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This is the standard disclaimer. They don't belong to me. This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Paramount, UPN, or Pet Fly Productions.
Author’s Notes: This story contains corporal punishment… be warned. There is a short glossary at the end of the story.
----
James and Stephen came to a halt when they reached one of the small squares that dotted Inverness. They’d just emerged from one of the merchant streets, having some business to conclude in regard to the sale of the flock Stephen had overseen. They tarried for a bit, enjoying the respite of the openness, after having to deal with the crowded lane they’d just visited. Several food vendors plied their wares, and the two men munched on savory tidbits of skewered meat while deciding what next to do.
“Save for relinquishing the noisy bleaters to the care of the shipmaster at the quayside, I’ve no other business in Inverness,” Stephen stated. “And good riddance to them, they’ve been a fair nuisance, the lot ‘o them,” he concluded with a rueful shake of his head.
“Aye, well, you haggled a right fine price for them. If you hadn’t been so stubborn, that crabbit wee Frenchie cozener would hae’ fair stolen them, with the paltry sum he was offering.” James praised his brother with a slap on the back.
Stephen smiled, quite pleased with both the sale and James’ assessment of his abilities.
“Well, it really was not such a triumph as ye’d maybe think,” Stephen replied. “He knew as well as I there were two other buyers would have taken them without a second’s pause had he continued his fuss.”
“We’ll collect Blair then, aye? If he’s managed to stay out of trouble for the past few hours, I had a mind to surprise him by taking him down to the docks and seeing if any of his disreputable salty cronies are still about,” James stated with a wink.
“And why should I have to hobble back to the inn when it was you decided the lad couldna tag along this morning, aye?” Stephen questioned as he eyed one of the taverns that faced the courtyard. “You fetch him, and I’ll just wait over yonder and indulge in a dram or two.”
James laughed, nodding his head. “I saw no reason to tempt Fate. Surely you’ve noticed he attracts trouble like a magnet draws metal filings, and not of its own accord, no?” he reasoned, looking for sympathy. “Besides, the wee gomeral didna deserve an outing after the stramash at the concert hall, aye?”
“Oh, aye,” Stephen agreed with exaggerated emphasis. “And the laldie you delivered surely left no impression do ye think?”
“Be that as it may, we’ve been in Inverness naught but a few days and I’ve had to skelp him twice. A bit of a wee extra reminder was not uncalled for,” Jim answered. “You’re as bad as Mistress Lizzie, thinking I’m too harsh on the lad, and a poltroon to boot, not wanting to face her wrath.”
“Aye, that I am James, and freely admitted. I’d as soon face down an English patrol with aught but my dirk,” Stephen replied, shaking with laughter.
James joined in, laughing loudly along with Stephen, drawing curious looks from passersby.
“Verra well then, bide your time. We’ll be no more than an hour, and join you at the Grayhorse,” James said agreeably. He motioned to the tavern Stephen had been eyeing. “I’ve worked up a fair appetite myself. Though I’ve little doubt Lizzie’s been doting on the lad and filling his stomach with dainties, I’m sure he’ll claim to be famished, as always.”
He gave his brother a farewell salute, then started on his way. The thought of a cool mug of beer or frothy ale lingered in his mind, and for a moment he regretted his decision to leave Blair behind, not looking forward to the trek to and from the inn now that the noonday sun was beating down.
Despite the mischief he’d gotten into, the boy had been good company on the trip and James enjoyed introducing him to new things and the finer aspects of life he’d heretofore not been allowed.
Still, he took his guardianship seriously, and upon further reflection of his actions once again assured himself he’d done the right thing in adding the additional punishment. Skelping was one thing; he’d had first hand experience of his own as a youth to judge its effects. A swift, immediate comeuppance had its merits, over and done with quickly. But he himself had suffered the sting of his father’s belt across his backside more than once for the same transgression, due to his shortsighted reasoning while the transgression was underway, that the punishment would be worth the risk of being caught. But any time he’d been made to write lines, or been relegated to his room, or left behind from some promised outing…in addition to a thrashing…those were the punishments that in truth made him think twice.
The trip to seal the final deal with the French merchant, and then to the bankers’ had been uneventful, and no strain on his senses. But the notion of approaching the busy docks and crowded quayside without his guide left James drained with but the thought of it. His reason for fetching Blair was not entirely altruistic, but knowing the pleasure it’d give the lad was also a strong inducement.
----
James made good time and arrived at the inn in less time than he’d thought it would take. He spotted Lizzie at the entrance from a distance and strode toward her at a steady, purposeful gait.
She’d been sweeping the steps and tidying the area, but upon spotting James, she eyed him queerly, said, “mmpf”, and promptly turned her back on him, entered the inn, and stomped off.
James decided he’d had enough of the ill thoughts harbored against him, and followed her inside, thinking to have a frank discussion with her and clear the air in regard to what was obviously perceived as James’ mistreatment of her foundling pup. He and his family had patronized this inn for years when need arose to visit Inverness, Lizzie’s husband and William having been acquainted since they’d both been young men. He had no wish to have to inform his father their patronage would no longer be welcome due to the innkeeper’s wife thinking him a callous brute.
James stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, where Lizzie had retreated. The room smelled of warm yeast bread, dried herbs, fresh vegetables and dozens of other delicious aromas he was unconsciously cataloging. He gave himself a little shake to rid the distraction his senses were picking up. He didn’t want to sound disrespectful, or overbearing, and earn more scornful looks, so he started slowly, with the intent to choose his words carefully. “Lizzie---,” he began in a soft, cautious tone.
Lizzie saved him having to fumble further. “Tch,” she scolded, pointing to a chair. “Sit ye down. You’ve no need to be acting as if I were a skittish filly, aye? So dinna fash yourself, man. I expect you’ll want a set-to on account of my being owerfond of the lad?” She eyed James circumspectly from within her haven.
James leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. He smiled fondly at Lizzie. “I dinna begrudge your fondness of the boy. He grows on ye, eh? Not unlike a fungus?” Lizzie laughed bawdily, putting James at ease, and beckoned him into the room. She began flitting about, overseeing the cook and serving lasses as they went about the preparations for the days’ upcoming meals.
“Since my own weans left to make their way, I’ve a tendency to poke my nose where I mebbe shouldna at times. Like a mother hen, no? Clucking and fussing about when a young one comes into my roost,” she explained. She peered at James through narrowed eyes and shrugged dismissively. “I’ve meant no harm, and beg your pardon, if I’ve overstepped myself.”
James nodded thoughtfully, his jaw set and his chin jutting out slightly.
“Well, no harm’s been done, as far as I can see. No need to fret. The boy’s mother passed on some time ago. And he’s no had it verra easy, so a bit of mothering will not have gone amiss,” James offered, glad the discussion had veered to where he could offer assurances that Lizzie’s goodwill was appreciated instead of it turning into a row. “I was beginning to fear you’d clobber me, had the need arisen for me to take the lad in hand again,” he added dryly.
Lizzie fisted her hands on her hips and gave James a sharp look. “Dinna think I wasna tempted, eh?” But the remark was followed by another hearty laugh.
“And where might the young miscreant be?” James inquired.
Blair had been given instructions to stay in their room, or at least inside the building, and be of some use by tidying up and beginning the packing for the trip back to Cascade Moor on the morrow.
“I asked him would he not like to take a bit of air and be off to the fish monger’s stall the two streets over, to fetch the eel for tonight’s stew,” Lizzie stated matter-of-factly.
James kept his temper in check, just barely. “Do ye mean to tell me he’s left the premises?”
“Well, now, and why would he do that?” Lizzie answered sweetly. “And him knowing he’s forbidden to do so? No. I asked him, I did, but he declined polite as can be, telling me he’d no intention of incurring your disfavor.” She gave James the same odd look she’d bestowed on him when he’d first arrived. “I thought at first it was because he was fair scairt of ye. But then I saw it wasna that at all, no, it isna out of fear he wishes to obey ye. And that’s when I thought I’d best have a word with ye, if ye understand my meaning?’
“Aye,” James answered, “Aye I do indeed. You’re a good woman, Lizzie, and I do thank you for the kindness you’ve shown Blair. And now, by your leave, I’ll go fetch him.”
He canted his head graciously, bent his leg, and with a gentlemanly sweep of one arm, took his leave. His actions were met with amused giggles and sniggering from the knot of young girls milling about the kitchen. The sounds echoed in his ears as he walked nonchalantly away, along with Lizzie’s scolding to shoo them back to work. When he came to the end of the hall, aware he was out of sight as well as earshot, he turned and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
----
Their room was on the third floor of the establishment, at the end of the hall. He let his hearing play out ahead of him, and detected no heartbeats at all on this level. The fact that no one was about didn’t much concern him since it was midday. Most patrons would be going about whatever business had brought them to Inverness and the inn’s staff would be busy with the multitude of chores inherent in keeping an establishment of its ilk running. His only concern was with the owner of one particular heartbeat.
His hearing quickly adjusted to search further. The effort was second nature to him, practiced and honed by many hours with Blair at his side. He heard the sound of Blair’s voice from above. He bypassed their room, heading for the back staircase. He changed his mind after a few steps, and spun back around.
Cracking open the door to their room, he quickly perused the interior. The room was neat and tidy; their saddle packs stowed near the door, obviously filled and ready for their departure save for the few amenities that might yet be needed. James noted nothing strewn about, unlike the state the room had been in when he’d left that morning. He nodded his head approvingly, but took a further step into the room nonetheless. He dropped to his hands and knees and inspected the floor space beneath the beds.
He rose and dusted his knees; chiding himself as he found his lack of trust in his wee monster’s sprucing had been unwarranted.
James left the room and resumed his search for Blair. The lad was talking rapidly in a low, soothing voice. He had no trouble following it as he ascended two more flights of stairs, obviously heading for the roof. He kept listening for another voice to discern whom Blair was with. A series of soft clucking noises, used by the lad only for Wee Geordie’s benefit, answered that question soon enough.
The roof of the inn was slanted and angled down to the eaves on three sides. The fourth side opened out onto an airing porch that ran the length of the building, facing seaward. There were several sets of linens flapping laggardly in the intermittent breeze. The smell of lye soap and bleach nipped at James’ nose as he stepped out onto the porch.
Blair was standing a few feet to the right of the door, up against a dirty, soot-streaked wall. He was still crooning to Geordie, ruffling the hedgehog’s ears as he gazed out over the rooftops of the city toward the sea.
James sniffed the air. It was a bit clearer up here, away from the press of bodies, both human and animal, and the attendant smells that pervaded the streets below. The air current was blowing inland from the sea. A salt tang hung in the breeze along with a myriad of ever-changing smells of seaweed, fish, canvas, and dozens of different cargoes.
“I’ve no left the inn,” Blair challenged with a lopsided grin and a note of humor in his voice. He looked at James, to judge his mood, and then quickly glanced away. He saw nothing to indicate James was upset with him, but he set forth to explain his whereabouts anyway. “Though I’m not, in truth, inside as such. But I did as much packing as I could, and I offered my services to Lizzie, and there were a few chores I was able to attend, but then I was just in the way, as they’ve their own way of seeing to all the chores, so I thought it might be best if I were out from underfoot, but the room was feeling a mite confining, so I came up here for a bit of air.”
“How you are able to say all that in one breath is beyond my ken,” James teased. He sidled up next to Blair and cuffed him gently up side the head. “I’ve no issue with you taking some air.”
Blair nodded happily and beamed at James. “Ah, good, I thought as much,” he replied. “I was explaining the meanings of yon bannerols and standards to Geordie.” He cradled the hedgehog protectively against his midsection with one hand and pointed toward the latticework of masts against the sky to the east, then shaded his eyes with his free hand. He squinted against the sun’s sudden appearance from behind a large cloud.
James noted the array of flags in splashes of color furling and snapping against the cloudy skies. With no effort at all, or squinting, he was able to make out the different shapes, separate them, and assign them to the ships from which they flew.
“Oh, aye? I’ve often wondered as to their purpose. I ken the ships’ name pennants well enough, and the colors of the country they sail under, but beyond that?” James answered with a shrug.
Blair carefully put Geordie into the small crate he’d fashioned under James’ watchful eye that morning. He cooed to Geordie through the tiny slats for a few moments and absentmindedly rubbed his tender bum. Then he directed James' gaze once again toward the harbor and launched into an explanation.
“Many of them are but to do with relaying information to other ships. Much like a record of the ports they’ve been to and where they’re yet headed. And some are for the harbormaster’s benefit, if there is sickness aboard or if they’ve weighed anchor in port unscheduled to take on fresh water or the like.”
At James’ nod of understanding, Blair continued.
“Others are for the benefit of the sailors who’ve gone ashore. They’ll have been told, of course, when the ship is due to sail again. But many of the lads canna count, and even if they could, they take to the drink and spend their days gambling or visiting the kittle-hoosies and wouldna know to keep track of the time, one day to the next. But they all know well enough to look to the masts several times a day. And there’ll be a bannerol, which will indicate by color and position if they need to return to the ship or if they might continue their furlough. And others…see the triangular green one, with the two vertical white stripes? The ship is short-handed and near ready to sail. That will be a ballyhoo, in hopes to attract sailors. But I’ve no doubt they’d resort to shanghai-ing able-bodied souls in order to sail on schedule. It’s not so uncommon, especially when a port is crowded and busy so as to make it that much easier to accomplish.”
Blair barely repressed a shudder, which did not escape James’ notice. Before he could question Blair about it, the lad confirmed his suspicion.
“It nearly happened to me, the once, in Edinburgh. As much as I desire to see the world, I’ve no wish to do so as a pressed sailor. I’d not see much in that manner, shackled in the hold when we make port as to prevent my jumping ship.”
James stiffened at Blair’s almost matter-of-fact recitation of his close encounter with being kidnapped. An encounter whose outcome neither of them could begin to fully fathom, save for the fact it would have precluded their eventual meeting.
Blair shivered noticeably, exaggerating the movement this time, and laughed nervously.
“I’ve no desire to relate the details of that particular occasion, if it’s all the same to you, James. I’d wager you’d be none too happy to hear the circumstances under which I came to be in such a predicament or the ultimate means by which I was able to make my escape,” he explained sheepishly as he glanced obliquely at James.
James considered this for a moment, silently agreeing with Blair’s assessment of his reaction. But he also acknowledged that he had no control, or say, in matters that had happened before Blair had come to be in his charge. So he released the anger that had started to build, and instead drew Blair close to his side. He wrapped an arm snugly across Blair’s shoulders, pressed his head to his chest, and patted the side of his face once, briefly, before easing off and giving his response.
“Aye, well, you are perhaps correct. I dinna think I’m of a mind to hear of the misadventures of your flagitious past. I’ll suffice it to say, I expect you’ll have learned from your missteps and will not occasion to repeat them during our visit to the docks this afternoon.”
James braced himself for the outburst he knew would come, and was glad of it. Blair whooped joyously and gave James a playful shove.
James stuck a finger in the ear closet to Blair and gave it a forceful waggle, it having taken the brunt of the shriek of delight.
“We’d best be off, and no dallying. Stephen is waiting for us and I’m famished,” James instructed, patting his midsection meaningfully. “Ye best deposit Wee Geordie in our room, then, and I’ll not hear any objection, aye?”
Blair was nodding enthusiastically and already making his way past James, heading toward the door.
“Aye, the docks are no place for Geordie, to be sure,” he agreed readily. He turned and smiled broadly at James, his eyes twinkling. “Thank you,” he added sincerely.
“You’ll not make me regret this, aye?” James warned, meaning the trip to the docks. He affected a stern manner, but the twitching at the corners of his mouth gave way to a grin, ruining the effect.
Blair acquiesced whole-heartedly; projecting an entirely angelic demeanor that James did not doubt was sincere. Still, an ounce of prevention would not seem to go amiss, and he gave Blair’s arse a hefty swat as additional warning as Blair scuttered into the inn.
----
The Grayhorse Tavern was warm with the press of people and the heat of the day. The smells of cooked meats and ripe cheeses, wood smoke, strong spirits, and sweaty bodies hung heavy in the room. The shutters of the few windows facing the square were thrown open, allowing in intermittent wisps of air along with flickering ribbons of sunlight. Dust motes and swirls of smoke shimmered in the shafts of light. The tavern itself was well lit by sconces on the walls and a large overhead chandelier. A not unpleasant buzz of voices ran through the building, interlaced with the constant underlying rattling and clinking of tankards, plates and utensils and overlaid by good-natured laughter, bawdy remarks and the occasional irritated raised voice.
As James stepped inside his senses spiked for a moment but then Blair’s hand was on his shoulder and Blair’s voice drifted to his ear and all was well. He spotted Stephen at a table situated not too far within the taproom in deference, he was sure, to his senses. His brother had been watching for them and with the wave of his hand, a distinctive swirl and point…a signal they’d worked out for just such occasions to catch James’ eye amidst many other such movements in a crowd…beckoned them in.
James snagged Blair’s sleeve and used it to draw the youngster in front of him, ushering him between the rows of tables and benches. The table Stephen had chosen was crowded, as were all the long communal tables. There were only a few small tables and these were to the back of the tavern, set into niches near the large fireplace, to provide a modicum of privacy for those desiring such for purposes of discreet business liaisons or the like.
Several of the patrons sharing the table shot James dirty looks at having to shove over and make room for two more bodies. Blair begged off taking a seat, for reasons James and Stephen understood, and chose instead to stand at the end of the table near one of the open windows, easing the disgruntlement a bit. He scooped up one of the wooden bowls dumped on the table by a passing servant and ladled a modest portion of stew into it from the kettle Stephen commandeered from the middle of the table. James paid for their meals and ordered drinks, changing Blair’s order from buttermilk to cider in response to a most uncharitable eye-roll from Blair and a look of bewilderment from the servant.
Stephen and James exchanged a few rudimentary remarks with their dining companions, for courtesy’s sake, and then relapsed into silence as they ate.
Blair rocked onto the balls of his feet, arching upward and craning his neck to see across the room and take in all that he could. Most of the patrons seemed to be Scots. This part of the city didn’t attract sailors or the lower classes of merchants, or yet many of the foreigners who sometimes made port in Inverness. Still, Blair did catch bits and pieces of French and some Germanic sounding voices as well as the odd manner of dress here and there. Something about one of the secluded tables in the back drew his attention. The men were huddled tight and seemed nervous, ignoring their food and glancing about the room with watchful eyes. One of the men took notice of Blair watching them and quickly turned about. The action piqued Blair’s curiosity and his natural inclination to observe any behavior that to him seemed out of the ordinary. His skill in this regard had served him well during his time living on the wharves and in the back alleys of Edinburgh. He strained to see more and in his exuberance toppled forward, throwing him off kilter. He caught himself neatly though, just avoiding dropping his bowl and spilling its contents into Stephen’s lap.
By this time the throng of patrons was starting to thin, opening seats at other tables. Blair’s misstep caused their tablemates to snatch up their meals and retreat to safer territory. But not without nasty looks and grumbled malodorous remarks aimed at James.
“Blair,” James hissed softly, “Can ye no be still for even a moment?” His tone, though gruff, held no censure and both he and Stephen were watching him with amused grins.
With room now to talk with minimal risk of being overheard, Blair leaned close to the table and whispered conspiratorially, “Do you no see the blackguards hunched round the table in the back?” He tilted his chin in the referred direction, to bolster his next words. Stephen shifted in his seat, straightened, and turned to look, but James kept his gaze squarely on Blair’s face.
“By the look of them I wager they’re up to no good,” Blair went on, undaunted by James’ impassive countenance. “They’re a right scurvy, mauchit lot, and ever I saw one.” He nodded gravely. “Can you no hear what they’re sayin’?”
James drew a deep breath, narrowed his eyes, and then closed them…whether to gather fortitude or patience, it was hard to tell. Either way, the effect was lost on Blair, who continued to stare across the room. So, he furrowed his brows in concentration, and took a moment to sweep the room with his hearing, darting from one conversation to the next like a bee flitting from flower to flower. He opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to the corner where Blair’s gaze still rested and listened for a few moments. The men in the back did seem to be acting skittishly, but for all he could ascertain, were doing nothing more than discussing business dealings of a nature they wished to keep secret for reasons best known to themselves, most likely wary of possible competitors or ne’er do wells lurking about. Not at all an uncommon occurrence. Nothing in what he heard roused his suspicion that they were up to anything sinister.
He set his left hand on the table and drummed the surface with his fingertips in a decidedly irritated fashion. He was at once annoyed with Blair for voicing somewhat derogatory, if mild, conjecture with no more evidence of any type of wrong doing afoot than his overactive imagination, and at himself for so readily using his senses to eavesdrop with so little justification.
“Blair, if I’ve not said it to you before this, I’ll say it now, and mind me well, aye?” he admonished. “My senses are not for your amusement.” He held up his hand, stilling the comment Blair was poised to make. “If you’ve good reason, aye, that’s one thing. But you canna let your imagination run amok and expect me to listen in to private conversations or yet observe people’s activities with a gimlet eye at your whim.”
Blair’s mouth wavered for a second, looking for all the world like a landed trout struggling for air, and then it snapped shut with a huff. He backed away from the table, casting a wary glance first toward James then toward the back table and then again at James. He hadn’t thought his request had been whimsical, merely cautious and perhaps a bit over zealous now that he reflected upon it. He had to admit to himself that James was correct insofar as the use to which his senses should be put.
He nodded his head grudgingly and mumbled an apology along with an acknowledgement of James’ reproach. He stirred his stew a few times, spooned a mouthful unenthusiastically, and then looked at the floor, taking a keen interest in his feet.
“Och, now, none of that,” James said cheerily. “It doesna become you to sulk. We’ve a bonny afternoon ahead, aye?” He took a piece of bread and used it to sop up what was left of the stew in the bottom of his own bowl.
Blair regained his good humor immediately. He sat on the bench across from Stephen and James, wincing a bit as his bum made contact with the hard surface. He reached out and grabbed the last piece of bread from under Stephen’s hand. Laughing at Stephen’s affronted look, he tore the piece apart and proffered the larger bit.
James waved one of the servers over to replenish the bread and stew. At James’ request, Blair explained about ships’ bannerols for Stephen’s benefit as they finished their meal and plotted the rest of the day’s activity.
As they made their way to the door of the Grayhorse, James unobtrusively cast a glance to the back of the tavern, watching the men in the corner. One of the men was watching them, tracking their movement toward the exit, unaware of James’ covert observance. He caught snatches of their conversation again; talk of trade goods in the way of whiskey and dyestuffs and now murmurings of out of the way meeting spots and ships whose registry was questionable. Smugglers then, perhaps, of the kind many considered an honest-dishonest variety, serving to deprive the Crown of exorbitant taxes.
Perhaps it was only because Blair had taken an interest in them that made them wary. And understandably so, if it was indeed smuggling they were contriving. The watcher seemed to relax somewhat as the trio departed, and reported to his companions that there was no threat perceived from that quarter. And James noted that they’d not been the only patrons in the tavern under scrutiny, which allayed his concerns somewhat as well.
But he mapped a few things about them with his senses nonetheless and imprinted them on his memory, just in case.
----
Remanding the flock to the new owners took little time. The sheep were counted, and double counted by both parties, and with the bills of sale and lading duly noted, the transaction was complete. James directed the drovers from Cascade Moor to start back. They’d made camp with the flock these past days and had made their forays into the city, each upon their turn, and had exhausted both coin and any enthusiasm for tarrying longer. They had their cottages and families to return to and care for, with chores aplenty to catch up.
The quay had been busy, noisy, crowded and hot and the smells nearly overpowering. James took his leave of the area with no great regret, the effort of keeping his senses from reeling out of control trying, even with Blair at his side. He was eager to return to the more sedate environs of Cascade himself, but steeled himself for the remainder of the promised jaunt along the wharves.
Blair had managed to contain himself at the quay, as he’d found the affairs of business a trifle boring. But once they neared the docks where the larger sea-going vessels laid at anchor, and the busy wharves that lined the shoreline with its attendant host of interesting, exotic things to see and do, his enthusiasm grew rapidly.
They meandered a while, taking in the sights, pausing now and again to have a closer look at something of interest. A constant stream of people surged and ebbed around them. Inverness was not such an international port as Edinburgh but there was still a sufficient variety of languages, manner of dress, and foreign regalia to keep Blair’s curiosity piqued. He caromed merrily from one side of the wharf to the other, examining alluring and outlandish objects, and striking up conversations willy-nilly with the sellers about the items’ origins and uses. They made a few purchases from stalls peddling such excess cargo that could not be brokered for shipment, limiting their acquisitions to small, practical niceties for members of the household back home.
At James’ insistence they stuck to the main avenue, eschewing the many dank and unsavory alleys that tentacled out in all directions from the seaside. He’d half expected an argument from Blair, but instead Blair nodded in agreement as he cast a wary eye down one such alley in passing. It occurred to James that Blair might know all too well what dangers lurked in such places.
After a few hours they all began to tire, even Blair…to James’ amazement, and were about ready to make their way back to the inn when they were set upon by Blair’s erstwhile friend Pete and a motley looking trio of his cronies. Blair recognized all but one of the four, and greeted them with uninhibited glee.
“’Ere now, wot’s this then?” Pete asked in the peculiar dialect of his. He appraised Blair from the safety of a few feet away, remembering his last encounter with the two big highlanders that accompanied Blair. A raggedy gap-toothed grin spread across his face. “You’ve come to see ‘ole Pete after all, issat it? And none to soon, eh? The Amelia Blanche sails at dawn.” He crooked his head toward the harbor.
Blair peered into the sky, wrinkling his nose as he squinted. The late afternoon sun was at his back, and the sky was bright from its reflection off the clouds and water. He spotted the Amelia Blanche and its recall pennant. The ship was also one of two that sported the green triangle he’d pointed out to James earlier.
“We’ve little time to spare, then, aye?” Blair answered seriously, but with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You mentioned trinkets did you not? And tales to tell? Did ye sail round the Cape, then, as you’d boasted you were to do the last we parted company?”
“Ho! The Cape! There’s a tale to curl your hair, lad!” Pete exclaimed, pointing at Blair’s head. He chortled at his joke regarding Blair’s mane and even James snorted in amusement.
“’Twas a fearsome, treacherous journey, to be sure,” he intoned gravely, setting the tone to spin his tale. And then he was off, with Blair in tow as much by his words as by the grimy hand he entwined in the crook of Blair’s elbow. They edged to the side of the thoroughfare, out of the main lane of traffic. Pete steered them all to the open courtyard of a ramshackle alehouse, where they all took seats on whatever chair, box, or crate was to hand.
A round of beer…off color, warm, and stale to boot by the smell of it…was brought. James paid for it obligingly, noting with a wry smile that the price most certainly was an indication of its quality.
The highlanders ignored their drinks, and James quickly snatched Blair’s away from his grabbing hand. He shook his head and Blair took heed of the warning. The others drank freely, ordering several more rounds, as Pete recounted his exploits. They were soon pleasantly sloshed, the lot of them.
Pete’s chums hooted at his animated expressions and scoffed at his whirl to make his account of the adventure a hair-raising yarn, fraught with peril. They added their own jabs and details, but soon tired of the telling and one by one peeled off to be about other tasks before they had to report back to the ship.
“Be off, then, the lot ‘o yous, and good riddance, you skivers!” Pete shrieked with derisive delight.
Blair was near doubled over with laughter by this point, and swiped at his eyes.
James and Stephen looked on, somewhat befuddled by the vocabulary being used and jibes being tossed about, arms crossed and faces decidedly impassive, as only a Scot could muster.
Blair was duly impressed by Pete’s adventure, and fascinated by his stories of the Far East. It had been Pete’s first voyage around the Cape, having up to that point only made the Atlantic crossing between the islands of the Caribbean or the colonies of America and the ports of Europe. He played up the saga to the hilt with excessive gesturing and most colorful anecdotes.
He topped it off by drawing Blair close, with an arm slung about his shoulders. He reached into a canvas pouch tied to his belt with a sturdy sailor’s hitch and withdrew a trinket, a wee bee-bawb of some sort, which he shielded from view save for himself and Blair. He whispered in Blair’s ear and elbowed him in the side as he handed it to him, and James tried, too late, to listen in.
Blair went owl-eyed at whatever remarks Pete imparted. He stared down at the small stone figurine in his hand, their bodies still hiding it from anyone else’s sight. He ran a fingertip over the smooth surface, tracing the lines of the tiny statue’s attributes.
Pete laughed raucously and Blair blushed from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears. He hastily thrust the trinket into his sporran and cleared his throat, which suddenly seemed bereft of any saliva.
“I best be off, now, and about my business, eh? Lots to do afore the dawn,” Pete announced. He slapped his hands on his knees decisively and wobbled to his feet. He spun to face James. “He’s a good lad, innit he then? It was good of you to bring him ‘round to see ole Pete then, wannit?”
“I see you may sail short-handed,” James noted dryly in response, making use of his recently acquired knowledge with a dismissive wave toward the towering masts. Stephen nodded his head and uttered a mild ‘mmpf’ in agreement.
“Not to worry, not to worry. We’s followin’ the coast. Make port in Edin’brow and Portsmouth yet won’t we and mayhap Dunleary afore the Atlantic,” Pete answered, scratching the stubble on his cheek thoughtfully. “I can’t say whatfore as to the Primrose,” he added, making reference to the other ship looking for crew. “Could be as they’re more hard up ‘n the Amelia. Ye mayhap wanna be heedful ‘o your backs, and ye take me meanin’. A spot of bad luck, it was, with the ‘pox outbreak in France. Left a ship or two scrabblin’ to crew up to be sure.”
“Pox?” James blurted in a controlled but venomous voice as he got to his feet. “Smallpox?” he questioned demandingly. He grabbed Blair, hauled him up and pushed him behind him and into Stephen, who had also jumped up and in turn pushed Blair behind him.
Pete backed away, staving James off with a wave of one hand, the other automatically going for the hilt of the cutlass tucked into the sash around his waist. He kept missing it though, his hand wavering unsteadily in his inebriated state as he snatched at it repeatedly with a somewhat dumbfounded look on his face.
“James!” Blair admonished as he tried to shoulder past Stephen.
Stephen held his ground and Blair had to settle for ducking low and peeking out from behind Stephen’s impassable form.
The threat against his guide seemed palpable to James; and the beggarly scoundrel Pete had wormed his way in close… touched Blair… breathed on him. James looked as if he wanted to take a god-sized chunk out of Pete, so Blair continued rapid-fire, “There’re no sick ships in the harbor. If there were, the sailors would not have been allowed ashore except under guard and then escorted to a place of quarantine. The cargoes and quite likely the ships themselves would have been towed a safe distance and burned.”
Stephen and Pete were left with confused looks on their faces, but James was accustomed to Blair’s breakneck blethering and kept up easily, his acuteness of hearing no doubt partially accountable for the feat.
James made a derisive sniffing motion, testing his surroundings for any hint of the sickness. What Blair said made sense to him; once he abandoned his gut-level reaction and let the words sink in. He blinked a few times and his jaw remained tightly clenched, still rippling with tension. Then he relaxed his stance and the others followed suit.
Blair moved out from behind Stephen and planted himself between Pete and James, with his back to James.
“No harm, eh mate?” he addressed Pete. He schooled his features carefully, conveying what he hoped was not quite an apology but more of a grudging concession that James had acted in hasty misjudgment.
Pete’s face pinched in consideration, leaving his countenance the general shape and color of a moldy prune. He was still swaying, tilting sideways a mite, and sized James up once more before replying.
“Aye, so, that’s the way a it, eh? Ye’re one ‘o them watchmen lot, izzat it then?” he drawled thoughtfully, looking from Blair to James with a squinty eye. “I’ve not seen any such like in these ‘ere waters afore. Though I keep to the coast, and that’s the way ‘o it, so’s I dun ‘spose I’d have occasion to cross paths with any such ‘ere abouts, now would I?”
“I am a clan sentinel, aye,” James answered gravely with a curt nod.
“There! You see? No harm meant!” Blair butted in brightly. But before he could go on, James grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and began hustling him away.
Pete laughed and waggled an arm dismissively in the air, recovering his good humor as quickly as Blair was prone to do.
“Say your farewell,” James suggested as he towed Blair off. Stephen fell into step with them, positioning Blair in between.
Blair turned about, as far as James’ hold and Stephen’s proximity would allow, and gave Pete a hapless shrug and a brusque wave. “Farewell!” he shouted obediently with a warm smile and fleeting laughter.
“No ‘arm, no ‘arm indeed. Fare thee weel,” Pete rejoined merrily in a blustery singsong voice. He staggered off in the opposite direction, his cackling echoing after him. “Keep a weather eye out, and ye will,” he bellowed as an afterthought, in way of reminding them of his admonishment about the Primrose. He stumbled along for a few steps, walked straight into a chest-high stone wall and crumpled to the ground.
“Shouldn’t we---?” Blair questioned, gesturing toward Pete, indicating he thought they should help.
“No,” James and Stephen answered emphatically in unison.
James bustled Blair onward, anxious now to be away from the area. Blair complied with little complaint, knowing James’ senses were most likely bothersome after all they’d been subjected to. James made for the main street leading into the city where he could hail a carriage to return them to the inn. On the way the three spoke good-naturedly about the afternoon’s doings.
Stephen bedeviled Blair unmercifully about his acquaintance with such nefarious characters as Pete and the other sailors as they walked along. Blair took the ribbing in stride, returning teasing of his own about Stephen being jealous due to his sheltered upbringing.
As they neared their intended crossroad Stephen suddenly came to an abrupt halt. “James, wait,” he said, “I’ve left our parcels behind.” He patted his sides and chest, as if the action would make them magically appear even as he pictured them in his mind lying on the ground at his feet where he’d placed them back at the alehouse. In the dither about the ‘pox, he’d completely forgotten them.
“I’ll get them,” Blair offered agreeably. He turned to take off, but James pulled him up short by the scruff of his neck, spinning him back around.
“I dinna think so, lad,” he answered with a laugh. “I’ve no mind to let you loose, even if it is for but a few minutes. There’d be no telling what trouble you’d court.”
Blair rolled his eyes, and tried to affect an offended look without much success.
“I’ll fetch them,” Stephen interjected quickly with a resigned shrug. “’Twas my fault after all. No need to fray your senses further, brother, by running the gauntlet again,” he pointed out reasonably, indicating the distance they’d come.
Not waiting for anyone’s assent, Stephen headed back toward the alehouse at a jog.
James let go of Blair, rubbed the back of his neck wearily, and held up a finger in a plea for at least one moment of silence. He hadn’t really realized until Stephen mentioned it, but his senses were a bit on edge after he’d thrown them open to test for telltale signs of smallpox.
Blair obligingly kept his mouth shut, and laid a hand on James’ upper arm to help calm his senses. The action had an almost immediate effect and James relaxed as his senses all fell back to normal levels.
James smiled his thanks and then watched Stephen, tracking him as he bobbed in out through the stream of people. Blair kept his hand on James’ arm, still and steady, but the rest of his body took up a restless jitteriness that James was aware of peripherally but did not find distracting.
Stephen reached the spot they’d vacated not ten minutes earlier but their parcels were no longer there. He cast about, searching the area, thinking they may have been inadvertently kicked under another table or into the nearby bushes. Not finding them, he waved down the barman who’d served them earlier and inquired as to the items’ whereabouts.
James followed all this with both sight and hearing, catching bits of the conversation as it drifted back toward him, and making out that the items had been picked up and taken inside purportedly for safekeeping in case someone should return for them.
As Stephen headed toward the door with the barman James noted the barman was scanning the area. He looked somewhat unsure of what he was looking for. But he finally seemed to be satisfied with what he saw, or didn’t see, for he returned his attention to Stephen while at the same time flipping an impatient hand signal over Stephen’s head.
James realized belatedly that the man had been looking for some sign of the companions Stephen had been with. He took off at a dead run, shouting for Blair to follow him and keep close, shouldering people out of the way as he ran. He watched in alarm as two men stepped out from the side of the alehouse and came up behind Stephen. He recognized the men; they’d been at the back table in the Grayhorse. He watched in alarm as they grabbed Stephen, tossed a gunnysack over him, and hit him on the back of the head with a stout billyclub. Then one of the men heaved Stephen up and over his shoulder. The other slipped a coin purse into the barman’s hand and then the two disappeared into the alley with their burden.
Blair had latched onto James’ plaid when they took off. The excess material allowed him a tether to his sentinel and helped him keep up. He knew something was amiss, and probably to do with Stephen, that much was obvious. He shouted at James, seeking a reason for their sudden flight, but James’ concentration was firmly set on his goal.
When they reached the alehouse James tried to locate Stephen and his abductors. He looked down the narrow alleyway next to the tavern. But there was no sign of them. There was too little light, and too many smells and noises for him to detect anything that would show him what had happened to his brother. He whirled about and set his sights on the barman who was still in the courtyard, now gathering up empty tankards and pitchers. James made straight for him, his face grimly set and his eyes rancorously alight.
Seeing James barreling toward him, the barman froze. The tray he’d been holding slid from his grasp sending its contents to the cobblestones with a loud crash. Before he could make up his mind whether or not to flee James was upon him. The enraged highlander shoved him up against a wall, lifting him up onto his toes so he could look him dead in the eyes.
“Where’ve they taken him?” James demanded as he leaned in, pressing a forearm across the barman’s throat.
“I, I, I dinna know,” the man sputtered. He didn’t even feign ignorance of what James was asking.
James exerted more pressure on the man’s windpipe.
“I swear!” the man choked out. “They only pays me to keep an eye and gi’ a nod as there’s a dupe can be nabbed.”
“Who?” James demanded.
The man had no issue with ratting on his employers, especially with an enraged highland sentinel nearly choking him to death. He had but one name and that one obviously an alias, as he explained everyone he dealt with went by it. And it wasn’t the Primrose, as James suspected, that was paying the man to help fill a crew by means of abduction. It was a smuggling ring, which explained the appearance of the men from the Grayhorse.
James wrung a few more details out of the man before he punched him hard, knocking him out. He dragged him to a table, propped him in a chair, and let his head flop onto the tabletop.
Blair had been standing by the entire time, breathless and wide-eyed while watching James extract information from the man.
“There’s a cove a short way up the coast,” James told Blair without preamble. “It’s where they’ve taken Stephen.”
Blair was nodding, having heard for himself.”You’re sure? What if he was lying?” Blair asked. His bit his lip just after the words left his mouth. Of course James would know if the man had been lying or not.
James hadn’t really been paying attention to what Blair was saying. He was too busy making up his mind about what to do with Blair while he went to rescue Stephen, because there was no way he was taking Blair with him into a smugglers’ den. And there was no way he could leave him behind or send him back to the inn on his own. The answer to his dilemma came from the most unlikely quarter.
A hoarse whisper, accompanied by a hacking cough, came to James’ ears. “’Ere now, dinnit yous bugger off then?”
James spotted Pete. He was still where he’d dropped, but he’d managed to get into a sitting position with his back against the wall and his legs sprawled out in front of him. He was squinting at James and Blair through one barely opened eye.
Ignoring the fact that he seemed to be doing it often of late, James grabbed Blair’s arm and hauled him along to where Pete was. He settled into a crouch in front of Pete. Blair mimicked the stance.
“Do you know where Dreary’s Cove is?” James asked.
With great effort Pete pried his other eye open. “Oh, aye, Dreary’s izzit? Aye,” he answered. He nodded his head but thought better of it and stopped immediately.
James took hold of one of Pete’s arms and motioned for Blair to take hold of the other. They pulled him to his feet.
“I’m going there to get Stephen; he’s been waylaid by bootleggers. I’m leaving Blair with you,” James said decisively.
“What!” Blair exclaimed, indignant at the idea of being left behind. “I’m not staying here. I’m going with you.”
“You’re not,” James stated tersely. “And that’s all there’s to it. I’ve no time to argue.” The look he gave Blair backed up his statement. And to Pete he said, “Sit on him if you must.”
“But your senses---,” Blair tried gamely.
“My senses are fine. And I willna be able to keep them that way if I’ve you to worry about,” James answered. He looked at Pete again and nodded his head curtly toward the alehouse. “Yon good for nothing lout provided all the details I need to find my way to the cove. Once there I’ll have no trouble locating Stephen with my senses.” He checked his weapons adroitly as he spoke. “If I’m not back within the hour go to the port authorities and report what I’ve told you.”
Pete had sobered considerably within the few minutes’ span while James was talking. He repeated James’ instructions to himself, muttering them under his breath.
Blair was bristling; he was near fit to be tied. But before he could launch any further protest, James shoved him into Pete, who grabbed hold by wrapping his arms around Blair’s chest, pinning his arms, and held tight.
Without another word James turned and left. The sound of Blair’s struggles to free himself from Pete’s grasp along with his very vocal protestations followed James for quite some distance. His lips curled into a cunning, feral smile as he blocked out Blair’s presence behind him. He touched the choker on his neck and broke into a run.
----
Pete felt both an affinity for Blair as well as a healthy respect for the highlander that had taken him under his wing. Both were reason enough to compel him to comply with the sentinel’s orders. He was also familiar with the goings-on at Dreary’s Cove and the villainous lot that hung out about there. James’ desire to leave the lad behind was quite understandable.
So he tried his best to restrain Blair. Obviously James had thought him capable of it, even in his present condition, and that the boy would simply capitulate after the stern look that had been bestowed on him. While the first might be true, the latter most assuredly was not. Compliance seemed to be the last thing on the lad’s mind.
Pete easily fended off the Blair’s vocal appeals to be released, having learned not to be fooled from times past when he’d fallen prey to his wily ways. But the constant writhing and wriggling was taking its toll. As a last resort he tried to wrestle Blair to the ground with the intent of sitting on him as James suggested. This proved to be a mistake.
As he landed in the dust and watched Blair dart away Pete wondered if James would return to hold him accountable for the boy’s getaway. Having no desire to find out, he struggled to his feet, hollered a fare-thee-well to Blair’s retreating back and set off to report in to his ship early.
----
The kidnappers hadn’t much of a head start. And they had no idea they had been pursued. James arrived at the cove only moments after them. He watched as they took Stephen to a small warehouse set back in the trees so as to not be visible from either the water or from land unless one knew where to look.
They left the building a few minutes later. The door was secured from the outside by a bar but no lock. James extended his hearing to inside the building and counted four heartbeats. He wondered if all were captives or if there was a guard or two as well.
There were a dozen or so men near the water’s edge and more on a pier. A small ship lay at anchor in an inlet sheltered from the sea. As yet James could see no cargo. The smugglers were no doubt waiting for nightfall to ferry the goods to the ship.
He waited about twenty minutes, until the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting shadows that would be to his advantage. He made his way toward the back of the warehouse. It would be too conspicuous to try to gain access through the front with so many men about. He had no desire to wait until dark when there would most likely be more activity around the warehouse. And there was the matter of telling Pete he’d return within an hour. He was fairly sure Pete could subdue Blair for at least that small an amount of time, but knowing his guide, he truly hoped he’d not taken a chance he’d regret.
Putting that thought aside, he carefully snuck toward the building. The back entrance was smaller than the one in front and seldom used by the look of it. It too was barred from the outside. He slipped the bar from its supports and opened the door just far enough to peer inside. It was dark but his sight adjusted quickly. He located Stephen; the hood was off and James could see he was still out. Hearing a strong heartbeat and not seeing or smelling any blood, he breathed a sigh of relief. Stephen had been dumped on the floor next to three other men. They were all tied hand and foot and gagged.
James cautiously made his way to the men. The three other men were awake and upon seeing James began to struggle against their bonds and make strangled, muffled noises. James placed a finger to his lips and indicated by way of hand signals that he was there to aid in their escape. He dropped to a crouch next to Stephen and tapped him gently on the cheek.
Stephen reacted by springing upward and head butting James, catching him under the jaw and sending him backwards. James landed hard on his backside and hissed a rude comment. Stephen’s eyes flew open at the same time. When he saw it was James and not one of his captors, he attempted to smile around the gag. He drew his bound hands around to his side, waggling them insistently.
James pulled his dirk from its sheath and just as he was about to slit the ropes, a loud ruckus started up outside. He’d been keeping track of movements with his senses on a subconscious level in case anyone came close enough to the warehouse to cause concern. He cocked his head, focusing more intently now. He heard something that caused the strangest look to cross his face and then he scowled fiercely.
“Go back to sleep, brathair,” he whispered to Stephen through tightly gritted teeth. “We’re about to get company,” he added, directing his comment to all four men.
Stephen questioned James with his eyes, but James just shook his head before disappearing into the woodwork. Stephen did as James directed, closing his eyes and going limp once again.
The front entrance opened a moment later and Blair, struggling and cursing madly, was brought in and shoved toward the captives.
Seeing Stephen, Blair ran to him and dropped to his knees. “Stephen, are you all right? Stephen!” Blair implored as he yanked at Stephen, trying to rouse him.
The man who’d brought Blair in laughed and dragged him up. He continued to laugh as Blair hurled insults at him and tried to twist out of his hold. He tied Blair’s hands behind his back and then spun him around. He cupped Blair’s cheeks in one dirty, meaty hand, squeezing tightly.
“Ye’re a feisty little shite, aren’t ye then?” he sneered. “Could be as there’s a better market for ye than swabbing decks and trimming sails, with your pretty face, aye? Ye’re right gallus are ye no? There’s some’d pay good coin for a morsel such as you.”
“Bastart!” Blair hissed at the man with a defiant gleam in his eye. Then he spit in his face.
The man let go of Blair and backhanded him across the mouth, sending him sprawling to the floor. Blair slid onto his side and skidded a short distance, coming to a stop when he bumped against Stephen’s prone body. The man wiped the spittle from his face. He gave Blair a long, considering look before deciding he could deal with him later. He pointed a finger at Blair as warning, then turned and left.
Blair licked his lips once, testing for damage. Tasting no blood, he then turned to Stephen. He nudged him with his shoulder. To his surprise, Stephen opened his eyes and winked at him.
“You’re all right!” Blair observed in a hushed tone, bursting into a relieved grin. “Now we just need to hold tight. I don’t know where James is, but I’m sure he’ll find us soon.”
Stephen gave Blair a sympathetic look and glanced at something over Blair’s shoulder, shaking his head.
James had slipped out of his hidey-hole as soon as the man had left, coming up silently. Blair felt his presence looming over him from behind. He twisted about and peered up at James with what he hoped was an innocent enough look to save his bum.
James’ hands were fisted on his hips and all he said in a low, honey-laced voice was, “Aye, soon enough, a chara.”
----
Once away from the cove, the other captives thanked James profusely for their rescue before taking off. James examined Stephen closely, running his fingers gently over the spot where he’d been clubbed. There was a good-sized lump but James could detect no fracture. Stephen had a dilly of a headache and was feeling lightheaded, dizzy and a bit queasy. He assessed Blair’s split lip quickly with calm efficiency. The he hastened them all back toward Inverness, wanting to put distance between them and the cove as quickly as possible. He and Blair assisted Stephen by each slinging one of Stephen’s arms about their shoulders and half-carrying him along.
Reaching the outskirts of Inverness, James found a farmer who’d just made a delivery of vegetables to one of the taverns who was willing to be hired to transport them in his wagon.
The trip back to the inn was made in uncomfortable silence, at least on Blair’s part. He scrunched himself into a corner, pulled his knees up to his chin, and wrapped his hands around his shins, giving more room for Stephen to stretch out and for James to attend to him. He laid his head on his knees and closed his eyes, peeking out only occasionally.
“He’s a brave lad, is he not?” Stephen asked James in a conspiratorial whisper.
James snorted. “Brave?” He nodded his head somewhat grudgingly. “Aye, brave. As well as disobedient and defiant.” He gave Stephen a measured look and then glanced at Blair. The lad appeared not to have heard them. “This time things went smoothly, as rescues of eejit younger brothers go,” James stated. “But I’d no notion what I was to be up against and Blair was told to stay out of it. It could have gone bad. He could have been---,” he choked off and then took a deep breath. “Och, well, I am grateful he’s all right, as well as you, make no mistake. But the lad does try me.”
“You willna be too hard on him and I might ask?” Stephen pleaded on Blair’s behalf.
James smoothed Stephen’s hair and patted his head gently. “We’ll stay an extra day or two in Inverness I think. I dinna want you traveling on horseback until that lump on your noggin has gone down and we see can ye keep food on your stomach and stand straight.” He sighed and looked at Blair again. “It may verra well be as you’ll be able to sit a horse before the lad will.”
----
When they arrived at the inn, James had Lizzie send one of the servants for a physician. They took Stephen into the parlor and laid him on the couch there, making him as comfortable as possible. Lizzie was in her element, fussing and fawning over him.
Blair stood off to the side just outside the doorway to the parlor, fiddling with a loose button on his shirt, not sure what to do.
Now that Stephen was in good hands, and knowing it would be a little while until the physician arrived, James turned his attention to Blair.
When Blair saw him cross the room he straightened, stiffened, and took a step back, thinking James meant to breeze past him. Instead, James stopped when he reached Blair and in counterpoint to what the smuggler had done, took Blair’s face in his hands gently and placed a kiss on Blair’s forehead. Then he pulled Blair to him in a hug.
Blair hugged James back for all he was worth, knowing why James had waited until now to offer solace and express his relief.
“It wasna Pete’s fault. He did try to stop me,” Blair said, sighing heavily.
“He should not have had to,” James chided. “And, aye, well, it was worth a try. It did delay you a mite though,” he added. “I was somewhat surprised you found us, your sense of direction being what it is.”
“Well, um, I did hear all the directions the barman gave ye. But I went too far, and then doubled back on the wrong path before coming into the cove from the opposite side and right into a tangle of the scabbers rolling dice,” Blair explained. He chanced a look up at James at this point.
“You know what I must do, aye?” James asked as he looked down at Blair.
Blair nodded reluctantly. “Aye,” he whispered.
“I’ll attend to it directly after the physician’s been ‘round. Ye best go to the kitchen now and have Lizzie give you a bite to eat. You’ll no be able to sit at table for your dinner tonight,” James said. “Then wait for me in our room.”
Blair looked past James into the parlor and smiled bravely at Stephen. Stephen smiled back and gave him an encouraging wave. Then Blair trudged off to the kitchen.
----
It was an hour later that James came up to the room. He gave Blair a report on the physician’s examination. Stephen had a slight concussion, but no skull fracture, just as James had surmised.
James tossed a large wooden spoon, appropriated from the kitchen, onto the bed and motioned for Blair to join it. Then Blair sat through a long, searing lecture and scolding as James paced back and forth in front of him. At just the point he wished it would cease, it did, which made him immediately wish it would continue so as to give him a bit longer pardon from what was coming next.
James gave him no such reprieve. He pulled out a straight-backed chair from against the wall, sat down, and waited.
Blair sighed, stood up, and sucked in a deep breath. He unbuckled his kilt and let it drop to the floor, picked up the spoon, dragged himself to where James sat, handed him the spoon, rucked up his shirt and bunched it around his middle, and then lowered himself onto James’ lap.
James prodded Blair to scoot forward so that he rested over just one of James’ legs, angling himself so his bum was tilted up. James secured Blair with a tight grip about his waist, and his free leg pinning Blair’s down.
Everyone in the inn knew what had transpired at the docks, as gossip of this nature travels fast. As a result they were also well aware that Blair was in for a skelping. For this reason, Blair didn’t try to hold in his yips and yelps as the paddling took place. James gave him a long, sound paddling, turning his bum a deep shade of crimson, leaving it with a burning tingling which promised to linger for several days.
Stephen, from his place on the couch in the parlor below, winced sympathetically with every thwack for every smack to Blair’s bum. He grimaced as he listened to Blair’s plaintive howls, sobbing regrets, and indignant cursing, most of the latter earning him a few extra well placed wallops each time.
At last it was over. James soothed his wee monster as best he could. It seemed always a delicate balance to him, to provide the comfort for a scalding spanking he’d been the one to deliver. But Blair accepted both from James, so he vowed he’d not shirk in his deliverance of either.
----
Two days later, with the physician’s assertion that Stephen was up to travel, they left Inverness. There were hugs and tears, of course, as Lizzie said her goodbyes. And enough food stuffed into their saddle packs to last them to Cascade Moor and back again, which maybe was her intent, James mused, as he watched her dab the corners of her eyes and wave farewell to Blair.
When they were well on their way, and Blair was squirming uncomfortably behind him, James suggested they dismount and walk a while.
Blair nodded his agreement eagerly and was the first to hit the ground as soon as the horses stopped. His backside was still tender, but the worst of the aftereffects of the laldie had subsided during the two days their departure had been delayed. He diligently checked on Wee Geordie, whose crate was nestled securely atop the saddle packs behind Stephen.
They let the horses forage a bit on patches of clover along the side of the road before setting off once again.
Stephen set a leisurely pace as his head was still a bit wobbly and they talked congenially about returning home.
“Did you find Inverness to your liking?” Stephen asked after a bit, poking Blair in the ribs.
“Well, aye, I suppose I did then,” Blair answered after a few minutes’ thought. He gave Stephen a curious, sidelong glance, and a shrug. “Though I’m none so sure I’m at all eager to return.”
“Oh?” James inquired with a knowing smirk as he tousled Blair’s hair. “And why is that?”
Blair just rubbed his bum pointedly and gave James a wide-eyed, incredulous look.
The End
‘a chara’ - Gaelic term of endearment meaning ‘my dear’
Brathair – Gaelic for brother
Cat’s-Paw – a light breeze that ruffles the surface of the water over a comparatively small area; the small area ruffled by such a breeze.
Crabbit – ill tempered; grumpy; curt; disagreeable
Fash – worry
Gallus – self confident; daring; cheeky
Ken – know; knowledge; knowing
Kittle-hoosie – a brothel
Laldie – a thrashing; a sound beating; punishment
Mauchit – dirty; filthy; sticky; muddy
Skelp, skelping – to spank; a spanking
Stramash – an uproar; a violent commotion or rowdy behavior; a melee