“I’m no’ going to give up on Scotland,” she said, glancing up at him, searching his eyes and finding the confidence she was looking for. “That doesna mean I dinna sometimes have doubts about how we will proceed.”
Brogan nodded, eyes locked on hers. “Aye, good. Because this is our country, and we need to take it back.”
Thirteen
A week after leaving the tavern in the middle of the night, they arrived at Kyle of Lochalsh. Across the loch, Fiona could make out the rising mountains of the Isle of Skye. The sloping peaks and rolling valleys of green and purple met the white plush clouds of the sky. Peaceful and beautiful. Fiona drew in a deep breath, imagining the scent of heather and sweet grass.
The prince should be there, safe on the island, away from dragoons. Or at least that was what they all hoped. Though Fiona knew Cumberland’s men had a far reach, she hoped that the isle was remote enough to harbor more Jacobites than King George loyalists. Likely that line of thinking was only wishful.
“I’ll see about a ferry,” Brogan said, dismounting and going into the local tavern in the small village.
“I’ll come with ye.” Fiona passed Milla to Brogan while she climbed off her horse, and he let the little dog down to stretch her legs and sniff about.
The tavern was dimly lit, smelled of stale ale and body odor, and was filled with what looked like daytime regulars. Some were already deep in their cups, and others seemed only to have stopped by for their lunch.
Brogan approached the bar, and Fiona kept to his back like a good wife would, their boots scuffing on the dirty floors. No use drawing attention by pushing her way forward and making demands.
“Afternoon,” a barkeep said from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. He had a shock of red hair and ruddy cheeks that made him look a bit too jolly, but his kind eyes belied the flat, defensive line of his lips. “How can I help ye?”
“When does the next ferry go out?” Brogan asked.
“No’ until tomorrow, sir. Runs every morning just after dawn and not another minute more.” The man pulled down two mugs and set them on the bar. “Ale?”
Brogan shook his head. “Why’s that?”
The man shrugged. “Times have changed.” The way he said it made it clear he expected no argument over it, and that it should just be accepted as fact.
Fiona found that very irritating. She had a lot of questions and she wanted straight answers. She bit her tongue to keep herself from saying so.
“If that’s the case, have ye any rooms to rent?” Brogan asked.
“Aye. How many ye need?” The barkeep looked behind him at Fiona.
“One is enough for the lady. My men and I will sleep down here with the rest.”
Fiona worked to hide her disappointment that they wouldn’t be sharing a room. Why had he decided that was best?
The barkeep nodded. “’Tis fine, but I’ll no’ be serving ye ale all night.” The man looked behind Brogan at the regulars. “Got enough problems already,” he muttered.
Fiona stiffened. Another inn where they might be potential victims. How she longed for just a moment’s reprieve from constantly feeling as though she had to fight.
“I’ve no plans to get sotted, sir, so that’s fine by us. And what have ye got to eat?”
“My wife is making supper, but ’twill no’ be done for a while now.”
“We can wait.”
The man nodded again. “I can give ye some nuts to eat while ye wait.”
Fiona’s stomach growled, and she felt her cheeks heat.
Brogan nodded. “We thank ye for it.”
“Gonna cost ye.” The way the man said it was as if he wanted to push Brogan off the idea. Since they’d walked in, it seemed he wanted them to turn around and walk out.
Fiona wasn’t going to take it personally. The man probably got a lot of trouble being near the ferry to Skye. Better to warn troublemakers off before they started, she supposed. If only the innkeeper at the last place had been so proactive.
“’Tis fine,” Brogan said.
The barkeep nodded. “I’ll have the missus take the lady upstairs.”
“And ye’ve a place for our horses?”
“Aye, a stable around back.”
Brogan leaned over the bar, his voice low. “Have ye had any problems with thieves?”
The man eyed Brogan as though he’d just said that he himself would be stealing from them all that very day. He reached under the bar, likely for a weapon, and Fiona’s stomach did a major flop.
Brogan held out his hands, showing he was unarmed, attempting to de-escalate the situation. “I only ask because we’ve just come from a tavern several days’ ride away where two of our horses were nearly stolen by men who took them in the middle of the night.”
The barkeep frowned and took his hand from beneath the counter. “I can assure ye that nothing like that’s happened around here for a time. God save the king.”
Fiona perked up when the man uttered the words. For they had oft been used to find out if one were a Jacobite or not.
“And his bonnie son,” Brogan answered quietly.
The barkeep nodded with the barest hint of a smile, his shoulders relaxing some. “The only exception to that is when the dragoons come ’round. They like to take what they please.”
“Aye, we know it.”
“This traveling inn is no’ a refuge,” the barkeep warned. “We take anyone’s coin for ale who’s willing to pay. Ye can stay for a night but no longer. The only allowances to this rule are for the locals.”
“We understand.”
Fiona stepped beside Brogan, keeping her eyes downcast and hoping to seem demure, appealing to the barkeep’s masculinity even though that grated on her nerves. “Might ye have an idea where the bonnie son is? We heard he was on Skye.” She peeked up through her lashes to gauge his reaction.
The barkeep glanced from her to Brogan and back again. “No longer. Gone to South Uist, last I heard. Been there a week or more now.”
Fiona nodded. “Our thanks.” She flicked her gaze up at Brogan. That meant that once they made it to Skye, somehow, they’d have to convince a ship to take them to South Uist, which seemed like a tall order. Something like that cost money, and none of them were filled with coin. They had enough to get by, and no extra. Not to mention that chartering a boat large enough to fit their horses would raise suspicions.
“What have ye got to do with him?” the barkeep asked.