Oatcakes and Courage Read Free Page A

I’ll be able to wear my tartan, and speak the Gaelic, and own land. Now, does that not sound good to you?”
    The matron’s voice dropped to a whisper. Walls had ears. “Aye. After all the troubles we’ve had… If me and my man were younger… Ah, but it’s a dangerous thing you are planning, my lad.”
    Ian glanced at Anne as he said, “We live dangerous lives, lady. I just want some choices about the dangers I face.” Then he smiled at the matron again. “No need letting the English have a say in everything.”
    The woman gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Here, now. Eat your stew while it’s good and hot.”
    Anne and Ian ate in silence, letting the food and the fire warm them. The woman returned to her kitchen. The cloaks gently steamed on their hooks.
    When they’d finished their stew, the lady innkeeper called to Ian from the kitchen doorway, “Would you care for a piece of dried apple tart?”
    Ian licked his lips. “Is it as delicious as the stew?”
    The woman giggled in a girlish way, making her jowls quiver. “I’m told it is the best tart this side of Ullapool.”
    â€œThen I cannot pass up on that, can I? What about you, sister?”
    Anne shot him a glare but said, “Thank you, but I am so full from the stew, I could not eat another bite.”
    The woman bustled into the kitchen again.
    â€œSo, is this the story we are going to keep using?” Anne asked. “That I am your sister?”
    â€œHmmm?” Ian murmured, his mind on the apple tart.
    â€œAre we going to continue as brother and sister? When we get into Ullapool?”
    â€œI had not really thought about it,” Ian admitted.
    â€œDon’t you think we should? Think about it, I mean.”
    The woman reappeared, carrying a large slice of apple tart with a chunk of goat cheese on the side. She stood by Ian’schair till he’d had a bite and rolled his eyes in appreciation. “Delicious. Very good. No doubt the best in Wester Ross!”
    The woman went back into the kitchen, smiling widely.
    â€œIs it really that good?” Anne asked.
    Ian shook his head. “It’s not bad. But it always pays to tell a cook her food is wonderful.”
    The woman came back into the dining room with a sack. “For your travels,” she said. “No extra charge.”
    Ian paid for their dinner, and as they got up to collect their cloaks, he looked in the sack. There were two pieces of tart, a large chunk of cheese and a small, fresh loaf of dark bread. “See?” he said. “A good idea to compliment the cook.”
    â€œI’ll remember that,” Anne muttered as she followed him to the door.
    The rain had slackened to a drizzle and the wind had calmed, but the air held a deeper chill. They hunched into their cloaks.
    They had not gone more than a hundred paces when a lone horseman, riding hard and fast, appeared out of the loom behind them. Ian took Anne by the elbow and hauled her between two gorse bushes.
    The rider halted his horse abruptly outside The Broom, and left it heaving and blowing, its head between its knees.
    â€œIn a great hurry, he is,” Ian murmured. He drew Anne further into the prickly gorse.
    It was not long till the rider, lean as an alder sapling, came to the door with the lady innkeeper behind him.
    â€œAye,” her voice carried to them, “I’ll keep my eyes open for such a scoundrel. You will likely be able to get a fresh horse in Ullapool.”
    The rider mounted and spurred his horse on. He clattered past Anne and Ian and soon disappeared over the hill.
    Ian eased from the hiding place and beckoned Anne to follow.
    Anne’s face was white. “You don’t think he was looking for us, do you?”
    Ian looked soberly from the inn to the road. “It doesn’t seem likely, does it? And yet, I think we cannot be too careful. At least the dear old soul