THEY MET MORE AND more people as they entered the village: women with baskets of eggs or wooden water buckets, men bartering or passing the time of day. They passed by an alehouse and heard loud voices within.
Ian stopped so suddenly, Anne walked on several paces before she realized he was not beside her. She turned and raised an eyebrow.
Ian nodded toward a horse, tied outside an inn.
Anne’s heart thudded. “Is it…?”
“Aye. See, that’s his bedroll tied still on the saddle. He must be inside arranging for another horse.”
Anne grabbed Ian’s hand and tugged.
Ian moved with her, but his face held a thoughtful frown. When they had gone twenty paces, Ian said, “You get out of sight, Anne. ’Round that shop, yonder. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I want to know where that thin rider is going. I’d be most glad to know he won’t be sniffing around here all night.”
Anne scurried around the cottage at the end of the village lane, leaning against its wall and straining to hear.
Ian sauntered back to stand in front of the alehouse. He tipped his hat over his eyes.
Several minutes passed. Anne willed herself to keep still. She wanted to flee like a startled fawn.
At last, the thin rider emerged from the livery doorway. He stretched his arms and shoulders, then went to the horse he had ridden and removed his saddle and bedroll from its steaming back.
The rider turned to a man who followed him through the door. The other man’s back was bowed and his legs were bowed. He looked like he’d been in a saddle from the day he was born. The thin man said to him, “Rode him hard all night. He’ll need a good rubdown, rest and feed. I daresay he’ll be fine in a day or two. Where is this other horse?”
The bowed man looked at the winded horse doubtfully. “Just around the back,” he said curtly. “I hope you don’t plan to use him as hard as you used this one.”
“With luck, I’ll find what I need with little need of more travel.”
“So, where are you headed, then?”
The thin man looked down the lane, toward the loch. “As far as my nose takes me.”
The bowed man grunted. He stumped forward, and taking the reins of the horse, coaxed it around toward the rear of the livery. He called over his shoulder, “Well, then, you can follow your nose this way to your other horse.”
Ian chewed his bottom lip. He waited uncertainly. After a few more minutes, as he was thinking he would learn nothing useful and he might as well return to Anne, the rider appeared on his new horse. He glanced neither left nor right but trotted up the lane and out of the village.
“And good riddance,” Ian muttered. He pushed his hat back on his head and hurried to find Anne. She stepped out from her hiding place to meet him.
“Gone?” she asked.
“Rode up and out of the village.”
Anne nodded. “Should we go straight to the ship?”
“Aye.”
The rocky beach was bustling with men laden with heavy bundles, calling to one another. A pair of oxen hauled a cart to the shingle while seagulls wheeled and squawked overhead. Anne inched closer to Ian and slipped her hand on his elbow.
A short, slight, gray-haired man stood at the shoreline, playing the bagpipes. The melody blended so well with the gulls and the waves, it was truly a song of the sea. Ian stepped over to the piper.
“You are a bold man to be playing,” Ian said quietly.
“It’s what I do,” the man replied softly. “They will have to slit my throat to stop me.”
Ian nodded. “I’m going on the Hector.” Anne squeezed his arm. “That is, my wife and I are going. Do you know who I report to?”
“Aye, laddie. The man you want to see is right over yonder.” The piper pointed to a tall man in a frock coat and tricorn hat. “That’s Master John Spiers. He’s the captain.”
“Thank you,” Ian said. He led Anne over to Master Spiers.
The master was overseeing the unloading of supplies from the oxcart. He turned to Ian and Anne as they approached. Although Ian was a tall young man, the captain stood half a head above him.
“G’day,” Ian began. “I’m Ian MacLeod. John Ross arranged passage for me on your vessel.”
“Yes? Good, good. I’ll have my mate, Master Orr, check the list.”
“Ah, there is one thing, though,” Ian stammered.
“Oh?” Master Spiers frowned. He obviously did not take kindly to surprises or complications.
“Well, you see, since I spoke with Mr. Ross, I have… I got married.”
“I see,” Master Spiers said. “And this is your wife, I presume?”
“Aye. Aye, this is Anne. Anne Grant… Anne MacLeod.”
Master Spiers made a small bow to Anne, doffing his tricorn hat. “Mrs. MacLeod,” he said. Then he turned back to Ian. “Is your wife accompanying you on the voyage?”
“Oh, aye. I mean, that was what we planned. Is it…? It can be…?”
“Can you make arrangements for her fare, Mr. MacLeod?”
Ian hesitated only a moment before he said, “Aye, sir.”
“Well, then. We should have no problem. Master Orr will look after you.” The captain hailed a squat, muscular man and beckoned him over. “Take these two to Master Orr. And then get back here on the double. We have a ship to load. Move smartly, man!”
The squat little man stumbled ahead of Anne and Ian on the round, fist-sized stones toward a makeshift table of boards. Without a word, the little fellow turned and trotted back to the master. A beefy man, presumably the mate, sat behind the table. Many sheaves of papers, held down with several of the beach stones, were spread before him.
Master Spiers was a man who was comfortable with his position of authority, and wore it matter-of-factly, like a well-made coat on a chill day. Master James Orr held his power out where it could not be missed, like an over-polished button held right under your nose. He glanced haughtily up at Ian as he approached.
“I’m Ian MacLeod.”
The mate said nothing, but raised an eyebrow as if to say, “So?”
“I arranged for my passage on the Hector with Mr. Ross.”
“I see,” Master James Orr said. He looked down at the papers before him. After a lengthy pause he said, “Yes, Ian MacLeod. Here you are. We will be boarding the longboats for the ship tomorrow at high tide. Some other passengers are camping just off the beach, in those trees over yonder. A few have found places to billet in the village…”
Ian interrupted, “I need to arrange passage for my… wife.”
Master James Orr’s eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his tricorn hat. He glanced at Anne for the first time since they had stepped before him. “This was not arranged with Mr. Ross?”
Ian shook his head. “Well, no. You see, I was not married then.” Ian swallowed.
“This does present a problem,” the mate declared.
Anne said softly, but firmly, “Master Spiers said that you could make the arrangements for us. We have already spoken to him.”
Master Orr glared at Anne for a moment, but when she did not shrink before his gaze, he shifted uncomfortably. His eyes flicked down the beach to where the captain was bawling orders. He looked back at Ian and Anne. “Yes, well, I’m sure something can be worked out.”
“What is the fare?” Anne asked, still in that soft, business-like voice.
Master Orr cleared his throat. “Well, full passage is three pounds ten shillings.”
Ian’s eyes widened as Anne modestly turned her back to them and reached into her bodice. She pulled out the tiny, embroidered bag. Tugging open the drawstrings, she tipped the contents onto her palm – three shiny coins. Anne set them on the table in front of the mate.
Master Orr opened and closed his mouth twice before he could say, “Yes, well, that seems to be all in order. I’ll add your name to the list, Mrs. MacLeod. Er… Your given and family names…?”
“Anne Grant.”
“Anne Grant. So. That takes care of that. Shall I put the… ah…. Will this go toward your passage as well, Mr. MacLeod?”
“Nay!” Ian said sharply, making the mate and Anne jump. Then he cleared his throat and said quietly, “Nay. I would appreciate it if you would give my… wife what is owing her, please.”
The mate scowled but said officiously, “Yes, all right. As you wish. As I said, we begin to board first thing tomorrow morning, and sail with the tide.”
The mate retrieved Anne’s change from a pouch at his waist. She slipped the coins into the embroidered bag and tucked it back into her bodice. Ian took up their bags and steered Anne by an elbow down the beach. Then he stopped and turned her to look at him.
“Where did you ever get that money?” he asked anxiously.
“Mother gave it to me, before she died.” Anne’s chin lifted defiantly.
“I would have signed a promissory note, Anne,” Ian murmured. “You did not have to…”
“I told you that I just needed you to get me on the ship, Ian. I did not expect you to put yourself into debt for me.” Pride made her eyes spark.
“But I would have just the same,” Ian said, his eyes dropping to the ground.
His quiet testament melted Anne’s heart. “Oh, Ian. You are such a dear friend.” She threw her arms about his neck in a quick hug.
He put his hands on her arms and pushed her gently away, flushing bright red. “I feared the mate was going to give us some trouble.”
Anne grinned. “He reminded me of Father. A lot of bluster. But when faced with real authority, he’d back down every time. That’s why I mentioned speaking to the captain. He would not want to get on the wrong side of the master.”
Ian laughed. “Clever lass.” He adjusted the bags on his shoulder. “Well, we’d better find a place to settle for the night.”
Anne looked up the beach, toward the grove that the mate had indicated earlier. Makeshift tents and campfires could be seen among the trees.
“We are not prepared to camp out,” Ian murmured. “We’ve naught to put over us in case the weather turns foul again.” He looked heavenward. “And it looks like it could. Look at those clouds rolling in.”
Anne watched the iron-gray, billowing clouds pass overhead. “I don’t think we’ll find a place in Ullapool, though. With the Hector sailing on the morrow, the town will be full. And I wouldn’t want to be there if that rider should return. We’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Ian shrugged, and they plodded up to the treeline. The evergreens were bent from eons of battering west winds. Like tired old fishermen, their branches were gnarled, arthritic limbs.
Little groups of campers huddled under the meagre protection of these twisted guardians of the loch. There were families with small children as well as older couples and single men. As Ian and Anne made their way, searching for a spot to call their own, many people raised a hand or doffed a hat in greeting. A few gazed at them warily.
The trees grew thicker and less spindly as they ventured further into the grove. At last they came to a place that was a little private, under an ancient pine. The blanket of needles acted as a spongy mattress. Without a word spoken, Ian and Anne set their belongings at the trunk of the tree and sat down to rest, their backs against the packs.
After a little while, Ian said, “I’m as hungry as a wolf. What have we left to eat?”
Anne smiled. “Always thinking of your stomach, you are.”
They rummaged through the packs and sorted through what food they had. Saving some oatcakes for breakfast, they finished off the bread, cheese, and apple tarts.
Ian patted his stomach and sighed. He flopped onto his back on the pine needles. “This is not so bad.”
“Aye. So far.”
“Just think, Anne. I’ll be able to own land. Mr. Ross says this New World is a paradise. Rich land, plenty of game and fish. Mr. Ross says that any man willing to work will be successful. And I’m not afraid of work!”
“It almost sounds too good to be true.”
“But he’s seen it with his own eyes. He knows what he’s talking about. And just think. I’ll be able to wear my tartan! Won’t that be grand?”
Anne smiled wanly at Ian’s enthusiasm. She was exhausted. Her feet burned where the blisters had broken and bled, and her soles ached as if Ian had hammered on them all day at his anvil. The enormity of what she had done – running away, disgracing her father, and putting Ian’s life in danger – settled over her shoulders like a fifty-pound shawl. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Ian noticed that Anne had become very quiet. He sat up and peered at her in the shadowy gloom.
“Let’s have a look at those blisters,” he said simply. He hauled off her boots and tenderly removed her stockings and petticoat bandages. His lips pursed in dismay when he looked at the raw flesh under the bandages. He went to work, ripping new strips of clean petticoat and gently wrapping Anne’s feet. Then he settled her under the tree, tucking clothes from his pack under her and laying a cloak over her to create as comfortable a bed as possible.
Anne murmured sleepily, “But Ian, what about you? How will you keep warm?”
“No worry, lass. I saved myself a nice warm blanket to wrap up in. Good night.”
“G’night,” Anne sighed, nearly asleep already.
Ian propped his back against the old pine’s trunk and crossed his arms across his chest. He tipped his hat over his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
He must have dozed off for a while because a cold splash of water on the back of his neck brought him awake in a hurry. His head snapped back, smacking his skull on the pine trunk.
It was raining, as he had predicted. “Could I not have been wrong, just this once?” he thought, rubbing his bruised head. The tree was protecting them somewhat, but it was raining harder by the minute, and pretty soon their sheltered little spot was a soggy, cold place indeed.
Anne rolled over and sat up, wiping water from her forehead. “It’s raining,” she muttered needlessly.
“Aye.”
“What should we do now?”
“Maybe if we hang our cloaks on the branches above us, they’ll keep the worst of the rain off.”
Anne nodded and started to get up.
“I can do this,” Ian said.
“I’m sleeping in your cloak,” Anne pointed out.
“Oh, aye.”
They struggled in the dark, trying to arrange the cloaks overhead. The rain had become a downpour, and they were thoroughly soaked by the time they had the cloaks in place.
“Seems pointless to keep the rain off us now,” Anne grumbled. “We can’t get any more wet.”
“Do you want the rain to keep falling on you all night?” Ian retorted.
Anne shook her head dejectedly, then realized that Ian couldn’t see her in the darkness and said, “No.”
“Here,” he persuaded. “Sit next to me. We’ll keep each other warm.”
Anne huddled beside Ian. He wrapped his arms around her and they sat dripping and shivering, perfectly miserable.
A soft sound permeated the hammering of the rain. At first, Anne wasn’t sure what it was. Then she realized it was someone’s quiet, measured step on the wet forest floor.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered to Ian.
“Aye.”
Anne’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be the thin rider? Had he found them? Was it dark enough to conceal them? Or should they run? Anne gathered her legs under her.
A voice hailed them from the gloom. “Hello! It’s John MacKay.” A feeble light glowed through the trees, bobbing along the trail.
Ian called out, “Over here. We’re here, Mr. MacKay.”
Anne let out her breath in a relieved sigh.
The light – a small, smoking torch – wove its way toward them. Presently, they could make out the piper’s face, eerily lit by the torch’s smoldering flame. He held his cape over the smoky torch to keep the rain from snuffing it out.
“I was told that you two had come this way,” John MacKay said. “Many of the passengers are getting together, sharing shelter and fire. It’s a wretched night, isn’t it?”
“Oh, aye, it is that,” Ian agreed, coming to his feet, and drawing Anne up.
“Gather your things,” the piper said pleasantly. “And follow me. We’ll get you to a warm fire.”
Gratefully, Anne and Ian collected their few belongings and trailed after John MacKay. He led them to a small clearing where several large canvas tarps had been tented around a welcoming fire. Ian and Anne joined other bedraggled-looking folks who huddled near the fire.
The piper smiled at them. “There, now. That’s better.”
“Thank you,” Ian said earnestly.
“Aye. Thank you so much,” Anne said.
“’Tis naught at all,” the piper said airily. “Warm yourselves. Once dawn breaks, we’ll be off.”
Anne sat close to Ian. The warmth of the fire was such a relief after the wet, numbing cold. She rested her head on Ian’s shoulder and dozed off.