Shared by the Highlanders (6 page)

Chapter Three

In my current position I can’t see Will so have no opportunity to inspect the switch for myself. I hear his footsteps though, and I know the moment is here.

“She makes a fine sight.”

“Aye, she does. The lass is shivering though, and more scared than she’s letting on. We need to get on with this. Hand me the switch.”

“Here. I’ll keep an eye on her, check how she’s doing. If you need to stop, I’ll tell you.”

“Good. Ready then?”

Will kneels beside me, and cups my chin in his palm. He turns my face toward him, and with his free hand he strokes my long hair back. He coils the length of it around his hand and holds my head still.

“Open your eyes and look at me, girl.” His voice is soft, as Robbie’s was a few moments ago. I obey. I have no alternative.

Will glances up at Robbie and nods his head.

There’s a shrill, breathy whistle, then an explosion of fire across my left buttock. I scream and jerk on the branch, as far as my bound state allows. Will has the grace to wince too, but in the next instant he is once more giving Robbie the nod to continue.

Another sharp whoosh of displaced air, and the switch lands across my right buttock. Again I scream as the pain simmers and sinks into my flesh. I groan in silence as Will indicates I’m fine for the next, then the next. I’m counting the strokes, four already. A third of the way there. Almost, but for that extra one I earned for swearing. My bum feels to be on fire.

Will gives another sharp nod, and Robbie shifts his position a little, then lands the fifth stripe across my left buttock, this time slightly lower than the first two. It hurts, the pain ratcheting up fast. My screams are less though, as the shock is wearing off. I do at least know what to expect. It’s the enduring that’s the problem. I’m not at all convinced I’ll come out of this unscathed, whatever Robbie might have promised.

I close my eyes, but Will gives my chin a sharp squeeze with his hand. “Look at me, love.”

I force my eyelids to open, but his image is blurred by tears. He seems to be frowning though. Oh, God, please don’t let me have done something to displease them even more. I try to speak, but can only mouth the words. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. We both know. Not much more now.” He nods at his companion, and my bum explodes in agony again. I’m whimpering, gasping for air, but managing somehow to bear this. I hang on through two more searing strokes before my eyelids drop again.

“Charlie, look at me. Now.” Will’s tone is sharp, demanding. He tugs on my hair, hard. I try, I really do try, but I can’t force my eyes to open this time. I shake my head, drifting in some sort of pain-filled haze.

“Wait. She needs a moment.”

Will releases my hair and steps away. He’s back a moment later, pressing the neck of a leather pouch against my lips. “Drink. It’s fresh water, from the burn down there.”

The cool liquid is refreshing, and welcome against my parched mouth. I sip a few drops, then run my tongue over my lips.

“More?”

I manage a nod, and the leather pouch is against my mouth. This time I suck, and despite the cold now seeping inexorably into my bones I’m greedy for the cool comfort offered by the fresh water. I swallow several mouthfuls before relinquishing the vessel.

“Five more strokes. We’ll make these quick, okay? Then we’ll get you warm again.”

“Thank you,” I croak.

I’m almost beyond caring, though not quite, as the final strokes blister my now blazing arse. I’ve never known pain like it, but I’m managing some weird out-of-body thing as I somehow distance myself from what’s happening to me. I count the strokes, jerking with each one that lands, but my screams have subsided to a resigned groaning as the pain radiates and seeps into me, through me. My bottom is the centre of it, but in truth everywhere hurts. I’m perversely glad of the cold, or more specifically its anaesthetising effect, because without that I know this would be infinitely worse if that were possible.

At last, the thirteenth stroke is delivered. My bum is sizzling, I’m shaking uncontrollably, but mercifully Robbie stops. He tosses the switch aside with a muffled curse and stoops to release my hands.

I have no strength to push myself upright, but I don’t need to. One of them—Will, I think—seizes me and hauls me up into his arms. The blanket that had protected me from the roughness of the tree branch is flung on the ground, and I’m lowered onto it. I lie there, on my side, groaning.

It’s over. It was awful, unbearable almost. But it’s done now, and I’m alive. Just.

“I’ll take care of her. Get a fire started. We’ll stay here until she’s ready to move on.” Robbie’s voice, crisp, matter-of-fact. Who would imagine he’s just thrashed me almost senseless?

I offer no protest as I’m hauled bodily onto his lap, and swathed in the rough warmth of that thick plaid he promised me. Even my toes are tucked up, cosy in the woollen cocoon. His arms are around me, and I’m pressed close against his hard, powerful chest. I should be fighting, turning away. I should hate this man, this vile, sadistic bully who has manhandled me, tied me up, forced me to strip, then beaten me. But I don’t. Far from it. Instead I allow him to lift me, still cuddled up against his chest, and carry me to the low shelter beneath the oak. Will is already inside, kneeling beside a small pile of twigs, which he is attacking with a flint.

Robbie squats inside the hut and I turn toward his warmth, his solid, comforting safe presence. I curl my fingers in his sheepskin tunic, gripping him as though he was my anchor in a churning sea of confusion and hurt. The crackle of fire igniting the twigs, followed by the welcome wash of heat against my back, tells me that Will has succeeded in producing flames. I’ll be warm soon, and I’m at ease with my lot right at this moment. Or I will be.

“How did you know? That I’m not a boy?”

Robbie chuckles. I can feel the rumble, deep in his chest. “Sweetheart, you’re a bonny girl, but a damned peculiar boy if I’m honest. There was something off about you, right from the start. The way you walk, the way you wouldn’t take your hood off. You were hiding something. At first we just assumed it was because you were a thief, not wanting to be recognised.”

“I see.” Not true. I don’t see at all. “But I told you I wasn’t a thief.”

Will chips in from his position on the other side of the hut, his hands stretched out toward his fire. “You did, but we didn’t have any cause to believe you. Not at first. When I came over to bring you food last night, and got a good look at you at last, your face seemed more delicate than I might have expected. There was something about the set of your jaw, your eyes perhaps. Something feminine.”

Robbie shifts a little and dips his head to nuzzle my hair. "I knew for certain when I hit you. You remember, when you stabbed Will in the chest, and I thought you’d injured him? I landed you one and sent you flying. You curled up in a ball, cowering away from me. A woman would do that—never a man, nor a lad. I should tell you, wee Charlie, I sincerely regret doing that. I would never have lifted my hand to you if I'd realised you were a wench."

I snort; his contrition rings somewhat hollow given my recent experience over the tree branch. Inarticulate it may be, but he takes my meaning.

“That’s different. No man should hit a woman in anger, and never with his fist. I could have really hurt you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I’m glad. But I do sincerely apologise to you, and you have my word nothing like that will happen again.”

“You say you won’t hit me, but you’d spank me? Or, or use a stick, like just now?”

“Aye, if need be. Discipline is another matter altogether. You have to obey us, and we’ll have no lies between us either. So yes. If the occasion calls for it you will feel the lick of a switch against your arse again. Or a belt. Or maybe just a hand against your bare bottom. Now that’s an appealing notion.”

Will leans over to toss a couple more sticks onto the fire, his smile as warm as the merry little blaze. “We talked, last night, Robbie and I. We were both of a mind that there was something amiss, and I became certain when I slept alongside you. I’ve never yet slept with a woman in my arms and not known it. Even under those peculiar garments of yours, your womanly curves were there, plain under my hands.”

“You were feeling me up? While I was asleep?”

“Not exactly. I prefer a woman to be warm and willing. But I couldn’t help but notice…”

Robbie takes up the conversation. “This morning, when you were riding astride my lap, I reckoned it was time to set matters straight before you dug yourself in even deeper. I’m glad. We’ll all get along fine now.”

I pause, my rebuttal on my lips. But he does have a point, I suppose. This easy interaction between us could not have happened if I was still trying to masquerade as a boy. And despite their direct approach to handling the matter, my worst fears have not been realised and I now know they won’t be. I’m safe here. And I owe them an apology too.

“I’m sorry, truly I am. About the lies. And, everything.”

“We know that, little one. It’s done now, we’re finished. No grudges held, I hope?”

“A grudge? I don’t understand. I thought you were punishing me.”

“We were. We did. But now we need to know it’s behind us. And I need to know that we’re fine together, you and me.”

“I, yes. I suppose…”

“And Will?”

“Yes, him too. But…”

“But?”

“Who are you? You both seem so odd to me, and the pair of you live by some code I don’t start to understand. What are you doing here, on Helvellyn, dressed like something from Braveheart?”

“Braveheart? You say some strange things, and you’re no small puzzle yourself, wee Charlie.” This from Will who has settled on the other side of the shed and now regards us across the flames. “I brought your clothes in here for you. You don’t have the demeanour of a high-born lady, yet your apparel is finely made and the fabrics expensive. Those dyes would have to be imported, and these fastenings are like nothing I’ve seen before.”

“Fastenings? You mean the zip on my jacket?”

“Is that what you’d call it? And this fabric that grows when I pull it, then shrinks back. Where is this from?” He has my trousers in his hands and is stretching the elastic in the waistband. “Why are you wearing men’s breeches anyway? Why are you dressed as a boy, and why would you be up here, alone? You don’t seem like a spy, Charlie, and if you’re a thief you’re piss poor at it. In any case, who are we to judge? But there’s something not right about you, about all of this.”

He’ll get no argument from me, but I’m not the one behaving like some Neanderthal throwback.

“I told you, my name is Charlie. Charlie Kelly. I’m a paramedic, from Manchester. Right now I’m on a hiking holiday, or I was until I was kidnapped, tied up, battered…”

“I thought we’d forgiven each other, and we were friends now.” Robbie’s tone is amused rather than accusatory, but he has a point, I suppose.

“We are. But I am what I said I am. I have no idea why you might have mistaken me for a thief, and to imagine I might be spying is just ridiculous. What’s that about anyway? Spying on who? Why?”

“From your accent I’d say you’d be English, so you’d most likely be spying on the Scottish queen. That would make sense. Mary has her enemies, she’s surrounded by intrigue.”

“Mary? What Mary?”

“Mary, queen of the Scots. Cousin to Elizabeth of England.”

“Cousin to… who?” I clutch the plaid to my naked body, sliding from the warmth of Robbie’s lap to peer across the smoke at both men. I look from one to the other, searching for something, anything that might make sense.

“Elizabeth Tudor. Your monarch, if you are from near Chester, as you say.” Robbie’s head is tilted, his expression puzzled. He frowns at me. “Are you all right, lass? You look very pale.”

“Who are you?” I whisper my question, dreading the answer.

“I am Robert MacBride, brother to the MacBride, laird of Kinrothy. Our lands are north of Edinburgh. This is my cousin, William Sinclair of the clan Sinclair. He hails from the Highlands, but was fostered with my family as a lad and we remained friends since. We are charged with carrying a message to Elizabeth from Mary, and to return to Stirling with the English queen’s response. That is where we’re now bound; the court has shifted from Holyrood to Stirling castle, where her majesty plans to remain until her baby is born.”

I’m dreaming. Delirious. There can be no other explanation. “You’ve been to see… Queen Elizabeth the first? In London?”

“In Chester. I think I told you that yesterday. The first, you say? There are other Queen Besses then?”

“Yes. No. Oh, Christ, this can’t be true. You’re having some sort of sick joke with me.”

“Why would we do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand anything about this, about you. I, I want to get dressed. Now. Please.”

Will passes me my clothes and I grab them from him. Belatedly I realise they might take issue with my manners, and I know full well what that could mean. Even so, I stand and manage to ignore my nakedness as I drop the plaids to the earth floor of the hut. I pull my underwear back on, wincing as my pants scrape across my tender buttocks. My knickers are followed by my base layers, then my trousers and fleece. I pick up my jacket and thrust my hands in the sleeves as I head for the door.

“I need some fresh air.” Not a lie exactly. The smoke from the fire is escaping through a hole in the roof, but still the accumulation within the confined space is starting to choke me. I burst from the open doorway and gulp in sweet mountain air. I start off up the hillside, not running away exactly, that would be futile. I just need to put some space between myself and—whatever is happening here. I sprint for several hundred yards until, breathless, I drop panting to my knees.

A couple of minutes pass before the two men’s voices reach me. I turn to see them strolling up the hill, leading their horses. The plaids and blanket are safely stowed again. They are clearly ready to continue our journey. I stand and face them.

The small hut and oak tree are sharply defined against the hillside below me, and I am struck by the familiarity of the sight.
Déja vu?
Possibly? Definitely. I have seen this before, this scene. Not the deluded Scotsmen, obviously, but the rest. The animal shelter, the tree, the shape of the hills on the other side of the valley.