Finding Fraser (11 page)

By
the time I’d found a new hostel and sorted out my room, it was ‘half five’
according to the landlady, and I was starving.
She
tore a map of the city off the top of the pad on the check-in desk and directed
me to a pub a couple of blocks away. This new hostel was going to cost me
double what the last one had, but there was nothing to be done about it. At
least it was a private room. I stepped inside long enough to dump my extra
clothes onto the bed and then headed down the street to find food.

The rain seeped into my collar, so I yanked
up my hood and thought about my blog post as I walked. In spite of my advice to
HiHoKitty and the others, I was pretty certain there would be zero
opportunities for speed dating in Inverness. The thought occurred to me that my
friend Jazmin would have organized a speed-dating event with the rugby team.
For the first time, I was suddenly grateful to be on my own.

It was early for dinner, so I managed to
find a table in a dark corner. I’d noted with a brief, hungry burst of joy that
there was a small ‘Wi-Fi available here’ sticker on the door, so by the time my
sausages and chips arrived I was all set up with my browser open to the Tourism
Scotland page. Next to it, my copy of OUTLANDER was propped against a bottle of
something called ‘brown sauce’. I turned to look at the map page inside the
cover.

I searched until the last sausage was just a
greasy memory on my plate, but I could not find a set of standing stones near
Inverness that remotely matched the description of
Craigh na Dun
.

My eyes burned a little from staring at the
screen so long.

“D’yeh mind if I sit here?” said a voice
beside me, and I looked up to see a good-looking young guy with a tall sleeve
of beer in each hand.

This was the first time I’d lifted my head
from the computer screen since the server had brought my food, and I noticed
with some embarrassment that the place had pretty much filled up since then. I
was the only person hogging a four-seat table to myself.

“No—no, go right ahead,” I said,
flustered, and yet flattered at the same time that the offer to share a table
had come with a beer. “I’ll just move my stuff over.”

“Nae need, nae need,” the guy said. “I’m
meetin’ a mate here. We can both squeeze in and ye’ll niver notice us.”

Ah. So much for the free beer, then. Still,
I smiled at him and wedged myself further into the corner of the bench seat. I
slipped the book into my pack and slid it down onto the floor between my feet.

“Verra kind of yeh, Miss. Are ye a student
over from America, then?” he asked, sitting on the bench beside me and placing
the spare beer on the table across from us.

I closed the window to my blog page and
shook my head. “Just a blogger,” I said, and then because he appeared to be
waiting for more, I added, “here doing some research.”

He leaned back in his seat, nodding sagely.
“Ach, yeah. I’m a big fan o’ blogs. I read ’em all—news, sport, you name
it. Yeh must give me the location of yours so I can read all about it.”

At least he wasn’t laughing at me.
And
he was pretty cute. I decided to
risk a question. “Do you know anything about the history of the area? I’m
looking for a set of standing stones that should be not too far away.”

“Standing stones?” His face creased in
thought. “Well—there’s the stones at Balnuaran of Clava, up past
Culloden. They circle an ancient gravesite.”

I shook my head. “No, the ones I’m looking
for should be on the side of a hill, in an area that was once wooded—I’m
not sure if there are still trees there now.”

“A hill, yeh say …” He thought for a moment
before taking a long swallow of beer. “Yeh know, my mate may be able to help yeh.
He’s an expert in everything. Won’t be but a minute more.”

“Okay,” I said, and closed the screen of my
laptop. My hopes of getting any work done were fading with each sip of beer he
took. I finished my own cranberry juice and wondered if
he
could be my Jamie. A bit on the short side, but he seemed nice
enough.

Clearly reading my thoughts, he stuck his
hand out, his broad smile only slightly marred by a missing tooth in front.

“Name’s Craig,” he said. “And you are …?”

“Emma,” I said.

“Nice to meet yeh, Emma the American,” he
said. “And now, since I have the bladder of a wee girl, I’ll be off to th’
bogs. Keep an eye on me mate’s pint, wouldja? Allus late, that lad.”

As he walked away, I took the opportunity to
slip my computer into my pack. It had become pretty noisy and crowded in the
pub and was obviously not the place to do a little quiet planning. I was just
sliding out of the corner when I felt a hand on my arm.

“D’ye trrrust me?”

An extremely small man stood beside my seat.
His eyes didn’t meet mine, but glared straight forward, which meant they were
glued to my chest.

“D’ye trrrust me, lassie?” he repeated.

“I—I …”

Craig walked back up, regarding us with a
twinkle in his eye.

“Ah, Emma—I see ye’ve met Rabbie.
Rabbie Rowanby, meet Emma the American.”

The small man’s hand remained in my face, so
I leaned backwards and shook it weakly.

“The name’s Rowanby by birth,” he confided.
“But everyone knows me as Rabbie the Gnome.”

He smiled, favored me at last with a
straight look in the eyes and hoisted himself up into the seat by the beer,
which was thankfully across the table. Unfortunately, Craig slid back in beside
me, effectively blocking any easy exit.

“Another pink drink for the lady,” cried
Rabbie, and then reached across the table to take my hand again.

Craig leaned over and poked him in the chest
and I took his instinctive recoil as an opportunity to pull my hand out of his
grasp.

“Never trust this man,” Craig intoned.

Rabbie glared at him a moment and then the
two of them broke into helpless laughter.

I leaned back against the seat and took a
sip of the drink that had magically appeared in front of me. This cranberry
juice had added to it a generous helping of something that tasted distinctly of
alcohol.

I smiled as Craig chuckled his way through
an explanation of what a true, old and dear friend Rabbie was. The individual
in question was still doubled over, laughing.

I guess one beer goes a long way in a small
man.

“Rab, Rab—ge’ aholda yerself, man,”
spluttered Craig at last. “Now, this young lady is lookin’ to find hersel’ a
set of nearby standin’ stones on the side of a hill. Have yeh go’ any ideas?”

“Ach, yeh can have a look at me own stones,
lass,” Rabbie replied, reaching under the table. “Fair fine they are, with one standin’
tall between ’em right now!”

I tried desperately to unhear that sentence.

“Rabbie Rowanby, behave yersel’,” scolded Craig.
“This young lady has been kind enough to share her table wi’ the likes of us.
There’s no need fer that sorta language.”

The tiny man’s face puckered in an entirely
insincere expression of apology. But as much as he turned his mouth down, he
could not still the evil twinkle in those eyes. I scootched a little further
into the corner.

“Ah, yer right as allus, Craigy-boy. I see a
beautiful woman and I cannae help mesel’.”

He tapped a blackened fingernail against his
chin. “Hmmm. To tell yeh the gospel truth—and I seen me share of faerie
rings around the north—there ain’t any circles on hillsides I can recall.
Now, doon Fort William way, there’s a couple a beauts, mind …”

My bladder, by that time filled not only
with my own cranberry juice, but also with this newer, strangely tastier
concoction, suddenly made itself known to me. And as it did, the light dawned.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, head down. “Just
have to go to the ladies’.”

Craig had to stand to allow me out. Rabbie
jumped out of his own seat and advancing his leg, made a deep bow as I slid out
of the booth.

“Jes’ round the corner, there,” he said,
helpfully. And then not so helpfully: “Ye mus’ have a bladder o’ steel, lass!
I’d a been t’ the bogs twice wi’ the amount of drink ye’ve got down yer gullet!”

I dashed to the washroom, the feeling of
relief at escaping only mildly tempered by my own maybe less than steel-like
capacity. There had to be a back door to this place—I could leave Craig
and Rabbie to briefly mourn my passing before hitting on the next single woman
they could find.

It wasn’t until I was washing my hands that
I realized I’d left my backpack at the table.

“Hey, yer hoggin’ the sink, there. You mean
tae vomit or summit? Ye look pale as a wee ghostie.” A blonde with half her
head shaved and the other half in purple streaks finally sighed impatiently and
elbowed me out of the way.

“No—I’m fine, fine …” I stammered, and
jumped to one side. The paper towel bin was empty so I shook my hands off (which
earned me yet another dirty look from Scottish Goth Girl), and headed back in.

The two men were deep in discussion when I
arrived back at the table.

“An’ the craic is,” Rabbie said, his face
pushed right across the table into his friend’s, “her feet are bound so tightly
they practically form a perfect hole.”

He had his fingers held up in an ‘OK’ sign,
which he quickly dropped when he realized I was standing there.

“Oh, ye know—all girls are lovely,” he
said, quickly. “Chinese, American—what’s the difference, right? I love ’em
all.” He smiled into my eyes. “Truly, I do.”

“I’ve got to get going,” I said, hastily.
“Thanks for the drink.”

“Nae, nae—ye cannae leave yet,” cried
Rabbie. He slid over, and I could see my backpack sitting there on the bench
seat. One quick grab and I could be off. “Look—here’s another drink jes’
waitin’ for ye. One fer the road, aye?”

I leaned in to put a hand on my backpack and
found myself bodily hauled back into my seat. That Wee Rabbie had some decent
upper body strength.

I wilted into my seat and had a sip of the
new drink, which, strangely enough, tasted even better than the last.

Upper body strength and magic potions—what
was up with this guy, anyway?

“So,” he said, placing both his hands cozily
over mine. “As a woman, you might know this. Have yeh heard of anything more
effective than a vinegar bath for chlamydia? Itches like hell, mind.”

Just then, a dark-haired girl pushed her way
passed our table, drink in one hand and backpack slung over her shoulder. Desperate,
I hatched an instant, if slightly alcohol-befuddled plan. “Susan!” I called out
to the woman. “Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s you!”

She kept walking, clearly having not heard
me and focused on finding a spot to set her drink. It didn’t matter.

“Sorry, guys—it’s been … uh—fascinating—talking
with you, but I’ve got to go.” I stood up as much as the table would allow and
leaned on Rabbie’s chair a little.

His eyes lit up, and he peered at the back
of her head as she walked deeper into the pub. “Ye know her, do ye? Well,
invite her to sit with us! We can make room.” He pushed his chair over,
effectively blocking Craig from having any space to let me out. My heart sank.
I started to babble.

“Oh, no—it’s fine, really. She’s—she’s
my cousin. I haven’t seen her for years. I didn’t know she was even in the
country.”

“No worries—she’s welcome,” he
insisted, and then yelled “SUSAN!!!!” across the bar in a voice guaranteed to
stop any sexually transmitted disease in its tracks. The entire pub actually
fell silent for a moment as everyone turned to look at the source of the
bull-sized bellow.

Everyone except the woman with the backpack.

“She’s deaf,” I said, and gave a single
desperate hip check to my pack. It ricocheted uselessly off one of Rabbie’s
stevedore arms, but his beer slid perilously close to the edge of the table and
he leaned forward to steady it.

That was all I needed. I pulled my knees up
to my chest, planted my feet on the bench seat and vaulted over his head.

I cleared him by a full foot, I swear.

“Very, very deaf,” I repeated, as if nothing
had happened. “I’ll just go catch up with her and bring her back to the table,
okay?”

The surrounding pub noise rose up again,
once it became clear there was no fight or other interesting occurrence about
to break out. Both men beamed amiably and clinked glasses.

“Ach, that’s brilliant, Craigy-boy,” Rabbie
said cheerfully. “Now there’ll be one for
you
to take home tonight wi’ ye, too.”

He stood up in his seat and craned his neck
back at her. “Look at that dark hair! She’s not Chinese, is she?” he asked,
hopefully.

I turned my back and fled.

Clutching my pack to my chest, I pushed
through the crowd toward the back of the bar. My knee was killing me, having
bashed it on the table as I took the leap, but I considered it a war wound, and
well worth the outcome.