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Mounting went slightly better this time, and once they started back toward Dunarraidh, the smells of the still followed her, caught in her cloak and hair.
Jamie rode slightly ahead where the path narrowed, then glanced back at her.
“Still thinking?”
Olivia looked at him and then back toward the mist hiding the still.
“Yes.”
This time, at least, she knew what she was trying to solve. She’d figure out how to reproduce the whisky and with that accomplished hopefully the goddess would appear and toss her back through time.
Chapter 12
Jamie
Mally stopped beside a patch of heather halfway up the slope, planted all four hooves, and lowered her head to eat.
“It’s not time to eat.” Olivia tightened the reins, waited for a response, then tried again with considerably more determination. “Mally.”
One shaggy ear twitched.
Jamie reined Bess across the path to watch, his eyes crinkling at the corners. She’d approached her first riding lesson with the stubborn concentration she brought to everything, though Mally was rather unimpressed.
“Give her a firmer nudge with yer heel.”
She patted the horse. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
He rested one gloved hand on the front of his saddle. “Mally has carried peat, meal sacks, children, and drunk men home from the alehouse. Ye’ll no’ hurt her.”
Morag had found Olivia an old brown riding skirt and jacket though it was the hand knitted shawl that she’d exclaimed over. Her black boots showed when she shifted in the stirrups, though she was far too occupied with Mally to notice him admiring their construction.
“Mally,” Olivia said with exaggerated patience, “would you please move?”
The pony tore off another mouthful of heather as he laughed.
Olivia turned toward him, cheeks pink from the cold as she narrowed her eyes. She’d left her hair down and the wind kept blowing bits into her face.
“I’m glad my suffering is entertaining.”
“Verra.”
She gave Mally a more determined nudge, and the pony finally moved forward with the offended dignity of an animal who wished everyone to understand the decision had been entirely her own.
Jamie brought Bess alongside them. She sat stiffly, holding the reins as though they might escape, and trying to control every movement instead of letting Mally find her own footing over the uneven ground.
“Loosen yer hands. Yer knuckles are white.”
Olivia glanced down, said “Bloody Hell,” and eased her grip.
He blinked, scandalized, as she laughed.
“What? I rather like that curse.”
He shook his head, muttering about women with sharp tongues, though he made sure to do it in Gaelic so Olivia wouldn’t know what he was saying.
The path climbed above the cottages, where pasture gave way to heather, rushes, and exposed stone. Below them, smoke drifted from chimneys and a woman carried a basket between two houses while children shouted near the road. The burn ran full after the night’s rain, loud enough that he heard it before they reached the crossing.
He slowed Bess near a narrow place where the water rushed between dark stones.
