Calen arose with the sun, wanting to get an early start this morning to make up for their slow progress yesterday. He had a fire going in no time, but waited until coffee was boiling before waking up the still sleeping Will.
Will had returned yesterday quite late and completely exhausted. He had eaten his share of the roasted game before falling asleep. Micara had also ventured out of her shelter upon Will's return, eating her dinner without speaking. She had left the fire when Will retired, leaving Calen at the flames, alone in thought.
He had brought the maple branch he had been carving on the night before, and had passed the night thinking and whittling on the whistle. He had warred with himself between finishing the whistle or going to bed early for tomorrow. The whistle was a beauty, and it was coming along exactly like he wanted. It was the exact model of the whistle Uncle Angus had taught him to play on and Calen was anxious to have something to play music on in camp again.
In the end, he had settled for sleep, putting the carving away for some other time. He was tired from carrying Will's canoe through the forest, and he could only imagine how Will felt.
Calen fixed breakfast of hardtack biscuits and bacon yet again. Will began packing the bed rolls and organizing the supplies in the canoe. They would have to carry it again this morning, though their distance wouldn't be half as far as yesterday's trek, that Calen was thankful for.
Micara emerged from her shelter while Will was filling the water skin at the river. She came forward to the fire slowly, carrying the moccasins he had originally purchased for his little sister Maggie. Her bare feet poked out from under her ankle length, sky blue dress. She looked a little worse for wear after yesterday, but still pretty.
"Mr. Donelly," she approached him, holding out the moccasins, "Thank you for your kind offer, but I cannot accept these."
Calen made no move to take them. "Why?"
"I do not need or accept charity, sir, nor do I accept gifts from men I do not know, as it is highly improper to do so."
Calen studied her, trying to decide how to handle her pride in this situation. He knew she would not last another day of walking in her ruined boots, and it looked like she was determined to do so. An idea struck him.
"Where are yer boots?" he questioned.
"By the shelter," Micara replied, watching him as he went to where they sat.
Calen picked up the boots and looked them over. The small patches of blood inside had dried to a dark brown colour. He carried them to the fire, holding them above the flames. He looked Cara in the eye. She watched in confusion. Still holding eye contact, he let the boots drop from his hand and into the fire pit.
"What are you doing?" Micara asked in disbelief, dropping the moccasins and rushing to the fire pit to save her boots.
Calen snagged her waist and pulled her away, letting the flames devour the leather footwear. He picked up the moccasins and pressed them into Micara's hands.
"The problem is solved," he stated, "now these are neither charity nor a gift, but simply me replacing what I have damaged."
Micara stood speechless, her mouth hanging open like she wished to say something but couldn't.
Calen took advantage of her silence. "I have something else for ye also," he told her.
He went to the canoe and rummaged until he found a small container. He brought it out and took it to Micara.
He opened the tin to show her its contents. Inside was a thick salve that his Ma had made specifically for his trip. It smelled strongly of herbs and Calen had seen its healing properties first hand, using the salve on several occasions.
He grabbed one of Cara's hands and pressed the now closed tin into it.
"Use this on yer feet, it will help with the pain and start healing the sores."
Micara stood there frowning for a few moments before turning back to the shelter.
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Cara sat down on her bedroll inside the shelter, the moccasins and tin of salve in her lap. She picked up one of the moccasins. It was soft and supple and the leather would protect her lower legs from brambles and thorns as they walked. There were two rows of fringes around the boot like moccasins, one at the very top and one just below it. At mid-height, there was blue and red embroidery. On the toe was intricate bead-work of the same colours as the embroidery thread. They were beautiful.
Cara knew she shouldn't accept them, and wouldn't have had that infuriating Scotsman not burned her other boots. The truth be told, she was glad that she got to keep the moccasins, but the way Calen had given her no choice in the matter rankled her.
She looked at the small canister in her hand an pulled off the lid. a strong herbal smell wafted out. It was a greenish grey colour with a thick gooey consistency. She was hesitant to put it on, but her feet hurt badly enough that she was willing to try it.
She lifted her skirts to her knees, dipped a finger into the tin and touched the substance to one of the sores on her foot. There was almost instant relief. She eagerly applied the salve to the rest of her wounds and sighed with pleasure as it took effect.
When she was done, she grabbed her stockings from yesterday that she had managed to wash the blood from, and put them on, more to protect her new moccasins than anything else.
She pulled the moccasins on and tightened the rawhide laces around them. They were comfortably snug around her calves and didn't pinch her feet at all.
She stood and straightened her outfit, a sleeveless blue dress designed to show the sleeves of her chemise, which was much cooler for summer. The dress only reached her ankles, so the bead-work of the tan moccasins showed prettily.
She exited the shelter, surprised to see that they were almost ready to leave, for the campsite was empty except for the tent roll and a biscuit with bacon on the campfire rocks that she assumed was waiting for her.
Will and Calen stood by the canoes, Calen eyeing them. Micara approached them to give the tin of salve back to Calen. Will was speaking as she neared, "I bet we could do it Calen, it's not very far," he said.
Calen was silent a moment before agreeing somewhat tentatively to what ever Will had convinced him to do. "Fine, lad, we'll give it a go, let's get started."
Will grinned. "I'll get the tent," he told Calen, already going to it.
Micara stepped forward, holding out the canister. "Mr. Donelly, thank you most graciously for your help."
He glanced at her feet, taking notice that she was wearing the moccasins. She blushed at his appraisal.
"Keep the salve," he told her, "You'll need it again tonight."
He went to help Will with the tent, and Micara put the salve tin into her trunk.
When the tent had been rolled, Will brought it and stowed it in his canoe. He took a long rope from the bow.
"How shall we do this, lad?" Calen asked.
"Flip it upside down and tie it on," Will replied.
Micara watched in confusion as they picked up Calen's empty canoe and turned it upside down. They carried it to the other boat and lashed the two together with the rope.
When they were done, Calen looked around the camp to see if they had forgotten anything. When he was satisfied that they hadn't, he and Will positioned themselves at the bow of the canoes and lifted them onto their shoulders. Will grunted and readjusted its position on his shoulder.
"All good, lad?" Calen asked him.
"I still think we can do it," Will replied.
Calen chuckled, "Alright, lad, let's get going." He looked to Micara, "Fall in line, your Ladyship>"
They marched into the forest, following a faint trail that had been worn into the ground from the many travellers who had portaged here before.
As they walked, Cara revelled in the feeling of her new footwear. The moccasins were lightweight and easy to walk in once she was used to them. The leather soles were thick enough to protect her feet, yet thin enough for her to feel the contours of each object she stepped on. There was no way she was giving them back now.
The distance they had to walk was significantly less than last time and they reached their destination within the hour. After they had sorted the supplies into both canoes, they were on the water again.
Cara was relieved to get off of her still painful feet. She sighed and closed her eyes in relief as she relaxed on the pile of furs in the bow of Calen's canoe.
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Calen gave a low grunt as he put the canoe in motion. His shoulders were tired from the load they had carried, but he was glad that they had finished the portage and were now headed down the St Lawrence. The river they had come from, la riviér aux Raisins, was only the first leg of their journey, but it was progress to put it behind them.
They paddles steadily until midday before pausing for their lunch of pemmican. Calen, knowing Micara would refuse the jerked venison, took a hardtack biscuit from their food stores. While her Highness was looking away, he tossed it into her lap. as he'd hoped, it startled her and she jumped in surprise, swaying the boat.
She picked up the biscuit and looked at him questioningly.
"I won't have ye starving under my watch," he told her, waiting until she began nibbling on the biscuit before finding his own lunch.
By the time they set up the cam for the night, it was dusk. It was a quiet evening, with everyone content to relax around the campfire flames. Calen worked on his whistle, perfecting the details. His movements caught Will's attention when he put his knife away and Will asked, "Is it finished?"
Calen weighed it in his hand and ran his finger over the mouth piece before putting it to his lips to test it.
He played each note one after another, comparing it to the sounds in his memory. A couple of the notes were off tune, but the sounds were clear, and nothing he couldn't work around.
He began to play slowly, recalling an old Celtic tune his uncle had often played. The music wasn't exactly the same, but it was close enough that it brought emotions and memories welling up.
He had missed this, playing music around the campfire after a long day. He had done this each night while he still had the tin whistle his uncle had given him, but it had been lost when his boat capsized a month ago on his return trip from Dryden. The nights had not been the same since then, but now maybe he could recapture the homey feeling that had been lost along with the flute-like instrument.
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Cara listened in awe at the sounds that Calen was playing. The melody was slow and mournful. Calen played it with such reverence that Micara could hear the emotions in the notes. She felt tears begin in her eyes as she related the tune to her own homesickness.
A tear rolled down her cheek as the music ended on a long low note. Cara brushed it away quickly, not wanting these two men to see her cry.
Will broke the stillness. "I've missed this," he said, "Your carving skills have improved since the last one," he told Calen.
"Aye," Calen agreed, "But it's still not the same. This one will work for now, but I won't stop trying until the sound is as it should be."
Will saw Micara's confusion and told her about Calen's loss. Micara was saddened for him. She could imagine the feeling of losing something so dear; she didn't know what she would do if she had lost something that her mother had given her. That must be what Calen felt regarding his uncle's gift.
Calen interrupted her musings, "And now, a lively tune to celebrate the accomplishments of the day."
He began to play again and the tune this time brought a smile to her face. The notes came out faster than Micara thought possible, and she felt the urge to move with them.
Apparently will thought the same thing, for he jumped to his feet and approached her, holding out his hand in an invitation. His green eyes sparkled and his smile was wide.
after a moment, Cara accepted his hand and let him pull her up. He positioned them in a way Cara had never danced before. He stood beside her, holding one of her hands. He moved quickly, pulling her gently along with him, his feet as fast as the music. He twirled her around, dancing still. Micara laughed and tried to copy his carefree dance steps, failing miserably yet enjoying herself immensely.
Calen kept playing, increasing the tempo even faster. Will twirled her one more before she gave up, laughing harder as he moved his feet even faster than before.
They went on this way for some minutes, like a musical duel, each trying to out match the other for speed. Eventually Will collapsed in a heap of laughter onto the ground, his face red from exertion.
Calen stopped playing too and joined in on the laughter, his face almost as red as Will's.
"We were almost as fast as our Das," Will said when he had recovered his breath.
Calen gave another chuckle, "I don't know if we'll ever be that fast," he told Will. Will nodded.
Micara couldn't believe that anyone could top these two, their playing and footwork had been lightning quick. It sounded like something she would like to see.
Will gave a long sigh followed by a contagious yawn. Micara lifted a hand to cover her own yawn.
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Calen looked across the fire at Micara. Her face was lit by the orange light. She smiled slightly and he was happy that he had been art of the reason that put her into good spirits after the exhausting day.
She stood and both he and Will got to their feet. "I think I will go to sleep now," she said. She went to the tent and opened the flap.
Calen watched as she disappeared inside. Tonight had been a good night and he was surprised that he didn't mind sharing it with her.
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A/N
So, "A Scotsman's Promise" has made it onto the Historical Fiction "Hot" list, yesterday at #701 but today at #703. I hope this new chapter moves it up in the list, but to be honest, I'm just excited that it even made the list. I want to thank all of my readers for being so devoted to this story and supporting my writing, THANKS GUYS!!
This chapter is dedicated to @beauteousrosebud for taking an interest in this story and for her lovely comments, thanks Natasha!!
Also, what do you think of the new cover?
Any questions or thoughts? Feel free to comment or even shoot me a personal message, I love hearing all types of feed back. So, thanks again, please vote if you liked it.
Enjoy.