The Highland winds blew fiercely as Sir William Fenton pressed onward through the rugged terrain. The glen he had rested in earlier now lay far behind, and the sun hung low in the western sky, casting golden hues over the desolate landscape. Though his body ached from the constant exertion and his mind reeled with the memory of his close escape, William knew he had to keep moving. The moorland was no place to linger after dark, especially with the threat of pursuers looming like shadows in the distance.
As the land began to slope downward, William spotted a dense forest ahead. The trees stood like sentinels, their tall trunks and thick canopies offering a potential haven from prying eyes. While forests were not without their own dangers—wild animals, treacherous footing, or even bandits—William saw no better alternative. He adjusted his belt of gold beneath his coat and made his way toward the treeline.
The transition from open moor to dense woodland was immediate, the sunlight fading as the canopy above grew thicker. The air inside the forest was cooler, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. William moved cautiously, his boots crunching softly on the leaf-strewn ground. Every sound seemed amplified: the rustle of leaves, the creak of branches, the occasional cry of a distant bird.
As he ventured deeper, William's thoughts turned to his immediate needs. He had not eaten since dawn, and his provisions were nearly exhausted. The belt of gold he carried might be worth a fortune, but it was useless to him without food or shelter. His eyes scanned the forest floor for signs of edible plants or berries, but he found little to sustain him.
After what felt like hours of walking, William stumbled upon a small clearing. In the center stood a humble cabin, its thatched roof moss-covered and its wooden walls weathered by time. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, a sign that the dwelling was inhabited. William hesitated, weighing his options. The cabin could belong to a friendly farmer—or a dangerous outlaw. But the promise of food and rest was too tempting to ignore.
He approached cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. As he neared the door, it creaked open, revealing an elderly man with a long white beard and piercing blue eyes. The man's clothing was simple but well-worn, and he held a sturdy walking stick in one hand.
"Who goes there?" the man called, his voice firm but not unkind.
"I mean no harm," William replied, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I am a traveler in need of shelter for the night."
The old man studied William for a moment before nodding. "Come in, then. But mind you bring no trouble with you."
William stepped inside, grateful for the warmth of the fire burning in the hearth. The interior of the cabin was modest but tidy, with a small table, a few chairs, and shelves lined with jars of preserved food. A hunting bow and quiver of arrows hung on the wall, alongside various tools and implements.
"Thank you for your kindness," William said as he took a seat near the fire.
The old man nodded but said nothing, busying himself with a pot that hung over the flames. The aroma of stew filled the room, making William's stomach rumble.
"Name's Ewan," the old man said after a moment, setting a wooden bowl of stew before William. "And who might you be?"
"I am William," he replied, choosing to withhold his title and full name for now. "I've been traveling for days, trying to reach the southern glens."
Ewan raised an eyebrow but didn't press for details. "The southern glens, eh? Dangerous roads, those. Bandits and redcoats alike. What's your business there?"
"Just trying to reach family," William said, keeping his response vague.
Ewan nodded slowly, as if sensing there was more to the story but deciding not to pry. "Eat up, then. You'll need your strength."
The stew was simple but hearty, a mix of root vegetables and bits of venison. William ate gratefully, the warmth of the meal reviving him. As he ate, he couldn't help but notice Ewan's sharp eyes studying him, as though the old man were piecing together a puzzle.
"You're no ordinary traveler," Ewan said finally, leaning on his walking stick. "That sword of yours—too fine for a farmer. And you carry yourself like a man who's seen battle."
William hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "Let's just say I've had my share of troubles."
Ewan chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Haven't we all? But I won't press you. A man's secrets are his own."
The two fell into a companionable silence, the crackling fire providing the only sound. As the evening wore on, William found himself relaxing in Ewan's presence. The old man's straightforward demeanor was a welcome change from the treachery and deception he had encountered so far.
When the stew was finished, Ewan leaned back in his chair, puffing on a pipe he had retrieved from a nearby shelf. "You can stay the night," he said. "There's a cot in the corner. But come morning, you'll need to be on your way. These woods aren't as quiet as they seem."
William nodded, grateful for the hospitality. "Thank you. I'll be gone by first light."
As the night deepened, William lay on the cot, his mind racing despite his exhaustion. Ewan's words lingered in his thoughts—what dangers lurked in the woods? And could the old man be trusted completely?
His sleep was restless, filled with fragmented dreams of gold, betrayal, and pursuit. When he awoke, the first light of dawn was filtering through the cracks in the cabin's walls. Ewan was already awake, tending to the fire.
"Best be off," the old man said without preamble, handing William a small bundle of bread and dried meat. "Take this. It's not much, but it'll keep you going."
William accepted the bundle with a nod of thanks. "I won't forget your kindness, Ewan."
The old man gave a faint smile. "Just remember, the road ahead won't be easy. Watch your back, and trust no one."
With those parting words, William stepped out into the crisp morning air, the forest bathed in golden light. He adjusted his coat and belt, steeling himself for the journey ahead. The forest path stretched before him, winding deeper into the unknown.
As he walked, William couldn't shake the feeling that Ewan's cabin had been more than a place of refuge. The old man's words and sharp gaze hinted at a deeper understanding of the dangers William faced. Whether Ewan was an ally, a spy, or simply a wise observer, William couldn't be certain. But one thing was clear: the forest was only the beginning of his trials.
With each step, the weight of the gold at his waist grew heavier, a constant reminder of the stakes. The journey south would be long and perilous, but William's resolve remained unbroken. He had a mission to complete, and no force—natural or human—would deter him.