Thorn in My Heart by Liz Curtis Higgs Page B

flags round the hearth, the tidy shelf of provisions, and the peat fire as warm and inviting as Gordie himself.
    Within minutes Jamie was busy tucking away a generous serving of thick broth with bannocks as hard as Walloch's hooves, grateful for both. In return, he served the shepherd a plateful of neighborhood gossip, knowing the tales would travel far beyond the peat-blackened walls of the bothy. In the lonely glens, a shepherd spread news more efficiendy than the
London Chronicle.
Jamie mentioned nothing of consequence, keeping an eye on the open door and the fading sunset beyond it. An hour at the most and darkness would descend on the hills like a shroud.
    “Ye sure ye won't spend the night, lad?” Gordie peered at him by the flickering light of a fir candle. “ ‘Twill do ye good to sleep near a warm hearth stead of
oot
on the moors on a moonless night.” A faintsmile, more gums than teeth, decorated his wizened face. “I've ne'er seen a more
wabbit
soul in all me days.”
    “Aye.” Jamie's shoulders sank at the admission. “I'm weary, no denying it.”
    The shepherds eyes held no judgment, only compassion. “Seems ye're in a hurry to put a
meikle
mountain or two between yerself and whatever it is ye're runnin from.”
    Jamie's mouth grew dry. “B-beg your pardon?”
    “I'm thinkin this journey east was not of yer
ain
doin.” The shepherd met his gaze and held it, then slowly rose and moved about the bothy, tidying up after their meal. “Ye'll be safe here, lad. No one bothers Gordie Briggs. Find a spot by the hearth, and I'll throw a plaid o'er yer back.”
    Jamie was too tired to argue. He did as he was told, yanking off his boots, then stretching his long frame across a sheepskin spread over the flagstones and using his forearm for a pillow. “I'm much obliged, Gordie,” he mumbled as a plaid was dropped over him. The familiar scent of the peat burning on the grate warmed him from head to foot, and he soon sank into an untroubled sleep.
    When Gordie shook his shoulder, starding him awake, Jamie was distressed to find the sun filling the forenoon sky. He'd given his brother more than enough time to catch up with him. Jamie made short work of straightening his clothes and washing his face with the wet cloth Gordie offered, rubbing the cold rag over his rough cheeks.
    “Ye'll not leave without a dish o’
brose,”
the shepherd insisted, his tone firm as he handed Jamie a bowl and a horn spoon. Too famished to refuse, Jamie bolted down the watery oatmeal mixed with salt and butter while the shepherd chattered on about the fine weather, praising God and quoting Thomson like a scholar: “ ‘Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, and spreads a common feast for all that lives.’ Isn't that the way of it this mornin, lad?”
    Incredulous, Jamie paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth. “You've read
The Seasons?
    The shepherd grinned like a
brownie
, his merry eyes dancing.“Ye're lookin at this wee hovel o’ mine and thinkin I ve not been schooled.”
    Jamie shoved the spoon in his mouth rather than admit that was exacdy what he'd been thinking.
    “Me mither taught me to read from the pages of the Buik sixty-odd summers ago.” Gordie pointed to a thick Bible next to the cottages only window. “When I'm on the hills mindin the flocks, I read this.” He pulled a battered volume of poetry from his shirt, holding it up long enough for Jamie to see the title, then tucked it back inside. “Belonged to my father,” he explained. “The sheep seem to like the sound of me voice.” His gaze grew wistful as it aimed toward the door. “And I like sayin the words. They roll round yer mouth like fresh-picked
blaeberries
, hard and sweet.”
    “So they do, Gordie Briggs.” Jamie regarded the man with newfound respect. “I'll wager your flocks are longing for a line or two of verse this morning.” He stood, putting the bowl aside to brush the dirt off his breeches. “You've been more than hospitable. It's