by Leigh Barker
They saw the English patrol ride round the bend ahead, and Calum slowed his horse and glanced at Richmond in his huge black frock. “Pull the hood over your head.”
Richmond pulled up the hood and lowered his head.
“I’ll talk,” Calum said.
Angus reached over and put his hand on Calum’s arm. “I have the greatest respect for you as a soldier and a highlander.” He flashed a smile. “But as a diplomat? I’ll talk to these fine fellows.”
The patrol halted and spread out across the road. A dozen scruffy men in dirty and torn uniforms. And one crisp young lieutenant. Somebody’s boy playing soldiers before he was given command of men in battle, and got them killed.
“You,” the lieutenant said, pointing at Calum.
Calum raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak. Angus was doing the talking.
“You are wearing that…” He pointed at Calum’s kilt. “Wearing tartan will have you transported to America.”
“Been there,” Calum said. “Didn’t like it. Came back.”
The lieutenant drew his pistol and the rest of the patrol followed.
“And carrying weapons, ’pon my soul. That’s a hanging offence.”
“Lieutenant,” Angus said, “I am Captain Angus Mackintosh of the Black Watch.”
The lieutenant looked Angus over. His nose wrinkled as if he was smelling something rancid. “Then you should know better than to associate with this scum Irish.”
“Did he call us Irish?” John said, leaning closer to Calum.
“Aye, I believe he did,” Calum said, and smiled. “But he’s young. And English. So not very bright.”
Things were going to turn ugly and very bloody very soon.
Angus moved his horse forward a few steps. “You are doing your duty apprehending dangerous vagabonds who dare to wear tartan. But these men…” He pointed at Calum. “They have enlisted in the Watch, so as I’m sure you know, Lieutenant, they are permitted to wear tartan and carry arms.” He laughed. “Be a rum army if they couldn’t shoot, what?”
His English accent was terrible, but Calum didn’t comment and the English didn’t seem to notice.
“Who’s that?” the lieutenant demanded, pointing at Richmond.
“Who’s that, sir,” Angus said, very slowly.
The lieutenant stared at him for several seconds, his mind working; then he gritted his teeth and tried again. “Who’s that woman?” It was stuck in his throat. “Sir.”
“That,” Angus said, appearing not to notice the young man’s difficulty. “That is a tavern whore. Infested with crabs and all manner of crawling things. We are taking her to the barracks on suspicion of stealing from our troops.” He raised an eyebrow. “She needs to be strip-searched. M’be you and your men would oblige.”
The soldiers backed their horses up while the lieutenant stared in horror at Richmond slumped forwards in his saddle.
“I, err…” the lieutenant said, and backed up with his men. “I think we will, err…” He pulled his reins hard and galloped back up the road, followed by his command.
“That’s discouraging,” Richmond said, pulling back his hood. “I thought I looked rather lovely in this fine gown.”
“It has fleas,” John said.
“Perhaps so,” Richmond said, scratching his chest, “but I’m sure they’re as glad as I am to be away from that inn.”
“Shall we away to Moy Hall?” Angus said. “Before yon eager young lieutenant decides to return for the strip-search.”
“Yes,” Richmond said, “I would hate to be the cause of his lifetime aversion to women.”
“I think you’re too late,” Calum said, and urged his horse to a trot.
