HURRYING INTO her room at the Edinburgh inn, Caithren found Cameron waiting with his chosen chaperone.
The chaperone clucked her tongue. Her three chins wobbled, and one foot tapped against the bare, wood-planked floor. “What took you so long, lass?”
“I’ll wager five to one she got lost on her way back. Did I not warn you so, Mrs. Dochart?” Cam grinned, turning to Cait. “What happened? Did you go to Whiteford House instead of White Horse Close?”
“Worse,” she muttered. She tied two black ribbons on the ends of her plaits, then moved to slip the rest of her purchases into her satchel. “I was wandering around Brown’s Close. I remembered it was a color, but forgot which one.” She fished out her money pouch and added the coins she’d received as change. “And I set down my hat, then couldn’t find it.”
Cam laughed. “How is it that anyone as efficient as you can be constantly misplacing her hat?”
She sent him a scathing look. “They’re just hats, not all that important. I usually have much more pressing matters to worry about. The Widow MacKenzie’s health, or the proper time to shear the sheep.”
“We shall have to advance our schedule by half an hour from here on out.” Mrs. Dochart brushed at the mustard-colored cloth that was laced over her pillowish bosom. “One cannot be late when the public coach is running.” Her beady black eyes honed in on Caithren’s open satchel. “What have we here, lass? Men’s clothing?”
When Cait went to shut the bag, Cameron nudged her hands aside and pulled out a couple of garments. “Breeches? A shirt?”
“I may ride a horse at Scarborough’s. Adam went there for hunting, aye?” She pushed him away and stuffed the clothes back inside. “I’m not used to riding in skirts.”
The chaperone pursed her lips. “You’re off to England, lass. Not the wilds of Scotland.” She bundled up in an ugly mud-colored cloak that reached to the floor, covering her uglier calico skirt. Caithren thought she looked like a lumpy brown mountain. “Women in England ride sidesaddle, garbed in riding habits.”
Cam snatched his woolen plaid off a hook on the plastered wall, wrapped himself in it, and jammed his hat on his head. “Mrs. Dochart’s right, Cait. You won’t be on your own land where you may act as you choose and none will say nay. Those Sassenachs are civilized.” He pronounced the word with more than a modicum of distaste. “I’ll tote the breeches back home for you.”
“I want to bring them.” Cait took tiny framed paintings of Da and Adam off the table and snuggled them on top of the clothing. She shrugged as she fastened the closure. “Whether I’ll wear them or not remains to be seen.”
While she donned her own tartan wrap, Cam hefted the satchel. “Bring what you wish. You’re the one who has to carry it all.” He handed her the bag, laughing when she strained under its weight.
Squaring her shoulders, Caithren followed Mrs. Dochart from the room and down two of the five narrow flights of stairs before Cameron caught up and took the satchel from her. “I’ll miss you, Cait.”
She managed a brave smile. No matter what she’d said in Da’s study, it was a scary thing to be going to England alone. “I’ll miss you, too. But I won’t be staying in Pontefract long, not with Adam off to London for that wedding. I cannot believe I had to wait a whole day just to leave here.”
Cameron laughed. “My impatient cousin. The coach runs naught but once a fortnight.” He pushed open the inn’s door. “You were lucky.”
Caithren touched the old emerald amulet she wore on a chain about her neck—her good-luck charm. She sighed as she stepped into the gray Edinburgh day. A persistent drizzle kept the cobblestones wet and shining. Canongate teemed with coaches, horses, and humanity, and Holyroodhouse loomed in the background, tall and imposing.
It was as different from peaceful Leslie as she could possibly imagine.
She drew her blue and green plaid tighter around her shoulders. “I can only hope there are no more delays, or I’ll miss Adam for certain. Then I’ll have to go all the way to London.” She paused for a breath. “I’d prefer not to even consider that possibility.”
“Me, neither.” Cam chuckled as he handed her satchel to an outrider and watched him heave it onto the coach’s roof. “I cannot imagine you making it all that way without getting lost.”
Mrs. Dochart paused on the coach steps. “Worry not on that account, lad. I’m goin’ all the way to London, and if need be I’ll make it my business to see she gets there on time and in one piece. That’s what you hired me for, after all.”
Cait watched the woman’s ample behind disappear into the coach. “Heaven alone knows how I’ll survive the eight days to Pontefract with that old bawface, let alone nine more to London if need be. Already I cannot abide her, and I met her only this morning.”
“She’s exactly what you need, cousin. I hired well.” Cameron carefully counted eight pounds to pay the two fares. “I can only pray Adam will do as well finding a chaperone for you on the other end.” He glanced at the slate sky, then drew off his hat and settled it over her plaits. “Here, I don’t want to see you go hatless.”
She looked up at the plain brown rim, then grinned. “Do you think I look bonnie?”
“Oh, aye.” His eyes lit with humor. “A man’s hat suits you.” His expression sobered as he rooted beneath his plaid, then pressed a pistol into her hands. “And I want you to take this as well.”
“Da’s gun?” It felt heavy and vaguely menacing, the dull metal pitted, the wooden grip worn smooth from years of use. “But why?”
“I don’t trust the English. Short of accompanying you myself, I’d at least send you with some protection.”
“But I don’t know how to use it.”
He handed her a heavy little pouch and a flask of gunpowder. “Pour a wee smidge of powder into the muzzle, then wrap a cloth patch around a ball, ram it—”
“Nay, that wasn’t what I meant. I’ve seen Da load this pistol hundreds of times. But I’ve never shot at anything, Cam.”
“Confound me, I wish I’d known that. I would’ve practiced with you.” He took back the pouch and flask, hesitated, then reached beneath her plaid and stuffed them into her skirt’s deep pocket. “Take it anyway. You’re a bright lass, Cait. If need be, you’ll figure out how to use it.”
Slowly she slid the pistol into her other pocket. The weight of it did make her feel somewhat safer. And she’d seen Da shoot it often enough; she reckoned she could do it if she had to.
“Take care of yourself.” Cameron leaned to kiss her cheek.
She blinked back the tears that threatened, lest her cousin see them. Thankfully he couldn’t see her heart racing in her chest, or tell that her stomach rebelled at the mere thought of traveling so far with naught but a stranger for company.
She forced a smile. “I’d better go before the old bawface starts shouting at me.”
With a laugh, Cam helped her up the coach steps.