“Who is waiting Simon and why the pistol?”
“You don’t need to know just yet. Trust me, I will tell you all when it is safe,” he paused, a deep frown forming on his brow. “We cannot be Mr. and Mrs. Brun now. If asked, you are to say we are Lamont.”
I nodded in agreement, despite not understanding why we had to change our names yet again, and followed him out of the tunnel in the hillside. We emerged on the sandy beach to see a group of men, all with pistols, moving crates and barrels toward the tunnel. I turned to Simon, my eyes wide with astonishment. “Simon,” I whispered, “are they smugglers?” He squeezed my hand in warning.
“Yes, but we can’t talk about it now, be hushed.” One of the men came toward us holding a package in his hands. Without a word he passed the package to Simon who took it and pushed it inside his coat. We walked purposely toward a rowing boat that was bobbing silently on the water. “Get in,” Simon said, nodding in acknowledgment to the man already in the boat. The man nodded back. Without a word spoken Simon joined me in the boat, stuffing the package carefully into one of the saddlebags.
“Get your head down Corran”, he ordered in a hushed whisper, pushing me face down into the boat. The silence erupted almost immediately into chaotic turmoil. There were gunshots and confused shouting coming from the beach. I lifted my head and strained my eyes to see what was happening on the beach, but could only make out dark shapes fighting and running on the sand. I was too afraid to move or speak.
“It’s the excise men,” Simon shouted, just in time to see the man in our boat take a bullet straight through his head. I screamed in terror as Simon grabbed my arm, pulling me out of sight.
“Keep your head down,” he whispered dangerously, hoisting himself out of the boat and onto the shore. With effort he launched the boat, then leaping back into it he began to row frantically. The boat glided quickly through the water, moving further and further from shore. I was shivering violently when eventually Simon stopped rowing. The boat rocked gently on the river as he took his coat off and wrapped it around my shoulders. Fumbling, my shaking hands drew the folds of the coat tightly together.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I shook my head, lowering my eyes to the body of the man slumped in the boat. I retched at the sickening sight of the corpse.
“Turn away,” he said, moving toward the body. Swallowing hard, he locked his arms around the man’s chest and then with a grunt of exertion Simon heaved the body over the side of the boat. It splashed as it fell, and the boat rocked slightly on the disturbed water. I could not help but watch as the body bobbed lifelessly on the surface, his shirt bubbled and filled with water and then slowly he sank out of view.
“What are we going to do Simon?” I asked.
“We will cross the river,” he said simply, reaching out his arms and pulling me tightly against him. “Don’t worry lass; the worst is over for tonight.” I lay my head against his chest and slowly felt myself relax.
Eventually, we reached the far side of the river and pulled the boat ashore. Dawn was breaking which made rest an unlikely option, but Simon paused briefly to extract some cheese and cold bacon from the saddlebags. I looked at his face as he handed me some cheese; dark shadows circled his eyes, his face looked drawn and tired and I wondered how much longer we could run. Shading my eyes against the rising sun, I could see a farm cottage up ahead. Simon, who had already spotted the cottage, was steering us toward the shelter of a clump of trees. He dropped the saddlebags on the ground and rummaged through a pocket of his trousers; obviously finding what he had been looking for, he withdrew his hand. “Corran, will you wait here for me?”
“Why Simon, where are you going? Please don’t leave me?” I pleaded, feeling suddenly panicked at the thought of being left on my own.
“I will be back, don’t worry lass. Do you see that wee farmhouse?” I nodded, silently.
“I am going to see if they will sell me a horse. We will have an easier time of it with one. There is no danger in where I am going, but I can’t take you with me. It will raise suspicion with you dressed as a man. Don’t worry, I shouldn’t be long.”
I could smell the thick homely scent of a peat fire coming from the cottage and felt a stab of painful longing for my home in the glen. Spurred by trauma and fear, I felt tears well in my tired eyes and bit my lip to hold back their flow. He drew me into the circle of his arms and held me tightly to his chest.
“Come now lass, I won’t leave you long. Be brave wee Corran and I will be back before you know it.” His words were smooth and soft, and I felt the strength of his embrace, drawing comfort from his words. He gently released me, pulling the folds of his coat tighter around me. Lightly, kissing my cheek, he turned and headed off toward the cottage.
True to his word, it was not too long before he was riding triumphantly toward me, a broad smile filling his face. Returning his smile, I hurriedly picked up the saddlebags and threw them up to him.
******
CHAPTER 9
We rode double through the day, and as the miles passed I relaxed against him. I paid vague attention to our surroundings as we rode through several small villages. Clumps of stone houses with thatch roofs, where people and animals lived cheek to jowl; through woodlands, fields and rough paths, stopping only occasionally to allow the horse to rest.
Night fell with the promise of rain, the sky heavy and black. We stopped at a clearing in some woodland, by the edge of a small running stream.
“This should be safe enough,” he said, moving to tether and feed the horse that I had decided earlier should be named Percy – much to Simon’s annoyance.
“It’s a horse lass, and one we shall have to work hard. You don’t want to be getting too fond of it,” he had said. Nonetheless, I had named him and despite Simon’s warning, had already grown too fond of the creature. I collected some kindling and Simon quickly sparked a warming fire. Rummaging through the saddlebags, I found the remains of the bacon and cheese and I shared it between us. We ate huddled in front of the fire, sheltered by the canopy of trees above and warmed by the heat of whisky and flames from the fire. It was dark under the trees, the only light coming from the fire. I watched Simon as he sat on a rock, knees bent and hands dangling between his legs. Although still drawn and tired, his dark eyes shone in the light of the fire.
“Come here.” His voice was light and playful as he reached across toward me. I moved over to him, and he gathered me in his arms, setting me gently on his knee.
“I meant what I said about the horse,” he whispered, his breath warm against my cheek.
“It’s only a name Simon. We can’t expect the poor creature to work for us and never bother to give it a name.”
“I hear you, but it will break your heart if you get too fond of it.”
“I can’t help but love the creature Simon.”
“I know,” he said, “I told you before, you love too easily.”
“Do you think me weak for it?” I asked.
“No, not weak, just inexperienced,” he paused, looking down into my face, his eyes shadowed with unease. “But I love you for it,” he said laying a gentle kiss upon my forehead.
“I need you Simon,” I whispered, eventually, turning to lay my cheek against him. The rough warmth of his stubble rubbed against my face.
“I know,” he whispered, softly brushing his lips against my cheek.
“I love you Simon.”
“But is it really love you feel, Corran? You are so young and have seen such a little of life. How can you know the difference between love and lust?”
“But Simon, I really do love you,” I protested.
“And I you, but you know nothing of me.” I pulled away from his embrace, and shot him a confused look.
“How can I not know you, Simon? We have lived together night and day for weeks.”
“Aye that we have, but you have seen only what you want to see of me. I am a soldier by training, a man who killed for
a living and now that I have no choice I will gamble, lie and steal to survive. You are young and naive and cannot begin to understand the kind of character that makes me.” His eyes met mine, dark and intense with restrained desire. “Do you know what the life of a soldier makes you into? Do you have any idea of the dangers in my future?”
I wanted to reply, to tell him that it did not matter, that I loved him no matter what he had done and would always love him no matter what he went on to do but he put his finger to my lips to silence me.
“I will tell you what is to come,” he paused, swallowing a large mouthful of whisky. “In that saddlebag I have the deeds and key to a house in York. They were meant for the captain of a French ship smuggling cargo into Dundee. I double-crossed the smugglers by informing the excise men when and where the drop would happen, hopeful that the disturbance would give us enough time to get out of the city. The French ship raised anchor and drifted out of sight of the shore. The captain didn’t know what his payment was, or who would deliver it. He more than likely assumes it lost to the government by now. That leaves me free to take on this captain’s name and his property and no one will ever be any the wiser. I intend to live as a man of business in York and if you want, we can pass you off to society as my sister. As such you can have the chance of a good marriage and a good life.” I stared at him in surprise, stung by his words.
“So you don’t want me as a wife?” I asked bluntly getting off his knee. He ran his hands roughly through his hair in frustration shaking his head as he did so.
“I didn’t say that.”
I shot him an accusing look.
“I think you just did,” I said, clenching my fists by my side and resisting the urge to slap him. Anticipating my thoughts he moved swiftly toward me. Taking my hands firmly and grasping them in his own, he held me tightly. His dark smoldering eyes met mine as I struggled fiercely to free my hands.
“A life with me will be one built on danger, gambles, lies and deceit. I am a murderer and a gambler. You don’t have to settle for that,” he said, holding my gaze.
Anger swirled and churned inside me like the lava of a volcano. I swung my leg toward him, hoping to connect my foot with his shin but he moved backwards, holding me at arm’s length and my foot missed.
“Who in the bloody hell do you think you are?” I demanded, flinging my leg at him in another unsuccessful attempt to kick him. “Let go of me, you brute. How can you still think me a child?” I questioned, “I am a grown woman and will make my own decisions about who I do and don’t love in life. There is no need for you to marry me off to some wealthy man of society or any other man for that matter. And as for York, I don’t need you to babysit me. If you have kept me with you through some sense of duty over what your people did to my village then God damn you, Simon. I don’t need your pity or your help.” Still struggling to free myself from the firm grasp of his hands, my voice grew louder and more hysterical; my temper rose and boiled inside me as I burned with rage. “I am not a needy child Simon, do you hear me? I know my own mind and I don’t need you to tell me what that is,” I gasped in stunned surprise as he pulled me closer to him, then letting go of me, he took my face firmly between his hands, tilting it up to his.
“Christ woman, why do you have to make this so difficult?” he exclaimed, his breath fast and irregular. His eyes burned with unveiled passion. I met their look as he bent slowly toward me and pressed his lips hard against mine. I relaxed against him as he drew me toward him. Instinctively, I arched against him; a choked moan of pleasure escaped me as his tongue traced the line where my lips met. They parted to allow him in, his tongue searching for mine as he made me finally, and exquisitely, his.
“I love you Corran,” he sighed as we lay together afterwards by the warmth of the fire.
“I love you too Simon,” I replied, gently brushing the curls of his hair from his face. He took my hand and turned it palm upwards, lifting it to his lips he slowly kissed each finger. I nestled against him, sighing with deep content. He reached for his coat and threw it over us for warmth.
“You are a terrible tease.”
“I am not,” I protested.
“Oh yes you are wee Corran. I have gone half mad with the need for you these past weeks.”
“And you don’t think I have not wanted you all this time?” I asked.
“I knew full well you wanted me Corran. A man would have had to be blind not to have,” he said raising his eyebrows.
“Then why did you pay me no heed for so long?”
“I didn’t want to ruin you for the sake of my weakness. It would have been wrong for me to take you Corran,” he said pausing to reach for the flask and taking a small sip of the liquid. “But I can’t say you made it easy for me.”
I sat up, wiping my tangled hair from my face. “I thought you didn’t want me. I believed you were looking for a way to rid yourself of the burden of me.”
He threw his head back and laughed hard and loud. “Eee dear, how little you know. I have longed to have you since the first time I saw you,” he said, grabbing for my arm and pulling me back toward him.
We lay by the fire until the embers were little more than a faint glow, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms.
The fire had subsided by the time we awoke and I pulled the coat higher over us. Simon stirred, pulling me into the crook of his arms. “Good morning,” he whispered.
“Good morning Simon. Did you sleep well?”
He smiled down at me, tightening his arm around me. “Better than I have slept in a very long time wee Corran and for that I have you to thank.” I took his meaning and had to confess, if only to myself, that I too had slept far better than I had in a very long time. Feeling a little awkward and slightly embarrassed I hastily changed the subject, turning my eyes to the gray, cloud-laden sky.
“It looks as though we are going to be riding in the rain today,” I said, in what even I had to admit was a very feeble attempt at idle conversation.
He laughed, “Since when have we made idle chatter about the state of the weather?” A flush of embarrassment rose in my cheeks. “Come here,” he said, planting a kiss firmly on my lips. “Help me find some dry wood to fuel this fire before we both freeze to death.”
For days we rode through the countryside. Passing fleetingly through so many different villages that I soon lost track of the names of the places through which we passed. In the evenings, when we were able to easily find one, we would sleep and eat at an inn. On the frequent occasions that we were unable to secure lodgings, we would sleep under the cover of rough camps, in fields, forests, and derelict barns and once in the ruins of an old church.
Simon was usually able to snare us a rabbit or hare, occasionally a bird or two, but some evenings we slept cold and hungry.
During the days we rode, double, through rough countryside, avoiding the roads and well-trodden paths of other travelers, in favor of more private routes. It was not so much that we avoided the company of other travelers but more Simon’s concerns that we may meet with a highwayman or two.
I had given Simon the gold nugget back for safekeeping, but each day and night we remained on the road left us vulnerable to its loss.
On our first morning in England, after we had saddled the horse and left our rough camp in the rocky hills of Northumbria, Simon asked what I initially considered to be a rather odd question. “Are you any good with a needle and thread?”
I smiled, thinking to myself that if my grandmother had taught me anything in life it was how to sew. “I think I can sew alright, at least my grandmother always told me I could,” I replied, wondering what reason he could possibly have for asking such a question. “Why do you ask?”
He planted a light kiss on the top of my head. “You never change do you?”
“What do you mean by that?” I said defensively.
“You can never just answer my question or follow my orders; you are always questioning.” I swung round in the saddle to
look at him and was relieved to see a smile of jest on his face.
“I am not questioning your authority Simon.”
“You know as well as I lass, that you don’t like to be told, by me or anyone else, what to do.” It was difficult to argue with him because fundamentally I knew he was right. Despite my best attempts, pride and stubborn determination always drove me to argue.
“That is not...” I began in response, but he ignored my words, simply talking over them.
“I need you to sew the gold into my trousers,” he said in reply to my earlier question.
I opened my mouth to ask why but was again stopped when his break for breath did not prove long enough to facilitate interruption. “If we meet with a highwayman before we reach York, the nugget will be safely hidden in the hem of my trousers.”
I nodded in agreement, but wondered privately how practical he would find the weight of the gold dragging on his hem. Nonetheless I bit my tongue not wishing to be chastised for arguing again.
“We will find an inn in Newcastle and in the city I will get you a needle and thread,” he said, “and whilst we are on the subject of stitching, I think you will also need to have a dress. I don’t want to be arriving in York with a lad on my arm.” I smiled at this, thinking as I did that my grandmother had been so very right. She had once told me that all men were proud beasts, who would never pass up the opportunity to show off their lasses to other men. However, whatever his reasons for wanting to buy me a new dress I was not going to argue. The trousers and cotton shirt I was wearing had not been washed since I put them on and had become rough and uncomfortable over the weeks of riding and sleeping in them. I longed for the softness of new wool and clean, crisp cotton against my skin and dreamt often of the comforts of my home; the simple pleasure of clean, well-mended clothes, a familiar shelter over my head. The memory of the smell of my grandmother’s cooking tore savagely at my heart.