Thistles…Rambling and Roving
http://www.arkwolf.com/caillechsite/index.html
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.
This story contains corporal punishment.
Be warned.
Verra big thanks to Spacepixell for beta duty and suggestions.
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“Is that wot caused all the ruckus then?” Geordie ruminated as he squinted at the microscope. “It’s not much to look at, aye? Just a hunk ‘o metal and glass, with bits and bobs.” He reached out and gingerly touched the mounting, then quickly withdrew his hand. He leveled a curious look at James as he pointed at the object. “Do ye honestly mean to tell me the lad’s indebted up to his scrawny shoulders on account ‘o that contraption?”
James snorted and rubbed at his chin. “Aye,” he answered with a shrug and a nod.
Geordie scratched at his beard thoughtfully, tugging at the scraggly tufts of hair. “And wot were it the striplin’ said you could do wi’ it?” he inquired slyly as he appraised the size of the microscope, “in that note wot ‘e scribbled afore ‘e bolted?”
James shook his head and laughed. “I dinna care to repeat it, and ye know good and well what the note said,” he replied.
“How long will ‘e be in your debt then?” Geordie asked, getting down to business. He placed his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows.
“’Twas never about the price of the microscope, and in truth, it is I who am in his debt,” James answered seriously.
James stepped up to the table where the microscope sat. He placed his hands on the rough wood and gazed at the object for a moment. He reached out and fidgeted with the knobs and ran his fingertips along the barreled centerpiece. It was a fine piece of workmanship and James wondered idly how long it would have gathered dust in the apothecary shop in Edinburgh. He looked up at Geordie, who was watching him closely.
“Would you like the wee monster to show you how it works?” James asked as he jutted his chin toward the door. “He’s headed this way at a dead run.”
Geordie chuckled good-naturedly and ambled toward the window, weaving his way through Corc’s cottage, ducking between sprigs of dried foliage hanging from the rafters, careful not to upset any of the shelves or tables that were filled with jars, bowls, bottles and various other containers.
“Aye, sure ‘nough, there he is, hightailing it this way as if the devil hisself were on his heels,” Geordie observed. “He’s a fair piece off yet,” he added with a quick glance over at James, “it’s a wonder, it surely ‘tis, wot you’re able to reckon with them ears.”
Geordie didn’t wait for a comment from James. He looked out the window again and watched as Blair scrambled down the path leading to the cottage. The youngster waved his arms, shooing chickens, sheep, and dogs out of his way. He shouted greetings and warnings to other folk who were about. They simply stepped aside, apparently used to the boy’s lunacy, waved back, and went about their business.
“Have ye told him yet?” Geordie tossed over his shoulder at James. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the window’s sill as he watched Blair’s approach.
“Are ye daft, man?” James retorted with a theatrical shudder. “I’ve had no wish to be subjected to days of his endless prattle and questions. No, ‘tis better, I’ve decided, to wait until the very last minute and deal with one egregious outburst, may the good Lord have mercy on me.”
“Aye, oh aye, you’re a wise man, James,” Geordie wheezed, shaking with laughter.
A few moments later, Blair burst into the cottage and skidded to a stop, his midsection a hairsbreadth from crashing into a table heaped with an assortment of herbs. He flung his arms into the air and took a step back, panting heavily, nearly out of breath.
“Wot’s you’re hurry, then?” Geordie asked from behind.
Blair jumped and spun a half turn, clutching at his chest. “Have a care, ye old biddy,” Blair scolded, “I didna see you there.”
“Oh, aye, ‘tis my fault I suppose, seein’s how I’m such a delicate, wee creature,” Geordie shot back as he swept his hands along his front, taking in his ample girth.
Blair smiled and rolled his eyes. He stepped close to Geordie and poked him in the stomach, then quickly scooted away, chuckling.
“Have you finished your chores?” James called out.
Blair ducked his head, peering between two large swags of drying nettles. He waggled his fingers in hello, smiling brightly. He made his way across the cluttered room, answering James as he stopped here and there along the way to take a look at things that caught his attention.
“Aye, James,” he whispered softly, testing James’ hearing. “I was bewildered when I heard you were here and summoned me. Are your senses all right, then? Have you pinched your nose shut?” he questioned worriedly as the strong, earthy smells of Corc’s cottage caused him to sniffle.
“I tamped them all down, as you’ve helped me learn, lad,” Jim answered. “You dinna have to whisper, my hearing is fine,” he added.
Geordie followed Blair across the room, doing his own survey as he went. He showed interest in whatever Blair perused and the two exchanged small talk. Just before reaching James, Geordie explained the reason for the visit to the healer’s cottage.
“James has generously offered to allow me to re-stock a few items for my journey. I’m certain sure a few of the lads’ll suffer from seasickness on the crossing and I’ve no ginger.” Geordie looked around. “Corc has a few tinctures and ointments for me as well.”
Blair looked away when Geordie started speaking of his departure, feeling a little queasiness in the pit of his stomach at the thought. His friend would be leaving on the morrow, and he had not yet accustomed himself to the notion.
“Here we are then,” Geordie said, giving Blair a nudge as they arrived at the table with the microscope. “James was showing me yon apparatus,” he stated, pointing one of his large fingers, “as I was a might curious about it, wot with it bein’ the cause of so much vexation for ye.”
Blair had already halted and was staring at the microscope, wide-eyed, for several long heartbeats. He glanced from the empty spot on the shelf where it had sat for so many months, tantalizingly out of reach, to James, and then once again to the microscope. He held his hands down along his sides, fingers twitching nervously against his thighs.
James observed Blair from across the short expanse of table for a moment and then said, “What are you waiting for?”
Blair blinked a few times, licked his lips, and then just to be sure, he asked, “May I?” as he hesitantly reached for the microscope.
“Aye,” James answered with a warm smile and a wink, “You may.”
Almost reverently, Blair took hold of the side mount with his left hand. With his right hand, he carefully slid the small drawer, hidden in the base, open. He withdrew the items nestled within and placed them on the table…a tweezers, several slender glass plates and a couple little vials. Then he started fiddling with the knobs on the microscope, all the while his tongue stuck firmly in the corner of his mouth, aiding his concentration.
Geordie watched with intense interest, leaning in close.
“I’ll need more light,” Blair said as he looked about Corc’s cottage. What little light there was at present came from the open door, and the one small window.
“Wot fer?” Geordie asked curiously.
“A lantern or a candle will do,” Blair replied in way of an answer. He kept at whatever it was he was doing, clearly expecting Geordie to fetch the required item.
Geordie responded with a disgruntled huff, but obliged nonetheless. He searched for a moment, and returned with the stub of a candle, lit from an ember in one of the smudge pots scattered throughout the cottage.
“’ere, then, wot now?” he inquired as he set the candle down.
Blair ignored him for a moment, still fiddling with the microscope. As he peered into the eyepiece, he snagged the candle and dragged it closer to the microscope, oblivious to the warm wax that splattered and dribbled across his hand. When it was where he wanted it, he started playing with the tiny mirror under the stage.
“Well?” Geordie blustered, clearly irritated.
James crossed his arms, amusement creasing his features, as he watched.
“Patience is a virtue,” Blair retorted, “or so my elders keep telling me,” he added with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Apparently satisfied with the setup so far, Blair picked up one of the glass plates and slid it into place on the stage beneath the lens. He looked into the eyepiece again and yipped with delight.
“Now, then, what to look at, what to look at,” he muttered excitedly as he rubbed his hands together and eyed his surroundings.
Geordie looked at James, clearly puzzled, and was about to ask if perhaps the youngster was having a relapse of the befuddled state he’d been in the week prior due to heat prostration. Before he could voice his concern, Blair reached over and plucked a hair from Geordie’s beard.
“Ow,” Geordie snapped as his hand flew to his cheek, “Wot the bloody ‘ell?”
Sniggering in delight, Blair trapped the hair with the tweezers and ever so carefully slid it onto the glass plate. Then he looked at it through the eyepiece of the microscope and breathed out a sigh of pure amazement.
“Oh, oh my,” he whispered. “Oh James, it’s a wonder, I tried to imagine, I’d read and heard, but, it’s truly a wonder.”
“Wot is?” Geordie cut in, totally exasperated.
“Here, have a look, Geordie,” Blair said as he tugged on Geordie’s shirtsleeve, urging him closer as he continued to look at his specimen. When Geordie was right next to him, he tore his eye from the microscope and elbowed Geordie in the ribs. He nodded toward the microscope. “Have a look, then, go on, have a look,” he urged.
Geordie humored the boy, still unsure of his antics. He bent his considerable frame over the table and looked into the eyepiece. He immediately bolted straight up.
“Is that me hair?” he asked in astonishment.
“Aye, it ‘tis,” Blair answered with a chuckle. “It’s a wonder is it no?”
Over the next hour, Blair examined specimen after specimen of the myriad of wonders available to him. Insects, pond water, bits of cloth, every manner of herb, spice, weed or flower, both dried and fresh; anything his active imagination could summon to study. All the while he shared his enthusiasm with Geordie and Corc, who’d joined the trio not long after Blair had arrived. James took a turn or two looking through the microscope, but begged off after a bit. Blair realized with an awed look at James, that it was because James could no doubt see the same wonderment with aught but his naked eye. James finally brought the impromptu tutorial to an end when Blair made ready to slice into his finger in order to have a look at his blood and a sliver of flesh.
“But James,” Blair protested weakly as the sgian dubh was snatched from his hand.
James raised a hand, and waved off Blair’s feeble rebuttal. “I’m in no mood for bloodletting, ye silly little clot, and besides, it’s nearly dinnertime. Now put things back in order, and return the microscope where it belongs.”
Blair looked longingly at the microscope and the cluttered table, but obeyed James. He tidied up as Geordie, James and Corc finished their business.
As the three walked back toward the main house, Blair trudged along, feeling somewhat despondent now, with the thrill of discovery gone and the reality of Geordie’s imminent departure hitting him fully.
James broke the silence with a casually spoken comment. “The microscope is still forbidden to you, lad, this was but a reprieve to appease Geordie’s curiosity,” he stated, just to be sure Blair was aware of the fact.
Blair nodded sullenly in acknowledgement, suddenly not caring if he ever touched the infernal object ever again.
“I would have returned it,” Blair countered coolly, “to the apothecary in Edinburgh,” he added unnecessarily, “I’d not have sold it, though it might have brought a pretty penny, and had I a notion who might be willing to pay. I’m not a thief.”
James was taken aback for a moment by Blair’s statements, but then read between the lines, something that was becoming easier for him to do.
“I know, Blair,” he said as he slowed his pace and fell into step at his guide’s side. He dropped an arm on top of Blair’s shoulder. “And I never thought you were, not really, not after I knew your heart. I just didna agree with your notion of borrowing, aye?”
“Aye,” Blair answered somewhat grudgingly, wanting to retain his sour mood for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom.
Geordie cleared his throat with a meaningful hacking sound, clearly aimed at James. When James returned an irritated scowl, Geordie jerked his head toward Blair, and mouthed the words, ‘Tell him’, while quirking his eyebrows.
James had meant to wait until the morning, as he’d told Geordie earlier, but taking in Blair’s dejected demeanor caused him a change of heart.
“I’ve decided to accompany Geordie to Inverness,” James blurted out.
Blair stiffened under James’ hold and stopped dead in his tracks. Hearing only the word I, and interpreting it to mean his exclusion from the trip, he shrugged out from under James’ arm and questioned him with a confused look, “What?”
Geordie was standing off to the side, nodding his head enthusiastically, with a huge grin plastered on his face.
“Aye, yes, well, Stephen is still in Inverness, you’ll remember, dealing with the sale of part of the flock, and a few other clan matters,” James hurried on, “so I thought it might be a pleasant diversion for us to make the trek, so as to have a bit more time in Geordie’s company, and then meet up with Stephen---,”
“Us?” Blair repeated, zeroing in on that important word, “We’re going to Inverness?” he reiterated, vibrating with excitement as his melancholy dissipated, “with Geordie? And you didna tell me? I’ve not been to Inverness, what’s there to see? How long will the journey take? Is it very different than Edinburgh?”
James shot Geordie a murderous look as he waggled a hand toward Blair.
“Do you see what you’ve done?” James accused. “Now we must listen to this for the remainder of the day and throughout our meal, and into the night,” he complained. “If he’s still on about it like this come the risin’ of the moon, Geordie MacManus, I’ll drop his wee carcass in the hayloft next to you, and you can listen to his blathering until the dawn.”
Geordie just laughed heartily and hustled a cheerily blathering Blair ahead of James toward the house.
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“And should we cross paths with a British patrol?” James asked, as he finished off the list of admonishments regarding the behavior he expected of Blair during the upcoming journey.
Blair stifled a yawn, and scratched his belly lazily as he picked stray bits of straw from his hair and clothes.
“I’ll shut my mouth and make myself scarce,” Blair promised with a sincere bob of his head. “Unless of course, one of the dolts should decide to question me directly.”
“Blair---,” James hissed warningly with a sharp look.
“In which case, I will, to be sure, feign feeble-mindedness, answer simply and with all the respect I am able to muster, and defer to you, Master Ellison,” he amended, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out at James.
“And should you choose not to follow your own sage advice?” James wondered as he made a swipe at the urchin’s head.
“Oh, I suppose I’ll be kissing the gunner’s daughter,” Blair answered with a weary sigh.
The odd phrase sounded somewhat familiar, and James questioned Blair with a headshake accompanied by an exasperated glower.
“’Tis what the sailors call it when a midshipman or a cabin boy is bent over the barrel of a deck cannon to be given his comeuppance,” Blair explained, “with a birch rod,” he spelled out with a slight shiver.
“Oh for---,” James growled. “And that’s another thing,” he threw in, “I’ll no have you lolling about the docks---,”
“But James,” Blair protested, “verra often the merchant sloops exchange cargo up and down the coast, and put in at all the ports.” He looked at James pleadingly. “I’m sure to know some of the sailors, and it would be grand to catch up with their tales of adventure and far away places.”
Just then, William strode up to where James and Blair were readying the horses for the journey to Inverness. He carried an oilskin pouch, containing missives for James to deliver to various clan chieftains along the route and other correspondence for posting to parts abroad. It was obvious that his two lads were heedless of his approach, at least Blair appeared to be; James was never unaware of what went on around him. In any event, they made no notice of his arrival, being as they were engaged in a lively discussion.
William took a seat on an overturned half-barrel, settling himself as comfortably as the makeshift bench allowed, as Blair negotiated with James regarding his hoped for dalliances.
At that moment, Geordie joined the small group, and planted himself next to William, leaning up against a split rail fence, causing the wood to creak as it gave a bit with his weight. He’d been off making his farewells, gathering and distributing small tokens of remembrance and friendship.
“What’re they on about then?” he inquired in a conspiratorial whisper as he tapped William’s shoulder.
“Well, James has been instructing the lad as to the behavior to be expected during your excursion, aye?” William pointed out quietly. “And the lad is haggling a mite, hoping to perhaps persuade James to allow a bit more latitude.”
“Who’s winnin’?’ Geordie asked with a stifled snort.
“Shhhhh,” William cautioned, shushing Geordie with an impatient hand wave.
Geordie held his tongue then, watching and listening along with William, as his two friends bantered amicably.
The bargaining session transpired quickly, with pleas for diversions and merriment smattered with assurances of good behavior and emphatic gesturing on Blair’s part, and counter proposals of chaperoned excursions and sanctioned exploration tempered with promises of swift retribution to be paid to Blair’s bum for any foolhardy or disobedient conduct, set forth uncompromisingly by James.
In the end, Blair deferred to James’ alterations to his grandiose schemes with an exaggerated slump of his shoulders, dispelling an overly dramatic puffed breath, but inwardly pleased at the concessions he did manage to wrangle from James.
Goodbyes were made to William, and Simon, who still bristled slightly at being left behind. There was much to be done at this time of year, and as overseer, Simon was needed at home. He’d spent many years at James’ side, protecting his flank, but clan rivalries were equable at the moment, and there was no untoward animosity from the British. Between James and Geordie, and Stephen on the return trip, any perils would be taken well in hand.
As the sun broke over the hills bordering the lands of Cascade Moor, the three travelers trekked eastward. The early morning sky was pearly-gray, as sunlight filtered its way through low hanging clouds suffused with unshed rain. Morning dew still clung to the ground, and the smell of fresh earth, musky and sweet, filled the air as the horses’ hooves dug into the spongy soil.
They rode two abreast for most of the day, the roadway being amply wide to accommodate both horses. Blair shared James’ mount, and the sentinel was content to listen to Blair’s constant chatter, a soothing buzz underlying his vigilant senses. That Blair’s attention, at least outwardly, was not focused on the sentinel, but rather on the myriad of sights along the way and reminisces shared with Geordie, mattered not. The undercurrent was there, the energetic presence of his guide, and James was at ease.
When the road narrowed, and they needed to ride single file, Blair slid across to Geordie’s horse, so they could enjoy each other’s company a bit easier, and hang on to their limited remaining time together that much longer. The day passed quickly, the threat of rain never turned to reality, and they made the few stops on William’s behalf with little to-do.
The evening found them closer to Inverness than James had anticipated, having been able to make good time with the weather, and each other’s company, favorable. A suitable campsite was found and after a simple meal was consumed, a pleasant evening of storytelling ensued. As he gazed up to the stars, drinking in their beauty and unbelievable closeness, and listened to the sounds of the night…most notably his wee monster’s unrestrained prattle and laughter…James was extraordinarily pleased with his decision to make the trip.
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The rain that had held off the day before drizzled down lazily the next morning, starting just before dawn. Settling for a quick meal of bannocks slathered with honey, the three men broke camp quickly and resumed their journey.
A few miles before reaching Inverness, James noted a change of mood in his companions. Blair and Geordie began speaking in hushed tones about serious matters of friendship, loyalty, kinship and station. James listened intently, not eavesdropping, for they included him often in the conversation, seeking his viewpoint or approval of an ideal noted or heartfelt paradigm one or the other had expressed. Geordie’s worth grew in James’ estimation that day, and never diminished.
As they neared the outskirts of the town, Geordie directed them to the north, along a road skirting the town proper. By mid afternoon, they happened upon a small village, which turned out to be a sort of wayside for vagabonds and itinerants. It was here they met up with Geordie’s troupe amid shouting and backslapping, creating quite the ballyhoo.
The wagons and horses had already been sold, and the band’s belongings pared down to what could be easily and inexpensively lugged with them across the Channel. The troupe itself had dwindled a bit in number, but not to a significant degree, with those who’d chosen to seek their fortune in the Isles already departed.
James found a lad to send into town with a message for Stephen, informing his brother of their arrival, the purpose of their trip, and so on. There was a guest house, in the part of town favored by nobles and the well-to-do, near the better shops and playhouses, in which the Ellison’s took lodging when dealings brought them to Inverness. A few hours later, the lad returned with Stephen’s response with a meeting time arranged for mid-morning the next day.
In the interim, James and Blair were pulled into the welcoming circle of Geordie’s sect, and an evening of song, dance, tale swapping and bawdy jokes, along with plenty of good food and drink, ensued.
James permitted Blair to stay up much later than he’d normally allow, knowing sleep would come with difficulty to the lad. He even granted Blair a small cup of whiskey in order to toast a farewell with his good friend.
The morning brought with it blue skies and warm sun along with a mild salt-tinged breeze from the sea, a seemingly good portent.
As the camp broke and all made ready to leave, James approached Geordie. The two men sized each other up one last time and then clasped forearms in a strong grasp.
“I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating, you’re a good man, Geordie MacManus,” James stated with a firm nod. “You’re welcome on our lands and in my home any time.”
“Aye, James Ellison, Sentinel of Clan McKenzie, you’re a good man yourself, and will always be welcome at my fire,” Geordie responded gruffly, with a twinkle in his eyes. “Make sure ye keep this one in line, eh?” he added, tossing his head toward Blair.
“I’ll miss you sorely, you old biddy,” Blair said as he flung his arms around Geordie.
“Oh, aye, and I’ll miss you, you cocky wee gamin,” Geordie replied with a hearty chuckle as he squeezed Blair, lifting him off his feet.
They embraced for a moment and then Geordie set Blair down. Each renewed their pledge of constancy to the other and sealed it with an exchange of talismans.
As Geordie mounted his horse, James noticed a pewter charm, until last night ensconced amongst Blair’s unruly curls and plaits, hanging from a strip of leather around Geordie’s neck. And as the band of wayfarers set off, waving and shouting, he watched as Blair’s face shone with a brilliant smile. His guide gestured wildly, wishing the travelers well and hollering good wishes until they disappeared from sight. And when he turned toward James, he was fiddling with his hair, securing a long piece of polished bone embellished with scrimshaw in the pewter charm’s place.
James swung up onto his horse, leaned down, and held out an arm. Blair grabbed hold and aided James with a springy bounce as he was pulled up behind him. He wiggled and fidgeted until he was settled comfortably.
“Well, now,” James said as he tapped the horse’s flanks with his knees, starting them off, “are you ready to see what mischief and calamity you can bring to the quiet seaside town of Inverness?”
Blair laughed and slapped James on the shoulder.
“Aye, I am,” Blair agreed heartily. “Do you suppose there is an apothecary shop we might visit?”
“Most certainly not!” James exclaimed emphatically.
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Not wishing to waste time by doubling back and entering the town from the main road, James chose to take a side road in, one used by those of the merchant class. The route took them in near the waterfront, and the masts of several ships could be seen bobbing on the swell, their riggings swaying in the sea breeze.
As they rode further into Inverness, Blair began squirming fitfully; swinging this way and that in his anxiousness to take in all there was to see. He nearly toppled sideways off the horse more than once, and it seemed none of James’ sharply worded reprimands to sit still were having any affect. The crowded streets, teaming with pedestrians, horses, carts and wagons was making James’ horse a bit skittish. And the sudden onslaught of noises and smells, as well was the grittiness of the air itself, was wearing on his senses.
“Enough, Blair,” James finally bid as he rubbed at his temple. “If you fall off, I’ll give you no desire to re-mount.”
“Sorry James,” Blair muttered, realizing James’ difficulty. He leaned forward, resting his forehead between James’ shoulder blades and patted James gently on the shoulder. “Listen to my voice for a moment, feel my hand, let the bothersome commotion around us drift away, aye?”
“Aye, ‘tis better,” James affirmed after listening to Blair’s gentle soothing for a few minutes. His senses sharpened, allowing him to bring them back under control. “I didna mean to sound so gruff.”
“No matter,” Blair replied, dismissing James’ regret. “”Twas my own fault for not paying closer heed.” He sat straight once again, but kept from fidgeting, and changed the subject before James could beleaguer the point. “How much further to the inn? Will it take long to get there? Have we time to stop and see anna thing of interest? Did you not see the fountain in the square back there?”
“Blair!” James interrupted with a laugh, shaking his head. If the lad’s body wasn’t in motion, his mind and mouth were.
Blair stiffened then, and fell silent. James thought it to be in response to his gentle tease. In truth, it was due to the fact that at that same moment, Blair caught sight of someone staring at him from among a knot of scummy looking men. He recognized the face instantly, even though a ragged scar on the left cheekbone now marred his features. It was the soldier who had accosted him in Geordie’s camp, and he held Blair’s gaze with glaring intensity. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and upon closer scrutiny, Blair noted the scar was, in fact, the letters ‘BC’ either branded or tattooed on his skin.
‘Bad Character’…Blair turned the words over in his head, as he recalled stories told to him by the sailors in Edinburgh of how the military often marked those they deemed to be beneath contempt before drumming them from the service.
Blair clutched James’ waistcoat tightly and tugged at it roughly. He sucked in a deep breath and whispered James’ name in a panicky voice as he looked at the back of James’ head.
“What is it now, Blair?” James asked in mock exasperation.
“Look,” Blair urged as he pointed in the direction he’d seen Alec. But as James turned his head in unison with Blair, the lad dropped his hand. The man was gone, melted away into the crowd. Blair looked around frantically for a moment, but it was no use.
“No,” James stated simply, seeing the tavern with a slew of disreputable men milling about in front of it. There was a brightly painted sign declaring the establishment’s offerings, and James assumed it was that which had attracted Blair’s attention. “You canna seriously be of the notion that I’d allow you to step foot in that place?”
Blair blinked a few times, and shook his head, both to clear away the hallucination his mind had conjured, as well as agree with James’ declaration.
“Of course not,” Blair answered blithely. “I thought I saw someone I knew, is all. But I was mistaken.”
As they continued on toward the center of Inverness, Blair returned to his gregarious outbursts and excited observations, reminding James of the hard won concessions he’d made a day earlier regarding a pursuit of merriment and diversions while in town.
Alec Lattimer watched them go, thoughtfully skimming his fingertips across the disfiguring scar on his face. He detached himself from the small contingent of ne’er-do-wells he’d taken up with, waving them off with an irritable jab in the air. He slinked along behind James and Blair, keeping to the shadows, as he tried to decide how he’d repay the grubby little urchin who’d mucked up his life.
aaaa
Blair whistled, low and soft, as they stepped into the hall of the inn where they were to meet Stephen. Like the one in Edinburgh, where James had dragged him after they’d met, this one was most assuredly accoutered toward those with coin to spend freely.
“Master Ellison!” the innkeeper exclaimed. He was a stout little man, with a stout little wife at his side, both with broad, friendly grins on their faces. “It is indeed a pleasant surprise to see you.”
James and Blair were ushered into the taproom, the whole while being fussed over by the proprietor’s wife. James made token protests, but Blair enjoyed the attention and allowed the woman to fawn over him. Without being asked, they were seated at a table, and within minutes, plates of food were set in front of them.
Blair dug right in, and conversed freely with Lizzie, as the woman insisted she be called. She toyed with the trinkets in his hair and asked how they’d come to be put there. Blair eagerly answered her questions and soon it was apparent that the two were kindred spirits, both having tall tales to spin and an endless bevy of questions to ask and answer. She seemed to know more than a woman of her standing should about the goings on in the less than savory parts of Inverness, and soon Blair was teary-eyed with laughter as she regaled him with stories. It seemed her father had been a sea captain, and she and Blair had much the same interest in hearing accounts of places far away, the more barbaric and uncivilized the better.
James listened closely to the banter, and steered Lizzie away from more bawdy subjects by strategically placed throat clearing when deemed necessary.
Stephen joined them a short while later, having spent most of the morning brokering the sale of a portion of the clan’s flock to a French merchant. He and James embraced warmly, and Stephen cuffed Blair’s head affectionately before wrapping an arm around his neck and tugging him close for a brotherly shake.
The three clansmen spent the rest of the day leisurely roaming about Inverness, taking in the sights and trying to assuage Blair’s endless curiosity. James had to issue a warning once or twice, in the way of a well placed smack to Blair’s backside, when the youngster endeavored to steer them all off course and into one of the forays James had forbidden.
He took it with good grace, until they happened upon a bunch of sailors, acquaintances of Blair’s, much as the lad had hoped might happen. James humored Blair for a spell, keeping close watch on the scraggly looking lot. They talked for a bit, tussling with Blair good-naturedly, teasing him about his new status and fancy ways, and pressing him to come to the docks to say hello to the other lads from the ship.
At this point, James put his foot down, stepping between Blair and an especially insistent codger that went by the name of Jamaica Pete, or some such.
“Move along, we’ve business to attend,” James stated brusquely, making irritated shooing motions with his hands. Stephen stepped next to his brother, adding his own warning with body language if not words.
“Stop it, James,” Blair whined as he wormed his way in, nudging James forcefully with a hip.
“’ere, now, no need ‘o that, mate,” Pete rasped as he tapped his finger against the side of his nose. “No ‘arm meant, there’s a good lad. The wee bugger,” he patted Blair’s chest, “just up and diss-er-pears from Ed’brow, wot wuz we to think?” He winked at Blair, and held three fingers against the boy’s chest, at arm’s length, pushing slightly, as he pointed at James. “He’s a good lad, then, innit he? We wuz jus hopin’ to pass the time a bit wi’ ‘im. Tell ‘im a few tales and show ‘im a trinket or two old Pete’s brought back from the Care’bean.”
James batted the man’s hand away from Blair and reinforced his wishes by shoving Blair behind him and staring at the man as if his cool cold look alone could bodily send the man flying.
Pete didn’t wait around to see if it could happen. He cackled manically and tugged at his ear, jangling the large hoop earring that stretched his earlobe. He shoved off with his mates, singing a strange shanty, in what sounded to James like Portuguese, as they swaggered away.
“Ja-aaaames,” Blair started in with a deliberate whine.
“I dinna want to hear a word,” James cut in as he twirled Blair about and herded him in the direction of their inn, ignoring Blair’s grousing.
Blair gave in easily, once again, and took one quick glance back over his shoulder as he and Stephen fell into step with James. His eyes were barely able to peer around James’ torso. Pete had stopped and was waiting for Blair to look back. When he did, Pete doffed his tricorn and tugged his ear a last time.
Blair smiled innocently as he turned around and let James lead the way. He had a few hours to figure out how to slip away and meet up with Pete at the rendezvous point that had been covertly signaled.
Watching the goings-on from a spot behind a merchant’s cart, Alec smiled too.
aaaa
James’ plan for the evening was to take in a violin concerto at one of the public music halls, a good cultural event for Blair, and one, in truth, the lad was looking forward to.
But a half hour, an hour at most, would be all Blair needed to nip out and spend a wee bit of time with his cronies from the dockside in Edinburgh. The message Pete had given him was simple and clear, the directions easy enough to follow.
After a light meal, Blair asked to be excused, to go to his room and lay down for a while before the night’s activities got underway.
“As you might imagine, I didna get much sleep last night,” he explained truthfully. “And I appreciate your indulgence in that matter. I wouldna want to fall asleep during the performance, though, so if you’ve no objection, I’ll rest for an hour or so before it is time to ready myself to leave.”
“Aye, I think that’s a good idea, lad,” James agreed. “Stephen and I have family business to keep us amused until the coach arrives,” he added wryly. “Off with you then.”
Blair dashed up the stairs, and into the room he was to share with James, closed the door securely, and scooted to the window. He gauged the distance to the ground, and decided his best course would be to shinny along the eaves until he could drop down to a haystack near the corner of the building. He gave little thought as to how he would sneak back in, relying on fate to present a solution when the time came.
James waited five minutes, and then stood up. He stretched his arms above his head and, after cocking his head upward, leveled a serious look at Stephen.
“I hope you didna have your heart set on attending tonight’s concert,” he said to his brother.
“No,” Stephen conceded, “there’s to be another performance tomorrow. Do you think Blair will be up to attending?”
“He’ll attend, make no mistake, he just willna be sitting easy,” James replied. “We’ll be returning shortly, after a visit to the woodshed out back,” James added. And with that, he set off in pursuit of his guide.
aaaa
Blair hurried along the back alleyways of Inverness, silently counting the number of roads Pete had indicated after Blair made his way to the spot they’d run into each other earlier. He was grateful it wasn’t too far from the inn, and in a straight line, as his sense of direction was shaky at best. Having spent a good part of two years before he met James surviving in the underbelly of Edinburgh allowed him to know how to blend in and not draw any notice to himself. Or so he’d assumed.
Alec also was no stranger to maneuvering in the back lanes of a city, especially Inverness, where he’d spent most of his time since being dismissed from His Majesty’s service. That his attempted assault on Blair was just the last of a long line of transgressions that finally resulted in his discharge hardly mattered. The lad would be an easy target for the retribution he felt he was owed. He’d easily picked up on the code the old sailor had patted out on the boy’s chest, and the additional signals tapped against his nose and tugged on his ear.
When Blair arrived behind the rope maker’s shop, breathless with excitement and anticipation, it was Alec who stepped out of the doorway, not Pete. The ex-soldier had already sent the old salt on his way, with a cock and bull story about an imminent raid by the local garrison.
“Well, well, well, my pretty,” he hissed as he snared Blair and yanked him close. “Did you really think old Alec had forgotten you?”
“No,” Blair gasped as he struggled against Alec’s sweaty grasp. “Leave off, you swine,” he pleaded as he kicked his assailant in the shins.
Alex laughed and tightened his hold. His hot breath wafted across Blair’s face as he pulled him even closer, bringing them eye-to-eye.
“Do you see what you cost me, you little fool,” Alec hissed as he grabbed Blair’s cheek in a meaty grip and forced Blair’s eyes to his cheek. Blair blinked hard, as he tried to focus. The ugly letters played a game of hide and seek with his vision as Alec shook him. And then they became clear for a second; Blair could see the gunpowder that’d been forced under his skin to mark him a degenerate in the eyes of the military.
“Le-let g-go,” Blair whispered frantically.
And in a moment of deja-vu, strong words rung out in the dirty alley. The words, nearly the same as the other time, were spoken more forcefully this time, and by a sentinel who’d give no quarter if his guide were harmed.
“I’d heed his request, you bastard,” James stated flatly from the shadows.
Alec moved quickly, turning Blair so that they both faced James, with Blair locked under one of Alec’s arms as a knife blade was brought to his throat.
“Who’re you?” he demanded. “What’s it to you what happens to this little pecker?”
James stepped into the light with his dirk drawn, and his eyes hard and uncompromising.
“Let him go,” James demanded again, more forcefully.
Alec shoved Blair down, pushing him onto the cobblestones, and advanced toward James. He was blind with rage, not wanting to be deprived of his revenge yet again.
But he was simply no match for the sturdy highlander. James sheathed his dirk and Alec’s nose met James’ fist, causing him to spin about and see stars. James instantly followed up by backhanding his adversary with a hard blow to the jaw, and Alec went down hard, out like a light before he joined Blair on the cobblestones.
James knelt down and grabbed Alec by the collar and yanked him up. He slapped his face a few times, until the man came to. He looked Alec in the eye, and with a steely voice, gave him a warning.
“If you ever so much as come within a hundred miles of that lad, I will kill you,” James intoned in a deathly calm voice. “My advice to you is to leave the Highlands, and never look back,” he added. He waited until Alec acknowledged the threat with a shaky nod, and then he punched him again, rendering him unconscious once more. He let the man’s limp body slip to the ground, and kicked him in the ribs, satisfying himself that the man was truly passed out before retrieving his guide.
He lifted Blair up gently, and checked him over thoroughly, running his hands up and down the shivering body.
“James,” Blair murmured in a daze. “James?” he questioned uncertainly.
“Aye, a chara,” James answered. “I’m here, my wee monster. Are you all right?”
“James,” Blair tried again, “I, yes, he didna do aught but grab me, the filthy pig.”
“He’s the same one that attacked you at Geordie’s camp?” James asked as he continued to rub a soothing pattern on Blair’s back.
“Y-yes,” came the shaky reply.
“Can you walk? Shall I carry you?” James asked teasingly.
Blair slapped him on the chest and stifled a laugh, knowing full well the situation wasn’t funny and that he was in deep trouble.
“I can walk fine,” Blair answered.
James guided him out of the alley and onto the roadway, and they made their way back toward the inn. Blair leaned into James, seeking the comfort and warmth the sentinel provided.
“I was going to meet up with Pete,” Blair confessed in a low voice after a bit. “He had some trinkets and such---,”
“Aye, I suspected as much, what with all the poking and prodding he was giving you,” James replied. “Even if I were not a sentinel, I dinna think I could have missed the signals. Even Stephen knew the two of you were up to something.”
Blair sighed and then he chuckled mirthlessly.
As they reached the inn, Blair wasn’t surprised when James turned down the side street and walked him to the woodshed situated between the inn and the stables.
They entered the dimly lit shed and James took a seat on the chopping block.
“Look around, lad,” he instructed gravely, “and pick out a suitable paddle.”
Blair gulped, rubbed the palms of his hands nervously across his kilt-covered thighs, and surveyed his surroundings. There were several leather straps hanging from the rafters, but Blair disregarded those, remembering James’ vow to never take a strap to him. He fished about, rummaging through the various woodpiles, until he finally found a piece of wood that approximated the size and shape of the wooden spoon that most often met his backside.
He offered it to James with another gulp. His throat was dry as he held it out toward James. “Will this do?” he asked.
James looked it over critically, not taking it from Blair at first. “Aye,” he finally answered, taking the paddle from Blair. “That’ll do verra nicely.”
With that, and no other preamble, he pulled Blair down and across his lap. He took a few moments to adjust Blair’s position, maneuvering him so that the small backside was directly over his left thigh. Then he tilted Blair forward a mite, and swung his right leg up and over Blair’s legs.
“Ruck your kilt up, lad,” James instructed, “and your shirt as well.”
Blair squirmed fitfully. James had never made him bare his own backside before. He awkwardly reached back and worked his kilt and shirt up and off his behind. As he felt a cool breeze coast across his skin, James pushed the fabric further up and out of the way.
“I suppose you know why I’m about to skelp ye?” James inquired.
“Aye,” Blair answered, nodding his head. Normally quite verbose on most matters, it seemed to him the one word reply was more than sufficient in this instance.
James seemed to think so too, and the paddling commenced. He brought the paddle down, hard and swift, peppering Blair’s butt evenly with solid thwacks. He covered every inch of the quivering flesh, turning the small bottom pink. Paddling swiftly at first, James then slowed the delivery, taking time to land one good swat after another directly to the spot that would cause the lad the most difficulty when he tried to sit down. He stayed the paddle after each smack, allowing the wood to trap the sting for a moment, before pulling back and landing the next blow.
After several minutes, Blair began to wriggle, knowing he wouldn’t be able to escape the punishment, but unable to stop the urge to do so nonetheless. He held his tongue, though, not wishing to add to the time across James’ knee or taste the inn’s soap, if he were to let loose with the curses that were on the tip of his tongue.
When Blair’s bum was a uniform shade of red, glowing and warm, James delivered a final round of swats, once again with fiery speed.
Blair was, at last, unable to hold his tongue.
“Oh, merde!” he yelped. “Ahhh, oh, merde,” he reiterated, holding his tirade to the one word James usually allowed him. “Please James, enough?” he pleaded.
“Aye,” James conceded as he landed one last swat, “enough.”
James helped Blair to his feet, and watched with a satisfied smirk as Blair rubbed his butt. The lad jigged in place for a few moments, hissing and humming, as the action did nothing to relieve the hot sting in his rump.
Then he leaned toward James and waited, glancing up at his sentinel sheepishly.
“Come here then,” James chided gently, and pulled his wee monster into a warm embrace.
“Do I still have to attend the concert?” Blair mumbled into James’ shirt.
“No,” James answered, “not tonight,” he added as soon as he felt Blair’s sigh of relief against his chest. “We’ll go tomorrow night.”
Blair groaned at the thought of having to sit through the musical interlude James insisted he attend to broaden his cultural horizons.
“And after, perhaps you’ll teach me a song or two you’ve learned from the sailors,” James suggested. “Although, it might be wise not to choose the one Pete was serenading you with today, aye?”
Blair looked at him, quirking his eyebrows questioningly, innocence pasted across his young features.
“Did I never tell you I know a wee bit of Portuguese?” James asked, mustering his own innocent grin, as he propelled Blair toward the inn with a hefty warning swat to his backside.
The End.