Our path narrowed onto a rising track hemmed in by two craggy hills. The wind funneled through, carrying the scent of wet earth and flowers.
We climbed in silence for a half hour, then Torin pulled to a stop and looked back.
We were a distance away, looking down, as men and a herd of cattle moved along the road below us.
He said, “Those men are the reason we strayed from the road, but this way is shorter, and more private. Ye daena hae tae be quiet anymore.”
He set our horses walking again on the narrow track, the climb steepened and my ears popped. The air grew thin and cool. I pulled the fur-trimmed cloak tighter around my shoulders and asked him, “Are you cold?”
“Nae, tis fine.”
I breathed in deeply. “What flowers am I smelling?”
“Tis fraoch — heather. It fills the moors, though it winna bloom till midsummer. Then the hills will burn purple with it.””
“Oh, right, like from the song.”
“Aye,” he began to sing, “…oh all around the bloomin’ heather, oh my Lassie, will ye go? I will twine for thee a bower...”
When he got to the chorus, I sang along with him, “...and cover it wi’ flowers from the mountain... Will ye go, Lassie, will ye go…?”
He turned in the saddle, to watch me as I finished singing. “Och aye, lass, tis lovely tae hear ye. Dost ye hear how the song rings from the mountains? Dinna ye hear it echoin’ on the moors?”
“I do, I really do.”
“Tis a good ridin’ song.”
I smiled, then burst out with a line of Dave Matthews. “… crash into me…” And added, “It fits a lot better blasting from my Beamer through the Blue Ridge mountains. Maybe I just need the CD. Do these horses come with a CD player?”
He chuckled, brow furrowing. “I daena understand any of yer words.”
“Want me to explain?”
“Nae, I hae the substance. What dost the song mean by crash?”
“It’s a love song, written for his wife. It’s about that feeling of… kinda…” I slapped my hands together, then laced my fingers to show entwining. For one stupid second I had both of my hands were off the saddle.
The horse shifted.
My stomach lurched and I panicked, grabbing hold of the horse’s neck. “Oh God, oh no, that was scary, holy smokes, I thought I would fall.”
Torin leaned toward me, with a calming hand on my knee. “Ye winna fall, but keep yer hands where they belong. We are comin’ on the crest, and the wind will be buffetin’ us.”
As if on cue, a gust whistled over the ridge, whipping my hair. I held on. And hunched my back against the wind.
It was hard to talk and so we were quiet as the horses made their way along the path. We were high enough to have a sweeping view of a valley beyond, but the biting cold air and wind made it difficult to see, and then the wind got even stronger.
I got scared. “Are we going to fall? Is it going to push us off, Torin! Is the wind going to push us off?”
“Nae!” He had to yell to be heard over the wind. “There is a windbreak just ahead!”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t like this.At all.
I hunched down, burying my head into the fur of the cloak, eyes clamped shut. “I don’t like this one bit!”
“Almost there!”
Almost there. For twenty endless minutes. With gusts of wind blasting us from the side, causing me to squeal each time they hit. The only reason why I didn’t stop and refuse to go on was because I had to get off the mountain top.Now.My fingersached from gripping too tight, my teeth chattered from cold and terror.
