Triallaire

Anxiously Awaiting

1 October, 1766

Edinburgh, Scotland

ARCHIE POV

"I did not , ye damn fool!" Archie snapped at Fergus playfully, who laughed at and teased him. "I swear it! My first time was a lass at the brothel!"

"Julia say she bedded you," Fergus said to him with a laugh. The two fully grown men, thirty-one and twenty-two, rode together on a wagon bearing supplies for A. Malcolm's print shop, the business that Archie and his father operated together. Fergus stayed away from it, as he was involved in the other illegal side of their trade - the smuggling of liquor and French wine into the country to avoid the high tariffs. They had just come from Glasgow, as their competitors bought out all of the supplies in Edinburgh, and were about to cross the South Bridge when suddenly, Archie felt a strange urge to urinate.

"Hold just a moment, I need te pish," he said, stopping the horses and hopping down from the wagon.

"Hurry up! Milord will be waiting for us," Fergus told him, and Archie scoffed as he followed the path down beneath the bridge.

"Yeah, yeah, ye cack-handed frog," Archie teased him, finding a good place well out of view of Fergus for him to undo his breeks and pull out his cock. He relieved himself against the stone of the bridge, and after he finished and was tucking himself away, he heard a soft groan, causing him to jump in alarm. "The hell?" He buttoned his breeks and followed the groan, freezing when he saw, lying on the ground, the limp body of a brown-haired woman dressed in... strange clothes... But what was even stranger was the fact that she was covered in a Fowlis of Barra tartan. "Er... Hello? Are ye well, ma'am?" The woman didn't answer him, so carefully, Archie approached her, glancing around to see if anyone had dumped her here. "I... I see yer wearin' a Fowlis of Barra tartan... I'm kin, ye ken. My mother was a Fowlis of Barra, and I grew up there... I'm the nephew of the Laird. Ye can get it into a lot of trouble fer wearin' a tartan..." The woman didn't answer him. "...ma'am?" He knelt down next to her body and moved the tartan from her face, letting out a gasp and jumping away when he thought, for a moment, that he saw the face of his mother. But his mother had red hair, not brown, and she was dead! Or in the colonies... Either way, this woman couldn't be his mother! No... No, he was just seeing things... He slowly approached her again to roll her onto her back and removed the tartan again, letting out another soft gasp. "My God... My God, it... It's you..." Archie felt tears stinging his eyes when he realised that this indeed was his mother - she was the right age, the right height, and she even had the scar on her neck that she claimed she had gotten during the uprising. It had faded over the years, but it was the same scar. "Oh, Mama..." He pulled the tartan away, suddenly alarmed by the amount of blood that was covering her abdomen. "Shit... Fergus! Fergus! Get down here!"

"What do you call me for?" Fergus demanded as he made his way down to where Archie was, and then he froze when he saw what Archie was kneeling down next to. "Is that... Milady?"

"It is! She's hurt!" said Archie, and suddenly, he felt her move on her own beneath him, giving another soft groan. "Mama? Mama! Are ye awake, Mama?"

"Who... What..." she breathed out quietly, and then Archie scooped her up into his arms, careful not to hurt her even further.

"We must get her home," Fergus told him.

"Help me get her into the wagon!" Archie exclaimed as Fergus ran back up ahead to make room, and Archie followed him up, placing his mother gently in the wagon and unwrapping her tartan from around her to lay it on top of her. "She's out again, hurry!" Fergus cracked the reins of the horse and then they were off, rushing across the bridge and then through the streets of Edinburgh.