12
Lydia stirred just before dawn, her entire body aching, as though she had slept on a bed of rocks. She rubbed her cheek against her pillow, only to wince as something hard and cold dug into her face. She came awake with a start and stifled a moan as she found she had indeed slept on a bed of rocks.
The sky overhead was a murky gray that still bore hints of the passing night. The campfire was nearly dead, with bits of logs aglow with burning embers and the smell of the smoke teasing her nose. On the opposite side of the fire, the three Scottish bandits were lying on thin pallets on the ground, seemingly asleep.
Rubbing her eyes, Lydia sat up. The movement caught Willie’s attention.
“Don’t move, lass,” he warned.
“Would you prefer I relieve myself here?” she whispered.
Willie kicked
