Highlander Mine. Juliette Miller

behind the tavern: a place to take cover until we could fully assess the clientele of the inn. Wagons of many descriptions were parked along the road, and upward of twelve horses had been tied to a hitching rail. They were slow, sturdy farm horses. None were coated with sweat as though they’d been ridden at pace all the way from Edinburgh. I felt confident that there was nothing to fear here, that our pursuers were a long way from tracing our trail to this unlikely hideout.

      “Now,” I whispered.

      The slow pace of the wagon made the disembarkment easy enough. Our only belongings were Hamish’s sword and a small bag I carried, which contained two woolen blankets, a single spare, fine dress of my sister’s, a wineskin full of water and a few coins I’d managed to take from the cashbox as we’d made our escape. I had also brought the small red book that was my most sentimental possession; in it, I had recorded dreams, scribbled poems and wishes, and drawn pictures of trees and stars and fanciful yearnings. An impractical possession, aye, but symbolically precious to me nonetheless and light enough to carry. Holding on to Hamish’s hand, I led him past the entrance of the tavern and into the woods. We needed to check our appearances and get our story straight.

      Tonight, it seemed, we might need to put all our skills of deceit and persuasion to good use. We were both, it had to be said, somewhat gifted in the ways of trickery, since we’d had a regular need to fabricate tales to various people and on a daily basis, like debt collectors, upset wives or the law, to name a few. These were skills we had honed over many years: an unfortunate necessity of our lifestyle, but one I was now glad we had some practice with.

      “I’m hungry,” Hamish said. “I want some meat and potatoes with gravy, some stew with bread fresh from the oven and melted butter and some—”

      “Aye,” I said. “But first, what’s it to be? This tavern is sure to be full of local farmers and traders. They’ll likely know each other, and they’ll know that we’re not from around here. We’ll need a convincing story. I could get work here possibly, as a cleaner or a cook. We need money.”

      “A cook? You don’t know how to cook, Ami. They’ll probably want you to perform other services. Why don’t we just offer up a card game and win some money?” Regrettably, my nephew was far too worldly for his own good.

      “We’re not playing cards anymore,” I said. “We’re starting a new life. An honest one. One that doesn’t involve cheating, stealing, smuggling or gambling.”

      “But gambling is so much easier than working. And besides, it’s the only thing we know how to do.”

      This riled me. But it would hardly do to get upset with him. It was my responsibility to be not only his guardian but also his role model. I would have to show him that honesty was more effective than the life we were used to. I hoped I could. I wasn’t sure whether my new philosophy was even true, nor did I have any idea how to employ it. “It seems easier, Hamish. But it isn’t. Look how it’s turned out for all of us. Hiding, separated, on the run. Gambling is like stealing, when you use the kinds of tricks we do. Stealing makes people angry. You know it as well as I do. ’Tis up to us to find a better way for ourselves.”

      My nephew looked up at me, unconvinced.

      “Or at least try to,” I said, a suggestion that was met with at least a degree of acquiescence. His eyebrows furrowed in the middle as he mulled this over. And I continued to formulate our plan. “I propose that we are well-bred travelers from Edinburgh who have fallen on hard times, whose carriage was—”

      “Taken over by bandits!”

      I considered this. It wasn’t a completely unreasonable suggestion. How else might we have parted ways with our transport? Were there bandits in these parts?

      “Mr. Fawkes told me he once got robbed by bandits as he traveled the Highlands, years ago,” Hamish said.

      The very mention of my nemesis was enough to see my blood run cold. My voice sounded frayed when I quickly changed the subject. I hated the sound of that vulnerability, that fear. “Or maybe a wheel broke off and we had to make way on foot.”

      “But why wouldn’t we have an escort or a driver with us, in that case?” Hamish said.

      A good point. “Maybe he stayed behind to fix the carriage, and promised to come for us as soon as—”

      “Why can we lie but not play cards?” my nephew asked.

      I paused. This was a difficult question and one that I wanted to answer with careful consideration. “We’re only making up these stories to keep ourselves out of harm’s way. As soon as we’ve secured a safe situation for ourselves, then we won’t have need to lie anymore.”

      He appeared drawn to the novelty of this approach. “Let’s try not to lie, then, as much as we can—except the part about the bandits,” he said. “We’ll say our father was a doctor—yours was, after all—and our parents have died, and we were forced to flee to escape our creditors.”

      My heart thudded in a grief-stricken beat. This lie was upsettingly close to the truth. It was then that I felt the first twinge of brittleness since we’d left Edinburgh. Making a concerted effort to be as fearless and resilient as I needed to be, I hadn’t allowed myself to think about any of it, or any of them, for my nephew’s sake. Hamish’s words were shards of truth in the smashed pane of our history, with too many broken pieces to ever mend. It was true that my parents had died, years ago. The thought of Hamish’s own parents and their precarious situation almost brought me to tears. But I held them back, concentrating instead on the task at hand. My father had been a doctor, aye. And we had fled to escape, although “creditors” was a generous allowance to what our pursuers actually were. “That makes us sound like criminals.”

      Hamish thought about this, and then his small face lit up with his idea. “Let’s say we were en route to visit relatives, but were attacked by bandits who took all our money, and so we’re now in need of work to pay for our return to Edinburgh—or to our relatives, if we can find them.”

      “They’ll ask who our relatives are.”

      “Mysterious relatives,” Hamish said. “We don’t know their names. But we know we have Highlands relations, and since we’re orphans, we were curious. Since we have no other family left, we came to search them out.”

      Not bad. Not bad at all. This would give us a reason to ask about the local people, the Highlands clans and the work opportunities. “I’m not sure if I should be happy about or rather alarmed by your ability to spin lies with such ease, nephew.”

      He grinned. “I learned everything I know from you, Ami.”

      I ignored that, and began picking the hay out of his hair. I only wished I could have taught him even more. When my education had come to a very abrupt and final end at the age of eleven, I’d vowed to read every book in Edinburgh, or at least those I could get my hands on. Since that very day, when I wasn’t working, I was studying, teaching myself the ways and means of every damn subject I could get my hands on. My sister, Cecelia, had once said I was probably the most qualified astronomer, botanist, linguist, zoologist and everything else, if only anyone had bothered to test me. You just never knew when an opportunity might present itself, or a random morsel of knowledge might be your saving grace. My tenacious study habits were of little consequence now. Survival was, and always had been, the order of the day.

      With our plan decided, we turned to our appearances. After removing all the straw from Hamish’s hair, I used some water to smooth it into place. There was little that could be done about the state of my nephew’s clothing, which was dirty but not yet showing signs of too much wear and tear. In our haste, Hamish hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes and I had not had the chance to retrieve anything for him. I’d only just managed to grab a spare dress for myself, from my sister’s cupboard. Her clothes were finer than mine, since her husband refused to allow his wife and son to appear outwardly as though his business was in financial distress, which it most certainly had been. In hindsight, it seemed a strange detail for him to be so particular about, with all the other worries he’d had