Page 86 of A Scot on the Rocks

“Ye’ll stay near me,” Jamie told her when the first pony was ready.

“I know.”

“And if I tell ye to hide⁠—”

“I hide.”

“If I tell ye to run⁠—”

“I run. Preferably in the opposite direction from the armed men.”

“An excellent beginning.”

“Do I get a weapon?”

“No.”

“You could at least pretend to consider it.”

Ewan snorted behind them, and Jamie turned a suspicious eye on his friend. Olivia pulled the hood of her cloak up before either man could see how pleased she was. She had no intention of needing Jamie’s protection every time something went wrong, though she also had enough sense to know he understood the excisemen and the hills better than she did.

They left in two groups, with a decent stretch of dark hillside between them. The first stretch was gentle enough for Olivia to ride, although Mally seemed to regard her every instruction as an invitation to discuss the matter. When the path narrowed above the burn, Jamie helped her down and led the mare while Olivia followed on foot. She was grateful for the grip of her boots on the wet stone.

A few minutes later, they had to lift a low branch so the pack frame could pass underneath. Olivia braced her shoulder against the rough trunk while Jamie guided Mally through, and the effort left a rip in her cloak, her hands filthy and a cold trickle of rainwater running down the back of her neck. It was difficult to imagine anything less glamorous.

She pursed her lips. Emptying the chamber pot was definitely less glamorous.

They traveled another quarter mile before Olivia heard the voices.

At first she thought they belonged to travelers on the lower road, two men complaining about the weather while a third told a story neither seemed especially interested in hearing. The voices were faint, rising and falling between the hill and the rain, but one of the men laughed loudly at a point where the story didn’t appear to call for it. A moment later another laughed, half a beat behind him.

She’d heard that sort of performance in Grandma’s pub. A man who wanted everyone to believe he was enjoying an evening would laugh often and watch the room instead of his friends. Sometimes he wanted to cheat at cards. Sometimes he was waiting for someone else to arrive. On one memorable occasion, he’d been waiting for the man whose wife he was seeing, which had ended badly for a perfectly good barstool.

Olivia touched Jamie’s arm.

He stopped immediately. “What is it?”

“Those men below. They’re trying very hard to sound as though they have nothing to hide.”

“Aye, I hear them.” He crouched beside the stones where they could look down without showing themselves.

A lantern moved through the trees, then another. In the occasional gap between the branches she could make out the pale face of a man who turned repeatedly to look toward the upper path while the others talked.

“Excisemen,” Jamie said softly.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye. And they’re listening for ponies.”

Olivia squinted into the darkness at the road. “Then why are they making so much noise?”

“To persuade us they aren’t listening.” He glanced at her, and despite everything, the corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ve a good ear, lass.”

Jamie gave the soft whistle they’d agreed upon. Behind them, the men halted the ponies without a word, then began turning the animals toward the dry hollow. The high route was shielded by enough rock that no one below could see or hear the movement. Ewan was somewhere farther down the glen with the second group. They couldn’t warn him from here without drawing attention, though Jamie had already arranged a signal if either party ran into trouble.

“We’ll wait until they’re past,” he murmured. “Come with me.”

“Where?”