Thistles…Withered, Wilted and Scorched
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 the beta.
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James swiped a grimy forearm across his brow, wiping away beads of sweat. He glanced upward, appraising the position of the sun, and decided it was near time to call a halt to the morning’s task. With the help of Henry and Rafe, good progress had been made repairing the fence line of the upper livestock paddock. He grunted as he righted a post and held it in place as Henry filled the hole with dirt and rocks to secure it. Rafe made quick work of nailing the cross bar back into place. All three men panted heavily and tried in vain to mop the perspiration from their faces and torsos.
“Good work, lads, and none too soon,” James huffed with a hint of sarcasm as he gazed across the field at the cattle milling listlessly under a stand of trees. “The great beasts look ready to make a break at any moment.”
Henry and Rafe laughed along with James as they passed the water skin back and forth.
“Oh, aye,” Henry agreed breathlessly, after taking several hearty gulps of water. “A fearful lot they are, no doubt conniving to stampede at any moment.”
They gathered their tools and headed toward the road leading to the main house.
The heat had been uncommonly oppressive for several days and the residents of Cascade Moor had adjusted their days accordingly. Rising well before dawn, they’d set about their chores, errands, and labor-intensive toils before the sun beating down became unbearable. Mid-morning until early evening would then be spent attending less strenuous activities, such as mending harnesses, sharpening knives, minor repair work on tools and the like, which could be done while sitting in the shade of the orchard or along the banks of the stream while dangling feet, and fishing lines, in the blue-green water.
As the evening cooled, the cooks busied themselves with baking in the summer kitchen and tending slow-roasting meats set on spits over beds of coals in the yard. Youngsters were put to work with chores such as gathering fruit or churning butter. It was a challenge to keep meals light enough so as not to cause stomach upsets brought on by the heat, and yet be filling enough to satisfy hearty appetites.
When the sun’s rays faded into twilight, as many remaining chores as could be finished before dark were hastily accomplished. And as night fell, there were stories to be told and songs to be sung and blessings to be counted.
James stretched out his hearing as he trudged along the road, hoping for the sound of his wee monster’s laugh to reach his ears. The lad spent most of his days in the company of Geordie McManus of late, and at first, James had found he was a tad jealous of the time the two spent together.
He’d invited Geordie to stay with them, and truly did not begrudge them their camaraderie. Geordie was a hard worker and pitched in to help with any chore requested with good humor and robust fervor. James enjoyed the man’s easy manner and quick wit. But much of the time formerly reserved by Blair for him during the course of a day, was now wiled away in the company of the other man.
His jealously had dissipated quickly, however, washed away by evidence of its foolishness.
Blair’s chores did not suffer for the time spent with Geordie. And the lad made a point of seeking James out numerous times during the course of a day, to check on his senses or to report his own exceeding good behavior with a devilish laugh. It was the small cubbyhole off James’ bedroom that Blair returned to every night, even when invited to sleep out under the stars or in the hayloft by Geordie’s side. And it was James the boy came to with any worries or dreadful tall tales or with anxiousness beyond words to recount the days’ events amid gales of exuberant laughter.
And it would be James, he no doubted, who would console the lad when Geordie took his leave of the Highlands and rejoined his vagabond troupe.
Blair’s laughter was absent now; no hint of his chortling or incessant babbling came to James’ ears as he entered the yard. He’d not really expected to hear it; in fact, it was as well he did not.
Blair and Geordie had headed off to the fields north of the house early in the day to help with the haying. James smiled and chuffed with a barely stifled laugh as he recalled the sight of Geordie slinging the lad over one meaty shoulder to hurry their progress and catch up with the hay wagon. Blair had screeched with indignation but quickly dissolved into helpless laughter as Geordie started jogging.
Not surprisingly, none of the haying crew were about. Rather than tromp all the way back to the house, they’d stated their intention to weather the heat of mid-day at the pond just beyond the hayfield. It was the prudent thing to do, and James had admonished Blair to stay with the workers.
James passed by the kitchen and grabbed some victuals before heading to the stream. There he joined the other men who’d already finished their morning’s arduous endeavors. There were no women about; he could hear their chatter and delighted splashing coming from further upstream, everyone’s modesty ensured by distance and foliage. He stripped to his skin and dove into the water. After a long blissful dip, he emerged and wrapped his kilt around his midsection. He plopped to the ground, leaned against a tree, and began munching on the bread and slab of cold meat he’d pilfered earlier.
He allowed his senses to drift, seeking any telltale sign that a break in the heat wave was nigh. Finding no such assurance as yet, he sighed and tilted his head back, resting it on the forearm he crooked behind him for support. He chewed his lunch slowly, savoring the yeasty goodness of the bread mingled with the light spiciness of the mutton. The men nearby were all similarly engaged…resting, eating, swimming or intent on minor tasks. James closed his eyes and dozed.
aaaa
Geordie shaded his eyes and squinted into the sun just as a halt to the morning’s work was called out across the field. He breathed a sigh of relief and arched his back, rotating his torso to ease his straining muscles. He cast a quick glance over at Blair, who was just finishing tying up a bundle of the hay Geordie had cut.
“It’s a good morning’s work, lad,” Geordie called out. He pointed to the tree line at the edge of the field as Blair looked up. “Let’s get to the shade, aye? Hurry along now!” he added as he started walking off.
Blair finished securing the bundle and dropped it. He ran to catch up and fell into step beside his friend. Geordie reached out and began plucking wisps of hay from the boy’s hair. Blair batted at his hands as he started doing the same to Geordie’s unruly mane and beard. Geordie slapped at Blair’s hands and soon the two were shoving and swatting each other good-naturedly.
Once in the shade, they joined the other men at the edge of the small pond and quickly shucked off their clothes. Geordie waited until Blair had waded waist-deep into the water, before dashing in after him like a crazed lunatic, swinging his arms and whooping madly. He cannonballed himself at the lad, landing with a monstrous splash and dragging Blair under with him.
As they broke the surface, Blair was laughing and swearing, sputtering mouthfuls of water. He launched himself at Geordie in a vain attempt to submerge the large man, throwing himself against the massive torso with all his might. Geordie chortled and placed one large hand on top of Blair’s head. He pushed Blair under and held him there, as Blair’s arms continued their futile attempt to retaliate. After a few seconds, he grabbed Blair under the armpits and hefted him up out of the water. Then he tossed him, as if the were no more than a rag doll, roaring with laughter as Blair landed with a loud sploosh a few feet away.
After cooling down in the pond, the men leisurely dressed and then settled themselves under the leafy awning of a grove of oak trees. They ate and drank and soon broke off into smaller groups. Some napped while they could, others set about the tasks they’d brought along to pass the time, and others were lured to Geordie’s call for a game of cards. He produced a deck from somewhere on his person and clapped his hands together, rubbing them gleefully.
Blair stood off to the side, leaning against a tree and kicking his right foot idly against its tangled roots.
“Here now, lad,” Geordie said as he patted the ground. “You remember everythin’ I taught, have ye no?”
“Oh, aye,” Blair answered shyly. “I remember. I remember verra well. Too well. ‘Tis why I’m not allowed to play.”
“Not allowed?” Geordie asked incredulously. “Not allowed?” He frowned at Blair.
“Aye,” Blair replied. “Not since James caught me cheating.”
The other men shook their heads at this bit of information, giving Geordie wary, sidelong glances, and moved off.
Geordie cocked a hairy eyebrow at the youngster and without words demanded to hear the particulars.
Blair sighed and then chuckled nervously as he folded himself into a cross-legged sitting position. He slanted a look at Geordie before heaving another sigh.
“We, a few of the stable boys, and I, we were playing out behind the barn one afternoon. ‘Twas for trinkets and baubles only, none of the lads, or I for that matter, have coin with which to wager. James came upon us, unawares, and watched for a spell. After I’d won the few trifles the lads had, the wagering turned to trading off chores. James still had not made his presence known, and relayed later that he saw no harm in the doings up to that point, even when I continued to win. He was pleased, as it happened, at seeing my adeptness.”
Blair looked at Geordie and shrugged.
“I was to the point of being free and clear of any chores for a month, when James suddenly burst forth and latched onto my collar. He yanked me to my feet and his eyes flashed with vexation as he calmly stated I’d cheated.”
Blair cleared his throat and wiggled in discomfort at the memory.
“He had the lads reclaim their things and shooed them away, assuring them they would not be doing my chores for me.”
Geordie harrumphed and threw his hands into the air. “Well, that’s a fine thing, then. Seems to me the lads had no business playing and wagerin’ if they were not skilled enough at the game to know whether or not things were on the up an’ up.”
“That is exactly what I tried to explain to James!” Blair exclaimed as he jabbed the air with a pointed finger. “But he was having none of it. He kept on about fair play and honesty and I told him as how it wasna how I was taught to gamble.”
Blair screwed his face into an apologetic grimace and shrugged his shoulders again.
“He let me off easy,” Blair fidgeted as he spoke the word and rolled his eyes. “I was subjected to a fearsome long lecture and a strong reprimand, along with the promise of a sore backside were he to catch me gambling again, cheating or no.”
“Aye, well then, there’s nothing for it, I suppose,” Geordie commiserated with a shake of his head. “’Tis a shame, though, to waste a natural talent such as yours.”
Blair nodded his head earnestly in agreement, but before he could add any more thoughts on the matter, they were interrupted by a commotion coming from where the other workers were gathered. They pulled themselves to their feet and meandered over to see what the fuss was about.
The men were standing around the hay wagon, tossing bundles of hay into a smaller cart standing nearby, while one of them busily harnessed a horse to it. The foreman of the work gang, a man by the name of Ennis, was having a spirited discussion with the men as to who would deliver the load of the newly cut hay to the widow Boyle’s cottage. Her husband had been a trusted and loyal member of the clan until his death a few months prior. Five fine sons had come of their union but all had perished before the age of twenty-five, leaving the widow and her sixteen-year-old daughter alone, but in the tradition of the clan, not without family.
Simon was at the widow’s cottage, attending to repairs and such, and had asked for the hay to be sent along before the end of the day so he would be able to unload it in the cool of the evening. All of the men were more than happy to volunteer; the chore would be a reprieve from the rest of the afternoon’s toil. Ennis was having a hard time deciding whose dexterity or strong back they could best do without.
“I’ll do it!” Blair volunteered with a huge grin on his face, trying to sound nonchalant. He quaked with barely contained enthusiasm, causing more than one speculative glance to be thrown in his direction.
“Oh?” Geordie asked suspiciously, cocking his head toward the lad.
An assortment of snorts and guffaws were tossed his way by the workers.
“He’s sweet on Maisie Boyle, he is,” one of them teased.
“Oh, aye,” another agreed with a hearty laugh.
“I’m not,” Blair protested half-heartedly as he felt his cheeks grow warm.
The men proceeded to badger Blair, jostling and elbowing him good naturedly, and the youngster tried to take it all in good humor. After some further debate, Ennis decided the task would go to him.
Blair was pleased, not only at the prospect of seeing Maisie, and perhaps stealing a moment or two to speak with her, but also that the men seemed willing to trust him with the responsibility, small though it was.
He was not so sure James would feel the same way, seeing as the highlander was none too pleased up to this point with Blair’s ability to handle a horse. The lad had had several disastrous riding lessons, as well as less than stellar attempts at controlling a hitched team. James had not actually forbidden him to ride or drive a wagon or cart, but he’d strongly suggested Blair needed much more practice before endeavoring to execute his equestrian skills on his own.
Of course, Blair didn’t mention any of this to Geordie, Ennis, or anyone for that matter. It was just a small cart, after all, loaded only with hay, and the horse nothing more than an old nag.
Directions to the widow’s cottage were given, with a strong admonishment to keep to the right when the road forked several miles along the way. The left fork had twists and turns, as well as a rather hazardous downhill stretch, not much suitable for the cart Blair would be driving. The other trail was longer by at least an hour’s time, but it was an even grade and easier to negotiate, as well as meandering through cool, shady glens.
A short period of boasting ensued, with each man extolling his own expert skills at maneuvering the more treacherous course while belittling the others’ lack of nerve and horse handling.
Blair joined in, claiming with a false sense of bravado that he’d be able to manage the shorter route.
The workmen answered with snorts of disbelief and loud hoots as well as several inquiries as to what the lad would care to wager on his boast.
In the face of the men’s teasing Blair didn’t fancy backing down, even if his bragging was so much guff. He opened his mouth to answer, eager to defend his claim, but Geordie saved him the bother by chiming in.
“Ye’ll do no such thing, laddie,” he proclaimed loudly with a stern glare.
“But---,” Blair began to protest, well aware of the sniggering and bemused looks of the other men.
“You will take the longer, safe path and that’s all there is to it,” Geordie stated as he pointed to the cart. “Now get your wee carcass up on yon cart and be off.”
Blair huffed as he scrambled up onto the wooden seat and plopped down with a muffled curse, and then turned toward Geordie. He stuck his tongue out at his friend, and tried unsuccessfully to scowl at him, achieving a lopsided smile instead.
“Ye’ll return directly to the house with Simon later, will you no?” Geordie asked as he handed the reins and a water skin to Blair. “No point coming back this way.”
“Aye,” Blair agreed as he took the reins and gave the horse’s rump a gentle flick. He tucked the water skin next to him on the seat.
“Shall I give your regards to the widow Boyle?” he asked over his shoulder as the horse started plodding away. “She’s a fine lady, she is, and not bad to look at,” he added mischievously. “Although I’m none too sure she’d be at all interested in a fearsome ugly heathen such as yourself.”
Geordie laughed loudly and jogged a few steps to catch up with the cart. He cuffed Blair’s head and gave the lad’s shoulder a hearty push, nearly toppling him off the seat.
“Behave yourself, lad,” he wheezed, shaking a finger at Blair.
Geordie waved the lad on his way and then returned to the cool shade of the trees for a little rest before the crew began working again.
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Blair happily daydreamed as he made his way along the road. It was quiet and peaceful, and the heat, while laden with mugginess, did not seem to be as stifling as it had been in the hayfield. He imagined this must be what the jungles of far off Africa or South America must be like and smiled at the thought of some day finding out for himself.
And then his thoughts turned to Maisie Boyle and what he’d say to her if she were indeed present when he arrived at the cottage. He tried hard to come up with something witty or clever; a compliment or… He bit his lip in frustration as all the words running through his head suddenly seemed muddled and trite.
Soon they melted away, replaced by the taunts and teasing words of the workmen. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling that his being sweet on Maisie, as they called it, as well as his general lack of agrarian skills, were a source of amusement to them. He could just imagine what they’d be saying about him as they finished the afternoon chores.
As fate would have it, he arrived at the fork in the road just as these thoughts were racing through his head. He pulled on the reins, bringing the cart to a stop. He glanced to the left, and then to the right, and then to the left again. Not seeing much difference in the lay of the road on either side, he stood for a moment, rising up on his tiptoes and craning his neck to have a better look at the left fork. And then, in true adolescent measure, he shrugged his shoulders, sat back down, and reined the horse to the left, coaxing her forward with a soft click of his tongue.
Travel was much the same as it had been for about the first half hour and then the road started to twist and turn, just as the men had warned. It narrowed in spots, and began to snake downward at a barely noticeable angle, becoming bumpier, jostling him to and fro on the seat. The horse began to fidget and snort as she struggled to keep her footing, insecure with the lad’s unsure handling.
Blair secured the reins tightly, wrapping them several times in his fists, and planted his feet firmly against the bottom of the cart. He clucked softly, in an attempt to gentle the horse’s skittishness, as well as his own.
He steered the cart cautiously around a tight bend, and came upon the crest of a fearsome looking slope. He stared at the long, harrowing descent that bottomed out into a sun drenched gully stretching out across a wide expanse below. His heart began to race as he realized he had no idea how to negotiate the hill. The horse continued on her way, head down, balking slightly as her feet began to falter.
Blair tugged on the reins, a bit too sharply, attempting to stop their forward motion. The action brought the horse’s head up abruptly, taking her eyes from the ground, spooking her. She whinnied nervously and rather than stopping, as was the lad’s intent, she lurched forward and broke into an uneven lope, hurtling downhill at an uncontrolled pace. Blair had no choice but to hold on for dear life as the cart rumbled along with her, sending clumps of hay flying off the back in all directions.
He shouted several exceptionally blue-tinged curses in a language that neither he, nor the horse apparently, was able to identify and which most assuredly had no influence on dissuading the creature from her frenzied descent.
Miraculously, they made it to the bottom in one piece, but their momentum carried them on into the gully. Blair held his breath and his eyes popped nearly from their sockets as the sight of a fallen log loomed forebodingly into view.
The horse flinched, but deftly sidestepped the obstacle, swinging the cart sideways into the log. And then there was a sickeningly loud crack as the front right wheel of the cart careened off the log, shattering it into several pieces. Blair flew from his perch, reins flying free, and landed with a thud on the opposite side of the log. The force of the impact splintered the front of the cart, and the harness assembly broke off, freeing the horse. The cart upended, depositing what was left of its load on top of Blair, leaving the cart itself teetering on top of the log.
Blair sucked in a deep breath and shook himself, checking for injury. He exhaled sharply; he seemed to be unharmed but considerably rattled. He tried to move and realized, to his dismay, that his right foot was wedged under the log. He wiggled it, attempting to free it, but the movement accomplished nothing except to jiggle the log and shake the cart, threatening to dislodge it from its precarious position and land full force on top of him.
He looked about, wondering idly where the humongous log had come from, since there were no trees within a considerable distance from where he had landed. He lay in the full sun and could already feel its unforgiving rays beating down on him. The air in the gully was dank, heavy with mugginess and he cast about with his hands, searching for the water skin, finally spotting it off to his left, out of reach.
“Mo Creach!” he spat out. “The Highlands are supposed to be known far and wide for our inhospitable wet, rainy, cool clime,” he growled in frustration with a measure of sarcasm in his voice.
He settled back, closed his eyes, and began chanting fervently to the goddess who seemed to take delight in tinkering with his fate. He clutched at his amulet, rubbing it furiously.
“It’s not as I’m not grateful to be alive,” he stated matter-of-factly to the humid air. “And it is verra kind of you to see to it that I didna break my neck.” He sighed deeply and squinted up at the blue cloudless sky. “But I would be verra appreciative, if it is no great hardship, if you were to be so kind as to watch over me a wee bit longer, as I’m sure when James gets hold of me, he’s sure to kill me.”
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The shank of the afternoon proved to be as sticky-hot as the morning had been, although the general agreement in the fields and workplaces of Cascade Moor was that it still was considerably less overpowering than the noonday’s heat.
In the hayfield, the workmen fell into a steady rhythm of cutting, raking, bundling and tying, and cleared a good half or more of the field. Some of the bales were loaded on a large wagon for transport to the farmyard and stock pens. The rest was left in the field to be gathered as needed in the upcoming days.
It was near quitting time when Simon Banks appeared on the road, riding toward the men at a steady trot. The men stopped their work and hurried toward him waving their hellos and sending questioning looks toward the overseer.
Simon leaned forward, resting his forearm on the pommel of his saddle as he addressed the foreman.
“Did you forget about the hay I’d requested then?” he asked as he looked about for the small hay cart.
Geordie brushed past everyone with a worried look on his face and answered first.
“’Twas Blair we sent. It’s been hours since he left,” he said with a hint of panic in his voice. “Are you sayin’ he didna show? And you didna pass him along the way?”
“Do you suppose I’d come all this way if he had or if I’d seen him?” Simon replied testily. “And why would you send the lad? He’s not enough experience with handling a horse, even one as even tempered as auld Annie.”
Geordie’s shoulder slumped against Simon’s horse at hearing this piece of information and he muttered under his breath.
“Did you come by way of Cochran’s gully?” one of the men asked hopefully.
“No,” Simon answered with a confused look. “Why would---,” he sputtered to a stop as he noted the looks on the men’s faces. “He wouldn’t. Tell me he wouldn’t.”
“Aye, he would, the daft wee grommet,” Geordie blurted out as he turned and headed toward the road at a determined gait.
A hale of curses filled the air as the men dropped their tools and began to scurry about, following Simon’s shouted orders. The two draft horses hobbled nearby were quickly untied. Ennis swung up onto one and grabbed the reins of the other. He and Simon set off to catch up with Geordie as the remaining men set off on foot toward the road that led to the main house.
Despite his size, Geordie could move at a brisk pace when properly motivated and the men on horseback had to hurry to catch up. As they came alongside him, Geordie grabbed hold of the horse’s mane and effortlessly swung his considerable bulk up onto the animal’s broad back. With a grim set to his face, he took off at a gallop, leaving the other men once again hurrying to catch up.
aaaa
After lazing by the stream for an hour or so, James had meandered back to the house and spent the remainder of the afternoon with William going over correspondence, tallying rent books, inventorying stores and the like.
James heard the men racing toward the house long before anyone knew they were approaching. The uneven heavy footfalls, the thundering heartbeats, and breathless shouts of alarm yanked him from the chair where he’d been reading. He hurried out the door and across the yard, peering down the lane. William followed close behind, easily recognizing that it was the sentinel who’d suddenly jumped up, and not just his son.
The muffled shouts became clearer as the men finally came into view. Before their words could register on anyone else’s hearing, James was already headed to the stable, yelling for his horse to be saddled and brought out.
By the time the men stumbled into the yard, panting hard and dripping with sweat, James was galloping off in the direction from which they’d come.
It was several minutes before William got the full story from the exhausted men, and by that time James was already out of sight. The laird called for help and water for the runners and sent one of the boys off to the village to fetch the old healer, Corc, in case his services would be needed, and prayed under his breath that they would not.
aaaa
Blair licked his lips for what must have been the hundredth time, running his tongue over the small cracks that split the tender skin. The action brought little relief and he gazed longingly once again at the water skin that lay a few feet beyond his reach.
He felt dizzy and lethargic and his arms responded to his attempts to move them as if he were mired in honey. He sweltered in the lingering heat of the day, and it was becoming more difficult for him to focus and form coherent thoughts. He could feel his face and the exposed skin at this throat burning. Sweat drenched his shirt and plastered the material to his chest and back. His lower torso and legs felt as though they were baking in the oven-like temperatures of the hay layered on top of him. He remembered one of the sailors he knew in Edinburgh telling him once about savage tribes in the South Pacific who boiled their captives alive and he wondered, in a detached way, if this was akin to that feeling.
Flies buzzed near his nose and eyelids and with great effort he managed to bring a hand to his face to shoo them off, only to have it fall away and land limply in the dirt.
The horse was just visible in his peripheral vision and she chomped lazily at clover by the side of the road, paying him no mind.
“I do not supposa I mide persway ye ta brink me tha wadder skin, aye?” Blair blathered as he tried to turn his head toward the horse.
The horse snorted and walked toward him. “It ‘twas a foolish thing you did, lad,” she said. “I nearly broke my leg and you’ve made quite a mess of the cart.”
Blair frowned and blinked his eyes a few times. “Isna assif I did it a purpuss,” he answered, finding it not the least bit strange in his addled state that he was talking to a horse.
“No?” She accused with a baleful look.
Blair mustered what he thought was a hurt look. “Ye thin I diddit a purpuss? Thad I wuss tryinna hurd ya?”
“No, I suppose not,” she admitted. “So why did you do it then?”
“Tha menner makin’ spordda me,” Blair answered weakly. He grimaced at the whiny sound he’d made and instantly regretted it as the skin tightened across his cheeks. “I wanna proof ma meddle,” he added.
The horse rolled her eyes. “Oh, aye, that makes perfect sense. I’m sure that bit of logic will sit well with James,” she snickered.
Blair became irritated; suddenly deciding he didn’t care for being lectured by a horse.
“Arrrrr ye ye gonna brin tha tha wadder er er nod,” Blair stammered.
The horse came closer and snuffled his cheek. She stuck her nose in his hair and tugged at it, trying to nibble one of the charms, but soon gave it up. She pawed at the ground with one of her hooves and looked off into the distance.
“I think not,” she finally said. “I am a bit thirsty myself and the sun is blistering hot. I think I will being going now.” She nudged his side with her head a couple times and then walked away.
“No, don go,” Blair whispered as a single tear escaped from the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. “Plees don go.”
The horse ignored him and soon disappeared from sight.
aaaa
As soon as they came to the fork in the road, the men immediately spotted the tracks in the dirt showing where the cart had veered off to the left. Keeping a watchful eye for any sign of Blair, they urged their horses on at a steady canter until it began to curve and twist. Then they slowed to an easy lope and began watching for any sign that would explain what had happened to the boy.
The silent wish among them was that there would be evidence of him deciding to turn off the road with a broken wheel or snapped harness or perhaps even an indication the youngster had realized he’d taken the wrong route and had turned around and simply lost his way.
At least then it would be most likely he was only a bit off track and had found a spot to sit tight, finding shelter from the searing heat. If any of these circumstances had occurred, they would most likely find him readily, or if not them, then when James caught up, the sentinel would no doubt ferret him out in no time at all. There would be hugging, and lecturing no doubt, amid sighs of relief, as well as a few hefty wallops to the youngster’s rump.
Their hopes crashed to a halt as they came upon the hilltop overlooking Cochran’s gully and saw the wreckage of the cart down below.
“Bloody ‘ell!” Geordie yelled as he slid off his horse and started making his way down on foot. He sidestepped carefully, going as fast as he dared, wishing to avoid a misstep that would send him sliding down the slope.
Simon was close behind, shouting Blair’s name as he descended. Ennis gathered all the horses and tied them securely to a tree before joining the other two.
The three men made quick work of assessing the situation. Geordie lifted one end of the cart and maneuvered it off the log, taking extra care not to allow the log to shift its weight more heavily upon the lad. Simon worked Blair’s ankle free from under the log, and was relieved to find nothing was broken. In no time they had Blair pulled from beneath the mound of hay. Geordie and Simon checked him over for signs of other broken bones or obvious, major injury. Finding none, Geordie picked the lad up and carried him to the shade, laying him on the ground under a large tree. The big man sat with his back propped up against the tree and gently laid Blair’s head and shoulders on his lap. He began wetting Blair’s parched lips with a water soaked kerchief, crooning soft assurances to him.
Blair stirred and moaned as he lapped eagerly at the moisture. He blinked his eyes in a feeble attempt to open them. He started talking nonsense; blabbering about know-it-all horses and cannibals eating hay as he tried to thrash about. Geordie tightened his hold on the lad, stilling his movements.
“Wheesht now lad, jus’ a wee bit at a time,” Geordie cautioned as he dabbed at the boy’s mouth. “Ye’ll be ‘aw right now, auld Geordie’ll see to it. ‘An Simon too, as ‘e’s here as well and we’ll git you home to James directly.”
Simon produced a second wet kerchief and began sponging Blair’s face and neck.
“He’s overcome with the heat, delirious by the sound of it,” Simon observed. “And near roasted by the look of him. We’d best get him back to the house.”
There was no debate from Geordie. Simon helped him to his feet and the big man cradled Blair in his arms as they all climbed back up the hill. Geordie handed Blair off to Simon and then mounted. Simon handed Blair up to him and then they were off.
James met up with them a short while later, after they’d
regained the main road. The sentinel was agitated with worry and stared
helplessly for a moment at his guide. Blair’s limp body was quickly passed to
James, and he soon calmed, as he was able to assess the boy’s condition for
himself.
His poor wee monster was hot, but not from fever, and the skin that had been exposed to the sun for the last several hours was a bright, nasty pink. There were no broken bones, no indication of internal injury, a strong heartbeat, and no difficulty breathing. Blair fidgeted in James’ arms, restless with heat-induced hallucinations, blistery feeling skin, and terrible thirst. James tended to Blair as they rode, mopping his face and neck with wet cloths, passed to him by Simon or Geordie, and dribbling water sparsely into Blair’s mouth.
When they finally reached the house, it was nearing sunset. Corc orchestrated what needed to be done, directing James to carry Blair into the parlor, where he’d set up a makeshift dispensary, ready to tend any number of possible injuries or ailments. He listened intently to the sentinel’s assessment of Blair’s condition and then took over.
James insisted on helping as they stripped Blair and wrapped him in cool wet blankets. He took the ointment Corc prepared and with great care, using his sensitive touch, slathered it in on the tender burned skin. He calmed and reassured Blair as a weak tea laden with healing herbs was forced into his mouth and held him gently, rubbing the lad’s back and shoulders as his stomach rebelled.
Geordie and Simon tried to get James to leave, to go out for air and leave Corc to his task. And they’d even succeeded getting him out the door once or twice, only to watch as the sentinel paced briskly, his head cocked toward the house, his eyes riveted on the door. And then, within minutes, he’d burst back into the house. In the end, they gave up and, looking like a reprimanded little boy, James allowed Corc to relegate him to a chair at Blair’s side.
William periodically wandered in, roaming aimlessly about the room, until Corc offered reassurances that all was well. The laird would take a few moments to squeeze James’ shoulder or smooth Blair’s curls before leaving.
James stayed at his post through the night, sponging Blair with cool water, reapplying the salve, cleaning him after he’d retch up the meager contents of his stomach and then forcing tiny sips of Corc’s tonic back into him.
Blair slept fitfully and would periodically wake, muttering nonsense about talking horses, highland lasses clad in jungle vines, cannibals in the kitchen, and an endless hill down which he was hurtling.
aaaa
“James?” Blair whispered in a soft, hoarse voice.
The sound startled James awake and he looked down at Blair’s confused face.
“I feel like---,” Blair began feebly. “I feel terrible,” he amended quickly.
James straightened and laid a hand on Blair’s forehead. “Aye, and it’s no wonder. You gave us all a terrible fright,” he stated.
Blair studied James’ face as he tried to remember what’d happened and how he came to be lying on the settee in the front parlor under damp blankets, naked as a newborn bairn.
“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” James asked.
Blair scrunched up his face, trying to conjure the events and as he did so, the burned skin of his face stretched and itched. That was enough to bring the previous day’s antics flooding to mind and James noted the exact second comprehension dawned as Blair’s eyes widened and his heartbeat sped up.
The youngster gulped nervously and closed his eyes.
“Is, is,” he started hesitantly in a low whisper. “Is the horse all right? I didna kill her did I?” he asked so quietly James strained to hear it.
“No,” James assured him as he stroked Blair’s forehead. “She’s fine. Ennis found her not far from where you were found.”
“Oh, that’s good then,” Blair answered quietly. “Was it you who found me?”
“No, Geordie, Simon and Ennis found you, worried out of their minds, at the bottom of Cochran’s gully, pinned under a log with a pile of hay on top of you, roasting in the sun,” James explained with little sympathy for the pinched look on Blair’s face.
Blair didn’t say anything, and he turned his head toward the back of the settee, pulling out from under James’ touch.
“Was anna one hurt? Coming after me, I mean?” the youngster whispered with a hint of fear in his voice. He stiffened as if anticipating bad news and wrapped his arms around his middle.
“No, they found you straight away, once it was known you’d gone missing. It seems they had a fair idea as to your whereabouts, though I canna imagine why, as it was explained to you verra clearly you were not to take the route you did,” James stated calmly.
If Blair could have melted into the settee’s flowered pattern and disappeared from sight, he would have at that moment.
“Do you not want to know how you are?” James asked with concern.
Blair shrugged and then ignored James’ inquiry by asking, “What about the cart? And the hay? And the widow Boyle?”
After sitting up most of the night with fear and worry for his wee monster’s health, James was suddenly in no mood for Blair’s seeming indifference to the gravity of the peril he’d put himself in.
“I don’t give a whit about the damned cart, or the hay, you little fool,” James answered vehemently. “And the widow was only temporarily inconvenienced,” he added.
Blair winced at the ire in James’ voice.
“The haying was delayed, three men searched for you, and ‘twas lucky none of them were injured as a result of your recklessness. Still others endured running all the way back to the house in this damnable heat to alert me.” The full implications of Blair’s folly imploded on James’ mind and he found himself unable to stop his sudden tirade. “You could have broken your bloody neck. And all because you wanted to visit a pretty lass and prove to the men you could negotiate a damn hill that not one man in this entire countryside with considerably more experience than you would be fool enough to try!”
Blair recoiled further, curling in on himself as tightly as he could. His chest ached as the censure whipping at him from James’ tongue lashing found its mark.
James stood abruptly, pushing the chair he’d been in roughly away, causing its feet to screech across the floor. He turned to leave, ashamed that he would lash out at Blair while the lad was barely awake and far from recovered from his ordeal.
“Stay, please stay,” Blair whispered into the cushions, not wanting to face James, not wanting to see his face. He clutched the blanket to his chest and buried his face in its folds.
James stopped in his tracks. He hung his head and shook it remorsefully, touched by the fact that after what he’d just said the lad still wanted him to stay. There was no hesitation as he resolutely spun about and returned to his wee monster’s side.
He pulled the chair alongside the settee and plopped into it. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands together as if in prayer. Fitting, he thought to himself, as he certainly needed any help he could muster from any deity so inclined to intercede.
“Look at me Blair,” he said at last. His voice was soft and tender, yet the words were uttered as a command.
Blair wiggled himself around, dragging the blankets with him in tangled disarray. His hair was wilder looking than ever, matted and plastered against his skin. The small trinkets ensconced in its plaits had left tiny indentations on his cheeks and neck. His lips were still cracked, though not as badly as the night before. The skin on his face and neck was a deep, bright pink. He looked utterly miserable and James thought it was perhaps one of the most wonderful sights he’d ever seen.
Blair cracked one eye open slowly, not sure what to expect. When he saw James smiling fondly at him, he opened the other eye and pulled himself upright.
“You look a sight,” James quipped. “Your skin is verra ruddy, but not so much as a sailor’s might look.”
“Oh?” Blair brightened a bit. “Perhaps like the red-skinned savages as I’ve heard inhabit the wild forests of the America’s?” he asked hopefully, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Aye, perhaps,” James agreed, nodding his head. “But perhaps not so red as your backside will be when I’ve delivered the skelpin’ you’ve got coming.”
Blair groaned, rolled his eyes, and dropped his head back against the pillow with a dramatic flop.
“I am verra sorry for the broken cart, I will pay you back for it, as soon as I’ve worked off what is left of the debt from the microscope, and I’ll---,” he began quite contritely and sincerely.
“Let’s set one thing straight, so there’ll be no mistake about it,” James interrupted. “You’ll not be thrashed because the cart was broken, that was an accident incidental to the true transgression here. And the widow Boyle, and her daughter,” James winked at Blair, “will be looked after, whether or not that one load of hay was lost. And as for the men who searched for you, well, it’s no less then any of us would do for one of our own, no matter the circumstances,” James stated firmly, the fierce belief of it written on his face.
Blair nodded his head slowly and remained silent as James continued.
“You knew you were not ready to handle a cart, even such a small one, you’ve not proven your ability yet. I know it’s hard for you, as the other lads about the place are able to do so and you want to do your share. But it was wrong of you to let the others think you could handle it, and worse yet to go against what they advised and what Geordie forbid you to do.”
“I know,” Blair whispered. “Do they think less of me, do you think? Do they hate me?” he asked hesitantly.
“I’m none so sure Geordie could hate you if he were paid a king’s ransom to do so, ye wee clot. And I’ll wager there’s not a man among the rest of the lot that’s not a tale or two to tell of his own similar youthful foolishness. No, lad, I’m sure they think none the less of you,” James assured the lad as he reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
Blair sighed in relief and smiled crookedly at James.
“When, I mean are you going to, I mean, should I---,” Blair stammered as he started pulling at the blanket, clearly intent on getting off the settee.
James pushed him back down and helped to arrange the blanket.
“You’re to stay abed for a day or two yet. At least until Corc is satisfied you’re well healed and in your right mind,” James told him. “Though I’m none too sure how we’ll be able to convince him of that,” he joked. “If I were to allow you up before he’s had his say, I’m none too sure he’d not take a switch to my backside,” James stated with gravity.
“Oh? That might be worth seeing,” Blair answered back, as he made as if to get up again.
“I think not,” James answered with a laugh as he pushed Blair down again.
A short mock struggle ensued, with Blair setting his jaw in a determined scowl as he battled James to stand up. The two soon collapsed in a fit of laughter, just as Geordie and Simon entered the room.
The men exchanged bemused looks and joined their friends, stating loudly it was questionable as to whether it was James or Blair that had been out in the sun too long.
aaaa
The heat wave finally broke the next day, accompanied by a steady rain, and routines returned to a normal cycle. The cooler air and gentle breezes were a welcome relief to everyone, not the least of all Blair, who, in addition to the heat, was beginning to feel the effects of an overindulgence of people calling upon him in the small space of the parlor.
The day after that, Corc proclaimed Blair well enough to be up and about. His face and throat had blistered a little, then peeled, and the color began to fade to a dull tan. His lips and mouth were well on the mend and it seemed as if the old healer was satisfied, to Blair’s embarrassment, with both the youngster’s intake of fluids and nourishment as well as his output.
Not wishing to prolong Blair’s anticipation of the upcoming punishment any longer, James announced soon after Corc left that he’d attend to it directly after the noon meal.
Blair managed quite a sour face at hearing the news, but it was Geordie who seemed more dismayed by it. He sulked throughout the meal, pushing food around his plate with his fork half-heartedly. As soon as everyone was finished, and the dishes cleared, James stood and gave Blair a pointed look. Geordie jumped to his feet and called James aside, pulling him out the front door and into the yard.
“Do you not think the lad’s been punished enough? What with lying in the hot sun, nearly roasted alive, like to die of thirst? And the men all making sport of him? And---,” he blustered.
“Did the lad never disobey when he was in your company, then?” James cut in curtly. “Was he always truthful and on his best behavior?”
Geordie shook his head. “A course not, wot lad is?”
“You were never tempted to blister his backside?” James asked with a wry grin.
Geordie held up one of his large hands and stared at his open palm. Then he looked around it at James. “See the size of it, do you?” He waved it about it the air. “It’s bigger’n yours by half, is it no? Can you imagine wot woulda happened had I walloped the wee lad? One good smack,” he waved his hand again, as if aiming at the backside in question, “and I’d likely send him into next week. And he was a might scrawnier back then to boot!”
James laughed and Geordie soon joined him. “Oh, aye,” he finally admitted with a shake of his head. “I was tempted, to be sure.”
“And now, you feel protective of him, is that it?” James asked.
Geordie sighed and looked off into the distance. “Protective, aye, mebbe, a little, but I know you findin’ him and takin’ him in is the best thing that ever could have happened for the lad. And I don’t mean the whole sentinel thing, neither.” Geordie turned and gave James a measured look. “I think as is it might be I’m a wee bit jealous, aye?” He shrugged his shoulders. “You know what’s best for him, I wager. You’ll not mind if I don’t stay around just now while you attend to it?”
“I do my best by him, I promise you that,” James answered. “And as it happens I prefer to handle these matters in private,” he added with a wry grin.
Geordie nodded his head thoughtfully and when he spoke again it was with a hint of sadness. “I’ll be taking my leave of these parts in a day or so. The scruffy gaggle of misfits wot claim me will be in Inverness soon. They plan to cross the channel and make for France. If I’m to catch them up afore they make sail, I’ll need to hurry.”
“You’re a good man, Geordie McManus, and Blair’s fortunate to have a friend as good as you,” James stated with conviction.
He reached out and gave Geordie a hearty swat on the back. He jerked his chin toward the barn. “I’ll wait until you’re out of earshot.”
Geordie nodded his thanks and walked away. James waited, as he said he would, and when he was sure Geordie was far enough off, he turned and re-entered the house.
James returned to the dining room and looked about. Blair was nowhere in sight. William and Simon were still seated at the table and James asked them where Blair had gone, not wanting to believe the boy would take off in light of what he knew James’ stance was on the topic of running off or hiding to delay punishment.
“He said he’d return shortly,” William replied, and James could tell his father was taking much the same view of the punishment as Geordie had.
James narrowed his eyes and placed his hands on his hips, clearly conveying he could not believe they’d allowed Blair to leave. He’d already been outside for a good five minutes or more with Geordie, and now he stared at the clock above the sideboard as an additional five minutes ticked away.
He was just about to go after Blair, when he heard his guide approaching. He could tell it was Blair by the telltale clacking of the beads in his hair, the way his footfalls padded…one shoe’s sole was more worn than the other…and by the scent of salve the lad had so recently been covered with.
Blair came into the room and stopped just inside the door. He held his hands behind his back and looked around the room before stepping up to James.
“I’m sorry as I took so long to return. I had a bit of trouble finding this,” he held out the large wooden spoon James sometimes used to paddle him with. “And then I thought, I, I thought, as my behavior caused more than the usual amount of mayhem as happens when I, um, disobey and such, well I thought as you might want to use this instead,” he stuttered. He pulled his other hand out from behind his back and presented James with a razor strop.
William cleared his throat and harrumphed.
“I’ve said I’d never take a strap to you, and I meant it,” James said as he snatched the strap from Blair and tossed it on the floor. He grabbed the spoon with his left hand and Blair’s collar with his right. He pulled the boy with him as he stalked out of the dining room, kicking the door shut behind him.
They entered the parlor, where Blair had spent his recent recovery, and James headed directly to the settee. He pushed Blair forward, bending him over the back of the small couch and pulled the bottom of Blair’s kilt up and over his back. He shoved the linen shirt covering Blair’s butt out of the way as well.
The first hard thwack of the spoon landed hard in the center of Blair’s butt and he let out a startled yelp, both at the intensity of the blow as well as the sudden start of the punishment.
James paddled Blair’s bottom a good twenty wallops, hard and fast with the spoon, all directly on the center of the now squirming butt. The sting was fierce and the force of the spanks lifted Blair up onto the tips of his toes. He clutched at the cushion under his hands, trying to gain some balance. James stopped for a moment, and Blair wiggled as if to right himself. James placed his left hand on the small of Blair’s back, pinning him in place.
“We’re not done yet,” he cautioned and then the spoon began another round of well-placed swats, this time delivered randomly across the entire surface of Blair’s backside.
Blair pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to endure the punishment with a minimum of fuss even though he knew he’d most likely not be able to hold his tongue for the entire course.
James pushed him a little further forward, and Blair felt his feet leave the floor altogether. His butt was tipped higher, and the underside of his cheeks could now receive their share of James’ attention.
Blair yipped as the assault on his backside renewed. The swats to the tender flesh on the very bottom of his butt stung much worse than what he’d been given up to that point. Blair didn’t even try to keep count of how many were delivered.
James threw the spoon onto the settee and pulled Blair up. The lad thought the spanking was over and was about to express his contrition to James, but the sentinel spoke first.
“We’re still not done, lad,” he stated as he took hold of Blair by the elbow and steered him to the chair James’ had sat in to keep vigil. He sat down and yanked Blair over his lap. The kilt and shirt were once again hiked up and out of the way.
“Have you nothing to say lad?’ James asked.
Blair was breathing heavily, trying to hold back tears. James’ simple question, asked without the preamble of a lecture, was his undoing. He sniffled and swiped at his nose as the tears began to fall. He hitched a few shaky breaths before answering.
“I, I, I’m verra sorry, James,” he stuttered with as much conviction and sincerity as he could muster. “I deserve to, to be skelped raw,” he hiccupped.
James shook his head and patted the warm bottom draped limply across his knees. “Aye, well, we’re in agreement then.”
James began spanking Blair with his hand. He methodically covered every inch of Blair’s butt, impressing his displeasure on the reddened bottom with renewed vigor.
Blair hissed and wriggled, but James held him firmly in place. He cried out a few times, yelping several curses and declaring his assurance that he was indeed sorry for his disobedience and vowing, as solemnly as was possible in the position he was in, to never disobey again.
To his dismay, his heartfelt speech was not enough to end the spanking.
“I think Geordie is owed an apology,” James instructed as he spanked. “As well as Ennis, Simon and the others on the work crew. Do you agree, lad?” James asked as he landed a hard swat with each word spoken.
“Aye! Aye!” Blair squeaked as the spanking continued.
Now spanking on behalf of Geordie as well as himself, James kept up a steady pace of hard swats, until Blair’s butt was uniformly red, stinging and hot.
When he finally stopped, James’ hand stung, so he could well imagine what the boy’s backside must feel like.
Blair had held well to his determination not to yell out, and except for the few curses he wasn’t able to stifle, he’d kept to his pledge. His rump blazed and as soon as James released him and helped him to his feet, Blair began rubbing at it manically with both hands, dancing in place.
James watched the display for several moments and then put a stop to it by pulling the boy to him. He wrapped his arms around him and hugged him gently. Blair hugged back, and buried his face against James’ chest. Neither felt the need for words, so they just stood there for a time.
At last Blair could stand it no longer and pushed off, freeing himself from the embrace. He immediately set to rubbing his tender rump once more, hissing through clenched teeth as he bobbed up and down in place.
“Merde!” he exclaimed. “I canna believe how much it stings! You’ve a wicked strong arm James,” he added. “I only wish I wasna on the receiving end of its wrath so often.”
James laughed at the strange compliment. “Aye, well, to be truthful, until it began getting such a vigorous workout on your backside, ‘twas my weaker arm,” he teased in a serious tone. “I expect I should be grateful to you for helping me to build the muscle?” He held his arm up, bending it at the elbow and flexed the bicep.
Blair’s eyes spun about in a comical loop as he groaned loudly.
James changed the subject as he cuffed Blair upside the back of the head. “Let’s find Geordie, shall we? He needs to see I’ve not whaled the cheekiness out of you.”
“James?” Blair said in a serious tone. He glanced at the door with an odd, quizzical look and then returned his gaze to James.
“Yes?” James answered, knowing what was coming, and dreading it.
“He’s leaving,” Blair choked out, not asking.
“Aye, lad,” James answered honestly, “In a day or two.”
Blair’s lower lip quivered slightly and James could see he was tying hard to blink back tears.
“I’ll miss him something fierce,” Blair whispered, sounding terribly young.
“Aye, I know ye will, as will I,” James comforted. He wrapped his strong arm around Blair’s shoulder and steered him toward the door.
“What say we go tell him,” James squeezed the shoulder warmly, “---and show him, just how much?”
The End.