Page 26 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

“Loud? Brash? Incorrigible?” Callum offered. “Aye, since we were lads. But there’s no man I’d rather have at my back in a fight. He once took on three Campbell men to protect me when I was too sick with fever to stand.”

This glimpse into their history surprised Harper. “You’ve known each other that long?”

“All our lives. Our mothers were cousins.” Sadness flickered across his face. “His mother died giving birth to his sister. The fever that nearly claimed me took my own ma.”

Harper realized how little she knew about these men beyond their surface traits. “I’m sorry. Do you have other family?”

“A sister married to a man in Inverness. I pray the fighting doesn’t reach them.” Callum’s voice grew softer. “Angus has only William now. His father and sisters were killed three years past when the English burned their croft along with William’s.”

The revelation cast Angus’s hatred of redcoats in a new light. Not just clan loyalty or political conviction, but personal vengeance. How many others in this army carried similar wounds?

By late afternoon, the drizzle had turned into a proper rain.

The column moved with grim determination through increasingly difficult terrain, crossing swollen burns and navigating treacherous slopes.

Harper’s muscles screamed in protest, her body still adjusting to the relentless physical demands of eighteenth-century travel.

No wonder almost everyone was thin. All around her, even hardened Highlanders showed signs of fatigue, their usual banter replaced by terse commands and occasional curses when someone slipped.

When the command to make camp finally rippled down the line, she nearly wept with relief.

The site the powers that be had selected was a sheltered valley with a small burn running through it. Men immediately set to work erecting tents, while others gathered what dry wood they could find. Harper helped the women set up the cooking area.

“Ye’ve the hands of a lady,” Fiona observed. “Never done much rough work, have ye?”

Harper thought of her field expeditions, the core samples she’d drilled from Arctic ice, the rocks she’d split with hammers. “Different kind of work,” she replied. “I’ve calluses, just in different places.”

“What was your life like in the colonies? In Boston?” Fiona asked, expertly kindling a small flame beneath the gathered tinder. “Did ye have servants there?”

She hesitated, frantically searching her memory for historical details about colonial Boston.

“Someone to help with the cooking, cleaning, and washing. We lived simply. My husband was a mapmaker near the Old North Church.” She relaxed slightly, remembering her American history.

“The harbor was always busy with ships bringing tea and textiles. You could smell the sea salt and molasses from the rum distilleries all through the North End.”

Sarah nodded. “Aye, I can see that. Ye’re no stranger to labor, just to our ways.” She handed Harper a knife. “Here, chop the neeps while I start the fire.”

A sigh escaped as she took the knife, eyeing the turnips dubiously. Cooking was decidedly not among her talents. “Why did you decide to come with the army? It’s dangerous, and you could have stayed behind.”

The older woman’s hands stilled momentarily.

“My husband died at Sheriffmuir in the ’15.

My sons at Glenshiel in the ’19. What’s left for me but to see this through?

” Her gnarled fingers resumed their work.

“Besides, these lads need someone to feed them properly. Men think they can live on oats and whisky alone.”

Fiona’s weathered hands worked quickly, making short work of peeling the turnips, a pile in front of her to Harper’s measly two. “What about you, lass? Truly now. No one travels this road without reason.”

Harper hesitated. “I lost everything. My work, my reputation.”

“Ah.” Fiona nodded sagely. “A woman’s reputation is a fragile thing.”

“Not like that,” Harper said quickly. “My research, my studies. Someone I trusted took credit for my discoveries.”

“A thief of ideas, then.” Fiona’s knife flashed in the firelight.

“My husband, Alasdair, was a man of learning too, before the rising in ’15.

Taught mathematics to gentlemen’s sons in Edinburgh.

Said ideas were more precious than gold.

” She pointed her knife at Harper. “That’s why I knew you were different.

You’ve got the same look he had when studying his books, like you’re seeing beyond what’s before you. ”

This glimpse into Fiona’s past surprised her. “I never would have guessed you were married to a scholar.”

“War makes strange bedfellows of us all,” Fiona said with a sad smile. “And widows of too many.” She paused, giving Harper a sidelong glance. “Speaking of widows... has your time of mourning passed, then?”

Harper nearly dropped the onion she was holding. “I—well?—”

The woman’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “When it does, I’d wager good coin that our William will be asking for your hand.” She cackled, clearly delighted by Harper’s flushed cheeks. “The way that man looks at you would melt the snow off Ben Nevis in January.”

“I don’t think—” Harper stammered.

“Now pass me those onions before the lads start howling for their supper,” Fiona interrupted, still chuckling. “And mind you don’t cut yourself while you’re busy turning red.”