by Regan Walker
Lighting a candle, she reached for her clothes she had laid out, knowing she would not want to search for them in the dark.
The evening before, she had spoken with the two other women planning to stalk the deer. Kit, who would go along only to sketch, initially told Ailie she would wear a riding habit. Tara dismissed that as impractical.
“I wear breeches on Nick’s ship,” she said. “Not knowing what I might encounter here in Scotland, I brought a pair with me.”
Ailie nodded her approval. “Then I shall wear the same. If we’re to make our way over the moors, stalking deer and splashing through mud with the men, we’d best dress the part. A lady’s gown will only slow us down.” She shot a glance at Kit. “Are you certain you do not want to borrow some breeches and boots from me? Or some trousers? I have both. It might be best to ride astride if you are able.”
“Oh, very well,” Kit said, her blue eyes flashing. “I cannot argue with reason. Martin will just have to accept me in the scandalous garb. Some trousers will do, Ailie. I can wear them with my half boots. And, yes, I can ride astride, or at least I could as a girl.”
Concerned they would be warm enough, Ailie offered to provide woolen scarves for them if they had failed to bring some. She had many. As it turned out, Tara had brought one and Kit had not.
Before getting ready for bed, Ailie had Rhona deliver the promised clothing to Kit’s chamber, including the woolen scarf and a jacket for good measure. Martin’s wife would not regret her decision. The three of them would be united in their determination to be practical. After all, it wasn’t as if they were heading for the streets of Edinburgh where the world would see their shameful attire.
Clothed in her breeches and heavy woolen jacket, along with a tartan scarf and her boots, Ailie entered the dining room. The footman took no notice of her unusual clothing. Having worked for them for some time, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Alone, as of yet, she perused the offerings on the sideboard lit with branched candlesticks: rumbled eggs, slices of smoked beef, salted herring and biscuits with butter and currant jelly. Her stomach growled.
For hot drinks, they could choose from chocolate, tea and coffee. They would need the strong drinks if they were to face the pitch-black morning.
“No haddies?” asked Nash, coming up behind her where she stood holding her plate.
“Disappointed?” His warm chest against her back gave rise to an irrational desire to turn into his arms. After his kiss in the library, she could hardly look at him without blushing.
He chuckled. “Elated, more like.”
“You jest.” She turned to face him so he could see her smirk.
“I do.” He reached for a plate and stared at the offerings.
“’Tis too early to jest, Nash. My eyes are barely open.”
He came to stand beside her, inclining his head to give her breeches a quick look. “I approve your choice of hunting attire.”
“Thank you,” she said shortly, adding eggs, herring and a biscuit to her plate. “I cannot imagine stalking deer in a gown.”
“No, though I imagine some women do.”
“Not in Scotland in the winter. But then not many are likely to hunt deer either. My attire will not shock Will and Emily. And today, I will not be alone.”
Before long, the others going on the hunt trailed in and joined them. At first, everyone sat quietly, heads bent to their plates, as if talk was beyond them this early.
Ailie finished eating and sipped her chocolate. Nash, sitting next to her, was on his second serving of eggs and biscuits.
Fortified with two cups of coffee, Will looked up from his plate. “I see the ladies have decided to match our clothing, gentlemen. Knowing where we are going, I applaud their choice.”
Martin gave Kit a brief look before saying, “I was persuaded by my wife’s choice when she told me both Tara and Ailie would be similarly attired.”
Tara grinned at her husband. “Told you.”
Nick lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Incorrigible.”
Amused at their antics, Ailie shot Nash a glance. “Kindred spirits, aye?”
Nash gave her a wink.
“Ah,” sighed Will, patting his stomach after his second helping of eggs. “I am finally ready to face the moors.” He rose from his chair. “To the stables, lads and lasses!” He marched from the room, shouting over his shoulder. “Ailie, bring the setters!”
The front door slammed as the rest of them got to their feet. Ailie glanced toward Kit and Tara. “The adventure begins.”
Robbie ate breakfast with Muriel, Emily and the Ormonds before setting out for Arbroath. He made a point of tasting the smoked haddies, a sweet smoky flavor, which, once sampled, would long be remembered. Like Nash, he preferred bacon with his eggs.
He had thought to take a horse to Arbroath but, at breakfast, Hugh and Mary spoke about venturing farther afield in their morning ride, so Robbie thought it best he walk. If he encountered them in the woods, he could always dash behind a tree. Walking might be messy after the rain, but it would obviate the need to see to his horse once he arrived.
As he set out, a gray sky hovered above the trees. Beneath their branches, the snow lingered in the shadows, stubbornly refusing to give up its ground. He supposed when one lived with snow and ice most winters, one got used to such weather. In London, snow was rare and, for the most part, insignificant, though it could leave a pretty mess when mingled with the soot.
By the time Robbie reached Arbroath, the townspeople were going about their business. The ships docked in the harbor were now washed of snow and the streets clear.
Since Nash had observed the man “Georgie”, with the map in mind, Robbie headed toward High Street and the tavern named for a saint. Being the middle of the day, he was unsurprised to find St Thomas Tavern crowded with men looking for both food and drink.
A plump tavern wench Nash had not mentioned bustled between the tables serving tankards of ale and meat pies while trying to avoid the pats on her bum.
The round table Nash had spoken of was occupied with what appeared to be the same men as before, including the giant-fisted Hamish, Derek and Lachy and one other who sat beside the man he presumed was “Georgie”. The man’s odd hat didn’t quite seem to go with the rest of his clothing. In truth, he didn’t seem to fit with his companions either. He did not partake in their conversation, but stared into his ale, his forehead creased in worry.
Robbie bided his time, intending to follow the men whenever they departed, no matter how late. He ordered ale from the wench, who appeared in some distress for all she had to do.
“Yer ale, sir,” she said, setting the tankard in front of him. He smiled and looked into her kind but haggard face ringed in dark curls beneath the mobcap sitting askew on her head.
“Thank ye. A guid job ye do, miss, with so many tae serve.” Robbie hoped his terrible accent was hidden in the din of the tavern’s many conversations.
“Aye, ’tis a dreich day an’ the puir withir has the fellows doon aboot the mou.”
Not having a clue as to her meaning, he placed an extra coin on the table. “Fer ye.”
She dropped a brief curtsey and smiled broadly, showing him her imperfect teeth. “Thank ye.”
As long as she was here, Robbie thought to learn something. He looked about. “All yer usual customers?”
She scanned the room before returning her attention to him. “Aye, most.” Shooting a glance at the round table, she added, “Them comes in every day and stays fer ’ours. The one w’ fair hair, Lachy they calls ’im, ’as a tairrable tempir.”
If Robbie remembered correctly, Lachy had started the fight that Nash had become involved in.
“That be all, sir?”
He nodded and followed it with a smile of encouragement.
An hour passed and Robbie gained no new information, but when a spy spends hours in a tavern, he notices many things. Like how closely Hamish and the man with ferret eyes guarded George, wedg
ed between them. From the way Nash had described Derek, the man who had hustled George to safety, Robbie deduced the ferret eyes belonged to him. Frequently, Derek patted his jacket pocket as if assuring himself the weapon he carried remained with him. If Lachy was the man the tavern wench described as having a terrible temper, then the only one Robbie could not name was a younger, thinner version of Hamish.
The other customers paid the five men scant attention, another hour passing as customers came and went.
Derek finished his ale and stood. “Enough fer the now, lads.”
Robbie feigned a look of disinterest as the five men got to their feet and shuffled past him toward the door. When they’d gone, he rose, pulled his cap down farther on his head and followed, glad to leave the tavern behind.
Outside, he paused, watching the five men walk toward the harbor. He followed but kept at a distance. When they turned right on Bridge Street, so did he.
The blast from a shotgun made Ailie turn in the direction that Will, Nick and Tara had gone when they went in search of a red hind they’d spotted some distance away. At Ailie’s feet, Goodness and Mercy whimpered, waiting for her command. The dogs had sniffed the deer tracks she and her companions had been following till they disappeared at the edge of a small burn winding its way between two hills on either side of the glen.
“Get on!” she commanded. The dogs bounded ahead. “Let’s see what they’ve found,” she said to Nash and Martin. Kit, too, was with them, sketching from her seat on a nearby rock that Martin had cleared of snow and covered with a blanket.
Extending the spyglass, Martin peered through the lens. “Looks like they got one.”
He handed the glass to Ailie and she held it to her eye. The setters were approaching Will, who was bending over the deer’s carcass gutting the animal for the drag back to the horses. “Aye, first kill of the day.” She gave the glass to Nash and they set off toward her brother.
Many things had prevented them from taking a deer in the preceding hours. The hinds had been wily, to be sure, but the one time Nash had spied one, he could not get a clear shot. Martin had been tracking another, but as he went to shoot, a hind stepped behind the one he had looked to cull. Ailie herself had spotted a deer on a crag, but it was a healthy specimen, worth keeping to spawn future generations.
Such was the beauty of the snow-covered moors that she had not minded. She considered them fortunate to have encountered any hinds at all. One could stalk deer for days and see none. Besides, they had witnessed the sun rise over the vast winter landscape, the pale light glistening on the snow, a sight so dramatic, so magnificent, their guests from London had stared open-mouthed at the wonder of it.
Martin went to help Kit off the rock as Ailie and Nash proceeded ahead, walking side by side.
“Deer stalking is not for the impatient, is it?” he asked.
She laughed. “Nay. But it provides much time to contemplate.”
“So it does.” He gave her an intense look that made her blush. Was she the object of his contemplation? She hoped so, but still she worried. She had fallen for the Englishman, but had he fallen for her?
They caught up to their companions and Goodness and Mercy came at her call. Will and Nick were dragging the hind’s carcass from the other side of the small burn where it had fallen to where Ailie and Nash waited with Tara.
The setters, scenting the deer, strained toward the kill but remained by her side. “Your shot, Will?”
“Tara’s,” he answered, looking chagrined. “I’m just helping retrieve it.”
Ailie turned to see a broad smile on Tara’s face beneath the slouch hat Will had given her. The breeze blew her dark golden hair. With her brown woolen jacket, breeches and boots, she appeared every bit the deer-stalker she was. Ailie had grown to like Nick’s wife. Perhaps it was as Nash had told her. They were kindred spirits.
“Congratulations,” she said to Tara.
Nick smirked. “There’ll be no living with her now.”
“Nick,” Tara gleefully replied, “just think how jealous my brothers will be.”
“A lucky shot,” Nick teased.
“Of course, it was,” admitted Tara, “but don’t be telling them that.”
Martin and Kit, trailing behind, now joined them. “At least one of us has taken a deer,” said Martin.
Goodness and Mercy lifted their noses into the air, then froze, their tails up. Following their line of sight, Ailie spotted two hinds setting off on a slant up the steepest part of the hill on the other side of the burn. “Will!” she said just loud enough for him to hear.
He acknowledged her words by slowly raising his shotgun to his shoulder and taking aim. Nash, standing between Ailie and Will, poised his gun for the second shot.
As they watched, the deer climbed ever higher, displacing snow. Suddenly, the snow higher up gave way, tumbling down in a great rush, overwhelming the two hinds.
With a thunderous roar, mounds of snow cascaded down the hill in an avalanche, carrying the hinds with it. Great clouds of snow, like the white foam on waves, billowed up to blot out the sky.
Will and Nash dropped their shotguns from their shoulders.
“Everyone back!” shouted Will, his steps receding from the burn as he handed his shotgun to Nick and dragged the hind carcass with him.
Nick and Tara moved with Will. Martin, his arm around Kit, ushered his wife to safety.
Ailie had been so fascinated by the sight she had failed to move. Goodness and Mercy barked a warning. She was just about to follow her companions when Nash grabbed hold of her arms and drew her away from the tumbling snow, spraying them with a white mist as it came closer.
“You can gawk from a safe distance but not here!”
His words were harsh but the concern she detected in his voice warmed her heart. Admittedly, she had been slow to move. She allowed him to pull her from danger back to the base of the hill behind them. Then he took a stance in front of her as if to guard her from any assault. Not even Will would be so daring in his move to protect her. He might shout at her, compelling her to act, but escort her to safety and guard her person? Only Nash had done that.
Will assured them they would be safe standing on the lee side of the burn up against the hill.
Ailie watched as the avalanche of snow thundered to the bottom of the hill, dumping the last of its frozen cargo into the burn and just beyond it. Her companions stared in wonder.
When the avalanche ended, the glen turned eerily silent, the absence of sound no less dramatic than the thundering Ailie had felt in her bones a moment before.
When the cloud of snow cleared, one hind had disappeared, completely buried, but the other hind’s legs stuck out of a large mound.
“We might as well have this one, too,” said Will, gesturing to the hind whose legs rose above the snow. “Nick, I’ll need you and Nash to help lift the hind out of the snow.” He hadn’t asked Martin and perhaps it was due to Kit’s fearful expression as she clung to her husband.
Calling her dogs to her, Ailie approached Kit. “Are you all right?”
“She’s fine,” Martin answered for her as Kit nodded, “just a bit shaken.”
“Aye, even I have not seen an avalanche before. But I’ve heard of them trapping people beneath dozens of feet of snow. We were lucky.”
Midway down Bridge Street, Robbie darted into the recessed area in front of a door as Hamish turned to look back over his shoulder. The big Scot might not remember him from the tavern but Ferret Eyes would. It would be disastrous for Robbie to be caught now.
His heart pounded in his chest as he stole glances at the retreating men. A minute later, they turned right onto Marketgate.
As soon as they were past the corner, Robbie left his hiding place to follow. Were they leading him on a fool’s errand, aware he followed? Or, was this the way to their lodgings? It occurred to him that they might take a different route each day. Were he guarding Kinloch, that would be his strategy. Keeping to the same routes
made finding one’s prey easier.
Robbie peeked around the corner to see the five men disappear through a door halfway down the street. He did not pause as he passed the door but turned his head to note the address: 7 Marketgate.
The building looked to be a boarding house, two stories high. Clean and presentable from all appearances, yet not a place the gentry would stay. However, sitting less than two streets from the harbor, it provided a good place to hide if one waited for a ship.
Satisfied he had what he needed, Robbie walked on, his boots echoing on the stones beneath his feet. From behind him, he heard another set of footfalls where previously there had been none. It could be just another passerby, but his senses immediately went on alert, the spy in him rising to the fore. Was he being followed?
That night at dinner, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about was the avalanche. Nash listened to his fellow hunters recount their fearful exploit in the glen that could have left them buried in snow like the hinds. Hearing them speak of it, a knot formed in his chest as he relived the horror he had experienced when Ailie had failed to move from the path of the thundering snow rushing toward them.
All day, stalking the deer, he had been acutely aware of her presence. As they rode to the moors, she sat her horse like a lady on a jaunt in Hyde Park, her back straight, her head held high. But once they left the horses with the groom and set out across the moors, Ailie became the stealthy hunter, her eyes searching the landscape for prey, her commands controlling her dogs. When the hill began to violently shed its snow, his only thought had been to get her to safety.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he confessed to her on the way back.
Her reply had come with a small smile. “You were right to do so. I was dawdling. Besides, how can I complain when you might have saved my life?”
He shuddered when he remembered how close the snow had come to the very spot on which she’d been standing. Having been concerned for Ailie, he sympathized with the anxious look Emily had given William upon their return. As they were called to dinner, their hostess had not taken her usual seat, but sat adjacent to her husband, reaching out for his hand.
