The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(75)

But something made her curious. “Why did you stop to look at the bracken back there?”

He sat down beside her and pulled out his skin. After taking a long swig, he handed it to her. “Some of the stems were broken where we brushed by.”

She frowned. “I thought you were hiding our footprints.”

“I’m hiding our tracks.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

He shook his head. “I’m looking for any disturbances on the landscape, not just footsteps. Any sign that someone might have passed.”

“And you can tell from a few broken twigs that someone has passed.”

He shrugged. “It’s a sign.”

She gave him a long look. “How did you become so good at this?”

“My father’s henchman was a tracker. He used to take me out with him when I was young, and later when I returned from fostering. He noticed I had an unusual memory for details and taught me how to use that skill to track. But it’s mostly experience.” Years and years of learning what to look for.

“What kind of details?”

“Look behind me.” He waited a few moments. “Now close your eyes and tell me what you saw.”

She looked back at him. “Is that a trick? There is only a flat area of moorland dusted with snow, with a few rocks scattered about.”

“Look again.” He didn’t turn, but called up the image from memory. “The rocks scattered about the moors are graywacke sandstone, but about twenty paces behind me are a few granite rocks stacked in what is probably the beginnings of a summit cairn. Just to the left, you can see the outlines of a narrow path from the north where the grass has been tramped down—probably by mountain hares, if the pile of scat nearby is any indication—and the snow is slightly lower. Near the patches of purple moor grass sticking up through the snow on the west side of the hill are the tracks of a small group of red deer hinds. Directly over my left shoulder about five paces behind me is a small bump in the snow. If you look closely, you can see a few brownish feathers sticking out. I suspect it’s the carcass of a grouse brought down by a hen harrier or peregrine falcon.”

She gaped at him. “You didn’t even look.”

“I did earlier. I told you, I have an unusual memory.”

“I’ll say. And a keen eye for detail.” She smiled delightedly. “What else do you look for?”

He wasn’t used to such an eager audience, but as the subject clearly interested her, and knowing it would help pass the time, he explained some basic principles, such as how to minimize your imprint on the landscape and make sure no signs were left behind; deception tactics to mislead your pursuers, such as walking backward, looping around, stone hopping, and toe walking; how to move with the wind to hide your scent, how to avoid changing directions at obvious places, and how to break a scent trail as they’d done with the dogs.

She listened to him with rapt attention, clearly fascinated.

“Every time you take a step,” he said, “look for stones, hard ground, patches of ice, existing roads or paths, resilient mosses, things like that. Your tracks will be less visible.”

“So think hard,” she said.

That was one way of putting it, but he tried not to think about “hard” given his problems in a certain area.

She looked up at him. “It seems so obvious now that you point it out, but I never realized.”

“Most of what I do is common sense. You just have to think about it.”

“You are being modest.” She tilted her head to look at him. “No wonder Robert wanted you for his secret army. I can imagine a skill like yours is useful for men who want to appear like ghosts.”

He could feel her eyes on him, so he was careful not to react. Damn it, the lass was relentless! He should be surprised that she’d figured it out, but he wasn’t. She could find trouble without even looking for it.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

He turned to look at her, his eyes boring into hers. “Should I tell you how much danger you could put both of us in by just mentioning the subject, irrespective of whether it is true?”

Her gaze never wavered. “But it is true. I know it is.”

Clearly, he wasn’t going to dissuade her. He knew he should try. He’d taken an oath, and it wasn’t just his own life at stake, but he didn’t want to lie to her. So he did the next best thing and said, “Let’s go. Rest time is over.”

She groaned. “But we just sat down. You’re just trying to avoid my questions.” He didn’t deny it. “The English won’t be chasing us forever, Ewen. One of these days you won’t be able to avoid answering.”

He didn’t know; he was pretty damned good at avoiding things. Except with her—which was part of the problem. He didn’t answer, simply holding out his hand instead.

He helped her to her feet—with another dramatic groan on her part—and they were off.

Although he was fairly certain they’d lost their pursuers, he wanted to reach the next ridge by nightfall. There was an old stone shieling where they could take shelter. It was too dangerous to wander around these mountains in the dark, especially in the mist. In the morning, he would see about finding horses to take them to Ayr, where he sure as hell hoped MacKay, MacLean, and Sutherland would catch up to them.