Shared by the Highlanders by Ashe Barker Page A

conversation. “This morning, when you were riding astride my lap, I reckoned it was time to set matters straight before you dug yourself in even deeper. I’m glad. We’ll all get along fine now.”
    I pause, my rebuttal on my lips. But he does have a point, I suppose. This easy interaction between us could not have happened if I was still trying to masquerade as a boy. And despite their direct approach to handling the matter, my worst fears have not been realised and I now know they won’t be. I’m safe here. And I owe them an apology too.
    “I’m sorry, truly I am. About the lies. And, everything.”
    “We know that, little one. It’s done now, we’re finished. No grudges held, I hope?”
    “A grudge? I don’t understand. I thought you were punishing me.”
    “We were. We did. But now we need to know it’s behind us. And I need to know that we’re fine together, you and me.”
    “I, yes. I suppose…”
    “And Will?”
    “Yes, him too. But…”
    “But?”
    “Who are you? You both seem so odd to me, and the pair of you live by some code I don’t start to understand. What are you doing here, on Helvellyn, dressed like something from Braveheart?”
    “Braveheart? You say some strange things, and you’re no small puzzle yourself, wee Charlie.” This from Will who has settled on the other side of the shed and now regards us across the flames. “I brought your clothes in here for you. You don’t have the demeanour of a high-born lady, yet your apparel is finely made and the fabrics expensive. Those dyes would have to be imported, and these fastenings are like nothing I’ve seen before.”
    “Fastenings? You mean the zip on my jacket?”
    “Is that what you’d call it? And this fabric that grows when I pull it, then shrinks back. Where is this from?” He has my trousers in his hands and is stretching the elastic in the waistband. “Why are you wearing men’s breeches anyway? Why are you dressed as a boy, and why would you be up here, alone? You don’t seem like a spy, Charlie, and if you’re a thief you’re piss poor at it. In any case, who are we to judge? But there’s something not right about you, about all of this.”
    He’ll get no argument from me, but I’m not the one behaving like some Neanderthal throwback.
    “I told you, my name is Charlie. Charlie Kelly. I’m a paramedic, from Manchester. Right now I’m on a hiking holiday, or I was until I was kidnapped, tied up, battered…”
    “I thought we’d forgiven each other, and we were friends now.” Robbie’s tone is amused rather than accusatory, but he has a point, I suppose.
    “We are. But I am what I said I am. I have no idea why you might have mistaken me for a thief, and to imagine I might be spying is just ridiculous. What’s that about anyway? Spying on who? Why?”
    “From your accent I’d say you’d be English, so you’d most likely be spying on the Scottish queen. That would make sense. Mary has her enemies, she’s surrounded by intrigue.”
    “Mary? What Mary?”
    “Mary, queen of the Scots. Cousin to Elizabeth of England.”
    “Cousin to… who?” I clutch the plaid to my naked body, sliding from the warmth of Robbie’s lap to peer across the smoke at both men. I look from one to the other, searching for something, anything that might make sense.
    “Elizabeth Tudor. Your monarch, if you are from near Chester, as you say.” Robbie’s head is tilted, his expression puzzled. He frowns at me. “Are you all right, lass? You look very pale.”
    “Who are you?” I whisper my question, dreading the answer.
    “I am Robert MacBride, brother to the MacBride, laird of Kinrothy. Our lands are north of Edinburgh. This is my cousin, William Sinclair of the clan Sinclair. He hails from the Highlands, but was fostered with my family as a lad and we remained friends since. We are charged with carrying a message to Elizabeth from Mary, and to return to Stirling with the English queen’s response. That is where