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: According to my research there are not, and most likely never were, cougars in the Highlands. But then, there were most likely never Sentinels there either, aye?
The story contains corporal punishment. Be warned.
Many thanks go to Jen for suggesting the title Thistles, Thorns and a Rose, as well as several wonderful ideas I’ve used but won’t give away here. I hope you like my twist on your suggestions, Jen.
Thank you once again to D9 for helping me out with the Scottish ‘flavor’ of the story.
Thank you’s also to Loopy, Rponda and Spacepixell for beta’ing, suggestions and inspiration.
Thank you, Amethyst, for your friendship and encouragement. This one’s for you.
Blair awoke slowly, batting ineffectually at the hand shaking his shoulder.
“Up with you now, do ye hear me, Blair?” Simon’s muffled voice joined in the effort to rouse the listless youngster.
A soft groan escaped Blair’s lips as he rolled away from the insistent prodding. “Ga’way.” He curled into a tight ball, burrowing deeper into the tangle of coverings. The first aftereffects of the previous day’s foolhardy drinking spree began to take hold. His head felt heavy and his throat was dry.
“There’s much to be done today, and James has allowed you to sleep half the morning away.” Simon pulled at the blanket, battling with Blair to pry the edge from the boy’s tight grasp. “I’d not have been so generous, were it up to me.” He gave a hearty yank, and the blanket fell away from the huddled figure. “Get up now, and be quick about it. James wants ye to join him in the front parlor.”
Blair reluctantly pulled himself upright, immediately popping to his feet as the aftereffect of James’ reaction to the drinking spree also took hold. Mumbled curses and soft moans tumbled from his mouth as he rubbed at his sore backside. He felt lightheaded and dizzy, swaying slightly as the room seemed to spin slowly.
Simon snorted and tried to hide a grin as he steadied the youngster. Blair leaned against Simon’s broad chest, breathing slowly and deliberately until he regained his balance.
Simon pried Blair from himself and held him at arm’s length, peering into the boy’s half opened, bloodshot blue eyes. “Aye, well, there’s no help for it, lad. ‘Tis no an easy lesson, is it, when the feebles take hold after the folly of imbibing too freely of spirits ye’re no match for?”
Blair’s hands flew to his head, his fingertips massaging his temples, before cupping his hands over his ears. “Must ye talk so loudly, then? I’m right here am I no?” His eyes narrowed to slits and he glared at the older man.
Simon chuckled softly, and stroked Blair’s arms sympathetically. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Aye, ye are lad, so ye are. But you’ll no help yourself any by casting nasty looks about. There’s none of us will be of a mind to put up with your antics today.” He pinned Blair with a stern look. “Especially not James.”
This statement seemed to sober Blair considerably. The previous day’s events came back to him in a rush. It had been a grand, carefree day, filled with merriment until he’d ruined it. Any pleasant memories were overshadowed by thoughts of James’ grim lecture, displeased looks and the merciless spanking he’d been given. His thoughts were still foggy, addled by the slowly diminishing effects of the whiskey.
Lost in the haze, recollections of James’ forgiving embraces and nonsense words of comfort did not surface. Insecurities, coupled with the selective memory only an adolescent can muster, overwhelmed the lad.
Blair had known from the first day he’d met James, he was truly no more than a servant of the highlander, guide or no; he’d been foolish to ever think otherwise. In his befuddled state, he assumed James wanted little to do with him today after the way he’d behaved.
He hung his head and nodded. “Aye, Master Banks. I’ve no one to blame but myself for the state I’m in this morning. I’ll be down shortly.”
Satisfied that Blair was awake and somewhat stable, considering the hangover the boy was feeling, Simon turned to leave. “Verra well. I’ve things to attend to. Dinna tarry.”
Once Simon departed, Blair sighed heavily and began rummaging for his clothes. The movement caused his stomach to rebel. Blair looked about frantically, hoping to see something into which he could throw up. Spying nothing that would work, he cupped his hand over his mouth and ran from the room. He flew down the back stairwell and through the kitchen, ignoring the startled looks thrown his way by the cooks and servants.
The night’s rain had left the ground muddy and slippery. As Blair barreled out the door, the mud oozed up between his toes and he lost his footing. His momentum propelled him a few feet as his arms pin-wheeled about in a frenzied attempt to keep from faltering. The effort failed and Blair fell forward, landing spread-eagled near the edge of the herb garden. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, and promptly retched. He held his position for a few moments, breathing slowly, until his stomach’s lurching abated.
Blair slowly eased to his feet, and swiped his sleeve across his mouth, trailing mud across his face and streaking the material with vomit. He bent forward slightly, resting the palms of his hands on his knees, hitching small gulps of air in through his mouth.
When he finally felt steady enough to stand up straight, Blair noticed Rupert Grant standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching him intently. The younger boy held a cup in his good hand, and when he saw Blair was aware of his presence, he came forward and held it out to him.
“Miss Sally says you’re to drink this.” Rupert looked into the kitchen and nodded in the direction of the Ellison’s cook. “She says it’s good for what ails ye this morning.”
Blair sniffed at the liquid in the cup before carefully taking a few sips. It was a warm tea, made with honey and laced with spices Blair couldn’t identify. It felt good on his throat and as it entered his stomach, he could feel the nausea begin to abate.
“Aye, thanks—it seems to help.” Blair smiled at his friend.
Rupert returned a shy smile and shrugged. “I’ve come by to say farewell; my family’s leaving shortly. I was waiting in the kitchen; Henry said you’d most likely be up soon. I’m glad I didna miss you.” He looked about, kicked his foot against the doorjamb and finally returned his gaze to Blair. “I-I didna want you to be mad at me.” At Blair’s puzzled look, he continued. “I—you—Master Ellison—I didna want ye to think I’d clipe on ye, but…” He shrugged again. “Did it hurt much? The skelping?”
His backside still throbbed and stung, and Blair winced slightly as his answer came out in a near whisper. “Aye, it did.” But the look he gave Rupert held no censure. His next comment was uttered a little more loudly. “How are Hugh and Duncan, then?”
“In much the same shape as you; they’re both having a wee bit ‘o trouble standing steady—both from the whisky and the thrashings their da’s gave them.” Rupert stopped for a moment, considering his next words. Coming to a decision, he decided he’d rather Blair hear it from him. “They both came up from the camp earlier this morning, to apologize to Master Ellison. Their da’s have forbidden them to associate with you, since it ‘twas their foolishness almost got you killed.”
Blair looked surprised and confused. “What do you mean? No one forced me to drink or climb that tree.”
Rupert sighed forlornly. “You’re the guide to the clan sentinel, are ye no? If you’d been hurt, what then? They should have been watching out for ye, not getting you into trouble.”
“But Master Ellison knows…Mo Creach! Master Ellison! I forgot, I’m supposed to be in the parlor! Merde!” Blair thrust the cup back into Rupert’s hand. “I’m no mad; you did what you thought you must.”
“We’re still friends, then?” A look of relief washed across Rupert’s face.
“Aye, still friends—safe journey!” Blair turned and ran into the house.
He raced through the kitchen, once again garnering astonished looks, sped down the hall, rounded the corner leading into the parlor and skidded to a stop.
Expecting to find only James, Blair was startled to find himself several feet from an equally startled woman.
The lady clutched at her midsection, let out a shocked gasp, and stumbled backwards.
James appeared at her side, encircling her waist with one arm and grasping her elbow with his other hand, steadying her. He moved her to the nearby loveseat and guided her down onto it.
Blair had not stopped to consider his appearance in his haste to comply with James’ order to come to the parlor. His hair was an unruly mass of curls and braids, hanging wild about his face and torso. The whites of his eyes were spider-webbed with tiny red lines, offsetting the deep blue of the irises. His face was flecked with mud and dried spit. The shirt he’d slept in was crumpled and dirty and smelled of whisky, vomit and unwashed skin. The boy’s legs were splotched and streaked with mud and his feet and ankles were caked with the substance. A trail of brown footsteps snaked out behind him and disappeared into the hall.
James turned and gaped at Blair, open-mouthed, for the space of several heartbeats. He then closed his eyes and his mouth snapped shut. He counted silently to ten, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists in an effort to stay calm. He marveled at the fact Blair seemed to excel at presenting himself as a half-wild, uncivilized, demon child.
“It’s naught to worry about, Isaebail.” James shot a disparaging look at Blair and then returned his gaze to the woman. “’Tis Blair; I was just telling ye about him, no?”
A warm blush crept slowly up Blair’s neck and colored his cheeks as he realized several more pairs of eyes were trained on him. One set of eyes belonged to William. The other, to a man he didn’t recognize. Judging by the man’s tartan, clan emblems and general demeanor, he was of some importance.
“This, this, urchin? This is your guide?” Isaebail paled slightly and began fanning herself with a handkerchief pulled from her sleeve.
Blair opened his mouth to say something, but quickly changed his mind as William cleared his throat in warning.
“Aye, well, the lad had a bit ‘o a rough day, yesterday. At the social, no?” James turned once again toward Blair, a devious glint in his eye. “He does clean up rather nicely, though. I’ll just see to it and return shortly.”
Expecting to be sent from the room, Blair was surprised to instead find himself hoisted up and flung over James’ shoulder. He clutched at James’ plaid and was able to catch a glimpse of the muddy trail he’d left, now in reverse, as he was carted back down the hall.
Several servants scurried about, making ready to scrub the messy footprints, but James stopped them with a curt command.
“Leave it. Blair will attend to it shortly. Find Henry and Rafe; we’ll be down at the stream.” James strode purposefully out the back door, as one of the maids took off across the yard to find the men James had asked for.
At this point, Blair’s already queasy stomach protested the unsettling, bouncy treatment it was being subjected to and began a disquieting rumbling.
“If you’ve any sense at all, laddie, ye’ll not dare boke down my back.” As if it had a mind of it’s own, Blair’s stomach responded to the stern edict and the uneasy roiling ceased.
James trekked along a path that skirted the herb garden and wound gently downward through a stand of fruit and pine trees, ending at a small wooden dock that jutted out into a peaceful stretch of clear water. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the putrid odor wafting off the squirming figure slung over his shoulder.
Two small boats, which were used occasionally for fishing or a leisurely afternoon respite, were tied securely on one side of the dock.
James walked out onto the dock and straight to the end, taking only a moment to peer into the water. James and Stephen had often fished or dove in from this spot safely, but he double-checked to be sure there were no rocks or other submerged impediments.
As soon as James stepped onto the dock, Blair realized what the highlander intended to do. He began thumping James on the back and protesting loudly.
“Stop! Caoch! Are you daft? Don’t! Caoch!” Blair was wiggling and struggling to slide off James’ shoulder. “Put me down!”
James gave the small backside a hearty swat. “As you wish, brat.” He slid the resisting youngster off his shoulder, slung him into his arms, swung him out over the water and let go.
Blair landed with a splash, and was completely submerged. He promptly bobbed up and broke through the surface, sputtering and coughing. Cursing madly, he grabbed hold of the end of the dock, preparing to pull himself out of the water. Crouching down, James placed a hand on top of Blair’s head and pushed him back under.
This time when Blair resurfaced, James was standing up, looming over him and pointing a finger at him in warning. “Stay right where you are.”
Rafe and Henry had arrived just in time to watch as James dumped Blair into the stream. They hung back on the shore, until James acknowledged their presence and signaled them to join him. Rafe was holding a bar of soap and two large towels.
“Sally said as ye might be wanting these.” Rafe held the items out.
James snagged one of the towels and began wiping at the grime and mud staining his plaid and shirt.
“Not me.” James pointed at Henry. “You.” Henry took the remaining items from Rafe and waited for James’ next instructions.
“Rafe, I need ye to find some work clothes for Blair. A pair of breeks and an old shirt of some sort, aye?” Rafe nodded at James and headed back toward the house.
“You.” James pointed again at Blair. “Strip out of that shirt.” He held up a hand, waving off the protest he knew was coming. “Not one word, do ye hear?”
Blair reluctantly peeled the shirt off, wadded it up and prepared to throw it at James. One cocked eyebrow and he thought better of it. Instead, he set it down on the dock.
James spoke to Henry, never taking his eyes off Blair. “See to it he scrubs his scrawny little hide until Rafe returns with clothes. Then take him back up to the house. I’ll have Sally fix something for him to eat that’ll settle his stomach. Then he’s to scour the muddy trail he left.” He turned his gaze to Henry. “Ye can leave him to the task, then, and go back about your business. Simon will collect him later.” Without another word, or backwards glance at Blair, James turned and left.
Henry handed the soap to Blair and sat down, cross-legged, near the dock’s edge. “Ye best get to it, lad.” He waved a hand in Blair’s direction and settled in to oversee the impromptu bath.
Blair began soaping himself unenthusiastically, occasionally casting wary looks Henry’s way through squinted eyes. The cool water had done much to dispel the generally sour feeling that had beset him since waking. He soon started scrubbing with more vigor, until he was thoroughly lathered. He dunked beneath the surface to rinse, resurfaced, and began the process again.
“Might I ask you a question?” Blair waited for Henry’s nod. “Who were the people in the parlor with Laird William and James?”
Henry chuckled as he finally put two and two together and realized why Blair had been so unceremoniously dunked in the stream. “Brian MacLachlan and his daughter Isaebail. Laird William and Laird Brian have been friends since they were lads. Isaebail has just recently returned from Italy, where she’s spent these past two years with her aunt. They were on the road home from Inverness when they got word of the social. They hastened to arrive in time for the merriment, but…” Henry shrugged.
“She’s verra pretty.” The image of the woman replayed in Blair’s mind. She was taller than Blair by a few inches, and of medium build. Her skin was fair…not pale…a sort of creamy white. Not the ruddy tone common among highland women whose daily lives necessitated working in the outdoors. She had an oval shaped face and deep green eyes. Her long, russet-red hair was pulled back in sections, held off her face by a blue ribbon near the base of her skull, the long tresses cascading freely down her back.
“Aye, she is that.” Henry winked conspiratorially at Blair. “The gossip is she’s sweet on James, and has designs on him.”
“Designs?” Blair’s innocent look took Henry aback, and he decided he’d just as soon not take it upon himself to educate the lad in regard to the wiliness of the opposite sex. In any event, he was saved from the task by the timely arrival of Rafe.
The yard in front of the house was abuzz with people all morning. Those who had traveled the furthest were the first to have left. Others still milled about, eating, catching up on gossip or clan business missed the day before, and bidding farewells.
The social had not been as large as ‘official’ clan gatherings, such as those held in the autumn or those called by the clan chiefs for oath taking or counsel. But it had been a pleasant diversion after a long winter, and many were reluctant to leave. It might well be some time, especially for the women, children and the elderly, before there would be another chance for such an enjoyable distraction from their daily routines.
As it turned out, those who lingered would leave with fresh rumors to spread.
Isaebail clung to James’ arm as he escorted her about the yard, her manner clearly broadcasting her intention of laying claim to the heir to Cascade Moor. She fussed and fawned over each comment or observation made by the handsome sentinel. She giggled and blushed coyly at every opportunity.
James Joseph Ellison was no small catch. He was already well known among the clans for his sentinel abilities. William was a respected clan chieftain, a position James would someday inherit along with Cascade Moor.
Brian MacLachlan adored his only child, spoiling her at every chance. She led a sheltered, pampered life; her every whim indulged to the best of Laird Brian’s ability. She was accustomed to getting what she wanted. Several years earlier she had set her sights on James, who had gently rebuffed her advances, claiming his clan responsibilities as sentinel left him no time for thoughts of marriage.
The plain truth of it was Isaebail was not his type. When James did allow himself to entertain thoughts of marriage and family, he envisioned a down-to-earth, self-sufficient lass who would be both a partner and soul mate…not an overindulged brat whose main purpose in marrying was to boost her social standing.
Isaebail had not acquiesced gracefully, and her father had sent her off to Italy to sulk, pout, and amuse herself by trifling with the wealthy upper class society of Rome.
But she had not forgotten James, and had arranged to be kept abreast of his activities. In her opinion, there was not an overabundance of marriageable prospects among the clans’ higher echelons. James was clearly the frontrunner of those she considered worthy of her consideration.
Word had reached her that James was beginning to have difficulty controlling his sentinel abilities. It was hinted he would soon have to give up that aspect of his clan obligations. Isaebail was delighted at the news. She had arranged to return to Scotland immediately. With James no longer able to use his duties of sentinel as an excuse not to marry, she was sure she could get what she wanted.
To her dismay, she arrived at Cascade Moor to find James was in full control of vastly improved senses. And to make matters worse, instead of doting on her, the sentinel had spent most of the morning boring her with talk of his guide. Outwardly, she pretended great interest, nodding and smiling. Inwardly, she was horrified by what she was hearing.
James’ ‘savior’ was nothing more than a common thief, a guttersnipe.
Topping it all off had been the sudden appearance of the obstreperous little urchin, half dressed and disheveled, bold as you please, smelly, and dirty and…so inferior.
To her satisfaction, James had at least hauled the youngster away, no doubt to administer a sound beating.
As they walked around the yard, Isaebail was well aware of the attention she and James were drawing. As they visited and exchanged pleasantries, she made a point of staying close to James, at times answering people’s inquiries as ‘we think so too’… or ‘we might do such and such’.
It didn’t take a sentinel to ken what the lass was up to.
James allowed Isaebail her delusions, knowing that come morning he’d be off to the north to hunt for the cougar said to be raiding the clan’s flocks, and she’d be leaving with Laird Brian for their home to the south.
He tolerated her prattling, amused by her none-too-subtle attempts to draw him into conversation about marriage. He endured her incessant nattering about how much more civilized Italy was when compared to the Highlands. He put up with every bit of her non-stop chatter, only half listening, until the subject of her driveling discourse turned to Blair.
“How long must you put up with him, then? This, what did you call him? Guide?”
“Put up with him? It’s no a matter of putting up with him. Blair’s a part of my family now, a part of the clan.” James leveled his gaze at Isaebail, no longer amused by her flippant remarks.
“But you can’t be serious, James.” Isaebail’s voice was dripping with disbelief. “When we--that is, I hardly think it’s appropriate to treat a servant like…”
James gritted his teeth. “How I treat Blair is none of your concern.”
Isaebail glanced nervously about; aware they were still being watched. “James, please, perhaps we should go back to the house? We could speak more privately…”
“There’s naught to speak of, it’s not your concern.” James’ mouth was set in a thin line, his level voice, he thought, a clear signal the conversation was over.
Isaebail thought differently.
She had come all the way from Italy, giving up the comforts of a villa and the attentions of several interesting young noblemen, in order to reclaim what she thought to be hers. For two years she had waited and planned for this day. She had practiced her feminine charms. She had devised arguments to convince James their marriage would be for the good of the clan. She had readied herself for the possibility of having to contend with other women who might stand in her way.
She was not prepared for Blair.
“It most certainly is my concern.” Isaebail’s voice was low and harsh. “He’s no more than a pet, like father’s favorite hunting dog. Aye, we keep him fed and clean, and even fawn over him occasionally. He’s useful, and knows his place.” The young woman’s green eyes narrowed to slits. “But father’s not adopted him.” She blundered on, mistaking James’ silence for agreement with her assessment of the situation. Having asserted herself, she continued. “When we’re married, I’ll not put up with…”
James had heard more than enough. He grabbed Isaebail by the elbow and shook her, cutting off the rest of her comments.
“It will be a cold day in hell, Mistress MacLachlan, that finds me wed to a selfish, spoiled wench such as you. I’ve put up with your callow frippery due to our fathers’ friendship, but no more. Now, unless you want to find yourself across my knee, receiving the tanning your da should have given you years ago, I suggest you keep your foolish remarks to yourself.”
A deep red blush colored Isaebail’s cheeks, her faced twisted in an angry scowl. No longer caring that they had attracted unwanted spectators, she pulled her arm from James’ grasp. She raised her hand, palm flat, poised to slap the sentinel’s cheek, outraged at his insults.
James grabbed Isaebail’s wrist, easily fending off the blow. “I’ve no time for this nonsense. I’ve things to attend to.” He turned Isaebail toward the house and gave her backside a resounding smack. He turned and strode away, not looking back.
The swat hadn’t done any harm; there were several petticoats and skirts between James’ hand and his target, but it had the intended result nonetheless.
Embarrassed, an indignant Isaebail raced toward the house, ignoring the surprised stares, muffled snickering, and smiles of those who had witnessed the scene.
Blair returned to the parlor; wiping his wet hands on the tail of his shirt as he walked. He surveyed the hall on his way, making sure no mud had escaped his clean up effort.
The house was quiet; everyone but him seemed to be outside.
He’d spent the last hour on his hands and knees, scrubbing away, obliterating any sign of the dirt-laden trail he’d created. He’d pushed all his misgivings and insecurities out of his mind for the time being, concentrating his energy on the task at hand.
Blair scrutinized the parlor, and concluded he’d satisfactorily removed all evidence of his earlier entrance.
Just then, the front door flew open and Isaebeil rushed into the room. She slammed the door furiously and turned to see the object of her wrath, once again where he didn’t belong.
“You! You vile creature!” The words were spat at Blair as Isaebail advanced toward him.
“M-me?” Blair’s voice came out in a startled squeak, and he instinctively backed away from her.
Isaebail ranted at the youngster, her voice a low, menacing snarl. “You’ve ruined everything. James and I would be wed, if not for you. You’re nothing more than a servant, and he allows you to think you’re a part of his family?” She stood in the middle of the room now, trembling slightly from the vehemence in her words. “He dresses you up and shows you off, like some kind of prize animal, and you think it means annathing? All this sentinel nonsense would be over and done with, if not for you.”
Blair took a few more steps back, stunned by the unexpected diatribe leveled at him by this woman he didn’t even know. In his confusion, Blair misunderstood Isaebail’s statements regarding her and James marrying, wondering how he could be the cause. He had no way to know James had no desire to marry Isaebail.
“W-what do you mean, prize animal?” Blair eyed her suspiciously, instantly regretting the question, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Isaebail smiled wickedly at the boy, once again using her analogy of her father’s favorite dog to drive home her point.
Hearing Isaebail’s assessment of his importance only served to reinforce Blair’s growing doubts about his place in James’ life.
So much in his life had changed in so short a time.
Many events over the past few weeks demonstrated James’ fondness for him. One part of him wanted desperately to believe it was because he was more than just a favorite pet.
Another part reasoned he had not come to the Highlands by choice. James needed a guide to help him use his senses effectively, and Blair was it.
Blair clutched at his throat, fumbling for the good luck amulet that should be there; grasping for the reassurance the feel of it always gave him.
It was gone.
Blair continued to finger his neckline anxiously; the amulet had been there when he woke, he was sure of it.
He’d only worn the amulet, at first, to please his mother. Over time, he’d come to rely on the comforting feel of it when he was alone or in need of any sort of spiritual guidance. When he’d first met James, and the highlander’s brooch matched the design of his amulet, he’d taken it as a sign of good fortune.
Blair was as superstitious as any person of the time. For the amulet to be gone now could only be viewed as an ill omen.
“I-I’m sorry, milady.” Blair turned and ran from the room, ignoring the remarks Isaebail hurled at his retreating figure.
As Blair dashed through the kitchen, heading for the back door, he ran headlong into Simon. The overseer had been on his way to collect the youngster, at James’ bidding.
“Ah, there ye are then, lad. I see you’re feeling much better, aye?” Simon looked the boy up and down. He winked at the lad, having heard of the morning’s fiasco from James. “Nothing like fresh air, sunshine, a little hard work, and a refreshing dip in the stream to improve one’s spirits, aye?” Simon clapped Blair on the back, and turned to leave.
“Come along, then, there’s much to be done yet. There’s no few people still about from yesterday’s festivities; some will need help breaking camp and such.” Simon looked over his shoulder, making sure Blair was in tow. “And we’ve much to get done ourselves. We leave for the north, a hunting party, first thing in the morning…”
Blair quickly composed himself; coming to the conclusion he’d best start conducting himself in the manner befitting his true place in the order of things. He’d misinterpreted the sign the goddess had given him, as was evidenced by recent revelations and the loss of his amulet.
“Aye, as you say.” Blair trailed after Simon, only half listening to the older man. He chanced a quick glance behind him; relieved to see Isaebail had not followed him.
He had agreed to work for Master Ellison as his guide in payment for the microscope he’d stolen. Borrowed, he corrected himself. The sign from the goddess had obviously been intended as nothing more than a means for his rescue from capture and punishment.
The sooner he repaid the debt, the better.
Blair saw little of James the remainder of the day; Simon kept him busy with a myriad of chores around the campsites, house and yard, as well as with preparations for the upcoming hunt.
James busied himself with tasks of his own, keeping a safe distance from the house…and Isaebail.
Isaebail…Blair shuddered involuntarily at the thought of her, as he worked in the stable around mid afternoon, forking hay from the loft to the stalls below. He’d not told anyone of his encounter with her, still confused as to how he could be the cause of James’ not marrying her.
A sudden flurry of activity in the yard caught his attention. He watched from his perch in the hayloft as Isaebail and Laird Brian prepared to depart. He thought this odd; Simon had mentioned the MacLachlan’s would not be leaving until the next morning.
It soon became apparent it was Isaebail who wished to leave, and none too soon. She carried on, throwing a terrible fit, clearly anxious to depart.
James soon came to the yard, summoned by William it would appear, to bid farewell, Blair thought. But Isaebail refused to speak to him.
James spoke to Laird Brian for a few minutes then. The older man nodded his head several times, seemingly in agreement with whatever James was saying. The two men clasped hands in a farewell gesture, and then James walked away across the yard.
He’d gone a few paces when he stopped, and cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something. He turned, and looked up at Blair.
The youngster quickly ducked back inside the loft. He resumed his chores, and when he chanced a look back into the yard a few minutes later, the MacLachlans and James were gone.
The remainder of the day passed quickly. Blair collapsed onto his pallet before the sun had set, bone-tired from the day’s work.
The hunting party… James and Blair, as well as Simon, Rafe and Henry…rose with the sun and made ready to leave. To Blair’s dismay they headed for the stables, where four horses stood waiting, saddled and packed with accoutrements for the hunt.
Blair balked at the prospect of riding horseback for any distance, his backside still being somewhat tender. Henry and Rafe teased the boy, jostling and nudging him playfully. Blair took the ribbing good-naturedly, but smiled in relief when James added extra blankets as cushioning on his mount before swinging Blair up to ride behind him.
As the small band of men made their way north, they stopped often to warn those they met of the danger of a cougar on the prowl, as well as to ask if others had seen any signs of the large cat.
At one cottage they were told the hunt was a waste of time.
“A cougar you say? Humph! ‘Tis more likely any lambs what have gone missin’ would be due to a band of fortune tellers what’s been seen sneaking about the district.” The speaker made no attempt to disguise his contempt of the vagabond troupe. “Tis no just the wee lambies what are in danger ‘o being snatched with the likes ‘o them about, and ye ask me.” A decisive nod accompanied the sharply spoken words.
Blair bristled at the man’s callous, offhand remarks. He and Naomi had made their home for a time with a band of gypsies and the insinuations angered him. He opened his mouth, ready to tell the dunderhead what he could do with his observations. He abruptly changed his mind as James held up a hand to shush him.
“Aye, well, I’ll keep it in mind.” James inclined his head toward the man. “And I’ll ask you, as well, to keep a sharp eye out for beasties of the four legged variety.”
By midday they reached the northern pastureland. Blair noticed the subtle changes in James that marked his senses coming fully alert as they neared the area the cougar was supposedly inhabiting.
The men conferred with the shepherds, gathering information and scouting for signs of the cat. Blair stayed close to James, intuitively guiding the sentinel by his touch, his presence, speaking only when spoken to by James, and then only in the hushed, measured tones he’d learned wouldn’t distract James from his quest.
By mid afternoon James was satisfied there was indeed a cougar about, and no small one at that. They made camp in a small wooded area not far from the coast. The sounds and smell of the nearby North Atlantic drifted across the craggy land.
With explicit orders for Blair to stay behind under the watchful eyes of Henry and Rafe, James and Simon rode off together to call upon one of the lairds of a neighboring clan whose lands bordered the Ellison’s. The two clans were on good terms and James wanted to let the laird know about the hunting party, their prey, and that they might have need to foray onto the other clan’s lands.
The three companions passed the time by recounting the events of the recent gathering. They retold stories, sang songs and idled away several hours in silly gossip. Blair entertained the two men with his animated tales of far-off places he one day wished to visit.
“And where would ye be getting’ such notions in that wee head of yours?” Rafe stared at the boy in disbelief. He’d never ventured outside of Scotland and the boy’s outlandish talk of painted savages and lost civilizations in the New World seemed beyond credence.
Blair just smiled and laughed at the highlander’s skepticism. To him, whether or not the stories he’d heard were true did not matter. It was the unknown, the possibility of discovery and adventure that called to him.
The subject of Blair’s inebriated balancing act eventually was broached.
“’Twas a damn foolish thing to be doing, lad.” Henry ventured. “And a hard lesson ye learned, aye?” He cocked his head knowingly, arching his eyebrows questioningly.
Blair shifted uncomfortably on the log where he sat. He still felt the consequences of the ‘lesson learned’ in his backside.
The self-doubts that had been suppressed during the excitement of embarking on the hunt now came back in a torrent. Rupert’s telling of the other boys’ punishments on his account, as well as Isaebail’s cruel words rushed back into his head and once again fueled his misgivings.
Blair picked up a small branch and poked idly at the fire, stirring the embers. He soon tossed the branch into the fire, stood, and began nervously pacing.
Henry and Rafe looked on in amusement, recognizing the telltale signs of the lad puzzling out something nagging at his insides, waiting for the inevitable outburst.
They did not have to wait long.
“I canna understand why I’ve so many dictates to follow…” Blair’s hands now began flying about. “I canna fathom why ‘tis others should be punished for my actions.” His voice trembled slightly and rose in pitch. “I dinna ken why James wouldna marry because of me.”
“Aye, well, you’re a bit of a handful, are ye no?” Rafe laughed and gave Blair a bemused look. “The behavior James expects of you is no different than what was expected of any of us when we were your same age.”
Henry answered the lad’s other questions. “Hugh and Duncan were not punished for your actions. Being as you’re James’ guide, they should’ve known better than to encourage your folly. What if James had need of ye and ye were in such a state, or hurt?”
Blair rolled his eyes and began to say something, but Henry cut him off.
“As to James’ marrying or no, I canna say for sure, but he was ready to relinquish his duties as sentinel, his senses having gone all awry before he found you, lad.”
In Blair’s mind, that statement explained Isaebail’s intense dislike of him. James would have been free to marry Isaebail if Blair had not blundered into the highlander’s life, prolonging his obligations as sentinel.
Blair stopped pacing and threw his hands into the air in frustration. “It doesn’t matter. As soon as I’ve repaid my debt to Master Ellison for the price of that damned microscope, I’ll leave the bloody Highlands and not look back.”
The amused looks disappeared from the highlanders’ faces. “Leave did ye say?” Henry’s voice reflected the bewildered looks on his and Rafe’s faces. “You’re James’ guide. You’re part of the clan now, aye? Of course you’ll not leave.”
“W-what?” Genuine confusion clouded Blair’s eyes.
Thinking Blair’s tirade was due to the boy thinking he’d be forced to leave at some point in the near future, Henry sought to make things better.
“Well, aye, you’ve naught to fear. A guide is no a job can be measured in coin, or length of indenture. A sentinel needs his guide by his side always and forever, aye?” Henry smiled at the lad reassuringly.
Blair’s heart sank as Henry’s words hit home.
‘Always and forever.’
The youngster turned abruptly and stomped off. Rafe started after him, but Henry stopped him. “Let him go, then. He’ll need a bit ‘o time, no? He’s no doubt been fretting over when he thought James would make him go. Poor lad.”
Rafe nodded in agreement.
Henry called out to Blair. “Dinna wander too far, lad. James and Simon will back soon, aye?”
Blair continued his retreat, waving a hand in dismissal of Henry’s shouted words.
It was early evening by the time James and Simon returned, tired and hungry. The two immediately noticed the absence of James’ wee monster.
“Where’s Blair? Did he behave while we were gone? Or have ye hog-tied him and hidden him somewhere about?” James asked in jest; he’d already located his guide by sense, not far from the camp.
“Oh, aye, he was no trouble at all.” Henry answered. “He’s not gone far; we’ve made sure of that. I think he maybe wanted some time alone. To ruminate.”
“I think ye should maybe have a word with the lad, though.” Rafe gave James a thoughtful look before continuing. “You’d not believe the outlandish yarns he’s been spinning.”
“Oh? Aye? Was it the cannibals of the dark continent or the walking dead of the West Indies this time?” James’ eyes twinkled in amusement; he loved to listen to Blair’s enthusiastic meanderings about all the foreign places he longed to see.
“Humph!” Rafe turned his back on James’ mocking statement and bent over the pot of stew now simmering on the fire.
As the other men ladled heaping spoonfuls of the rich stew into their bowls, James went off to collect his guide.
James spotted Blair not far from camp on a wind swept cliff overlooking the North Atlantic. The boy was hugging his arms to himself, his kilt wrapped tightly around his small shoulders in an attempt to ward off the cold damp spray. The long braids and wild curls whipped madly about the boy’s head, the jingling of the tress’s adornments teasing the sentinel’s hearing.
He slowly climbed toward Blair, making no attempt to conceal his approach…not wanting to startle the youngster. The boy stood well back from the edge staring forlornly out across the roiling sea. James came to a stop next to his guide and stood quietly, waiting for Blair to acknowledge his presence.
Blair never took his eyes from the sea; if he noticed James’ towering figure he gave no indication. He’d spent the last hour visiting the places he’d dreamed of in his mind.
“What is it that you see, then, lad, when you look out to sea?” James braced himself; ready for the assault he was sure would come…expecting a barrage of Blair’s musings regarding places far away and exotic.
Blair allowed his mind’s eye to continue wandering, uninterrupted by James’ question. He saw the bustling streets of New York and Boston…the wild forests of the far off colonies and their strange inhabitants…the islands of the Caribbean with their bizarre tales of voodoo and the occult…the temples and ruins of the ancient Mayan and Aztec civilizations in the jungles of Mexico and South America…the Great Wall of China and the secrets that lay beyond it…the Taj Mahal, an eternal tribute to undying love…the Acropolis…the shores of North Africa and the mysterious dark continent…the pyramids along the Nile…the Coliseum.
His journey continued until he was once more standing on the wind swept cliff in the highlands of Scotland, his sentinel by his side. The world and all its wonders were now lost to him forever… his destiny written for him.
‘Always and forever.’
He willed tears not to form and squared his shoulders. A single drop betrayed him, sliding slowly down his face as he turned to James.
“I see water, James.”
A small patch of the night sky was visible above the clearing, narrowly framed by gently swaying treetops. The moon had not yet risen, allowing an enormous number of stars to shine brightly against the blackness. The campsite was bathed in the soft, orange glow of the banked embers of the fire.
Blair fidgeted restlessly; a wild jumble of disjointed thoughts ran circles in his mind, colliding madly with one another. Every time he tried to tame them, and make sense of them, they’d slip from his grasp and whirl away.
As far back as he could remember, he’d always been teased and harried about his ability to jabber endlessly about anything and everything. Perhaps it would be best to simply talk to James about Isaebail, and being a guide always and forever, and…
James’ stern voice broke through Blair’s musings. “You’d best be getting some sleep.”
Blair started at James’ strict command, and quickly rolled to his side, all thought of confronting James with his concerns quickly put aside. He pulled his plaid up over his head and shoulders, concealing the hurt look that clouded his features.
James sighed heavily. He hadn’t meant the statement to come out sounding as harsh as it did. He’d taken first watch, as was his habit, and the youngster’s restlessness was distracting.
Malcolm Gilroy, the laird he and Simon had visited, had been happy to see the sentinel. He’d seen the cougar himself and attested to its great size and growing boldness. His own hunters had no luck tracking the clever animal.
Malcolm had also warned of a British patrol in the area, making a nuisance of themselves and on the lookout for the band of vagabonds they’d heard about earlier in the day.
Thoughts of Isaebail had crossed his mind several times during the day, but he’d easily dismissed them.
Added to all this was Blair’s fitfulness. James was still puzzled by the strange mood the boy had been in upon his return to camp. Blair had offered no further comment after walking away from James at the cliff. The talk while the men ate revolved around the hunt, and Laird Gilroy’s warnings. After checking their weapons, everyone had retired early, wanting to be well rested for the next day’s pursuits.
James needed his guide rested and calm, come morning. He silently assured himself Blair’s mood was most likely due to nothing more than the boy’s anxiousness over the hunt to come, as well as the long day he’d just had.
“Blair! Move!”
James dove at the boy, wrapping his arms around the boy’s midsection and taking them both crashing to the ground. He pinned the smaller body beneath him, protectively cradling Blair’s head, as the cougar leapt over them both and bounded away.
James could feel the heat of the large furry body as it passed over them, smell the animal’s distinctive musky scent, hear its racing heartbeat as it faded away into the undergrowth.
They had picked up the animal’s trail early that morning and James had easily tracked it, even over rocks and across streams. It proved to be a cunning predator, leading the hunters on a merry chase for most of the day, doubling back on its own trail more than once.
They split up eventually and encircled the area in which James knew the cat had retreated. He’d stationed Blair well outside the perimeter of their trap. James ordered the lad to stay put, not wishing him to be caught in any crossfire or come upon the cat unawares.
James spotted the animal sitting upon a small outcropping of rock that jutted over a deer trail. He’d just lined up the cougar in his sights, when he became aware of movement in the trees at the same moment the cat did. Both hunters’ eyes darted to the source of the movement.
Blair stumbled out onto the path, cursing as his foot caught on a gnarled root. The youngster stood between James and the cat, oblivious to his vulnerable position.
James could see the cougar’s muscles tensing in readiness to leap, and he’d shouted his warning, running toward the boy, just as Blair heard the cat’s snarled growl.
The sentinel pulled himself up, hauling his startled guide with him. Glancing quickly around, he extended his hearing, making sure the cougar was well away.
James grabbed the boy by the upper arms, shaking him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Did I not tell you to stay where I planted you?” Before Blair could answer, James drew the boy to him in a crushing hug. He ran his hands up and down the small trembling back, more to reassure himself Blair was all right, than to soothe the boy.
And then he was shaking Blair again. “Had you stepped out of the trees one second later, I might have shot ye! Or the cougar might have pounced on you!” James’ jaw muscles twitched as he ground out his disappointment and anger from between gritted teeth “Can you never do as you’re told? We’ve spent the entire day traipsing across the countryside, and for naught, thanks to you!” James turned Blair sideways and delivered five quick swats to the boy’s backside. He turned the boy loose and began walking away. “Ye best come along, then. I’m tired and hungry as no doubt the other lads are. It’s no telling how far the cat will have gone; we’ve another long day ahead of us.”
Blair stared after James for a few moments, and then glanced down at the small shot pouch clutched in his hand. It had dropped from James’ belt, the leather thong securing it having loosened sometime during the day. Blair had noticed it after James had left him, and thinking James would have need of it, Blair had followed the sentinel.
He slipped the pouch into the folds of his plaid, intending to place it with James’ things later, once camp was made. Sighing wearily, he rubbed at his backside and trudged after James.
They met up with the others a short time later and James informed them of the missed opportunity to dispatch their prey. The exhausted men collected the horses and rode the short distance to Malcolm Gilroy’s land. The old laird had extended an invitation to spend the night at his home, if the hunt should bring them nearby.
As the others ate heartily, Blair picked at his food. Thankfully, no one seemed inclined to draw him into the conversations at the table, the talk centering mainly on matters that were of no concern to Blair.
Two briefly mentioned topics, however, did draw his attention.
“I’ve heard Mistress Isaebail MacLachlan has returned from Italy, has she no?” Malcolm snickered and feigned an innocent look. “Perhaps, as she’s in the marrying mood, I should call upon that auld coot Brian and ask could I court the lass? Come morning, I think I’ll just pay a visit to the fortunetellers’ camp, aye? Perhaps one of the conjurers will brew me a love potion what will have the wee lass swooning ‘oer me in no time, aye?” Malcolm laughed heartily at his own witticism, a gap-toothed smile breaking out across his wizened old face.
James shot the older man a nasty look that served to quell the chortles and snorts of everyone except Malcolm.
“You’ve not driven the beggars off?” Rafe let his surprise show in his voice and on his face.
“Och, no, man. They asked permission to camp on my land, they did. And they keep to themselves, mostly. It’s a fool who judges others by the look of ‘em, and ye ask me.” Malcolm used the tip of his dirk to try dislodging a piece of meat stuck between two of the few teeth he still possessed. Blair wondered the man didn’t slice his tongue. “They dinna beg or steal. They’ve goods to trade, and they’ve brought news aboot the clans to the south. They’ve some right fine storytellers and musicians as well. They’re protective of their own, and let no one into their camp. Every morning, they take their wares to the edge of the village to trade and entertain.” A small piece of gristle popped free and Malcolm spit it out onto his plate. “They’ll be moving on, of their own accord, in a day or two.”
“Huh.” Malcolm’s testament seemed to mollify Rafe and the talk moved on to other subjects.
Blair idly fingered a small pewter trinket that dangled from one of his braids, wondering if it would gain him admittance to the fortunetellers’ camp.
“But, James, he’s your guide. Are you sure you want to leave him here?” Simon glanced at Blair. The boy was standing in the open door of the barn, fiddling with several of the adornments in his hair, as he watched the two men.
James finished saddling his horse before answering Simon. “Aye. He’ll stay here. My senses are just fine. I’ve a good idea of the cat’s whereabouts and his mettle. He’s no happy we’ve intruded upon his territory. It was a close call we had yesterday; the cat knows it too, aye?”
James looked up from his task, resting his forearms across the horse’s rump. Simon stood on the other side of James’ horse, readying his own mount. James’ back was to Blair, but he was mindful of the boy’s seeming indifference to the matter being discussed.
“I’ll not need him today. I canna have my attention divided between tracking the cat and wondering is the lad going to disobey me again when he’s told to stay out of harm’s way.” James turned and looked sternly at Blair. “It’s settled.”
James took the reins and led his horse out of the barn, stopping to say a few words to Blair. “You’ll no be any trouble, aye?” James pinned the boy with a no-nonsense look. “You can help with some of the chores, and study your Latin. Malcolm has been gracious enough to allow you the use of a few of his texts.”
Blair offered no arguments. “Aye, Master Ellison.” He nodded briefly in acknowledgement of James’ wishes.
Simon followed James out of the barn, giving Blair a sympathetic look as he passed the lad. The two men joined Henry and Rafe and a few minutes later the four men rode off.
Blair watched in silence until the riders were no longer in sight.
He whispered two words, not meant for anyone else to hear. “Good bye.”
Blair’s sense of direction was mediocre at best. Naomi used to tease that he’d have trouble finding his way out of a burlap sack. The stable boy had told him the distance to the fortunetellers’ camp should take no more than two hours to traverse by foot. Almost four hours after leaving Malcolm’s place, he finally arrived at his destination.
As he approached the camp, several large, gruff looking men came out to meet him.
“Hold up there, lad. You best keep moving along.” One of the men made shooing motions with his hands, urging Blair to leave.
Blair didn’t say anything. He reached up to his hair and pulled one of the plaits out from amidst the tangled curls. He held the braid out from his head for the men to see. A small, oblong pewter medallion swayed lightly in his grasp. A zodiac sign, representing Taurus, was etched on its surface.
The man took a step closer, scrutinizing the trinket. A smile slowly appeared on his face as he recognized the symbol. “Hah ha! Welcome little brother! Come!” The large hands now motioned Blair to follow, leading the way into the camp.
Curious faces peeked out from tents and wagons, accompanied by whispered murmurings and pointing fingers, as Blair was ushered through the camp.
The small contingent stopped at a fire ring near the opposite end of where they’d entered the camp. A tent was set up to one side, and the area was littered with wooden benches, chests, tables and other signs of a makeshift residence.
Bruno, as Blair’s escort had introduced himself, called out as they entered the area. “Geordie! Where are you, man? You’ve a visitor! Come out you old sod!”
The tent flap was thrown back and Blair’s face lit up in a dazzling smile as a man, twice the size of James, emerged. The boy was quickly swept up off his feet into a crushing embrace. The big man twirled him around, as if he were no more than a small child. He then set the giggling boy back on his feet and gave him a playful shove. “Let’s have a look at ye, then, ye scrawny gamin.”
Blair stood as still as his chuckling would allow as Geordie appraised him. The big man circled him, nodding his head and making soft grunting noises. “Aye, well, you’re a wee bit taller, but still no meat on your bony carcass I see.” He poked at Blair’s ribs once or twice for emphasis and the boy clutched at his side and swatted at Geordie’s hand, laughing harder.
“Leave off, you old biddy.”
“An old biddy, am I?” Geordie looked down his broad nose at the lad, crossing his large arms over his chest in an ominous show of annoyance.
“Aye, you are.” Blair uttered the words softly and threw himself at the big man, wrapping his arms around the large waist. “And I’m so verra happy to see you.” Blair laid his head on Geordie’s chest and cried.
Thirty minutes later, talking non-stop, Blair had filled Geordie in on everything that had happened to him in the two years since they’d seen each other.
Allowing a stranger into their midst was an unheard of event, and many inquisitive members of Geordie’s fellowship drifted in out of Blair’s sight as he told his story. The lad recognized many of the faces; many more were unfamiliar. The troupe had grown and changed since Blair and Naomi had made their home among them.
Blair finally stopped talking. A tankard of water was thrust into his hands, and he slaked his thirst. He looked up at Geordie to see him scratching his scraggly beard in thought.
“Ye’re tellin’ me you up ‘an left with out so much as a bye-your-leave? After this Ellison fella, this sentinel, told you to stay put? Because he was worried for your safety? Hmm?” Geordie narrowed his eyes at the boy.
Blair stood up, ready to pace, or bolt. But Geordie was familiar with the youngster’s evasive maneuvers.
“Just you sit yourself back down.” Geordie pointed a finger at Blair and then at the spot the boy had vacated, stressing his point by jabbing the finger at the empty chair. “You’ve a safe haven with me any time you’re in need of it, you know that, lad. And you’re welcome to stay for as long as needs be. But it sounds to me, like as not, this sentinel will come looking for you, will he not?”
Blair plopped back into the chair with a huff, crossing his arms and lowering his head. His answer was mumbled. “I left him a note.”
“Oh, well, a note…” The exaggerated sarcastic tone of voice was not lost on Blair. His head shot up and his misgivings about his life as a guide spilled out.
“He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t need me. It’s a guide that’s required. I canna do annathing right, I’m always in trouble, the woman James was to marry canna stand the sight of me, and, and, and I’m nothing more than a pet, stay here, go there, and I dinna want to stay in the bloody Highlands for the rest of my life, at the beck and call of a bloody sentinel!” Blair’s voice had risen in volume, breaking slightly several times; breathing in short, ragged gasps. “I told him in the note that as far as I’m concerned my debt to him has been repaid. I thanked him---I did…” Blair nodded to himself. “For feeding me and allowing me a place to live for a time without having to worry where would I sleep. But his senses are fine now. Whatever purpose my being with him was, has been served. He’ll b-be gl-glad to be rid of me.”
Geordie was frowning now, not sure he cared at all for this high-handed sentinel coxcomb. Before he could say or do anything to calm the lad, their attention was drawn to a noisy commotion at the other end of the camp.
Towering over Blair as they made their way toward the racket, Geordie saw what the din was all about. A British patrol was trying to bully their way into the camp, followed by a small mob of the local villagers.
Geordie stopped suddenly and thrust an arm out, halting Blair. “Wait here.”
Blair grudgingly did as he was told; he was too tired, physically and emotionally to care about what was going on anyway. He meandered over to a nearby tree, and plopped down on a grassy spot beneath it.
The soldiers had been in the village’s tavern and overheard the locals talking about Geordie’s camp. Having heard complaints and rumors about the wandering band, the soldiers decided to investigate. The villagers had trailed along, trying to dissuade them.
As leader of the band, Geordie tried to persuade the patrol to move along, but he knew he had no authority to order the soldiers to stay out. He watched in dismay as the patrol’s self-appointed leader ordered the men into the camp under a ‘search and seize’ command. The soldiers moved out into the camp in pairs, going through tents, knocking over tables, ransacking chests and searching wagons.
Blair was unaware of the approaching soldiers until they stopped directly in front of him.
“Well, would you look at what we have here, mate?” Blair looked up to see one red-coated soldier nudging the other with an elbow. “He look familiar to you, Alec?”
The second soldier reached down, grabbed Blair by the front of his shirt, and yanked him to his feet. He gave Blair a long, hard look and chuckled. “Well, I’ll be. If it ain’t the mouthy little pecker what invited us to haul our sorry arses back to England a few weeks past! What? Nothing to say now, boy?”
Blair just glared at the soldier holding him, and made himself hold his tongue.
“And ain’t he a pretty little thing, too? We didn’t really get a chance to know each other last time we met, eh?” The soldiers began manhandling Blair, shoving him back and forth between them, leering and laughing.
“Would you look at his hair?” Alec started running his fingers through Blair’s curls, fingering the trinkets and making a suggestive clucking sound. “And such pretty eyes.” Alec’s voice took on a soft, dreamy quality. “Such lovely lips. Like a girl, eh?” Alec ran a finger tentatively, intimately, along Blair’s lower lip.
“Christ, mate, are you crazy?” The other soldier pulled at Alec’s sleeve, attempting to make him let go of the boy.
Alec ignored his companion and continued his exploration of Blair’s face, his fingertips now tracing the boy’s jaw line.
Blair started to struggle, the implications of Alec’s lust filled eyes slowly dawning on his naïve young mind. “Let go of me! Let go, you filthy swine!” Blair’s struggles became more frantic, which only seemed to amuse Alec.
Blair did the only thing he could think of. As Alec once again ran his finger across Blair’s lips, Blair opened his mouth, sucked the finger in and bit down hard.
“Ow!” Alec quickly pulled his hand away from Blair, waving the throbbing finger to ease the pain. “You bloody little twit!” He slapped Blair hard, grabbed the boy’s shirtfront and jerked Blair’s face up to his own. “You really ought not to have done that.”
Not letting go of Blair’s shirt, Alec dragged the boy over to a nearby camp table. Blair dug his heels into the ground, fighting and grappling with the crazed soldier.
Reaching the table, Alec shoved Blair chest down across it, slamming the boy’s face onto the hard surface. Alec held him down with one hand as he fumbled in his rucksack for something.
Blair squirmed and wriggled, trying to free himself as genuine fear gripped his heart. He could see the other soldier out of the corner of his eye, trying to dissuade Alec. The loud pounding of his heartbeat drowned out whatever the soldiers were saying.
His struggles stopped as Alec found what he was after. Blair’s eyes opened wide with fear as Alec showed him the gleaming blade of a short, sharp knife.
Alec leaned over Blair’s back, pressing offensively against him, and whispered into Blair’s ear. “I want a keepsake, my pretty.”
Alec carefully selected one of Blair’s slender braids. It was long, extending the full length of Blair’s back. Six small glass beads, deep blue with red and yellow chevron markings, were woven into the braid. The soldier held the braid taut, slid the blade under it and sliced it off.
“Now let’s see else you have to offer.” Alec laid the braid on the table and threw the knife at the ground. Blair heard a dull thunk as the point embedded itself in the soft ground. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight, as Alec began pawing at his kilt, trying to hike it up.
A desperate whisper slipped from Blair’s mouth. “Please don’t.”
“I’d heed his request, soldier. That’s an order.”
Blair opened his eyes and recognized Sergeant Major Willis standing a few feet away, Geordie at his side, seething.
Alec pushed off and faced his commander. “Was just having a little fun, is all, Sergeant Major, sir. No harm done.”
Geordie lunged forward, wanting to grab the red-faced soldier by the neck and throttle him, but settled for grabbing the boy instead. He eased Blair to his feet, and stepped in front of him protectively.
Willis glowered at the soldier. “The Crown does not look kindly on its soldiers buggering children, mister.” He glanced over his shoulder at Alec’s mate. “Get him out of my sight.”
As the two soldiers hurried away, Willis turned to face Geordie and Blair. “My apologies. I trust the boy is all right?”
Blair peered out from behind Geordie’s bulky frame. He nodded his head timidly, not able to find his voice in his dry throat.
Willis easily placed the boy’s face, remembering the lad’s feisty outburst when his patrol had met up with a small band of highlanders on the road to Inverness. As he recalled, the boy had been with James Ellison, who had seemed very protective of the youngster. He wondered what the little scalawag was doing here, but didn’t pursue the matter.
“I suggest you strike your camp and move on, sir. Perhaps to the east?” Willis hoped the man would take the hint, and inclined his head toward Geordie as the big man nodded in agreement.
Within an hour, the villagers had returned to their homes and shops, the British patrol continued southward on its rounds, and all that remained as evidence of Geordie’s camp was doused fires, a large area of trampled grass, and a length of braided hair lying in the dirt.
James was in a foul mood from the moment the hunters left Malcolm’s stable yard.
For three hours, he snapped and barked at the other men as his senses refused to cooperate with the task at hand.
Simon finally had enough when James nearly bit Henry’s head off, after searching for his shot pouch and finding it in the wrong pack.
“Henry, Rafe!” The two men reined in their horses at Simon’s shout. “Ride on ahead for a bit and see if there’s any fresh tracks near the bend in yon river.” Simon pointed out the area and the two men sped off, eager to comply and be out of James’ way.
James sighed as he halted his own horse. He looked at his friend, a pained expression on his face. “You’re not going to lecture me, are you?”
Simon snorted. “Aye, if I thought it would do any good, I might have a go. As it is, I may settle for knocking you on your arse.”
James laughed at this. “We’ve not had a good knock-down in some time, aye? You think you’re maybe up to it?”
Simon snorted even louder. “I’d rather you tell me what’s bothering you, and I didn’t know?”
“Aye. Well. It’s the wee monster, and ye did know, you pompous oaf.” James shook his head slowly. “I dinna ken what’s eating at him. And, aye, he’s become so much a part of me, my damn senses whirl about in a mad frenzy, without him close to put them in order.” James grimaced at the smirk on Simon’s face. “What?”
“He’s a boy, aye? Do you remember when you were fifteen, sixteen? What didn’t eat at you at that age? And you knew who and what you were, where you belonged, aye? This is all still new to him, and I dinna mean just being your guide. I think maybe there’s another sense you need to learn to use if you don’t want to lose him.”
“Lose him? What do you mean lose him?” James’ confusion was evident.
“Henry said Blair spoke of leaving; he thinks you blame him for not being able to wed Isaebail.” Simon couldn’t hide the humor in his voice. He knew all too well what James’ feelings were regarding Isaebail and marriage.
“He what! How would he get a fool notion like that in his head?”
“Aye, well, there’s the great mystery. If something is eating at him, and you know something is eating at him, perhaps you need to have sense enough to put everything else aside and find out what’s eating at him.” Simon relaxed in his saddle, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
A shout came from up ahead just then. “James! Simon! Fresh tracks!”James took a deep breath, and nodded at his friend in acknowledgement of what he’d heard. “Let’s find this damn cougar and dispose of him. I need to get back to Blair and set a few things straight.”
A new sense of purpose guided James as he tracked the cougar. Within an hour, they’d once again hunted the cat down. This time there was no reprieve when James spotted their prey at the edge of one of the clan’s pastures. The cat was poised to pounce upon a small girl. The child sat cross-legged on the grass, playing with a doll, not far from where her father was herding a few stray lambs back to the safety of the flock.
The girl screamed and ran toward her father as a shot rang out. The startled man rushed to her and scooped her up, shielding her small body as best he could from the unseen threat. A look of abject relief washed over his face as he watched the hunters emerge from the thicket dragging the dead weight of a huge cougar with them, not ten feet from where his daughter had been playing.
It was almost dark by the time the hunting party returned to Malcolm’s house. The shepherd had insisted on showing his gratitude by taking the men to his house for food and drink. And the men made a point to stop often on the way back, showing off their prize…not so much to gloat, as to offer proof the cougar was dead.
As soon as James was within sight of the yard and outbuildings, he knew something was amiss. Malcolm came out to greet them as they dismounted. He was allowed a few moments to congratulate them on their success before James demanded to know where Blair was. He’d stretched his hearing as far as he dared, listening for his guide as Malcolm rattled on. The boy was nowhere within the range his senses covered.
“I’m not sure what time he left, James. I’d given him some chores to do, and when I went to gather him for lunch, he was gone. I questioned the hands and servants; one of the lads said Blair asked directions to the fortunetellers’ camp. This was left for you. From Blair.” Malcolm held out a folded piece of paper.
James read the note. He looked around at the anxious faces of Simon, Henry and Rafe. He read the note again, and then crushed it into a ball. Simon held out his hand and James gave him the wadded up piece of paper.
“Henry, Rafe, come morning you’ll head back to Cascade Moor with the carcass, letting everyone along the way know, like today. Simon will come with me to collect the wee monster. Aye?” James issued his orders in a calm, deliberate voice. He waited a moment for the others to nod their understanding.
“It will be your job, Simon, to keep me from skinning him alive when I get my hands on him.”
An early morning smirr covered the countryside as James and Simon rode out to the camp shortly after dawn the next day. They rode in silence, their plaids drawn up over their heads, cloaking them against the cool, soaking mist.
The rain abated as they reached the abandoned camp. Dozens and dozens of footprints, hoof marks and wagon tracks crisscrossed the area, making it difficult to distinguish one set of tracks from another. The moisture saturated ground added to the hodgepodge effect.
“Look, Simon.” James pointed to the ground. “Some of these prints are from boots, such as soldiers wear. And over here, these horses were shod in the manner the British use. And.…” James’ voice trailed off as he spotted the colorfully beaded braid. He reached down to retrieve it and clutched it tightly, pressing it to his chest. “Blair.” He whispered the name as he scanned the area more closely, extending his senses in a vain attempt to locate the boy.
James spotted a small contingent of women and children headed toward the village, after having collected piles of firewood, straw and other items left behind by Geordie’s troupe in their haste to depart.
James and Simon hurried after them, catching up near the outskirts of the hamlet.
A sense of dread washed over James as he questioned several of the women as to what had happened to his guide. Several different versions of the same story were told. The boy had been here when the soldiers arrived; he was seen being treated roughly by a few of them. The consensus was the youngster had left with the soldiers late in the afternoon of the previous day.
Five minutes later, James and Simon were galloping south along the road the British patrol had taken. Blair’s braid was wrapped double around James’ neck and fastened securely, the six glass beads resting on the pulse point at the base of the sentinel’s throat.
Blair sat facing backward on the floor of Geordie’s covered wagon, his feet dangling freely, swaying with the motion of the wagon. He stared at the roadway falling away behind him, taking him further and further from Cascade Moor and his sentinel. Mixed emotions swept over him as the day worn on. He’d said James wouldn’t come after him. He’d said James would be glad to be rid of him. He hadn’t really believed it, though, and he felt miserable.
He would be safe with Geordie, and have a home with the big man. There would be few rules to follow, few demands made of him, and little or no accountability for any foolishness on his part.
Blair spoke to the air in a small, sad voice. “You’re a silly, stupid boy.”
James Ellison stormed into the room at the back of the inn, followed by Simon.
“Where’s the boy? What have you done with him?” James and Simon had easily caught up with the British patrol after riding only three hours. The patrol had not journeyed far, making a temporary post in a modest size town. James was mad with worry since his senses found no trace of his guide.
“Ellison.” Sergeant Major Willis looked up from the ledger he’d been working on, a slightly startled, confused look on his face. “If you mean the ill mannered little urchin who was with you the last time we met, I’ve no idea. I did see him yesterday, on a patrol to the north. He was with a motley band of some sort, a most disreputable looking bunch.” Willis noticed the worried, distraught look on the highlander’s face. “It may be as he’s still with them. Their leader, a man named MacManus I think, seemed concerned for the boy’s welfare.”
“Aye.” James ran his hands through his hair and down across his face, rubbing at his eyes in frustration. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” James and Simon turned to leave.
“Wait.” Willis waited until the two men faced him. “If it’s any help, they headed east. If you ride northeast, rather than doubling back, you should cross their path and save some time.”
James offered the man a weary smile. “Thank you.”
The two highlanders left as abruptly as they had come.
Willis shook his head in amusement as he sat back down at the small table serving as a desk. “Bloody Scots.”
Bruno and another burly man tried to block their way as James and Simon approached the camp.
After spending four hours riding hard across some very inhospitable Highland terrain, neither highlander was in the mood for politeness.
“I’m looking for a lad.” James started out patiently. “About so tall.” He held one hand up to his shoulder in approximation of Blair’s height. “With long, unruly hair down to about here.” James’ hand traveled down to his waist. “And a cheeky attitude. And a mouth that seldom stops chattering.”
Blair’s heartbeat was clearly audible to James and he was itching to track down its owner.
“And I know he’s here.” James quickly lost any pretense of staying even tempered. He pushed past Bruno and made straight for the sound of Blair’s voice. Simon trailed after James, slightly behind and to his left, protecting his friend’s weaker side.
The man who now stood in their way was huge.
“My God James,” Simon whispered. “He makes Angus MacGregor look like a dwarf.”
James stepped to one side, looking past Geordie into his camp. Blair stood a few feet away, with his mouth open in a surprised smile.
“I’ve come for the boy.” James stated the obvious in a calm clear voice, his eyes never leaving Blair’s face.
“Oh?” Geordie just stared at James, measuring the sentinel’s resolve with an appraising eye.
“Aye. He’s mine and I mean to take him, so you best step aside.” James returned the stare, judging his opponent. His right hand rested on the hilt of his dirk.
“Yours?” Geordie let the question hang in the air.
Bruno had also followed along; he and Simon now sized each other up as Geordie and James squared off, each ready to back his friend if need be.
James was tiring of this game.
“I am James Joseph Ellison, sentinel of clan MacKenzie, and he…” James pointed at Blair. “Is part of sept Ellison, a member of my clan, my guide, part of my very being, and a maddening, troublesome pain in the arse.”
Geordie glanced at Blair to see how the youngster was reacting to the verbal sparring match. The lad looked neither scared nor disappointed by the appearance of the man he claimed would be glad to be rid of him. He returned his gaze to James. The man in front of him did not seem at all happy to be rid of the boy. Perhaps one more question…
“Do you beat him?”
“Do I what? Beat him?” James was momentarily taken aback by the question. He noted the concern in the big man’s eyes and answered truthfully.
“No, I do not beat him. But his skinny little backside and my hand are well acquainted.”
A rumbling, chuckling noise started deep in Geordie’s gullet and slowly built to resounding laughter, spilling out of the big man’s mouth in a loud, pleasant sounding guffaw.
Hearing Geordie’s laugh, Bruno relaxed his rigid stance, and Simon followed the other man’s lead. Both men were relieved the standoff had not dissolved into a brawl.
“Welcome to my camp.” Geordie waved his hand, beckoning James and Simon to follow him. Bruno wandered off, chuckling to himself and shaking his head.
James shouldered his way past Geordie and made a beeline for Blair, a determined look on his face, his mouth set in a grim line. When Blair first saw James and Simon approaching, he hardly believed his eyes. After spending most of the day trying to convince himself what he’d told Geordie was true, he was inexplicably pleased to see the two men.
However, James was now headed straight for him, and Blair was definitely not pleased by the look on James’ face.
Blair started to slowly back away, his hands automatically reaching back to shield his butt. His mouth opened and closed frantically, as he tried to form the right words, but for a few moments, nothing escaped. Just as James reached him, he found his voice.
“I can explain, I, I can…” That was all he got out before James grabbed him and hugged him fiercely.
James just held his wee monster then, for a moment, pressing the boy’s head close to his chest. The sentinel mapped his guide’s essence, noting heartbeat, scent and touch. He smiled as the youngster relaxed into the embrace.
Then he released his arms from around Blair, and instantly took hold of him by the scruff of the neck. He glanced quickly around the camp and hauled the youngster a few feet to the side of Geordie’s wagon.
Propping one foot on the large wheel’s axle, James easily draped the boy over his thigh, grabbed the bottom edge of the dirty kilt, and rucked it up off his squirming target.
Before the first loud smack landed on the unprotected bottom, Blair was pleading for leniency.
“James! Please! I, I, I, …Yeouch! Ouch! Ohhhhh!”
James quickly delivered a dozen hard and heavy swats to the center of the wiggling butt.
Blair didn’t have a chance to catch his breath before finding himself upright once more, and turned abruptly to face the side of the wagon.
“There seems to be no corner to stand you in, so this will have to do. Do not move from this spot until I tell you.” James voice was firm, but held no anger. A hard-handed swat to Blair’s butt punctuated James’ edict.
Blair nodded his head earnestly in compliance, opened his mouth as if to say something, changed his mind immediately, and took up his post.
James stomped back over to where Geordie and Simon were now seated. He circled the two men several times, his fingers twitching restlessly as he tried to calm down.
It had been a long, hard day for the sentinel, filled with worry and fear for his young charge’s whereabouts and safety.
“Sit down, James.” Simon’s deep voice commanded. “You’ll be scaring the children with your fretful prowling.” Simon waved in the general direction of the surrounding area, where curious onlookers, young and old alike, were watching the goings-on.
James shot Simon a dirty look, but sat down nonetheless.
Geordie’s booming voice cut through the air, and the spectators scattered. “Be off with ye all, now.” He turned his attention to the two weary looking highlanders seated across from him. “Well, now, I think you and I…” He waggled his hand back and forth in the space between himself and James. “Need to palaver a bit, aye?” Geordie pulled at his scraggly beard thoughtfully and eyed James questioningly.
“Aye, we do, “ James stated forcefully. “And you can start by telling me who the devil you are, and why Blair’s here.”
“Fair enough.” Geordie smiled good-naturedly and James relaxed somewhat. The big man extended his hand, first to James, then Simon. “Geordie MacManus.” The handshakes were returned and Geordie continued.
“Well now, he and Naomi, that’s the lad’s mother, aye? They traveled with us a few years back. We’re most of us highlanders, with a few Irish, French and Hungarians to boot. Those of us who’re Scots don’t have a clan, some by choice, others not.” Geordie shrugged and offered no further comment on the matter of clans. “When the two of ‘em parted company with us, I told the lad if ever needed, he was welcome among us.”
“But you didna offer a permanent home?” James asked suspiciously.
The big man chuckled and shook his head. “Wasna a permanent home the lass was after, for her or the lad.
James sighed. “And he’ll have told you how we met and how he came to be with me?”
“Aye, that he did. Though, by his tellin’, he’s naught but a pet, indentured against his will, not needed, not wanted…”
James looked as if he’d just been pole-axed. “I couldna love him more were he my own flesh and blood. Where would he get such fool notions? Is that why ye asked did I beat him?”
Geordie nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, and he was certain sure ye would not come for him.” He glanced over at the lad, who by this time was fidgeting restlessly and mumbling to himself.
“I’ve no one to blame but myself for the boy not knowing his true worth.” James gave Simon a knowing look. “I’m a sentinel, am I no?”
James let those thoughts hang in the air as he stared thoughtfully in Blair’s direction. The boy was fidgeting in earnest now, muttering to himself in low whispers not even audible to James.
“I think now, though, he might have been shading the truth a wee bit---at least from himself.” Geordie began scratching his beard again. “He’s always had a bit ‘o the wanderlust in him. I can see as if he felt he was trapped where he wasna truly wanted, he’d bolt.”
Simon was holding a fist to his mouth, barely stifling amused snorts and snickers.
James gave Simon a look that clearly stated his friend could keep his self-satisfied gloating to himself.
Geordie continued, oblivious to the silent exchange between the two men. “He did seem verra pleased to see you, even if you look ready to skelp his bum up to his shoulders.”
“Aye, well, I hope he is still pleased in a few minutes, because skelpin’ his bum raw is just what I mean to do.” James’ measured gaze dared Geordie to dissuade him. “I should have had sense enough to see the boy’s confusion. But I’ll not tolerate his disobedience, nor his running off when things are not to his liking.”
Despite what Geordie just told him, as well as what the note from Blair had stated, the lad seemed happy to see him. He needed Blair and wanted to provide a home for him, and not just because the lad was his guide. He did truly love the boy like a son, but the thought of dragging him back to Cascade Moor, and the boy feeling he was trapped and unwanted just wouldn’t do.
Simon was beginning to worry. James had become very quiet and sat, unblinking, for long enough to cause Simon to think he might be falling into the void. He was just about to do something about it when James stirred. Simon breathed a sigh of relief and cuffed his friend on shoulder.
“Didna do that, ye clot.”
James ignored Simon, and Geordie’s puzzled look as well.
“Blair!” The lad jumped, startled from his own jumbled contemplations, and looked over his shoulder at the three men. James waved a hand at him, motioning the lad to join them. “Come here, if ye would?”
Blair furrowed his brow. That hadn’t sounded like a command. Never taking his eyes off James, he shuffled over to where the men sat and stopped just behind Geordie.
James pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He lifted one of his crossed arms enough to crook a finger toward Blair, beckoning him to come closer.
Blair hesitated for a moment, and then slowly moved toward James, stopping just outside the sentinel’s reach. He knew from past experience it was only an illusion, but he felt the need to stand his ground.
James moved to uncross his arms, and Blair jumped back a step.
Geordie started to intervene, but stopped as Simon cleared his throat with a meaningful cough and shook his head at the other man.
James stifled a grin.
“I’ve come to take ye home, lad, if ye so wish.”
Three surprised sets of eyes looked at James.
“If I-I w-wish?”
“Aye.” James brought his blue eyes to bear on Blair, and spoke with calm deliberation and heartfelt sincerity. “You are part of sept Ellison now, the same as if ye’d been born to it. And if ye did not know it before, I’ll state it now, so there’s no mistake. I love ye, lad, as if ye were my own flesh and blood. But I’ve no wish…” James chuckled softly. “That’s not entirely true. I’d like nothing more than to drag your skinny little carcass back with me. But I’ll leave it up to you.”
Comprehension slowly dawned on Blair. James wanted him, and not just because he was his guide. James had come after him, not Isaebail. And James was giving him a choice, which meant his dreams and desires were not lost to him, but merely postponed for a time.
Blair’s eyes darted to Geordie, who was grinning and nodding at him as if to say ‘what are ye waiting for, lad?’ He glanced at Simon, who just gave him an exasperated look.
Blair straightened his shoulders and stepped to within easy reach of James. The highlander was still seated, and he brought his own blue eyes to bear on James’ head on. And when he spoke it was with the same calm deliberation and heartfelt sincerity.
“Aye, James, I wish to go home.”
James raised one eyebrow. “Are ye sure, lad? I’ll not put up with ye running off, or throwing a tantrum, when things are not to your liking. I need you to trust I’ll do what’s best for you, for my love for ye demands it. And that includes punishing you when it’s needed.”
Blair didn’t flinch. He saw things clearly now. The events of the past few weeks once again rolled through his mind, and he weighed their worth in his soul.
He knew he could count on James to keep all his promises.
“Aye, James, I’m verra sure.”
James stood and flexed his stiff muscles. He was not used to the rigors of seven hours of hard riding.
James put one arm out and rested it on Blair’s shoulder, squeezing softly. He looked over at Geordie. “Is there someplace a bit more private?”
Geordie returned James’ measured look, conveying his approval of the sentinel’s claim on the lad. “Ye can use my tent.” Geordie indicated which was his.
“Have you a wooden spoon I might borrow?”
Blair gulped.
Once inside the tent, James wasted no time. He seated himself on a wooden bench and pulled Blair down across his knees. He wrapped one arm securely around the lad’s midsection, anchoring him to his chest. Blair might be somewhat compliant at the moment, but James was quite sure the boy might have a change of heart momentarily.
“You were told to stay at Malcolm’s. You left without letting anyone know where you were going. Aye, ye left a note, which we’ll also discuss, but leaving was foolish and dangerous, as you’re not verra familiar with this area of the Highlands.”
James flipped Blair’s kilt up and out of the way. The small bottom tensed as James raised his arm. He brought his hand down in a series of rapid swats, alternately smacking each cheek, and then peppering both at once.
Blair’s bum quickly blushed to a deep pink. The boy squirmed and wiggled, but made no attempt to extract himself from James’ hold. He hissed and yelped quietly as each swat found its mark.
James continued the spanking with his hand until Blair’s butt was warm and very rosy. Then he paused and the matter of the note was addressed.
“’Twas a verra interesting note ye left, very---creative. Aye, you did thank me for feeding you and such. But what ye suggested I do with the microscope? I’m none so sure it would even be possible to insert it in the manner you suggested. What was it again?”
James waited a moment for the youngster’s reply. As he expected, none was forthcoming.
“Oh yes, I remember now, you said as I could shove it so far up my arse the sun would never shine upon it again. Even were it possible, I’m certain sure I’d not be inclined to do so.”
James picked up the wooden spoon provided by Geordie and resumed the spanking.
The first ‘thwack’ of the flat of the spoon on the pink bottom caused Blair to find his voice. ”Yeouch! Oh! Merde! Fils de pute!”
James paddled a little harder. “Perhaps now is as good a time as any to tell you I’m fluent in French, aye?”
Blair drew in a sharp breath and tried to hold his tongue as the paddling continued. His backside stung terribly and each additional ‘thwack’ of the spoon made it more and more difficult to keep from crying out or squirming.
He finally gave up and began to wriggle in earnest and decided perhaps it was time to plead for leniency.
“Owwwww! James! Ouch! Please stop! Please! Ow, ow, ow! I’ll not run off, ever again! I swear it!”
James tightened his hold and continued paddling the boy’s butt thoroughly until the rosy color he’d earlier achieved soon deepened to fiery red.
Blair’s caterwauling was now drawing the attention of many curious folk. Geordie and Simon assured everyone the lad was not in mortal danger, nor was he being murdered.
Inside the tent, Blair would have attested differently. He wriggled and bawled continuously in a futile attempt to escape the smacks. He knew even as he squirmed that it was a pointless action. The sting in his bottom continued to build until he thought sure he’d never sit again.
James listened to the boy’s pleas, ignoring the words, hearing instead the intent.
He delivered a final round of ten hard smacks and stopped. He allowed the boy a few minutes to sob quietly before easing him up and onto his lap. Blair hissed and wiggled as his bottom settled on James’ thighs.
“Wheesht, lad. Wheesht. ‘Tis over.” He rocked the boy, and continued to comfort him. “I love ye, you wee monster.” He kissed the top of the boy’s head. “I canna read your mind, lad. You must promise me you’ll tell me when something is eating at your insides.” The curly head under his chin nodded rapidly as soft sniffling noises tickled the highlander’s chest. “And if you ever run off again…” James laughed as the curly head rapidly shook a negative response. “You can be sure I’ll always come for you. And the next time I’ll not be so gentle when you’re over my knee.”
The boy trembled then, and for a moment James couldn’t tell if it was sobbing or chuckling causing it.
As they shared evening meal with Geordie, Blair stood near the big man. It really had been good to see him again and Blair was already feeling a bit sad about having to say good-bye in the morning.
Blair looked across the campfire and something on James’ throat attracted his attention. The blue beads, woven into the braid wrapped around the sentinel’s neck, twinkled in the soft glow of the flames.
He walked over to James and crouched down on his haunches in front of him, careful of his tender bum. He reached up and touched the beads, feeling James’ pulse throbbing steadily just under them.
He looked up at James questioningly. “How…?” The incident with the soldier came rushing back. Tears pooled in the blue eyes and Blair’s voice came out in a trembling whisper. “J-james, I-I’ve something to t-tell you.”
“Wheest, Blair. Geordie told me what happened. While you were still in the tent, aye?” James had left Blair to himself for a while after the paddling. “’Twas not your fault, lad. If I’d know what happened, I’d have dealt with the filthy bastard when we caught up with the patrol.”
“Oh, aye, and wouldn’t that have been smart,” said Simon. “Ye’d be wallowing in a cell or swinging from a noose, and all the good that would do the lad.”
James snorted.
He ran his fingers over the beads. “Your scent is strong on your hair, and the wee glass beads? I know the sound they make, made, as they click against the other trinkets.”
“That’s amazing.” Blair was staring at James with silent awe.
James just shrugged. “Aye, well--do you want them back?”
Blair shook his head, and James laughed. He tugged at a few strands of Blair’s hair in which small pewter trifles were woven. “These. The glass and the pewter made a verra delicate clicking…” To Blair’s delight, James approximated the sound by flicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Is there a reason you wear them, the beads?”
“Oh, aye!” Blair became excited. “When I was about eight, I remember Naomi braiding them in. My hair was much shorter then, do ye see where the knot is? Under the last bead? “ James nodded as he fingered the spot. “As it grew, I just continued the plait from that point. Naomi told me each bead was a symbol of how she expressed her love for me, with her senses, aye? One for seeing her handsome son…” Blair blushed and smiled shyly. “One for hearing my incessant babbling…” James chuckled. “One for the way I smell after a day playing in the heather, one for the feel of my curls, soft under her fingertips. And one for the way I taste when she kissed me good night.” Blair beamed as he smiled at James. “I think now, it must have a portent, do ye see?”
James ruffled the mop of curls, agreeing with Naomi. “Aye, I think so too. But there are six beads, no? What’s the last one for?”
“Ahhhh, that’s the most important of all.” Blair reached out and touched James on the chest, and felt the older man’s heartbeat. “She said it’s for the sense we must use the most, and people use the least.”
“I’d really rather be walking, James.”
The sentinel laughed at the dry comment coming from a point near his knee.
“Aye, a few more minutes and I’ll let you off again.”
Blair was slung face down over the pommel of James’ saddle, a thin blanket folded beneath his stomach for comfort.
They’d left Geordie’s camp at daybreak, amidst handshakes, hugs and promises to see each other again. James assured Geordie he and his band were welcome on clan MacKenzie’s land anytime.
In no hurry to return home, James sent Simon ahead to let everyone know the wee monster had been found, safe and little worse for the wear, save, of course his backside. Blair and James walked mostly, except where the terrain made it more prudent to traverse on horseback, like now.
Aside from the fact his position left his backside vulnerable to a smack at James’ discretion, Blair also found riding in this manner left him light headed.
True to his word, James reined the horse a few minutes later and helped Blair slide to the ground. James dismounted and the two of them began walking.
James decided it was a good time to try to untangle the web of uneasiness the boy felt about his place with James and their life together. “What made you think I didna want you, lad?”
“Everything! Nothing. I—I just couldn’t seem to do anything right. And Isaebail said…”
“Isaebail! Good Lord, Blair, why would you listen to anything that woman had to say?”
“Well, you had your arm around her, and she said you were to be married, and she’s verra pretty, and…”
“I was never going to marry Isaebail. She’s a spoiled brat and when I refused to do what she wanted, I’m afraid she took it out on you.”
“She lied?”
“Oh, aye. She’s verra good at it, is she no? And do ye see what comes of such wicked deceit?”
Blair rolled his eyes dramatically and tried to forestall the upcoming lecture. “Aye, James, I know. But she is verra pretty, is she no?”
James halted and looked at Blair. To be sixteen again…
“Well, aye, she is verra pretty.” James thought for a moment, and then continued. “Like a rose, aye? Now, while many consider the rose to be the most beautiful of flowers, it is also verra delicate, and it has many thorns, no? I think to guard its beauty, and keep its beauty for itself, maybe. There’s many other pretty flowers more sturdy, more giving than a rose, and they smell just as sweet and their nectar is just as pleasing.”
Blair stared at James, speechless.
James smiled inwardly, congratulating himself on the very poetic explanation he’d given; pleased he was able to offer the boy a serious piece of advice.
Blair burst out laughing.
End
Wheesht - Be quiet
Skelping - Spanking
Clipe – To tattle on someone