Oatcakes and Courage

by Grant-Smith, Joyce

Anne clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  “Come on,” he said, pushing her through the inn’s door. The smell of whisky and ale and tobacco smoke greeted them. A warm fire danced in an enormous stone hearth.

  Ian shook back his hood and stamped his feet. “G’day,” he called pleasantly to a rotund, red-faced woman behind the counter.

  “Nasty day to be out,” she said cheerfully.

  “It is that,” Ian agreed. He took Anne by the elbow and steered her toward the fire. “My poor sister is nearly drowned.”

  Anne gasped but Ian artfully spun her toward the fireplace to hide her surprised expression from the matron innkeeper and he cleared his throat noisily.

  The matron said, “Tsk, tsk. Hang your cloaks up to dry. Would you be wanting a pint of ale?”

  Ian hung his cloak and hat next to the hearth, then took Anne’s cloak and hung it next to his. He pulled a chair near the fireplace and ushered Anne into it. Then he turned to the woman. “Naught to drink, thank you. But do I smell a mutton stew?”

  The woman smiled. It made her wide face look like a split apple. “You do indeed, young man. Would you and your sister care for a bowl?”

  “It would help warm us up, I’m sure,” Ian replied.

  “It won’t be but a minute,” the woman said and she hurried through a door into the kitchen.

  “Sister?” Anne whispered, one eyebrow raised. Ian sat down next to her and held his hands out to the flames.

  “What did you want me to say? This is a betrothed lass I’m kidnapping and spiriting away to the New World? She might not have found me so charming if I’d told her that.”

  “Well, you hardly kidnapped me.” Anne thought for a moment. “You could have said you were my squire.”

  “Sorry, lass. You don’t have enough wealth to pull that off.”

  “Well…”

  “And she wouldn’t be too impressed if I said we were good childhood friends, either. The only other story I might have tried was to say you were my wife. And somehow I didn’t think you would like that tale. You nearly gave us away when I said you were my sister.”

  Just then, the woman backed through the kitchen door, balancing two steaming bowls of stew on a tray. Ian pulled a table next to the hearth and she set the bowls and spoons on it for them.

  “There now. That’ll heat you up from the inside out. Where are you going on such a miserable day?”

  “Have you heard of John Ross?”

  The woman raised both hands over her head and brought them down in a loud clap in front of her ample bosom. “Now who around here hasn’t heard of him, I wonder? You’re not off to…?”

  Ian smiled. “I’m a Scot, through and through, lady innkeeper. And they tell me that in the New World, I’ll be able to wear my tartan, and speak the Gaelic, and own land. Now, does that not sound good to you?”

  The matron’s voice dropped to a whisper. Walls had ears. “Aye. After all the troubles we’ve had… If me and my man were younger… Ah, but it’s a dangerous thing you are planning, my lad.”

  Ian glanced at Anne as he said, “We live dangerous lives, lady. I just want some choices about the dangers I face.” Then he smiled at the matron again. “No need letting the English have a say in everything.”

  The woman gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Here, now. Eat your stew while it’s good and hot.”

  Anne and Ian ate in silence, letting the food and the fire warm them. The woman returned to her kitchen. The cloaks gently steamed on their hooks.

  When they’d finished their stew, the lady innkeeper called to Ian from the kitchen doorway, “Would you care for a piece of dried apple tart?”

  Ian licked his lips. “Is it as delicious as the stew?”

  The woman giggled in a girlish way, making her jowls quiver. “I’m told it is the best tart this side of Ullapool.”

  “Then I cannot pass up on that, can I? What about you, sister?”

  Anne shot him a glare but said, “Thank you, but I am so full from the stew, I could not eat another bite.”

  The woman bustled into the kitchen again.

  “So, is this the story we are going to keep using?” Anne asked. “That I am your sister?”

  “Hmmm?” Ian murmured, his mind on the apple tart.

  “Are we going to continue as brother and sister? When we get into Ullapool?”

  “I had not really thought about it,” Ian admitted.

  “Don’t you think we should? Think about it, I mean.”

  The woman reappeared, carrying a large slice of apple tart with a chunk of goat cheese on the side. She stood by Ian’s chair till he’d had a bite and rolled his eyes in appreciation. “Delicious. Very good. No doubt the best in Wester Ross!”

  The woman went back into the kitchen, smiling widely.

  “Is it really that good?” Anne asked.

  Ian shook his head. “It’s not bad. But it always pays to tell a cook her food is wonderful.”

  The woman came back into the dining room with a sack. “For your travels,” she said. “No extra charge.”

  Ian paid for their dinner, and as they got up to collect their cloaks, he looked in the sack. There were two pieces of tart, a large chunk of cheese and a small, fresh loaf of dark bread. “See?” he said. “A good idea to compliment the cook.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Anne muttered as she followed him to the door.

  The rain had slackened to a drizzle and the wind had calmed, but the air held a deeper chill. They hunched into their cloaks.

  They had not gone more than a hundred paces when a lone horseman, riding hard and fast, appeared out of the loom behind them. Ian took Anne by the elbow and hauled her between two gorse bushes.

  The rider halted his horse abruptly outside The Broom, and left it heaving and blowing, its head between its knees.

  “In a great hurry, he is,” Ian murmured. He drew Anne further into the prickly gorse.

  It was not long till the rider, lean as an alder sapling, came to the door with the lady innkeeper behind him.

  “Aye,” her voice carried to them, “I’ll keep my eyes open for such a scoundrel. You will likely be able to get a fresh horse in Ullapool.”

  The rider mounted and spurred his horse on. He clattered past Anne and Ian and soon disappeared over the hill.

  Ian eased from the hiding place and beckoned Anne to follow.

  Anne’s face was white. “You don’t think he was looking for us, do you?”

  Ian looked soberly from the inn to the road. “It doesn’t seem likely, does it? And yet, I think we cannot be too careful. At least the dear old soul at the inn didn’t let on she’d seen us.”

  Anne nodded. “Thank goodness you said you liked her apple tart,” she said solemnly.

  They trudged on without speaking for a time. Their ears were tuned to any sound that might be an approaching horse or a man’s step. Anne felt ready to jump at the thrum of a partridge’s wing. Exhausted, they eventually came to a rise that overlooked the village of Ullapool – a cluster of low houses huddled on a small cape. The loch was as gray as the clouds, and flecked with white waves.

  “Well, here we are, then,” Ian said cheerfully. There was a crease between his eyes that betrayed his concern.

  “Aye. Is the Hector in the harbour?” Anne asked, squinting.

  “That’s her, at anchor,” Ian said, pointing. “See? Three masts.”

  Anne nodded.

  Ian regarded Anne. “Perhaps we’d best sit and talk for a bit.”

  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 t
hey 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

  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 se
e, 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.