Oatcakes and Courage (3 page)

Anne sighed and nodded. Ian led her to a rock wall just off the road and leaned against it. Anne found a stone at its foot, next to him, and perched on it.

“We've managed to get this far. But I'm not sure how we're going to get you aboard the ship,” Ian said quietly.

Anne chewed on her bottom lip. Then she said, “Well, I have been thinking since we left The Broom. I cannot travel as a single woman, can I?”

Ian shook his head. “Nay, and they won't accept that you are my sister. John Ross knows I only have brothers. And an unwed woman aboard… Nay.”

Anne looked at the toes of her boots. “Then it seems we will have to pretend to be married.”

“Anne, that's…”

“Well, what else can we do?” Her cheeks flushed. “We don't have time to be properly married. Even if you wanted to. And
now that we've come this far… Well, we cannot go back. We have to go on.”

Ian pulled his hand through his dark hair and looked out over the loch. “I don't know,” he said at last.

“No man will ever… I'll never be married now. But I made my choice last night.” She peered up into his face. “Will you help me get aboard?”

Ian brought his gaze from the loch to her face. His dark eyes softened.

“You've got me into a lot of scrapes, Anne Grant,” he said. “This one makes all the rest seem like naught.” He drew away from the stone wall and stooped to pick up their bundles. “But we seem to be going the same way, so…”

Anne bit her lip to hold back the tears. They made their way toward the shore.

Chapter 3

T
HEY 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.