This is the standard disclaimer. They don't belong to me. This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Paramount, UPN, or Pet Fly Productions.

Author’s Notes: This is a sequel to my story Thistles. The story contains corporal punishment. Be warned.

Thanks to Loopy, Rhonda and Spacepixell for beta reading and suggestions.

Thanks once again to D9 for her ‘technical’ advise.

There is a short glossary at the end of the story.

Blair’s bum was a rosy pink.

His eyes were squinted tightly closed and his mouth clamped shut. James had set a leisurely pace, bringing his hand down methodically over and over, covering every inch of the small butt. James was not spanking especially hard, and would, no doubt, be able to continue the rhythm for some time without tiring. Blair wiggled and squirmed continuously, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the stinging spanks.

Every few moments, Blair would attempt to thrust himself off James’ lap by bracing his hands flat against the floor and pushing upward with all his might. This action only resulted in James’ breaking the slow, steady cadence of swats to deliver one or two very hard smacks.

Blair pursed his lips hard and stifled the sob that threatened to break free. He was not going to cry. He was not. He would not give any of them the satisfaction. He cracked one eye open and chanced a quick peek through the tangled mass of curls, braids, and trinkets that brushed the floor next to his head.

He dismissed the presence of Simon and Laird Ellison for the moment. In the short time that he had been at Cascade Moor, Blair had been spanked more than once with one or both of these men as witness. It was embarrassing, to be sure, but these men were of James’ sept. Blair could understand why James felt it necessary to show them that he was able to discipline and control the unruly urchin that he had dragged into their midst.

It was the third man standing in the small parlor of the Ellison farmhouse that Blair focused on…the schoolmaster, Eamonn Macaskill. The man’s shrew-like face held a smug look and a gratified nod of his head accompanied each blow that was delivered to Blair’s bottom. The lad quickly closed his eye again and concentrated once more on holding his tongue.

James stopped the spanking for the third time since putting Blair over his knees. And for the third time the simple demand was issued. "You will apologize to Master Macaskill."

"Humph! It’s been near a quarter of an hour, James. We’ve all better things to do than stand here watching you warm the lad’s bum with but your hand." William was growing impatient with Blair’s noncompliance with so simple a thing as respect for his elders. "Do ye think the good schoolmaster has aught better to do with his time? The lad had best apologize and be quick about it or I’ll tan his arse properly." William took a step forward, reaching to unbuckle his belt.

James bristled. "Blair is my guide…in my charge. I’ll not take a belt to him. Nor will anyone else." James stared pointedly at his father. He patted the warm rump lightly several times and spoke to Blair. "But it would appear that stronger measures are called for." He tightened his hold on the fidgeting boy and glanced up at the overseer of Cascade Moor. "Simon? Would you be so good as to go to my room and fetch me back the…"

Blair involuntarily hitched a deep breath. It was bad enough that the schoolmaster was allowed to be present to watch Blair being spanked; Blair could not stand the thought of the satisfaction that the man would glean from seeing the large wooden spoon employed.

"Aye…all right. I’ll apologize." Blair’s voice was barely audible as James felt shudders of defeat run through the small figure.

James pulled the wee monster to his feet and steadied him. Blair hissed as the woolen fabric of his kilt fell into place, brushing across his tender bottom. The boy’s hands went to his backside, but fell back to his sides, balled tightly into fists as James warned not to rub at the sting.

Slowly…agonizingly…with his head down, and his eyes glued to the floorboards, Blair crossed the short expanse of room to where Macaskill stood.

As the man’s shoes came into his line of vision, Blair looked up. It was the self-satisfied smirk that met his gaze that prompted Blair’s next actions. He licked his lips nervously and made a cursory judgment regarding the distance separating him and the door leading out to the yard. The door stood ajar, having been left open upon the arrival of the small entourage now occupying the room.

Blair cleared his throat. He took a deep breath and his ‘apology’ spilled out. "Master Macaskill…I am sorry." James became aware of the changes in his guide’s demeanor a split second before the rest of the boy’s words were blurted out. "I am sorry that you are a dense, boorish clod." Blair sprinted out the portal, pulling the door shut behind him and raced off across the yard, leaving three stunned men…and one very irate sentinel…in his wake.

James hurried to the door, flung it open and watched as Blair rabbited away by hopping over the low stone wall that fenced the yard, scurrying through the livestock paddock, and disappearing into the woods beyond.

The commotion in the room behind him drew James’ attention. William was doing his best to calm Eamonn, who had turned an interesting shade of purple and was spouting his indignation.

"Do ye see, then, what I must put up with? The whelp is an undisciplined, disrespectful, defiant, disruptive, insolent, cheeky, ignorant little brat."

"He is NOT ignorant." James’ emphatic statement brought the sputtered tirade to an abrupt halt. He nodded curtly at the smaller man. "Aye…I’ll grant the rest of your astute observation of the lad is fair accurate. But I’ll not abide any more disparaging remarks in regard to the level of his intelligence."

James’ level gaze dared the man to add any more comments. Eamonn did not feel up to the challenge. He turned his attention, instead, to William. "Verra well…I’ll leave it to you, then." He spun on his heel and made a hasty exit.

William heaved a sigh and pinned James with a no-nonsense look. He studied his son for a moment and shook his head. Before the trip to Edinburgh a few weeks earlier, the sentinel had started to become withdrawn and surly due to a growing lack of control of his senses. But since his return, there had been a marked change. The younger man seemed happier…more content. James’ senses had always been extraordinary, but now they were nothing short of amazing. And William knew it was all because of the wild-haired, undisciplined guide. He also knew that it was James’ responsibility to deal with the youngster, not his.

"Do ye think he’ll have gone far?" William hoped, for the boy’s sake, that he hadn’t. He realized suddenly that he was genuinely fond of the lad.

It was James’ turn to study his father. William had been a stern but fair father while James and Stephen were growing up. The behavior that Blair had been exhibiting would never have been tolerated. The softly asked, concerned question was not what he had expected.

"No, he willna have gone far."

William smiled at James and winked. He chuckled as he noted the look of slight astonishment on James’ face. "You best be after him, then."

Blair ran into the small clearing and slowed to a stop. He leaned forward, hands on his thighs, panting heavily. He looked back the way he had come and heaved a sigh of relief. No one had followed him…yet. He knew it would not be long, however, before James came after him. He had not gone far; even if he had, it would not have mattered. The sentinel would have no problem pinpointing his guide’s location.

He closed his eyes and allowed the serenity of his surroundings to wash over him. He brought his hands up under his kilt, gently rubbing his throbbing backside. This eased the sting to a tolerable level. He began pacing and irritably kicking stones and sticks out of his way. He began muttering to himself. "Why can ye no keep your mouth shut, then? Would it be so verra difficult to just sit and say nothing? At the verra least why did you no apologize to the silly oaf?" Blair stopped his pacing and placed his forearm against a wide oak tree. He rested his forehead against his arm and the tears that he had not allowed earlier now began to fall.

His life, since arriving at Cascade Moor, had been a whirlwind of activity. He was introduced to, and warily appraised, by the immediate members of James’ family…his father, Laird William and brother, Stephen. Both men had seemed mildly amused by the sight of the wild looking boy, but nonetheless accepted him without question when they noted the conviction with which James presented him. The boy had ready friends in Henry, Rafe and Simon. But many other household members and tenants seemed to being having some difficulty accepting him. Many had never traveled beyond the boundaries of Cascade Moor, save for clan gatherings, weddings and the like. Their lives held an order in which everyone knew their place, what was expected of them, and their value to the clan. They were at once grateful that their sentinel had at long last found his guide and at the same time wary of the outsider.

Blair’s assigned duties consisted mainly of learning his place as James’ guide…when and how to be of help when the sentinel’s senses were in use as well as testing and finding ways to improve the use of James’ senses. And learning to recognize when James’ senses threatened to overwhelm him and what to do if this should happen. All these things seemed to come naturally to Blair. He was given additional chores, such as helping in the stables, garden and kitchen, as needed. The lad set about these jobs with little trouble or complaint.

It was the other tasks that James set for him that caused grief. The highlander had so many rules! Blair was expected to account for his whereabouts at all times. Meals had to be eaten at appointed times and the food consumed in quantities that satisfied James. Proper table manners had to be used. Ale, grog, and all other intoxicants were forbidden until such time James deemed the lad to be of an acceptable age. The more colorful parts of his vocabulary were vigorously discouraged. Unadulterated truthfulness was demanded. Bedtime, as appointed by James, was to be strictly adhered to. Respect, courtesy and obedience as befitted James, other clan elders, or persons in position of authority, was an absolute must.

It was Blair’s difficulty with the last edict that landed him in his present predicament. The boy’s quick tongue and impertinent manner had earned him a sore backside on more than this one occasion when it came to dealing with authority figures.

Blair’s musings were halted by the sound of someone approaching by way of the path he had taken through the woods.

"Blair." The word was uttered as a command for the boy to acknowledge the older man’s presence. The sentinel had found his guide unerringly and the boy would now be held accountable for his actions.

Using his shirtsleeves, Blair hastily wiped the tears from his face and turned to face James. Blair had no doubt that his rash actions both at the schoolroom and at the house would result in further punishment. An acknowledgement of his transgressions and at least a token apology would perhaps help lessen the severity of the chastisement. Blair knew this would be the prudent thing to do. James’ stance suggested that it was what the sentinel expected.

Instead, Blair squared his shoulders and took a few steps back.

"I’ll not return. I’ll not apologize. You cannae make me." Blair’s chin was quivering; a defiant glint was in his eyes.

James took in the ragged look about the boy. One stocking had pooled around an ankle. The plain brown kilt was still slightly askew, a result of it being pushed out of the way before the spanking had commenced. A shirttail hung loose on one side. The curls and braids were disheveled, small twigs and leaves clinging haphazardly after the flight through the woods. Aside from the red-rimmed eyes, smudged cheeks and salty scent of tears, the sight reminded James of the first time he had laid eyes on the boy.

"Oh? Aye? You will indeed return. And apologize." James fisted his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow. "And I shall provide whatever incentive is required."

Blair threw his hands into the air and began a frantic pacing, careful to stay outside of what he thought was James’ reach. His breaths came in small, hiccupping gasps as he tried to compose himself.

Watching the distraught boy, James’ heart softened. There was more going on here than met the eye. Blair had, of course, misjudged his proximity to James. In two quick, long strides, the sentinel intercepted his wee monster and pulled the boy into an embrace.

Blair fought against James’ hold, assuming that he would momentarily find himself upended and viewing the blades of grass at his feet up close. Small, fisted hands pummeled the broad chest as Blair pushed and wiggled, trying desperately to pry himself from the big man.

James just held on, allowing the boy to tire himself. Blair soon gave up the fight and sagged against James. As he buried his face in the fabric of James’ soft linen shirt, he began to cry and a muffled plea escaped. "Please do not make me go back."

Wealthy, prominent members of clans and septs saw to it that their sons were well educated; they often hired tutors for their sons. Those who were able, like Laird Ellison, sent their sons abroad to France when they were older, to be schooled by the Jesuits. Those without the wherewithal for that level of education still endeavored to teach the basics of reading, writing, Latin, mathematics and history in their homes. Every now and again, a traveling scholar, such as Eamonn Macaskill, would be contracted to stay for a time in the Highlands, to supplement and enhance the basics that had been home-schooled.

James had been pleased and to no small extent, amazed, at Blair’s level of intelligence. He had been surprised to learn that Blair could not only read, but could also write. The lad voraciously dug into the tomes ensconced in William’s small library.

When arrangements were made for Master Macaskill to teach for a time in the nearby village, William agreed with James that Blair should attend since, as laird, he had already contributed to the schoolmaster’s contracted wage. Blair had been eager to comply; he had never dreamed that he would have the chance to gain any type of formal education.

Today was only the third day of class and Blair had been dragged home by the irate schoolmaster. Sputtered accusations of the boy’s atrocious behavior were directed scathingly at William and James. Apologies were demanded of the boy. None were forthcoming.

James had reacted to Blair’s defiance in the manner in which his own father would have…indeed, had upon occasion…reacted when he was a lad.

After hearing the heartfelt plea and assessing Blair’s obnoxious behavior toward the schoolmaster…in light of the boy’s eagerness to attend class…James decided to investigate further. The defiant attitude and running off would still have to be dealt with, but perhaps the lad’s bottom could be spared some additional attention.

"Wheesht, Blair. It canna be that bad, now. Wheesht." James continued to hold the boy close, gently rubbing up and down the quivering back. "I fear ye have me a wee bit muddled. I was of the impression that you were wanting to go to school." The small figure stiffened. "Tell me what’s troubling you and why you’ve behaved so badly. I’ll not promise your backside will be spared, but you must tell me what’s wrong."

James allowed Blair to push out of his hold. The lad stepped back but did not leave James’ personal space. The boy’s words slapped James in the face. "What do you care? You dinna care what was troubling me when you were tanning my backside in front of that silly oaf!"

James was momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovered his wits. A stern admonishment had barely begun before he was cut off. "Blair…You’ll not…"

"Did no one ask for the man’s credentials before agreeing to allow him to teach? He can barely read himself, much less teach anyone else to do so. His Latin is atrocious and if we are to believe his accounts of history, the clans are nothing more than motley bands of heathens who are incapable of thinking for themselves. Any homestead that would keep their accounts according to his skewed mathematics would be bankrupt within weeks…"

James now saw what the problem was and he began laughing.

Blair looked hurt at being laughed at while delivering such a heartfelt recitation of the schoolmaster’s shortcomings.

"Oh…aye…and I suppose you took it upon yourself to point out all of Master Macaskill’s mistakes?" James cocked his head knowingly. "In the most polite, respectful tone of voice that could be mustered?"

"Well, um…no…" James’ hearty laugh was infectious and Blair smiled sheepishly at the big man in spite of his own churlishness. "But it wasna just that. I…he…" Blair ran his hands through his unruly curls, shaking some of the twigs loose and jingling the tiny adornments. "He takes no little delight in finding ways to humiliate and belittle his students. There is one lad, by the name of Rupert Grant…you’ll know him I suppose?" James nodded, and indicated that Blair should continue. "His right hand was badly mangled a few months ago in a mill accident. It’s of little use to him, but the schoolmaster insists that he use it anyway and then makes fun of him because his handwriting is illegible. Today he had Rupert to the point of tears. He’s but twelve years old and verra smart; he’ll no speak up for himself though. So…aye…I was no verra polite…or respectful. I told Master Macaskill just exactly what I thought of his teaching skills and I told him that he could take his pointer…which he delights in waving about…and stick it…"

James cleared his throat meaningfully. "Aye…all right…"

Blair’s discourse came to an abrupt halt. He began restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He desperately wanted to renew his efforts to alleviate the lingering sting in his hindquarters, but resisted the urge to do so.

The sentinel studied his fidgeting guide for a few moments.

He understood the boy’s ire at the supposed incompetence of the schoolmaster. As a youth, he had often felt much the same regarding the intelligence level of his teachers…not an uncommon feeling among headstrong highland lads. And he was inwardly pleased at the boy’s willingness to come to the defense of another. But he knew the boy also often acted rashly and was a master at embellishing the truth. It was possible that the Grant boy’s treatment was an imagined and exaggerated injustice. Either of these indiscretions on Mascaskill’s part, whether real or not, would certainly account for the boy’s atrocious, disrespectful behavior toward the man.

It did not, however, account for the tearful plea that had been mumbled into James’ shirt.

In the time that James had known him, the lad had not backed down from anyone or anything…not James, not a knot of unknown highlanders, not an impatient laird, not even a British patrol. He was not always wise in doing so, and his small backside often suffered for it, but the lad faced his challenges head on. James recounted the boy’s words in his head and a thought occurred to him.

"What about you, Blair?"

"M-me?" Blair suddenly found the tips of his shoes to be of immense interest.

"Aye. Does he make sport of you as well?" James spoke in a stern, yet gentle, voice to the top of the curly head. His tone demanded an answer.

Still looking down, Blair began a barely noticeable nodding of his head. James’ finely attuned hearing took note of the jingling of the trinkets in Blair’s hair as they made contact with each other. The tiny pewter rounds…the small crooked bones…the various glass beads…each made a unique sound that the sentinel had catalogued and recorded as belonging to his guide.

Blair looked up just then and his deep blue eyes locked onto James momentarily in a silent entreaty for understanding.

"Aye…" Blair’s voice was soft but steady. "I’m an outsider am I not? Not the son of a wealthy or respected member of one of the clans. A bastard. He considers me to be a waste of his time and ‘talents’. It galls him to no end that I am not an ignorant little mongrel and that I am not afraid to speak up when he is in the wrong. The other boys silently agree with him, I think, about my questionable lineage. They are content to let him vent his anger and frustration in my direction, for it spares the rest of them." Blair squared his shoulders and raised his chin in a show of quiet determination. He paused a few moments, and then took a deep breath before continuing. " I’ll not go back."

James’ heart ached for his wee monster. He bridled at the nonchalant tone the boy used while describing his status as an outcast; it was as if Blair felt he deserved no less than to be treated as he had.

James decided quickly that several things needed to be done.

Blair would feel the flat of James’ hand on his backside yet again today in answer to his running off and disrespectful behavior at the farmhouse. These were actions that James simply would not tolerate from his impulsive young charge.

Next, James would judge for himself the merits of Blair’s allegations regarding the schoolmaster. It would involve the youngster returning to the schoolroom, an order James was sure the boy would rebel against. But it would be necessary for James to observe the goings-on for himself, with neither Blair nor Macaskill any the wiser…a feat that could easily be accomplished from a discreet distance by a sentinel.

The matter of Blair’s standing within the clan would also need to be addressed. Since returning from Edinburgh, there had been no chance to meet with members of the clan outside of the Ellison sept. James could well imagine the stories and far-fetched notions that might be circulating about the strange, wild boy that had been foisted on them. A social would be arranged; most of the season’s planting was done and as it was, some merriment was in order.

The last order of business could not wait and James set to it.

Blair found himself in a crushing embrace. James held the lad tightly for several minutes and was pleased when Blair didn’t pull away. The big man gently ran one hand up and down the small back in a soothing gesture.

Strangely, Blair found it comforting that the same hand that warmed his hindquarters now warmed his sagging spirits.

"It’s not been so verra easy for ye, has it lad? We’ll make it better, though. I’ll see to it." James’ soft, reassuring words helped calm the agitated youth. James relaxed his hold then, and moved an arm across the boy’s shoulders. He turned them both toward home and they began the trek back to the farmhouse. "You do know that my father will be expecting an apology for your rude behavior?"

"Aye."

James gave the lad’s upper arm a squeeze and tightened his hold. The lad might not be so ready to comply with his next edict. "And you will be returning to the schoolhouse tomorrow; you will apologize to Master Macaskill and you will be on your best behavior." As expected, Blair balked at this command.

"You canna be serious…after what I’ve just told you?" Blair had dug in his heels, stopping the duo’s forward momentum. He tried to twist out of James’ hold, but the sentinel was having none of it.

"Oh…I’m quite serious, young man." Blair opened his mouth to launch another protest, but James forged onward. "Like it or no…Master Macaskill is still your elder and I mean to see to it that you learn proper respect." James hated using this tactic; his senses were telling him that Blair was being truthful. At least…Blair believed he was being truthful. James had found that Blair had a predilection for twisting the truth to meet his needs, another of the boy’s habits that James had every intention of correcting. The best course of action was to follow his plan of observing for himself what was taking place.

"I won’t!" Blair blurted out the words, but James cut off any further protest by giving the boy a firm shake and looking him squarely in the eye.

"Aye. You will. And that’s the end of it. Unless you’d like to spend more time over my knee than you already have due?" James tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow.

Blair paled slightly and gulped. "W-what?"

"Your feelings in regard to Master Macaskill or no…your behavior in front of my father was exceeding rude. He is a respected clan chieftain as well as laird; as such you will at all times show him the respect he merits. That alone has earned you more time over my knee."

Blair hung his head and sighed. James was very keen, indeed, on Blair learning proper manners. At the thought of an additional spanking, Blair’s hand involuntarily moved to a protective position on his still stinging backside.

"And…" James continued in a stern voice… "I believe I’ve told ye, have I not, what you can expect if you run off to escape or delay punishment?"

Blair’s head dropped further; his features now completely obscured by the long curls and braids. A negative head shaking began, but it was due to self-recrimination and not any attempt to dissuade James. "Aye, you have." A hopeful inflection crept into the next words. "You’ll not be using the spoon, will you?"

James laughed…the warm, light-hearted laugh that Blair had learned to know and love. The laugh that told the boy that the big highlander held him dear. "No." James once again hugged his wee monster. "I’ll not use the spoon. I’ll not be any too easy on you, but it will be quick."

He released his captive and signaled down the path. "I see Simon is waiting for us." Blair looked up and waved shyly at the man standing at the edge of the tree line. "He’s verra protective of me…did you know that? As well as you, now. I knew he’d follow me. But tell me, Blair…which of us, do ye think, did he reckon needed protecting today?"

William and Simon stood in the hall outside James’ room. The two stalwart highlanders winced sympathetically at the sound of each healthy smack landing on Blair’s bottom. Each man shifted nervously from foot to foot and looked everywhere but at one another as they listened to the boy’s cries, gasps and pleas. This spanking was being delivered with much more fervor than the one that had been meted out that afternoon. Blair had been defiantly silent during the earlier paddling…not so now. The boy had a healthy set of lungs in him and the two men were sure that his present bellowed promises of better behavior and appeals for an end to the punishment could be heard at the neighboring farm.

Twin sighs of relief escaped the men’s mouths when quiet finally descended. Several more minutes passed before the door opened and James stepped into the hall, rolling his sleeves back down to his wrists.

"Was it necessary to be so hard on the boy, then?" William confronted James, concern in his voice.

James rolled his eyes in a show of exasperation and pointed a finger at his father. "You were ready to take a belt to his backside, not four hours ago. I give him a few good healthy spanks…and deserved to be sure…with aught but my hand, and you accuse me of being hard on him?"

"Aye…well…but that was before Blair told you…"

James grabbed his father’s elbow and steered the older man down the hall, nodding his head at Simon in a signal to accompany them.

Blair had fallen asleep shortly after the spanking, lulled by James’ nonsense words of comfort. But James did not want to take the chance that the boy would awake and overhear the conversation that was taking place in the hall.

After starting down the stairs, James continued. "Indeed, you old codger. More like ‘twas before you realized the wee toerag had worked his way under your skin." James snorted. "He grows on ye, does he not?"

William stared at his son open mouthed, ready to utter a denial. But he could not. Instead he shrugged noncommittally…the highland equivalent of an emphatic yes.

"He’s helped you, and no mistake. It’s not just your senses either. The boy’s been good for you…he brings out a side of ye I’ve not seen since your mother passed on." William pinned James with a determined look and veered back to his original concern. "Which is why I canna understand why you found it necessary to be so hard on him tonight after what he’s told you about that weasel of a schoolmaster."

James paced back and forth in front of the fireplace in frustration. It was William that had insisted that Blair be made to apologize to the ‘weasel’ in the first place.

During this exchange, Simon had been standing off to one side with a bemused look on his face, chuckling softly. At the sour look tossed his way by James, he quickly wiped the smirk off his face. James turned back to his father.

"I’ve told you already…I’ve every intention of ascertaining for myself the truth regarding Macaskill’s character. Blair wasna punished because he made allegations against the man. The boy well knows that I’ll not put up with his impertinent manners. It was his show of disrespect and then running off that earned him a warm backside tonight."

"Humph…warm, indeed…more like set afire." William’s mumbled observation was met with more eye rolling from James.

"Well, it’s over and done with." James smiled at his father then. It warmed him to see how his wee monster had found a place in the older man’s heart. "Funny, I dinna recall such sympathetic concern for the state of my own backside when it was you delivering the skelping."

The twinkle in James’ eyes assured William that the statement had not been uttered as resentment, but more as acknowledgement that some things need only be accepted and the subject was put to rest.

James’ notion of a social was brought up and enthusiastically approved by the laird. The overseer happily agreed to begin preparations the next day. James then laid out his scheme for an inconspicuous observation of the schoolmaster’s teaching methods.

After discussing other matters of the clan and the farm that needed attention, the three men retired for the night.

James silently crossed his room to the doorway of the small storeroom. It was not much more than an alcove and had been, up until several weeks ago, used as a repository for James’ accoutrements, old books, boyhood treasures and the like. It now served as sleeping quarters for his guide.

The sentinel smiled to himself as he thought back to the first night of their return to Cascade Moor. A small skirmish had once again been waged and lost by Blair regarding sleeping arrangements. The lad had been aghast at the notion of being allowed to take up residence in the main house, insisting that it wouldn’t be proper. He had reasoned that, as a mere employee, a space in the barn or one of the other outbuildings would be more than sufficient. James had asserted…much more convincingly to be sure…that Blair was more than a mere employee and that he, as sentinel, needed his guide near him. James had also noted to himself that it would be easier to enforce the dictates he intended to impose, as well as keep the lad from an excess of mischief, if the boy was nearby.

James quietly pulled back the curtain that had been draped across the doorway in order to give Blair some measure of privacy. He suppressed a laugh at the sight of the bloody mess that always lay on the other side. Surely the silkies had visited! Discarded clothing, books and papers, as well as a hodgepodge of what-knots and do-dads were spread chaotically about the small space. Nestled in the midst of it all was Blair. The boy was sleeping soundly on his stomach atop a low pallet that had been retrieved from storage. One small hand fisted a portion of blanket, held close to the young face. The other arm was extended across the boy’s back…the other small hand resting on a warm pink butt cheek.

Carefully stepping over and between the piles of clutter on the floor, James moved to the lad’s bedside. He cautiously moved the boy’s hand, pulled the blue linen shirt down over the small butt and drew the blanket up over the still form. Gentle fingertips smoothed disheveled curls from the boy’s sleep flushed cheek and forehead. Blair fidgeted slightly, then a wisp of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Assured that his guide was safe within his keeping, the sentinel silently re-crossed the small room, climbed into his own bed, and joined his wee monster in slumber.

Blair stood sullenly at the sideboard, endlessly tracing figure eights through his oatmeal with the edge of his spoon. Periodically he would chance a glance at the other occupants of the room, who were all ravenously attacking their own breakfasts. James, Simon and William sat at the long wooden table discussing the upcoming day, seemingly oblivious to the brooding youngster.

Heaving a pitiful sigh, Blair returned to the task of pushing the now cold, lumpy, mush around his bowl. Slumping slightly against the wall, he once again contemplated with dread his return to the schoolroom and the upcoming encounter with Master Macaskill.

James had been only half listening to the discussion at the table. His attention was divided between satisfying his own hunger and watching his young charge doing his best to try to fade into the woodwork. When it became obvious that none of the victuals that Blair was playing with were going to make into the boy’s stomach, James decided to move things along.

"The next spoonful had best find it’s way down your wee throat."

Blair had just scooped a small helping of the oatmeal, tipped the spoon, and was watching the small gobs and chunks slowly drop off into the bowl. James’ low, forceful voice caused him to jump. The spoon dropped from the boy’s hand, bounced off the sideboard and fell to the floor. Hastily grabbing a napkin, Blair retrieved the spoon and mopped up the mess before answering.

"I’ve no appetite."

James considered this statement. He could hear the boy’s insides churning, no doubt in anticipation of the impending return to the schoolroom. He admitted to himself that, under the circumstances, to make the boy eat might not help matters.

"Ye may suit yourself then, this once. But it’s no short time until the noon meal."

Blair nodded and pushed the bowl aside.

A short time later James, Simon and Blair were on their way. The two older men walked ahead of the sulking youngster. There was no set schedule at the schoolroom. Family concerns and chores took precedence and the lads arrived over the course of a couple of hours in the mornings. Blair was doing his best to drag his feet and slow their progress.

Simon looked back over his shoulder and signaled for Blair to increase his pace. He nudged James with his elbow and suppressed a laugh. He nodded his head toward Blair to indicate that he was talking about the youngster. "I’ve seen condemned men walk to the gallows with more enthusiasm." James snorted and nodded in agreement.

Too soon for Blair’s liking the trio arrived at the makeshift schoolroom…a partitioned section of the village’s small church hall.

Upon entering, James nodded curtly to the schoolmaster in greeting and unceremoniously ushered Blair to the front of the room. The room stilled as all heads turned to see what was about. James took note of the young faces, mentally assigning names to match.

James rested two strong hands on the tops of Blair’s shoulders and gave an encouraging squeeze, followed by a soft but forceful push that propelled the boy in the direction of the schoolmaster.

"Blair has something that he’d like to say to you, Master Macaskill."

Blair fidgeted uncomfortably for several seconds, mindful of the conspiratorial whispers and sniggering now coming from the other lads. Reminding himself of the consequences of any more foolishness on his part, Blair fortified himself with the knowledge that the schoolmaster’s contracted tenure was but a few more weeks. He would endure the man’s barbs and meager teaching efforts. He’d endured far worse in his young life.

He glanced quickly at the other lads and received a small lopsided smile of encouragement from Rupert. He straightened himself, squared his shoulders and met Eamonn Macaskill’s eyes.

"I’m sorry for my behavior these last few days. You have my assurance that you’ll no have any more trouble on my account. I ask that you accept my apology."

Macaskill squinted his beady little eyes and looked down his nose at the lad standing in front of him, seemingly judging the sincerity in the unfaltering voice. He looked from the boy to the tall highlander standing behind him. James arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, waiting for the schoolmaster’s acceptance or refusal.

"Verra well, then…apology accepted. But know this…" He eyed first James, then Blair. "I will tolerate no more shenanigans or unruliness from this…this…boy." The underlying distaste in his voice was not lost on anyone in the room. "Understood?"

Blair closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that he could sink into the floor.

James stepped around Blair and into Macaskill’s personal space. "His name is Blair…of sept Ellison." He looked around the room, meeting each boy’s eyes in turn before turning back to Macaskill. "Understood?"

The smaller man shrunk back from the imposing figure and immediately nodded his head. The boys sat in stunned silence. Blair’s face lit up with a huge grin.

James turned to leave and winked at Blair. "Dinna dawdle on the way home."

"Well? Anything?" Simon joined James at the observation point that the sentinel had taken up. He offered his friend an apple, some bread, and a flask of water. James accepted with thanks and leaned against a large oak tree.

"Blair’s none too happy…he’s been made to sit on a wooden stool in the corner as punishment for his rude remarks yesterday. He’s having a verra difficult time trying to get comfortable." James shook his head and chuckled. "He’s mumbling under his breath…seems he holds me in no high regard at the moment due to the state of his backside."

Simon rolled his eyes and laughed along with James. "Aye…I can well imagine. What of the man Macaskill?"

"Blair was right about the man’s mastery of Latin. Brother Benedict would have rapped my knuckles with his pointer had I dared to offer the translations that I’m hearing. And his French is no better. His history is not as bad as Blair made it sound. He’s got most of the facts right…but turned about and mixed together in a bit of a hodgepodge as regards the proper dates and such." James looked at Simon and shrugged. "It sounds as if he is dismissing them for meal break."

All the boys, save Rupert, gave Blair a wide berth during lunch. James winced as he overheard the snide comments being passed around regarding his young charge. He was anxious to have Blair accepted and asked Simon how the plans for the social were coming along. The overseer assured James that plans had been set in motion. While James had been observing the activities at the schoolroom, Simon had set about dispatching couriers to the nearby septs and clan chieftains.

"All will be ready, Tuesday next, for a grand celebration."

The afternoon’s observation of the schoolroom proved much more enlightening than the morning’s. A marked change had come over the schoolmaster. He was in a decidedly sour mood and nothing any of the boys did seemed to please him. The man did not seem content to merely correct his students; he did indeed seem to take delight in pointing out their ‘ignorance’ in a mocking, derogatory manner.

What happened is that while the boys enjoyed their meals of bread, cheese, fruit and the like in the sunshine of the churchyard, the good schoolmaster had enjoyed his at the Ferguson brothers’ still in the clearing down the short path behind the blacksmith’s shed.

James moved closer, abandoning his hidden post among the trees, in order to see as well as hear what was transpiring. He maneuvered until he found a window that afforded him a view of both the schoolmaster and at least a few of the boys, Blair among them.

Judging by Blair’s breathing and body language, his guide was doing his very best to ignore the barbs and insults as well the blatant errors the man was tossing about during the mathematics lesson.

Something about the man’s demeanor and speech pattern seemed strange. Using a technique that Blair had discovered, James allowed his sense of smell to travel along the path his hearing was using. The distinct odor of strong whiskey met the sentinel’s nostrils.

Now…drinking, and drinking to excess, was not uncommon among highlanders. James was not ready to fault the man on that alone. But Macaskill’s drinking obviously affected his already meager teaching ability. And it most assuredly brought out a mean, almost vindictive, streak aimed squarely at his pupils.

When the man singled out Rupert and began to relentlessly torment the lad about his poor penmanship, Blair could hold his tongue no longer. Abandoning the promise of good behavior made both to James and Macaskill, Blair launched himself to Rupert’s defense. He placed himself between Macaskill and the distraught younger boy, daring the schoolmaster by both action and words, to take his displeasure out on him. Outraged by the impudent bantling’s actions, Macaskill grabbed Blair by the collar and hauled him to the front of the room. He back handed Blair soundly across the left cheek and proceeded to cuff the lad smartly about the neck and head. Blair was still reeling from the force of the blows when he found himself shoved face first up against the nearest wall.

A loud crack reverberated through the room as Macaskill’s finger thick pointer whooshed through the air and landed harshly on Blair’s back. Before the man could raise his hand to land a second blow, James and Simon burst through the door. The sentinel strode purposefully up to the little man, whose body was quivering with rage at the perceived injustice done to him by the arrogant lad that he still held firmly against the wall. James’ fist connected unerringly with Macaskill’s nose, cold-cocking the man with one hardy blow.

James gathered the limp form of his wee monster to him, running gentle fingertips across the boy’s back and head. A bruise was forming on Blair’s cheek and a welt could be felt between the slender shoulder blades.

"Are ye all right, lad? Speak to me, Blair!" Worried light blue eyes met deep blue as Blair cautiously opened his eyes.

"James?" The sentinel smiled in relief at the softly asked question. "What are you doing here? How did you know…?"

"Wheesht, now…did ye really think I’d no try to wade through the murky waters of that wee brain of yours and not come see for myself what the…what did ye call the man… ‘dense, boorish clod’ was up to?" James chuckled softly at the silly grin that answered this question.

"You were listening, then? From how far? Were ye able to sort out the different voices? Did ye use your other senses as well…?" Blair’s eyes were alight with curiosity.

"Wheesht…enough…I’ll tell you all about it later. For now, we best get things sorted out here." James pressed the lad to him, cradling the boy’s head against his chest and hugging the lad close. He loosened his hold on the boy just as Simon was helping a shaky Macaskill to his feet and assisting the man to a state of consciousness by none too gentle slaps to the man’s cheeks.

Without warning, Blair pushed himself from James’ hold and flung himself at the still groggy schoolmaster. Outrageous suggestions, some physically impossible, were being shouted at the man by the furious little spitball.

James grabbed his wee monster firmly about the waist and whirled the youngster, arms and legs flailing wildly, away from the object of the boy’s ire.

"Let me at him! Let go of me, I say!" Blair was pushing, twisting and kicking vehemently, trying unsuccessfully to escape James’ hold. The highlander merely laughed and, re-securing his grip, carted the squirming boy toward the door.

Before exiting, James called back to Simon. "Master Macaskill’s services will no longer be required. Send the rest of the lads home, with instructions that they are to tell their fathers what happened and to contact me if they require the details. See to it that Master Macaskill leaves the clan’s land and make it verra clear that he would be wise to never return."

Once out the door, James lowered Blair to his feet and the youngster immediately spun around as if to return to the schoolroom. James simply reached out and halted Blair’s forward movement with one strong arm across the boy’s chest. A short fruitless struggle on Blair’s part ensued. Making no headway in his endeavor, Blair finally gave up and, staring daggers at the older man, turned and headed out of the village toward home.

James followed a few paces behind for a spell, allowing the boy to walk off some of his frustration. Eventually Blair slowed his pace and James caught up with him. They walked together in silence for a while. When Blair finally spoke, his words were so soft that only a sentinel would have been able to hear.

"Thank you."

"Thank you?" James sounded surprised. "For what?"

"For believing me. Or, at least, wanting to believe me. For what you said in front of the other lads about me being part of the sept. For stopping Macaskill from…" Blair hitched a breath, suddenly finding it hard to continue.

James draped an arm over the lad’s shoulders and pulled the boy close to him as they walked. "Aye, well…you do not always make it easy for me to believe you, lad. You’ve a unique way of dancing around the truth, as it were. As for being part of the sept…well, that was simply stating a fact and high time it’s known throughout the clan. And you’ve my solemn promise that I will always do my verra best to keep you from harm."

Blair laughed and rubbed his tender rump for emphasis. "Oh? Aye?"

James laughed along with Blair. "Aye...well…your backside and my hand have a separate agreement." Several light pats were delivered to the youngster’s bottom to seal the bargain.

James and Blair took their time returning home, stopping here and there so that James could point out a landmark or tell a story when something reminded him of his boyhood days. He allowed the boy to wander and explore, enjoying the wonder with which the lad took in everything around him. Blair, in turn, revealed to James stories of the far away places he’d heard tales of and wished to someday visit as well as random memories of his own childhood.

Ignoring clan responsibilities for the rest of the day, the two talked and caroused until… long past Blair’s usual imposed bedtime…sentinel and guide collapsed in tired heaps upon their beds.

"Caochan!…Mo Creach!…Fils de pute!…Caoch,Caoch,Caoch!" Blair was stomping about his small room, throwing items about haphazardly. "Keech!…Vae!…Merde!" He stopped for a moment and ran his hands through his hair, his frustration evident. "Damnú air!…Maldito sea!…"

From somewhere close behind him came the sound of someone pointedly clearing his throat.

Blair was clad only in his shirt, which hung loosely on his frame, reaching mid thigh. He paused in his fruitless quest and spun about to see James standing in the doorway, hands on his hips. A deep scowl lay across James’ face; his eyebrows furrowed menacingly, his lips set in a thin line. Behind him stood William, who was trying to stifle a bemused look. Stephen stood next to William, not even trying to suppress his mirth.

The look on Blair’s face was one of pure innocence. It quickly changed to one of puzzlement when faced with James’ glower. "W-what?" Blair threw his arms outward in a questioning manner.

"What? What…he says! Words that would make a sailor blush spew from the lad’s mouth in a torrent and says he…what?" Exasperation was clearly heard in James’ voice. "Have we no had discussions regarding your bawdy vocabulary?"

An impish smile lit Blair’s face. He had not been consciously aware of his choice of words. He chose to ignore James’ last question. "Aye…well…I seriously doubt that, as it was sailors as taught them to me. Have you any idea how many different ways there are to curse the worldwide? The French are no doubt the most creative, and I find the Spanish to be the most crude; even among the Scots there is an impressive array from which to choose." Blair waggled his eyebrows suggestively. This caused Stephen to double over laughing, as well as eliciting a hearty guffaw from William. James’ eyes narrowed to slits and he pinned the other men with a look that clearly stated that their presence was not required…or appreciated.

The two took the hint and left, sniggering and elbowing each other on the way out.

James turned to face Blair, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "And where would ye have had the opportunity to have had your vocabulary enhanced so wickedly by sailors?"

Blair grew uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders. "I lived for a time in a corner of a storehouse at the docks in Edinburgh. The sailors would tell me stories of all the far off places they’d seen. ‘Tis how I acquired my thirst to see what the world has to offer, I suppose. I’d do odd jobs…run errands and the like, for them." He shrugged his shoulders again and returned the conversation to James’ earlier question. "Am I in verra much trouble?"

James took a moment to consider, allowing the youngster to squirm uncomfortably for a bit. Much of Blair’s past was still a mystery to James and he was glad that Blair had chosen to disclose this small piece of the puzzle.

"Aye…well…it was usually my mother who dealt with inappropriate language. One disapproving look from her was far worse than any amount of time over father’s knees. We’d be made to fetch a bar of wash soap and hold it in our mouths for a time. And then we’d be given a number of bible verses to commit to memory." It was James’ turn to shrug and then he smiled at the lad. "Seeing as how it is a special occasion, I’ll no punish you. Mind ye…I’ll no always be so lenient in the future. Now what is it that had you in such a state to begin with?"

"My kilt!" Blair threw his hands into the air and then swung them about in a sweeping motion that encompassed his room. "I canna find my kilt! It is a bloody big piece of fabric…" Blair flung his arms out as if in approximation of the breadth of the item in question. "Which I left right here…" He indicated an indistinguishable spot on the floor. "And now I canna find it." He then pointed to himself, indicating his half dressed state. "Am I supposed to attend the social attired so?"

James laughed. "Aye…as fetching as you look…no, I think not. Come." He grabbed Blair by the elbow and pulled him into the adjoining room. He pointed to a length of fabric spread across his bed. "Your kilt is here. Now finish dressing and be quick about it."

A portion of tartan fabric, in the clan colors of deep blue and forest green, lay upon the bed…pleated and ready to be rolled into. A fresh linen shirt was laid out next to it, along with the small thistle brooch and other accoutrements.

Blair reverently fingered the fabric. "But…but these are the clan colors." He stared at James, disbelief written on his face.

"Aye, and what else would you be wearing to a clan gathering?" James pointed once again at the kilt. "Your brown kilt is well and fine for every day. A lad your age is much too hard on clothing for ye to be wearing the tartan while mucking about the gardens or stable." He swatted Blair’s butt and shoved the boy forward. "Hurry along, now. Dinna tarry. And Blair…?" The boy looked at James warily, his tone having taken on a stern edge. "Mind your language today…and your manners…and, well…behave yourself, aye?"

Blair smiled shyly at James, the magnitude of the gesture of being allowed to wear the clan colors sinking in and taking hold of his heart. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and answered in a near whisper. "Aye."

Guests to the social had begun arriving late in the day on Monday, setting up small camps in the nearby woods. Any occasion that warranted a gathering was not limited to mere hours but usually consumed at least an entire day or longer. The Ellison household had spent days readying the yard for dancing, socializing and general revelry in addition to the regular work and chores. No small amount of food had been prepared. Long planks held up by sawhorses dotted the yard ready to hold food and drink. Barrels of fresh water were filled and hauled to the site as well as whiskey and ale from the farm’s still. Several sheep and hogs as well as a calf had been slaughtered and Blair was assured that he’d finally have his chance to sample haggis…a Highland ‘delicacy’.

The early morning sky threatened rain, but that not being an uncommon phenomenon in the Highlands, it did nothing to deter the festive mood. Small groups had begun to gather in the yard. People were eating heartily, discussing the recent planting and upcoming growing season. The men were making plans for wrestling matches and other feats to show off their manly skills; wagering was taking place on the outcome of these events. Pipers, fiddlers and other musicians sought each other out…readying their instruments, comparing who knew which tunes. Clan gossip could be heard, freely circulating …not the least of which concerned the rumors about the guide their sentinel had brought back from Edinburgh.

At mid morning the Ellison’s ventured forth from the house to greet their guests and officially start the celebration.

William led the small procession, followed by James and Stephen. Bringing up the rear, rather hesitantly, was Blair. People milled about and craned their necks, wanting to get a better look at the real reason for the gathering. Seeing the boy clad in the clan colors caused an immediate buzz, no few among the crowd expressing a measure of disbelief and disapproval.

All such nonsense was quickly put to rest as William stepped forward. He bid welcome to his friends and fellow clansmen, expressed his good wishes for a bountiful growing season, cursed the British to the hearty approval of all, and…with an unfaltering voice and no-nonsense gleam in his eye…officially introduced the newest member of the Ellison sept. He coaxed Blair gently from behind James, where he had taken refuge against what he was sure would be censure from the assembled throng, and stood the boy in front of him. James and Stephen took their places on either side of William.

For a moment all was quiet. Then Simon, Henry and Rafe stepped out of the crowd. Simon’s clear, strong voice boomed across the yard. "Welcome, Blair…clan brother!"

Henry and Rafe echoed the welcome and soon a rousing chorus of ‘Huzzahs’ and ‘Welcomes’ rang out from the rest of the Highlanders.

By two’s and three’s the guests came forward to greet their hosts. Nods of approval were directed at Blair as well as an occasional hearty slap on the back or pat on the shoulder.

It was almost too much for Blair to take in. A barrage of names, clan ranks, lineages, and familial ties were directed at him as each guest acknowledged him in turn. He did his best to keep up with the deluge of information. Variations in the wearing of the clan tartan were pointed out to him by James or Stephen…a red, yellow or white stripe denoting such and such…a brooch’s design signifying so and so. Soon the salutations had all been made.

James was called upon to display his refined senses…the onlookers ‘demanding’ to see sentinel and guide show off. The sentinel enthusiastically complied. He counted the freckles on the blushing face of young Mary Chisholm from across the yard, eliciting giggles from all the wee lasses. He allowed himself to be blindfolded and played at hide and seek with Blair, tracking the guide by the sound of the boy’s heartbeat. A grand production was made of taste testing the myriad of treats and dainties brought forth. James laughed as he mock-threatened to divulge secret ingredients to the feigned horror of the cooks.

The demonstration soon gave way to more serious matters. Clan intrigues and politics were discussed and debated. This tenant or another would approach James with one concern or another for which the sentinel’s help might be required. All the while, James kept Blair at his side in a subtle attestation that it was where the boy belonged.

By early afternoon, lured by the smell of roast mutton and the strains of fiddles and pipes warming up, everyone drifted off to engage in more convivial pursuits.

Then the celebrating commenced in earnest.

"You really don’t want to be doing that." At the sound of James’ level voice, Blair’s hand stopped in mid-air, trembling slightly. The rim of the tankard brushed his lower lip, the tangy aroma of the hearty ale teasing his nostrils. He slowly lowered the drink to the table, nonchalantly exchanging it for a cup of apple cider.

"Oops…wrong cup." Blair shrugged his shoulders and affected his most innocent look. It was a lie, of course. Blair knew it and so did James. The boy brought the sweet cider to his lips and began to drink, watching James over the top of the cup. The cool liquid made its way down his throat in slow steady gulps until the cup was drained. Blair set the cup back on the table, his eyes never leaving James’ face. He gulped again, wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve and waited.

James closed his eyes and sighed. He opened his eyes and looked skyward, as if praying for the strength to cope. The gathering had barely begun; he had no desire to dampen either his or Blair’s festive mood by doling out any punishment. His gaze returned to his young charge.

"Oh?" The word was uttered with just the right inflection to let Blair know that the lie had been noted. James leaned forward on the table, resting on his forearms, pinning Blair in place with a stern look. "I’ll grant ye this one reprieve." He raised a forefinger in admonishment. "One. If I so much as catch you within spitting distance of any type of spirits, you’ll not be sitting easy for a week."

Blair hastily nodded in agreement…not daring to try another denial…silently thanking the goddess for small favors.

Just then a small tangle of lads approached, Rupert Grant leading the way. James recognized the other three from the schoolhouse and easily placed names with the faces. Alexander Baird, Hugh Cameron and Duncan Munro. As they reached the table, Hugh was pushed to the fore.

"Master Ellison…we, um…that is…we’d like to apologize to you and Blair. We were, all of us…" Hugh waved in the general vicinity, indicating all the boys. "We were verra rude to Blair, and no excuse for it. Except for Rupert, o’ course. And well, we were hoping…that is, if it’s all right…could Blair be off with us?"

James stood, causing the boys to jump back. He looked from the boys to Blair, smiling as he noted the stunned look on his guide’s face. A stern lecture…regarding judging others by appearance or gossip mongering…was called for. But the look on Blair’s face, which had changed from stunned to pleased, stopped him.

"Aye…be off with you, then. And try not to get into too much mischief, the lot o’ you."

Blair was having a grand time. He and Naomi had traveled for a time, shortly before her death, with a band of gypsies and fortune-tellers. He had assumed, up until today, that there were no people anywhere that could rival them when it came to raucous merriment.

The Highlands could be a harsh, forbidding land yet still it was unrivaled in its beauty and solitude. Descended from fierce bands of Viking and Norse raiders, the clans had thrived for generations among its lochs and moors. They lived and worked hard…and they played and rejoiced in life even harder.

For a time, the boys watched the friendly competitions that were taking place. Wrestling, arm-wrestling, stone throwing, and weight-pulling…among others feats…were being passionately waged…and wagered on. No small amount of bruises, abrasions, gouges, cuts and general bloodletting took place, with few broken bones or life-threatening injuries. At the end of each round of competition, victor and looser would wobble off, arm in arm, among hearty cheers and congratulatory remarks from the onlookers.

Blair abandoned his new comrades for a time, choosing to wander over to a corner of the yard where the storytellers had settled in the shade. He listened, wide-eyed in rapt attention, to tales of William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. He cheered along with the other listeners upon hearing the story of the thistle and how it came to be the flower of Scotland…laughing at the pantomimed imitation of Viking raiders hopping about in their bare feet in a patch of thistles…thereby alerting an unwary sleeping band of Highland fighting men. The Sons of the North Wind, Thomas the Rhymer, the Fian Warriors, The King of the Fairies…all the legends and myths were given their due.

Soon the other lads came and reclaimed their new mate, dragging him off to the other side of the yard, where the musicians were now drawing people. Blair settled to watch as the dancing started. He clapped along as the pipes, fiddles, whistles and drums measured the cadence to wild flings, gentle two-steps and intricate reels. Young and old, men, women and children, large or small…it mattered not. All joined in, and Blair soon found himself yanked to his feet and pulled into a dizzying reel. He laughed as he spun about, trying his hardest to keep up with the pace of the dance and failing miserably. He spied James among the blur of tartans and marveled at the grace with which the tall highlander followed the weave of the dance.

Blair stumbled out from among the tangle and collapsed on a pile of hay, exhausted. Looking back, he noticed that from the outside looking in, the dance told a story. The in and out moves, to and fro, over and under arched arms…it wasn’t haphazard as he had supposed when in the thick of it.

James soon extricated himself from the dancers as well and flopped down next to Blair. He took a few minutes to regain his breath before he spoke. "You’re having a good time I suppose?"

"Oh…aye! It’s been a bonnie day." Blair jumped up then and hurried off before James could say anything else, noticing Hugh and Duncan waving at him to join them.

James crinkled his nose, smelling the tang of the far off summer rain, hearing the distant rumble of thunder, and feeling the electricity in the air. The storm was still a few hours away; it would not reach the Ellison lands until after dark By then most of the revelers would be bedded down, but still he thought he would be wise to walk about and let everyone know so that they might secure their camps while it was still light.

He spent about an hour meandering about. At last, he made his way to the front of the house, joining Stephen, Simon, William and several of the tenants. The men were eating heartily and discussing clan matters.

Between mouthfuls of food, Stephen brought them up to date on the current status of the flocks that were pastured in the fields to the north.

"Aye, it was a right fine lambing this spring. The flock has near grown by half again. We’d do well to cull a portion and go to market in Inverness. The shearing is near done and we’ve plenty ‘o fine quality fleece as well. I’ve heard by way of Malcolm Dougall that highland wool is fetching a right smart price. There’s a demand in France…they endured a verra harsh winter and their own flocks suffered." Stephen took a moment to wash down the mutton he’d been chewing with a hearty gulp of ale before pointing his finger at James, gesturing with it to emphasize his next comments. "A few lambs have been carried off. Rafe is fair certain there are wolves about. One of the shepherd lads says he’s seen a cougar as well, but I think it unlikely. You’ll want to survey the area yourself no doubt?" Having finished his report, Stephen eyed his now empty plate. A platter of sugared fry-cakes attracted his attention and he quickly claimed several for himself.

James’ attention had been divided between satisfying his own hunger and watching the lively goings-on around him. Stephen’s hand waving drew him back to the matter at hand in time to hear the last comments.

"Oh…aye…the wolves will move on of their accord soon enough, I’d think, without doing too much to thin the flock. The dogs will help see to it. But if there’s a cat about, there’ll be more to worry about than just sheep. We’d best send word about…bairns and wee ones will need to be minded with extra care." He turned to Simon. "You’ll see to it, no? Then, come morning, tell Henry and Rafe to make ready. We’ll leave day after tomorrow."

James settled back then, adjusting his large frame to a comfortable position on a wooden bench near some flowering bushes. He relaxed, enjoying the sights and sounds of his own ‘flock’, anticipating an uneventful evening. At least…as uneventful as one could expect of a clan gathering.

Perhaps it was because of the headiness of all that had happened this day. Or maybe it was due to the prodding of his newfound friends, and a desire to please them. Possibly it was a result of wanting to, at least secretly, defy James’ unreasonable edict. Whatever the reason, when Blair found a small jug of whiskey shoved into his hands he hesitated only long enough to allow Hugh to egg him on.

"Go on, then…have a drink. A wee drop is no going to harm you. Master Ellison will be none the wiser; the smell of it will not linger long about you. Go on." Hugh nudged Blair’s arm; he and Duncan studied Blair furtively, eager to have their new mate join them in their temporary lapse of judgment.

Blair knew James thought him too young to partake in palliatives; he had expressed as much earlier this very day. But the lad had often drunk ale while in Edinburgh. The mildly fermented beverage was readily available and eminently preferable to the offensive, brackish water that was common there.

Of course, the watered down ale served in the back streets of Edinburgh could not rightly be compared to the potent whiskey that was home brewed in the Highlands…

Blair took a gulp, not heeding Duncan’s warning to only sip at first. His eyes watered fiercely, he sputtered and coughed, his stomach threatened to disgorge its contents and his throat felt as if it were on fire.

Duncan hastened to slap Blair on the back in an attempt to be helpful. Hugh hooted with laughter. Blair took another drink as the other two lads looked on in admiration.

"Mo Creach!" Blair’s expletive momentarily stunned the other lads into silence. "T-thas g-g-ood." All three boys dissolved into giggles.

Not to be outdone, Hugh and Duncan took hardy gulps themselves with much the same outcome as Blair’s. The boys snorted, coughed and laughed…eminently please with themselves as they continued imbibing well beyond ‘a wee drop’.

The lads had taken their foray into debauchery away from the main gathering of revelers to a spot on the far side of one of the livestock paddocks. Nonetheless, Rupert soon homed in on them…their boyish antics no doubt serving as beacon to another their own age. The latecomer refused to join in with his friends…Rupert being young enough yet not to be enamored of the prospect of the evils of whiskey.

The boys began telling stories, comparing their lives up to this point…each openly envious of the other’s. To Blair’s chagrin, the country lads were enthralled by his seemingly exotic life in Edinburgh and they, in turn, found it hard to believe that Blair thought their lives to be idyllic.

The little brown jug that Duncan had managed to make off with was by this time empty.

The storytelling gave way to adolescent boasting, and the boasting soon turned to dares… each boy trying to come up with a more outlandish suggestion than the one before.

To Rupert’s horror, Hugh and Duncan challenged Blair to a climbing contest. The young guide had been bragging of his acquaintanceship with the seamen at the docks in Edinburgh. He exaggerated his prowess at being able to scale the tall masts and clamor about in the rigging of ships that docked there. Duncan pointed to a tall, gnarly black oak tree that towered above its neighbors and demanded proof of Blair’s simian talents.

As the three tipsy youngsters made their way toward the tree, Rupert did his best to try and dissuade them. "Are ye daft, then? Look at him, will ye not? Look at the lot ‘o you! You can barely stand and you think he’s steady enough to climb yon tree? Please…let it be!" The trio waved him off and continued their trek, giggling and swaying. Rupert clutched desperately at them, but to no avail. His weakened right hand prevented him from being able to effectively grab hold.

Rupert held Blair in no small regard since the older boy had come to his defense in the schoolroom. He was torn as to what action to take. Clearly, the older boys were ignoring his entreaties. He had no wish for any of them to get into trouble, but at the same time… and more importantly in his mind…he had no wish for Blair to come to any harm. For Blair to attempt to climb the huge oak in his present condition would surely result in an injury.

Praying that Blair would not hold it against him, Rupert turned and ran off toward the house in search of Master Ellison.

By the time Rupert entered the yard Blair had started his climb. Knots and tree holes made the lower part of the climb a fairly easy task. Reaching the first juncture, he paused to rest. He looked down at his companions and was rewarded with nods of approval and shooing motions for him to continue upward. The trunk split three ways at this point and Blair took a moment to decide which route to take. Making his choice, he started to climb again.

He had shinnied a few feet when something caught his eye. Pausing again, he took a moment to let his wavering eyesight calm and focus on what he was looking at. There in front of him, notched into the tree’s trunk, were the initials JE and SE. Blair fingered the carvings, noting by appearance that one set seemed older than the other. He smiled as he thought of the boyhood ritual that had most likely taken place…the younger brother trying to emulate the older.

He continued to climb, bypassing a sturdy branch that arched outward at almost a right angle from the main trunk. He was feeling slightly dizzy by now, from the intoxicating affects of both the whiskey and the height. He finally reached a branch that he deemed suitable for his purpose. He awkwardly maneuvered himself to a standing position and ambled out onto the branch, holding his arms straight out at right angles to his body for balance. To the delighted whoops and laughter of Hugh and Duncan, Blair began an exaggerated parody of a tightrope walker.

The branch narrowed. Blair paid it no mind. The branch’s sturdiness decreased. Blair wobbled precariously. The branch emitted a low groan followed by a loud crack. Blair lost his footing as the branch gave way and he fell through the air.

By the time Rupert found James, he was frantic. Not caring that he was pushing his way past the laird as well as other clan elders, he didn’t stop until he had reached his goal.

"Master Ellison! Please! You must come! Hurry!" Rupert was pulling at James’ shirtsleeve and pointing toward the woods.

James grabbed the boy by the upper arms to stop the agitated arm waving and steadied the boy in front of him.

"Here, now…what’s this all about, then, young Rupert?" James helpfully patted the boy on the back.

"It’s Blair, Master Ellison. You must come at once. He’s…he’s…he’s climbing a tree!" Rupert’s wide-eyed, nervous expression seemed out of proportion to the boy’s explanation.

"A tree is it?" James smiled at the boy, amused by the notion that for some odd reason either Rupert or Blair wanted him to witness this astounding feat.

Rupert’s soft hazel eyes squinted in dismay. "You don’t understand. He…Blair’s been…that is…" The lad decided he could not clipe on his friend. "You must believe me…he should NOT be climbing a tree!" And with that, the boy twisted free from James’ hold and ran off. He glanced back, a desperate pleading look on face.

The sentinel now saw the truly distraught look on the boy’s face. He extended his sight and his hearing in the direction Rupert had pointed. James caught sight of his guide just as the boy levered himself into a standing position and began his teetering high wire act.

"Mo Creach!" James took off at a dead run, leaving startled guests in his wake. Simon, Henry and Rafe were nearby. Seeing the look on James’ face, the three took off after him.

James was almost to the tree when he heard the popping sound just before the branch let loose. His heart tightened in his chest, watching in disbelief as Blair fell…a tumble of arms, legs, braids and tartan all askew.

To James’ relief, Blair fell only a few feet.

The large sturdy branch on which he and Stephen had often played broke the fall. The lad had caught the branch in passing and grabbed on for dear life. He nimbly pulled his scrawny body up and onto the branch, flattening his torso along it length.

The four highlanders reached the base of the tree just as Hugh and Duncan decided to skedaddle. Henry and Rafe each easily snagged one of the miscreants by the scruff of the neck. One didn’t need to be a sentinel to detect the reek of whiskey on them.

Deciding he would have more than enough to handle with his own inebriated youngster, James sent Hugh and Duncan off with Henry and Rafe to let their fathers deal with them.

James ignored the lads’ pleas not to be delivered to what they were sure would be a fate worse than death and turned his attention to Blair.

His guide lay sprawled on the branch, still hugging it. "James? James! Simon! What am I doing down there?" Blair giggled. "I mean…what are you doing up here?" He snorted with laughter.

James took a deep breath. And another. "Are you all right, then? Can ye move at all?"

"Aye…a course I can move…I think." Blair immediately set about shakily pulling himself upright.

"No! Dinnae move!" It was too late; James’ command went unheeded.

The sentinel hastily unbuckled his belt, dropping his sporran and other accoutrements to the ground. He yanked his kilt off and shook it, releasing the folds, and motioned for Simon to grab the other side. They held tight, one on each end, the kilt spread taut between them…and not a moment too soon.

Blair had just managed to get to his feet…a silly, lopsided, ever-so-pleased-with-himself grin on his face…and took one step…into thin air.

He landed in a heap in the middle of James’ kilt, bouncing lightly. He was gently lowered to the ground, and James was at his side. The sentinel quickly scanned his guide’s body for signs of any significant injuries, finding only a few scrapes and bruises. He hugged the boy to him. As he felt the small body begin to shake, James momentarily put aside any thoughts of retribution that the boy had coming.

Until he heard the giggles that accompanied the shaking…

"Oh! That was fun! Might I do it again?" Blair’s eyes sparkled with delight.

Simon thought he might die for trying to suppress the laughter that threatened to break free upon seeing the incredulous look on James’ face.

"Fun was it? Fun?" James released his hold and stood, glowering down at the boy from above. "We’ll just see about that."

Simon’s mirthful grin quickly died as he noted the look on James’ face. He glanced about the area to see if the laird’s son’s hasty exit from the social had drawn any followers. He spotted only one…young Rupert. The lad stood frozen to a spot a few feet away, trembling and wide eyed.

Simon calmly walked up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You did well, lad, to come fetch us. If not for you, Blair would no doubt have suffered broken bones…or worse." He cocked an eyebrow at the boy. "What Blair did, he did of his own accord and his actions will have earned him a sound thrashing I’ll wager."

Rupert nervously crooked his neck to peer around Simon’s large frame; lips quivering as he nervously worried them with his teeth. Simon cupped the boy’s chin, directing his gaze to him. "He’ll no blame you, be sure of it. Now be off with you."

Blinking back tears at hearing this reassurance, Rupert turned and fled, wishing to put as much distance as possible between him and what was about to transpire.

Blair watched as James stomped off, scouting about the area, scanning the ground. The boy’s face held a genuinely puzzled look, not sure why James could not see the humor of the situation.

A few minutes later James halted his search, bent down and retrieved something from the ground. Blair couldn’t see what it was, but clearly heard James’ comment. "Yes…this will do nicely."

James turned and stalked back toward Blair, a very determined look on his face.

Blair couldn’t help it…he began giggling again. The sight of James clad only in his long linen shirt, marching toward him looking gruff and menacing struck the lad as immensely hilarious.

Until he saw what James had picked up…

The slight whiskey induced fog that Blair’s brain had been in started to clear. James’ earlier warnings now echoed in his ears. He scrambled to his feet and began backing away. He’d only managed a few tremulous steps when he bumped up against Simon’s solid figure.

James caught up to Blair in a few strides. He grabbed the boy by the back of his collar and calmly walked him over to a nearby pile of fallen timber. The chunks of wood had fallen haphazardly, one on top of another over the years, until the resulting pile measured nearly waist high to James.

Ignoring the not quite sincere apologies and pleas for lenience that Blair was now uttering, James bent Blair over the topmost log. Holding the boy firmly in place, he gave a brief, but eloquent, lecture.

"Two reprieves did I give you today, lad. As well as a promise of a week of no sitting comfortably, were you to disobey me again. Fun did you say? Aye…did you think it fun when my heart near leapt into my throat at the sight of you falling from that branch? And me thinking you’d break your fool neck? Because you chose not to heed my warning? I’ll warrant you’ll not be thinking it was fun by the time we’re through here."

The clan colors were unceremoniously flipped up and out of the way as James brought the makeshift paddle down across Blair’s squirming butt.

The highlander’s search had yielded a stout piece of bark, not likely to break when put to James’ intended use. It had peeled neatly from the tree in a quarter inch thick piece, the underside smooth and splinter free. The piece was newly separated from the tree and had a slight springiness to it. James had slapped it once against his hand, and feeling the sharp sting it produced, was satisfied that it would serve his purpose.

The spanks came down hard and fast for what seemed like forever. A week, James had said…but Blair was sure it would be at least a month before he’d even be able to think about sitting again. Blair wriggled and twisted about in an attempt to escape the spanks. It did him no good… the spanking continued. He felt sure his bottom was blistered raw. But James still did not stop. Muffled sobs and entreaties held no sway. The spanking still did not stop.

Blair began to cry in earnest, sure that he would be sent away; confident that James would no longer have any use for an irresponsible, disobedient boy such as he. He no longer cared about the spanking; the stinging, fiery pain in his posterior was not the only reason for his tears.

And still the spanking went on. James methodically covered every inch of Blair’s bottom. Contrary to what Blair thought, his butt was not raw or blistered. James had chosen his paddle carefully, wishing only to impart a deep long lasting sting, not cause bruising or welts.

Judging that he had delivered a completely thorough chastisement, James landed a final round of firm smacks to the center of the wriggling butt. He released his hold and threw down the scavenged paddle. He went to retrieve his kilt and found that Simon had readied it for him. With his friend’s assistance James quickly put the kilt back on, all accoutrements back in place, before turning back to Blair.

It had taken a minute or two for the boy to realize the spanking had ceased. He straightened himself slowly, hissing and catching his breath as his own kilt fell back into place. The boy dared not rub at his throbbing rump, fearing the attempt would not give him any relief but only serve to further ignite the blazing sting. He was swaying slightly, both from the after effects of the whiskey and the recent rapid turn of events.

Blair ran a sleeve across his cheeks and under his nose, stemming the flow of tears and snot. He hugged his arms to himself in an effort to calm the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as well as stop the lurching and wobbling of the scenery around him. Head bent in misery, he studied the ground at his feet…not wanting to look up, not wanting to face James or Simon.

James paused for a moment as he took in the pitiful sight. In his mind’s eye he replayed the scene of Blair falling, felt again the awful pang of dread at the thought of what could have happened. No. He did not regret skelping the lad to within an inch of his wee life. It was a harsh reminder, but one he felt was sorely needed.

Blair was his guide…a part of him now. As necessary as the air that he breathed or the food that he ate. The wee monster resided now in the sentinel’s very heart and soul. He had promised to do his best to keep the boy from harm. James smiled to himself. The boy would just have to learn that that promise included James doing whatever was necessary to keep Blair from harming himself.

Simon nudged him now, prodding James forward toward the boy. "A right wretched sight, is he not? You best go gather him up, now." He placed his hand in the center of James’ back and gave his friend a hearty shove.

Blair heard James’ approach and nervously shifted from foot to foot, not sure of what to expect. As quickly as punishment was delivered, so was forgiveness and comfort. James pulled the boy to him in a gentle embrace, mindful of Blair’s minor scrapes and contusions as well as the boy’s tender bottom.

Exhausted and spent by all that had happened, Blair leaned into James’ hold, crying softly. Words of what James supposed were regret and apology were mumbled into the broad chest amid hiccups and sniffling. The highlander responded with nonsense words and a warm hug.

"Wheest. There now, ‘tis over and done." James rocked the boy gently as he noted the darkening sky, hearing the rumble of the approaching storm. He listened to the sounds of the revelers hastily gathering up leftover food and rounding up their youngsters, hurrying off to their camps ahead of the rain.

No further words were spoken as the three companions made their way back to the house. Entering the yard, Simon veered off toward his cottage, wishing his friends a safe night.

James and Blair entered the house to find Stephen and William waiting for them, worried looks quickly replaced by relief at their safe return. Henry, Rafe and young Rupert had relayed the tale of what had happened.

William opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as James shook his head solemnly and steered his young charge to the stairs.

The storm was upon them now. Flashes of lightening and loud cracks of thunder caused James to wince. Blair grabbed his sentinel’s arm, calming him…quieting his senses to a tolerable level.

No words were spoken as James helped his tired charge make ready for bed. He assisted the lad in removing his kilt and trappings. The tartan was folded neatly and placed in Blair’s small chest. The brown kilt was pulled out and placed on top of the chest in readiness for the next day.

Blair sighed and grimaced as he crawled onto the pallet and carefully lay down on his stomach. His rump still throbbed and burned. Silent tears fell, caused by the pain in his backside as well as the contentment he felt.

James knelt at the boy’s side, softly crooning a Gaelic lullaby as he stroked Blair’s forehead. The boy soon fell asleep, lulled by the melody and the gentle caresses, as well as the lingering effect of the whiskey.

"Good night, my wee monster." James paused at the doorway that led into his room and smiled fondly at his guide. The boy had snuggled and wriggled into a curled position on the bed, his coverings and shirt already twisted, leaving his lower half uncovered.

Blair’s bum was a rosy pink.

End

Silkie or selkie – A Celtic house goddess who would mess up a room if she found nothing in need of cleaning.

Wheesht – Be quiet.

Skelping – Spanking

Caochan, Mo Creach, Fils de pute, Caoch , Keech, Vae, Merde, Damnú air, Maldito sea – A variety of expletives in various languages.

Haggis – The lung, liver and heart of a sheep with some spices and oatmeal all stuffed into the sheep’s stomach.

Wee Toerag – A young boy who is usually up to mischief.