Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne

Fifteen

“You’ve got one!” Kerr yelled as Isobel yanked on her fishing rod and pulled a wriggling fish, caught on the end of her line, out of the water. She swung it toward them with a whoop, and the fish landed with a splat at her feet.

Its speckled body, a dull brown on top with a yellow underbelly, flopped on the creek bank as it gasped for air. She took a quick step back, her hand clamped over her mouth as her enthusiasm waned.

The hook was still caught in the poor creature’s mouth, and she couldn’t help thinking about how much it must hurt.

She’d been so excited this morning when Kerr had woken her to go fishing. It was a beautiful day, and the walk to reach the creek had been invigorating. Once there, she’d impatiently watched and listened as Kerr had shown her how to make a fishing rod.

Finding a worm to bait the hook hadn’t been a problem—she liked digging in the earth and getting dirty, especially when she made one of her traps—but when it came time to push the hook through the worm, she found herself squeamish. The worm had fallen off three times before she succeeded.

Still, that hadn’t prepared her for this…this…horror she felt watching the poor fish suffocating to death at her feet.

Without thinking, she kicked the wretched thing back into the creek.

“Why did you do that?” Kerr asked, grabbing her rod from her. He lifted it and pulled the fish out of the water again. But this time it wriggled loose and fell back into the creek with a splash.

Kerr lowered the rod and shot her a dark look. Guilt swirled through her belly, making her squirm.

“Are you hungry, Isobel?” he asked, his brow pulling low over his eyes.

“Aye.”

“Do you want fish for breakfast?”

She lifted her thumb to her mouth and chewed on her nail, thinking about it. “Is there any stew left?”

“Nay.”

“Do you have oats? Maybe we could have oat cakes?”

“Aye, or maybe we could have trout. Have you ever had brown trout freshly caught and pan-fried over the fire with a touch of salt?”

She shook her head.

“I didnae think so. Otherwise, you would ne’er have kicked that fish back into the water.” He handed her the fishing rod. “If you want to eat, find another worm.”

She wrinkled up her nose, and when he turned back to the creek and cast his own line into the water, she barely resisted making a face at him like she was twelve years old.

Why did I think fishing would be fun?

She sighed and moved to the pile of dirt they’d already dug up to look for a second worm. Behind her, Kerr grumbled, “That was a big one, too.”

“What was I supposed to do…let it suffer?” She pushed her hands into the soil and sifted her fingers through it.

“You could have whacked it on the head. What do you think happens to all the animals that grace your table?”

She didn’t answer. When she found another worm, she stabbed it onto the hook without looking and ended up poking her finger.

“Ow!”

“What happened?” He glanced over at her.

“Nothing.” She rose and recast her line, feeling that same sense of excitement rising again when it plopped into the water. Apparently, she liked catching fish and eating them, just not killing them.

She had thought to ask Kerr to teach her how to hunt too, but if her reluctance to kill a fish was any indication, she doubted she could shoot a deer.

“What other things did you learn to do when you were out in the woods?” she asked.

He shot her a quizzical look. “You mean like hunting?”

“Nay, like…foraging for food or treating an injury. What kinds of things did Gregor teach you?” A familiar mix of wistfulness and resentment sparked in her belly at her question, and she tamped the feeling down.

When she’d been growing up, every year after harvest, Gavin and the other foster brothers had gone to Gregor’s to learn exciting things, useful things, while she’d been expected to stay home and master needlepoint.

The unfairness of that still hurt.

When her mother had died, she’d sworn to never pick up another needle again. Now she learned that darning socks was one of the skills the lads had had to learn. Well, she’d sooner pick up a needle to darn a sock than to decorate a pillow.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Izzy? Are you planning to run away again?”

“Of course not. ’Tis just…there are so many things I doona know. So many things my father and brother failed to teach me. Things my mother didn’t know…like how to make a fire or cook fish.”

“You’ve ne’er laid a fire before? Even with the amount of time you spent in the woods?”

She shook her head, feeling useless again, the same as she had the night before. “The fires at the castles were always pre-laid, and I only had to light them with a candle. I know you use kindling on the bottom to start it, but…is there a trick to it?”

“Sometimes, depending on the wood.” He glanced over at her with an encouraging smile. “At least you know how to use a flint and striker, now.”

Somehow that made her feel worse, and she dropped her chin so he wouldn’t see the shame in her eyes. “I suppose.”

“How about after this, you build the fire and cook the fish for us…if we catch any,” Kerr said.

“Are you certain? What if I burn it?”

“I’ll keep watch. Then afterward, we can walk through the woods and I can show you some other things you should know. Maybe find some berries or apples to eat too.”

“I saw a nest on the way here. I can climb up and look for eggs.”

“Aye, but only if it’s safe. It’s not worth the trouble of falling and breaking a leg.”

She sniffed dismissively. “I’ve had many tough climbs in the woods to lay traps for people. Believe me, it was well worth the danger.”

“You also had your guard with you who could step in if you fell. ’Tis not the same when you’re deep in the woods. Injury is a big concern in the Highlands.”

She felt chastised, and her resentment rose again. “I know that.”

“Do you? Because it took me a long time to learn that when I was a lad.”

“Well, maybe if someone had taught me when I was a lass I would know it by now too.”

She dropped her eyes to hide her anger. She hadn’t been afforded the same training as the men because she was a woman. She hadn’t been afforded a lot of things because she was a woman, and the exclusion still hurt.

Finally, she glanced up and found him watching her.

“Just ask, Isobel,” he said.

“Ask for what?”

“For me to teach you. When you were a lass, you used to beg me and Gavin to take you with us to Gregor’s. I couldnae do it then, but I can teach you whate’er you want to know now.” He reached out and squeezed her chin gently. “Let go of the resentment, dearling, and ask.”

He turned back to the creek, pulled up his line, and then cast it again in another spot. After a moment, Isobel did the same.

He’d said something similar when they were at her trap site—she could ask him anything. Her mind filled with questions and she wanted to blurt them out, but at the same time she didn’t want to seem too eager…as if that would lessen her somehow.

She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. Maybe she needed to delve into her own head before she delved into Kerr’s head.

She scrunched up her brow and decided to start with an easy question. “What else is a big concern in the Highlands, besides injury?”

“Getting lost,” he said without pause. “It’s easy to lose your bearings and end up going in circles for weeks or longer. That’s a much bigger worry than other dangers like wolves or wild boars or coming across brigands.”

She snorted. “Aye, Siv was terrifying as she lay sleeping in my lap.”

A bemused expression crossed his face. “I have ne’er seen a wolf as big or as friendly as her. But doona be fooled if you see another one. Climb the nearest tree as fast as you can. Callum’s wife, Maggie, was lucky to survive when she encountered a pack of wolves on her own. And I’ve seen a boar rip through a hunting dog and almost take off a man’s leg. They’re smart and unpredictable. Unfortunately, brigands can be even worse—especially toward a woman.”

She swallowed and was about to respond when her rod pulled hard in her hands and the line tugged downward. “I’ve got another one,” she yelled excitedly. “Kerr, I’ve got one!”

“Pull it up gently,” he said, but she’d already yanked on the rod.

The fish, also a brown trout, came flying toward her. When its tail flapped right next to her face, she squealed and dropped the rod. The trout hit the ground at her feet, the same as the other one, and flopped around, gasping for breath. Horror and pity seeped through her again.

“Doona even think about kicking this one in.” Kerr quickly put his rod aside and scooped up the wriggling fish. Pressing firmly on the corners of its jaw, he opened its mouth and freed the hook from inside.

He gripped the tail, but then he hesitated and looked up at her. “Do you want to turn around?”

“You’re going to kill it?” she cried.

“Of course I am. We canna eat it alive.”

“Do it quickly, then.”

He crouched down and lifted the fish into the air. But instead of killing it, the trout slipped out of his hands and flew over his head. It landed, flopping on the ground behind him.

Isobel didn’t think. Instead, she darted toward it, but Kerr twisted around and grabbed it first, only to have it slide out of his hands. He fell forward as she stepped past him and grasped the fish to throw it back into the creek. But the poor thing was like a greased pig and landed on the edge of the embankment.

Kerr reached for it, but she threw herself over top of him, knee in his spine, to get there first.

He grunted and rolled onto his back, holding her by the waist. Neither one of them could quite reach the fish without dislodging the other.

But Isobel had done enough to save the poor thing, and it flopped over the edge on its own, landing with a splash in the water.

Silence reigned, and then she burst out laughing.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” Kerr grumbled. But she knew he wasn’t angry. She’d heard him use that tone of voice many times when he pretended to be mad at wee Ewan. ’Twas a favorite game they played.

“I should throw you into the creek like that bloody fish,” he continued.

She laughed harder, her elbows digging into his chest as she struggled to get free. He smiled up at her. His hands still clenched her waist, and their bodies were pressed together. Her hair had fallen forward, enclosing them in their own private grotto.

Slowly, her laughter dissipated, and her eyes drifted down to his mouth. They hadn’t kissed—really kissed—since they’d been on the boat, and it became clear by the way his body had hardened beneath hers that he was thinking similar thoughts. She bit her lip and raised her eyes back up, but he was staring at her mouth now.

“Kerr.”

“Aye,” he answered hoarsely.

“You said I could ask you anything.”

He slowly looked up…held her gaze. “Aye, Isobel.”

She let the moment draw out, let the tension in the air build between them. Then she leaned down so her mouth was inches from his. “What’s a lass got to do to get some breakfast around here?”

He sat up with a loud, indignant roar, and she burst out laughing again.

***

Kerr banned Isobel from the creek after that and sent her to find firewood so he could catch their breakfast in peace. She went off happily, Diabhla wandering along behind her, and foraged for berries along the way.

She would save those for later to go with the oats.

By the time she returned with a basketful of wood and a handful of berries, he’d caught another plump brown trout.

“Just in time for you to gut the fish,” he announced with a wicked grin. He laid the dead fish on a log and handed her a knife.

“You think I canna do it?” she asked indignantly.

“Do you think you can do it?” he asked with a raised brow.

She knew it was a challenge, and she made a derogatory sound in the back of her throat before taking the knife from him and picking up the fish. She had a moment of regret as she admired the finned animal’s beautiful coloring—the yellow scales on its belly almost golden in the sunlight, and the brown speckles on top looking almost red in certain places—but then her stomach growled and she turned her attention back to what Kerr was telling her.

The knife was a bit unwieldy because it was made for Kerr’s bigger hand, but she finished without any real problems. Cutting into the dead fish didn’t bother her nearly as much as seeing the poor thing suffocate.

He nodded approvingly at her work, and a spark of pride burst in her chest.

“Now what?” she asked eagerly.

“Rinse it, and then you can start the fire. And doona get any fish guts on your clothes. They will stink, and you havenae any others to wear.”

“Now you tell me,” she grumbled.

“’Tis common sense, Isobel.”

She rolled her eyes when she turned her back on him and returned to the creek. Finding a shallow spot, she crouched down on a rock and rinsed the fish. When she was done, she checked for any guts on her clothes…and sighed. They were filthy—even more so than when she’d wrestled with Kerr on the embankment earlier.

The memory made her smile, but then she got a whiff of her plaid and wrinkled her nose. It stank of horses, fish, and the musty smell of dirt. And her hair! She could only imagine how tangled it must be. This morning she’d been so excited to go fishing that she’d rushed through her ablutions and then barely brushed her messy blond strands before loosely braiding them.

Her hair now hung around her face, and she tsked when she spotted a dead leaf in it. After pulling it out, she picked up the fish and headed back to where Kerr stood beside a shallow pit surrounded with rocks.

“Is that for the fire?” she asked curiously.

“Aye. You doona want to light the grass aflame. The dirt and rocks stop the flames from spreading to the forest.”

She carefully laid down the fish and moved toward him. He squatted on his haunches and inspected the pile of dead branches and twigs she’d collected earlier. “This is good for the kindling. We’ll lay the bigger pieces on top to sustain the flames. The wood is dry, and as you can see,” he broke a branch in half, “it snaps easily. That’s how you can tell if it’s dry enough.”

“But?” she asked.

“But we still need an inner layer of tinder—bark, dried leaves, dead grass. Material that will easily catch fire.”

“All right.” She rose and headed to a downed tree on the edge of the clearing and pulled off some pieces of bark that were dried out and curling upward. She brought them back to the fire pit and then gathered up whatever dried leaves and grass she could find.

“Is that enough?” she asked when her arms were full.

“Nay. Double that amount. You’d be surprised how fast you go through it. And the last thing you want when you’re nursing a flame is to run out and have to go back for more.”

She gathered up additional tinder and piled it within the fire pit. Next, she picked up some twigs. “Do I lay the smallest pieces on first?”

“Some people do. I’ve always mixed the kindling with the bigger sticks and built them up around the tinder like this…” He turned his hands sideways and crossed one of them over the other at right angles to demonstrate. “And then I cross-hatch them over the top and pile more tinder on the roof. The layering leaves enough space between the wood so the air can flow through and feed the flames.”

She pursed her lips, picked up twigs and branches, and tried to erect walls around the tinder how he’d described. When a branch was too long, she broke it into pieces with a grunt. Kerr picked up another branch to help her, but she pinned him in place with her stare. He slowly lowered the branch and backed away from her with his arms raised and eyes wide.

When she sighed in frustration a moment later, he raised one brow. On her nod, he reached out and straightened her wood a little. “Think of it as building a very windy cabin around the tinder. At the front is an open door, preferably facing the wind, where you can strike the spark inside. That way, the wind can blow the flames into the wood around it.”

When she finally finished, she excitedly took the striker and flint from him. Several sparks failed to reach the tinder. One landed on her skirt and singed a wee hole. Another time, she knocked the striker into her little cabin and had to rebuild that section. But she finally got the hang of it, and when a spark landed on the dried leaves and began to burn, she let out an excited squeal.

“You’ve done it, lass!” Kerr exclaimed. “Now blow on it gently, the same as I showed you last night.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned down to the wee door, using soft puffs of air to fan the flames. When she could see the bigger pieces burning on their own, she sat back with a satisfied sigh and a happy smile on her face.

Behind her, Kerr squeezed her shoulder.

She raised her hand and laid it over his. “What do I do now?”

“You cook us our breakfast.”

***

“’Tis a good thing we didn’t make oatcakes,” Isobel said, laying the small plate that Kerr had packed for them at her feet. Wee bones from the fish lined the edge. Kerr had shown her how to de-bone it after cooking, but some of them had remained behind.

“Why? Doona you like them?” he asked from across the fire.

“I love them. But I doona know how I would have managed to flip them and fry the fish at the same time. I was afraid I would burn everything as it was, and all I had to do was stir the oats. ’Twas verra stressful.”

“It gets easier with practice. But if you’re worried about something burning, you can always take it off the fire for a minute. ’Tis what I do sometimes.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

She picked up her bowl of oats and berries from the log beside her and stirred it before taking a spoonful.

“Mmmm. This is good too. Why does everything taste so much better? The fish was the best I’ve e’er tasted.”

“I told you,” Kerr said around a mouthful of oats. “Wait until we catch a duck and roast it o’er the fire. The meat is so succulent, it melts in your mouth.”

“Can we do that tonight?” she asked.

“Possibly. But you may be tired by then and not want to cook. The rest of the day will be busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Everything.”

“We canna do everything. Surely you can narrow it down.”

He grinned. “You’d be surprised. You said that you wanted to know all that Gregor taught me. Well, there’s a lot to learn in the woods.”

“Can you teach me how to wash my clothes? They smell awful,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

He froze, and his eyes darted to hers. “Your chemise too?”

She felt the heat rise along her cheeks as she followed his train of thought. She wouldn’t have any dry clothes to wear if she washed her long linen undershirt as well. “Nay, I doona suppose so.” But then she blurted out, “Although it would be nice to have it clean too.”

He blew out a puff of air and scraped his nails through his beard. “Aye, then. We’ll do it later. You can wear my shirt. It will cover most of you.”

“But then what will you wear?” she asked. Her heart was beating so fast and loud, she was sure he would see the vein pounding in her neck.

He raised a wicked eyebrow, and despite her embarrassment, excitement darted around her body like a hummingbird in a flowering tree.

She dropped her eyes and shoveled in the last few bites of oatmeal—best to have her mouth full, else she’d ask him to wash her clothes right now.

When she finished eating, she picked up her plate and walked around the fire toward him. “I’ll take your dishes to the creek and rinse them.”

And dunk myself in the water too, before I burst into flame.

She reached for his empty dishes, but instead, he grasped her hand and laced their fingers together.

“Thank you for breakfast, Izzy. ’Twas a feast for a king.” Then he pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

“Um…thank you for teaching me,” she said, sounding strangled.

He smiled, looking a little smug, and then kissed her fingers, leaving them hot and tingling. “When you come back, bring a bucket of water so we can douse the flames. We canna leave them burning unattended.”

He handed her his dishes, and she fled.