There were two of them, middle-sized, middle-aged men with hirsute faces and broad Scotch bonnets slanted low over wrinkled foreheads. At their back was a convoy of a dozen Highland garrons, each laden with six panniers. I guessed their occupation and kept the knowledge to myself.
The men crouched at my side, touching their bonnets in greeting. "Your face is not known to me." The older spoke in a pleasant Highland accent.
"I am Miss Dorothea Flockhart," I introduced myself and waited for the response.
The man bobbed his head. "Thank you for the welcome, Miss Flockhart, and we won"t ask what is not our business." The cudgel in his hand looked a formidable weapon, while his companion carried an old Highland pistol thrust through his belt.
"And I won"t tell what is best not said," I nodde
