they’d left the village before she insisted on opening the coffret and taking out a berry tart.

“I can see ye’re enjoying the wee tart, Aileen, but ye’ve half covered yer face in juice.”

She laughed and wiped her chin with the back of her hand and licked the juice off her fingers. “Berry tarts are the tastiest and juiciest things in the world.”

“Really?”

“Well, mayhap I ken a lad whose lips might be a challenge?” she teased.

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