Page 35 of Surrendering to her Highland Captor
10
WHISPERS OF WAR AND HEROES
When their journey had first started, the trio had all been so enamored with the idea of traveling together as a family that the ride passed by quickly enough. They walked the horses for the majority of the trail, not wanting to exhaust the beasts. But by day three, Aila was tired of sitting in the saddle, Arran wouldn’t stop asking questions, and Lachlan was starting to feel the wear of always being on the lookout. A bush rustled behind them, breaking the otherwise silent ride. That was all Arran needed to prompt him to speak.
“How much longer?” Arran asked.
It must have been the dozenth time he had posed that very question. Aila couldn’t fault him for it, her thoughts mirrored his.
“We will ride for almost another hour before we make it to the next inn,” Lachlan answered matter-of-factly.
“Nay, I mean how much longer until we dinnae have to ride at all anymore.”
Lachlan sighed silently and gave Aila a knowing look over the young boy’s head.
“I tried to warn ye that this would nae be an easy journey. Did ye nae believe me?”
Arran shrugged.
“I thought there would be more adventure than this. I thought it would be more exciting.”
Aila and Lachlan couldn’t help but chuckle at the naivety of Arran’s complaints.
“Trust me, Arran,” Aila told him. “The verra last thing we want is more adventure, more danger.”
“Because Uncle Loch might get caught?”
“Aye, but that is nae all that could happen. He could get caught or someone could get hurt or a hundred other things that would stop us from being able to help Taryn and the rest of our clan. We must make this long journey to ensure that they are all safe. Do ye understand?”
He nodded sheepishly. But it wasn’t even a full minute later before he was sighing in his saddle again.
“What is it now?” Lachlan asked patiently.
“All we have seen for days are trees, trees, and more trees.”
Arran slouched a bit as he gestured to the seemingly endless rows of trees. They were almost always coated white, the snow having dashed away any spots of green. The trunks were varying shades of brown, giving the wildlife plenty of hiding places, some of which were moving as they passed. Like Lachlan, Arran had picked up the habit of always scanning those places for any sign of an attacker. From the moment they climbed into their saddles until the moment Lachlan carried the boy to bed at night, Arran was always on alert.
She often had to remind herself and Lachlan that Arran was not a typical child. He was well accustomed to having to survive the harsh Scottish winters, all while keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might want to do him harm. In fact, she surmised that this was likely one of the easiest winters the boy had experienced since his family was killed three years ago.
The thought made her heart ache for such a loss of innocence, but it was the skills he had picked up in that time that had made Arran so valuable to their journey. He gave their story of a traveling family credibility. Yet even with all of his experience, and his insistence that he was merely bored, Aila could see the fear hiding behind his eyes. He understood just how much danger they were in, and the risks involved in taking a journey like this. If he wanted to talk about the trees, she would be more than happy to indulge him.
“That is nae exactly true,” Aila argued against Arran. “We have stopped nearly every night in an inn. We have seen many villages and towns. That is fun and interesting.”
“They are all the same,” Arran told her with a shrug. “A tavern, a general store, maybe a market or something. And then there are just a bunch of houses. They all look just like the Kincaid land, except our land has a big loch to make it even more bonny.”
“Aye, I do believe that our home is the most bonny in all of Scotland,” Lachlan agreed wistfully. “Ye ken, it was often the sight of that loch that kept me sane while I was in prison.”
Arran’s eyes went wide at his uncle’s mention of his time as a captive. Aila already knew what was coming next and shook her head at Lachlan. They were trying to stay hidden. That was why she wore one of Taryn’s dresses and Lachlan had traded out his Kincaid tartan for a pair of nondescript breaches, a simple shirt, and a thick coat. The very last thing they needed was for someone to overhear Lachlan telling stories about their clan or his time in prison or anything else that might give them away.
“Tell me about it, Uncle Loch, will ye? I want to hear all about it.”
Lachlan took in Aila’s wide-eyed expression and thought for a moment before responding to the now excited young boy.
“How about I tell ye a different kind of story? One that I heard often when I was younger.”
“All right,” Arran happily agreed.
“Tell me, what do ye ken of the McKenzies?”
