Love on the Rocks Page 16

  Weasel-face gave him an evil look. “Next…” he hissed, turning away from Jamie.

  “Wait!” Jamie pushed the man behind him back into his place as the man tried to elbow him out of the way. “Here’s your twenty pounds. I hope you choke on it.”

  Weasel-face snickered and handed Jamie a rolled document that promised two places on the vessel, the Voyager, that was due to leave at first tide the following day. Clutching the precious document to his chest, Jamie pushed his way out of the throng.

  His mother’s weary face lit up when she saw the documents he was carrying. “Oh, ye’ve done it, my dear lad,” she cried with relief.

  Jamie put his arms around her and held her close. He was worried about her. Though she dismissed his concerns, he could tell she was not feeling well. He prayed that she would not worsen during the long journey ahead of them. But for the moment, at least, he could feel easy knowing that what she longed for was near at hand.

  “Come, we need find ourselves lodging for the night. It promises to be a cold one from the feel of it, and you must rest and be warm before this long journey.”

  “Aye,” his mother murmured. “I am weary. I’d not refuse a warm, soft bed, but best save what little we have left.”

  “Bide here,” Jamie told her. “I’ll ask at that inn, yonder.” It was a poor excuse for an inn, he thought as he stepped inside—run-down and uninviting—but even this place would tax their reserves.

  The innkeeper, stout and unkempt, wearing a stained shirt and apron, peered at him with suspicion. “Have ye siller?” he asked in a dour tone when Jamie told him he needed a room for his mother and himself.

  “I can pay well enough, if you’re not a thief like the ship’s broker,” Jamie answered.

  “Five groats each and I’ll take payment afore ye go up!”

  Jamie sighed with frustration at the thought of his mother having to set foot in this filthy place. But he supposed it was better than another night in the open. She was not well and needed a good night’s sleep.

  “Here,” he said, handing over the money. “We’ll take supper also, and I’ll need a place for my horse.”

  After he had taken his mother up to their room and seen her settled, he stabled Morag then wandered over to a nearby smithy. The blacksmith, a tall, jovial-looking man with ruddy cheeks and a shock of red hair, gave him a nod as he approached.

  “Got a horse that needs shoeing, have ye?” He grinned at Jamie. “I saw ye at auld Souter’s place. A fine nag ye have.”

  “I’m fair happy to hear ye say that,” Jamie said, returning the man’s smile. “I need to sell her…but,” he added quickly, “it needs be to someone who will tend her well.”

  The smith shook his head. “I’ve no need for the beast m’sel, but my brother Jack, he’s got himself a farm not far from town. Mayhap he might buy her.”

  Jamie thought for a moment. He had known this was going to be a difficult thing for him to do, to part with Morag after all these years. Still, it had to be done and he could not just turn her loose. She’d be prey to anyone who fancied some horsemeat, and Jamie did not doubt there would be many such.

  “My mother and me, we’re sailing tomorrow for the Colonies. I’d be happier in my mind if I’d settled Morag’s future before I left.”

  “Morag, is it?” The blacksmith chuckled and extended his hand. “The name’s Robbie, by the by—and you are?”

  “Jamie, Jamie MacDonald.”

  “A MacDonald, eh? A Highlander. Did you fight for the Pretender, then? If so, I’d keep quiet aboot it. There’s still a lot of bad feeling for the Jacobites about here. Some folk think of them as traitors.”

  Jamie bristled at Robbie’s words. “Traitors? Those who gave their lives to put a royal Stuart back on the throne?”

  “Calm yoursel’, laddie!” Robbie gave him a grave look. “Keep that kind o’ talk to a whisper. I was a supporter of the Rebellion, but the man’s gone now, skulked off in the guise of a woman, so they told us. Hardly a princely act, would you say?”

  “I’ll not deny my contempt for him,” Jamie replied. “But I’ll not hear of the men who fought for him debased so. My father and brothers died at Culloden.”

  “I’m right sorry to hear that, Jamie, but like I said, keep a’ that to yoursel’ and not let it get about.” The smith pursed his lips as he thought. “I could take the nag and keep it till my brother comes to town next week.”

  “But I need whatever I can get for her now,” Jamie said.

  “I’ll settle with ye and have my brother recompense me.”

  “But what if he does not want her?”

  “Then I’ll find another buyer.”

  “Not a butcher. Promise me that!”

  “Nay, lad, not a butcher nor anyone else who would abuse her. But I’m sure Jack will want her.”

  Jamie’s mother expressed her sadness when he told her of Morag’s new owner. “I’m sorry you have to part with her, son. When we get settled in the Colonies, I will get you as fine a beast as she is.”

  Jamie smiled but did not say that he felt it would be a long time before such a thing could happen. “Thank you, mo mathair,” he murmured, kissing her brow. “You should try to sleep now.” She had eaten but little of the poorly prepared food the innkeeper had given them.

  She appeared pale and bone-weary and her breath rasped in her chest. “Aye,” she sighed, lying back on the narrow cot. “The morrow is the start of our new life. I have such hopes for us, Jamie. For you, my darling boy.”

  “Hush now,” Jamie whispered against her cheek. “Dinna’ tax yoursel’ wi’ fretful thoughts of what might be. Sleep, and regain your strength for the journey ahead.”

  He knelt by her bed, holding her hand until she slept, when he rose and stood for a while, gazing out through the dirty glass of the tiny window. He could see the face of the full moon that shone on the harbor, bathing the murky waters with its silvery light. He wished he felt better with regard to what they were about to do. Within him there was no sense of excitement, no thrill to be setting out on a journey to a distant land. Instead, there was a sense of foreboding, of impending loss, and he shivered as the feeling settled on him like a cold embrace.

  Turning away from the window, he knelt by the bed and gazed on his mother’s face. The lines of worry and anxiety etched there were now partly smoothed by sleep. He placed a gentle kiss on her brow. Her breathing was shallow but steady enough. Satisfied, he wrapped himself in his blanket, lay down on the floor by her bed and slept.

  The first thing he noticed on awakening was the silence that filled the room. He sat up with a start and gripped his mother’s hand. It was ice cold.

  “No,” he murmured then aloud— “No!” But as he gathered her in his arms, he knew the reality of her death, and it cleaved his heart in two. “Oh God,” he sobbed, his face against her breast. “Y’canna’ leave me, mo mathair. Ye canna’ leave me!”

  He held her, keening like a child, rocking her in his arms, bidding her return to life. It took the sharp blowing of a horn from the harbor to bring him to his senses. The ship was about to leave. It was going to leave without them. It was not going to carry his mother to her new life. She had gone on ahead of it, impatient to be free.

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  About the Author

  J.P Bowie was born in Scotland and toured British theatres in numerous musical shows including Stephen Sondheim’s Company.

  Emigrated to the States and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for the magicians Siegfried and Roy as their Head of Wardrobe at the Mirage Hotel. Curre
ntly living in Henderson, Nevada.

  J.P. Bowie loves to hear from readers. You can find his contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.pride-publishing.com