Highland Storms Read Online Free PDF Page A

of some sort, merely because he was better dressed and rode a fine horse.
    After a long day in the saddle, he stopped for the night at a traditional inn near Crieff. It didn’t look very inviting from the outside, being nothing more than a crude hut built in the Highland manner. This consisted of a low dry stone foundation, topped by a turf wall and a timber frame to hold up the roof beams. The roof itself was made up of turf as well, laid grass side down so the soil wouldn’t fall on anyone’s head, and covered with thatch of heather. The floor was nothing but beaten earth and there was no chimney, just a hole in the middle of the roof to allow the smoke to escape.
    Poor Starke had to be tethered outdoors as he was too tall to fit through the door of the nearby hut which served as a stable, but Brice made sure the horse had something to eat and plenty of water.
    ‘ You’ll be all right, old boy, at least it doesn’t look like it’ll rain,’ Brice whispered to the big stallion, who only snorted in reply.
    Brice himself had to duck to enter the main room of the inn and immediately walked into a cloud of peat smoke. Belatedly, he remembered it was best to sit down quickly on one of the low stools that were the room’s only furnishings. The ‘reek’ as the smoke was called in Scots tended to rise, which left only the air nearer the ground fit for breathing.
    ‘ Here ye are, guid sir, sit yersel doun. What’s yer will?’ The landlord was friendlier than most and indicated a vacant stool. Brice lowered himself onto it, while the ‘guidwife’ ignored him and continued to stir the contents of a huge cauldron, hanging over the central hearth by means of a thick iron chain coming down from the roof beams. When he tried to follow its length with his eyes, Brice saw instead several hens roosting in the rafters, which made him duck instinctively.
    ‘ Some broth would be welcome,’ he said, not sure whether this was what the cauldron contained.
    ‘ Aye, it’ll be ready the noo, and we’ve some bannocks to go wi’ it.’
    While they waited for the food to be served, the landlord sat next to Brice and offered him a cup of whisky, then filled one for himself. Brice had no doubt he’d have to pay for the both of them, but he didn’t mind. At least the man didn’t seem averse to talking to him.
    ‘ Yer health, sir.’
    ‘ Thank you, and yours,’ Brice countered politely.
    The man was more outspoken than most and regarded Brice with his head to one side. ‘Ye look like ye’re newly arrived, laddie,’ he said, as if taking pity on the newcomer. ‘Dinnae expect a friendly wealcome here if ye’re onything tae dae wi’ the ’cursed Redcoats.’ He spat on the floor for emphasis, causing his wife to mutter under her breath about his dangerous behaviour. ‘We’ll no’ ferget wha’ they’ve put us through.’
    Brice hastened to assure the man he was nothing to do with the English forces. ‘My father fought at Culloden,’ he confided in a low voice, in case there really were Sassenach spies around. ‘Won’t you please tell me more? I’ve been abroad, and it’s hard to separate fact from tall tales.’
    The landlord nodded, perhaps swayed by the sincerity in Brice’s voice and gaze. He accepted the offer to share a meal and some more whisky with Brice and moved his guest as far away from the smoking peat fire as possible once the food was served.
    ‘ Weal,’ the man said, ‘onyone suspected o’ bein’ a Jacobite suffered terribly.’ The man shook his head sadly. ‘Them Redcoats treated everyone the same, e’en the bairns. They took all we had an’ more. Nae mercy, nae pity. It were an ootrage.’
    The man proceeded to regale him with several horror stories and Brice believed him. Killian had told him the Duke of Cumberland had been set on nothing but total humiliation. The threat to the crown had to be dealt with once and for all, the country and its people completely broken. It looked to Brice as