Page 21 of Highlander’s Sloth

Camping and Racing

“We made good progress today,” Callum said, “but if Brock followed me orders, the wain will be only one day behind us.”

They had pulled over at the side of the road on the second day, and Kirsty had set Callum searching the side of the road for firewood. It was an awkward juncture in their journey; night was approaching, and there was no village or hostelry close enough where they could rest and eat. The previous evening, Callum had commissioned a lavish suite of rooms for his wife and himself, only to have her shut the door to her own bedchamber firmly in his face when he escorted her up there after they had dined in the private parlor. He could tell from her firm but kind “Good night to ye, Cal,” that she was not close to forgiving him yet.

“Have ye spent the night outdoors afore?” he wanted to know.

Kirsty accepted the dry logs he placed on the ground beside her and used them to stoke the small flames under her pot. “Aye,” she answered. “I’ve even had to spend the night up in the mountain pass during winter when I wanted to visit me sister.”

Callum looked at his wife with newfound respect on his face. “The Cairngorms in winter, ye say? Were ye no’ afeared o’ wolves?”

She shrugged and continued to stir the pot contents. “Anything me brither does, I’m sure I can do too.”

“But he’s a man, tall and strong from what I saw of him during his visit, and ye’re...”

Kirsty looked up at him sharply. “A woman, ye say? Tsk, tsk. When are men going to realize that petticoats and stays don’ inhibit a lady’s movements as much as they believe?”

Callum found it very hard not to laugh. The thought of wee Kirsty dueling or jumping her horse over high hedges struck him as not only dangerous but impossible to imagine.

She saw that look and said with dignity, “Ye can smirk all ye like, Cal, but when it comes to pitting me own abilities to set up camp, beat ye in a horse race, or shoot down a rabbit for supper, I’ll wager I’m better at it then ye are.”

Although his wife did not add that she favored her chances against those of a spoilt, lazy, overindulged courtier far more, he could see it from the way she cocked her eyebrows at him in a challenging, haughty manner that she was thinking this.

“I’ll hold ye to that in the morning, lass,” was all he said, and then sat down to enjoy the plate of stew she served up to him. Like all the food Kirsty had a hand in planning or preparing since their wedding night, the meal was delicious.

They were to sleep under the stars, happy to take full advantage of the sultry Lowland summer night air. Callum untied the two bolsters he had attached to his saddle and noticed as Kirsty flicked hers onto the ground with a businesslike demeanor.

“I’ve made the fire safe with stones, Cal,” she said, “so dinnae feel afeared to lie closer.”

Indeed, Callum had been worried about ruining his fine clothes if an errant spark settled on the expensive cloth and was reluctant to take his wife at her word.

“See?” she said, and kicked the logs with her boot. The flames rose up, and sparks flew up high in the air, but they did not fly outward. Callum watched as the red pinpoints sailed away on the breeze, over the treetops, and into the night sky.

“And ye can always buy more fine clothes, cannae ye?” Kirsty said in a teasing tone.

He smiled. “Aye, but no’ in time to make a good impression on our new customer.”

Callum went to his saddlebag and withdrew a flask of Macanroy whisky. “Would ye care for a wee drop, Wife?” he asked, and raised the flagon to his lips, saying, “Here’s to yer good health, lass, and I thank ye for supper.”

They lay in front of the fire, watching the flames lick and crack around the logs, passing the flask back and forth between them.

“Thank ye for bringing me with ye, Cal.” The whisky had mellowed Kirsty’s previously chilly mood. “I had forgotten how lovely it is to sit under the stars and watch a burning fire.”

Indeed, Callum understood what Kirsty was feeling. There was something incredibly soothing about having ridden hard all day, eaten well, and now being able to lie down all warm and cozy. He shifted his bolster closer to hers, preparing himself for the rebuff, but when none was forthcoming, he was emboldened to put his arm around her.

“Ye’re the bonniest riding companion a man could wish for, Kirsty,” he murmured in her ear.

She turned to face him. Her cheeks were becomingly flushed from the whisky, and her eyes glowed like precious jewels. “I thank ye, Cal.”

The whisky burned warm and exciting in their veins. Callum leaned forward and kissed her. Her breath tasted like toasted honey, and he could smell wood smoke in her hair. He was intoxicated with her proximity more than any liquor could inflame him. His kiss became more urgent, and he moved so as to be able to take her in his arms and make her his once more.

A loud crack like a musket shot blasted into the night. Both Callum and Kirsty jumped and looked around them, but it was only a nugget of pine resin that had exploded out of one of the logs in the fire. It broke the spell.

Kirsty shifted away from him, saying, “Well...I bid ye good night, Husband.”

He looked at her narrow little back now facing toward him and noticed she had loosened her stays. The laces seemed to lure him, and the thought of pulling them free and allowing his wife’s breasts to spill out from under them was a very tempting one.

But the noise of her steady breathing stopped him.