Finding Fraser (42 page)

“I have one final commitment before we drive
down to Edinburgh. I hope you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” I said, as we walked to the
car, and then I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. “Are you going to say
goodbye to Rebecca?”

He shot me an odd look and shook his head.

“Nae, I’ve seen the last of her for a while,
aye?” he said, unlocking my door. He tossed my pack in the back, and turned to
face me. “We’re goin’ to the Games in Nairn.”

The thought of going to back to Nairn
drove everything else out of my head. After assuring PC Doris of my
unquestioning obedience to the crown in Stirling, Jack had taken me back to his
home just outside of Inverness. So by contrast to the long drive I could barely
remember from the night before, our morning trip was a quick jaunt. The games
were being held on the estate of the current Thane of Cawdor, just outside
Nairn itself, but along roads I recognized instantly.

It felt like I was going home.

We pulled up and parked in an area beside
Cawdor Castle. On the driveway below, a parade of pipe bands gathered amid a
marching of the various Highland colors. The Laird himself led the parade,
surrounded by a collection of gentlemen sporting plaids in all possible
combinations, mostly topped with white shirt and tie.

I spent an entertaining few moments
comparing sporrans—trust the Scots to have invented the original, most
practical man-purse. Some of the younger men had gussied up their kilts with
leather sporrans featuring embossed skulls, but most were of the traditional
combinations of leather and metal and fur. Some were black and hairy and some
were gray and hairy and I even saw one that sported the entire head of an
ex-fox.

Not once did I see a man actually put
anything in or take anything out of his sporran, though. A total waste of good
space, to my mind.

After the trooping of the colors, it was
time for Jack to head off to assume whatever duties a guest of honor is
required to undertake. He asked if I would still be there as promised at the
end of the day, with a flash of anxiety on his face I could see he tried very
hard to hide.

I assured him I would, and when I say I
meant it with all my heart, well—I did. I’d had enough of running.
Sunshine Susan could have the fugitive life. It was not for me anymore.

Since the drug haze had passed, the memories
of events at the police station had come a little clearer. I could recall
Constable Doris standing beside a stern looking man who had clearly out-ranked
her. He had glared at me and then turned to Jack.

“Well, sir, in that case we’ll trust you,”
the stern cop had said. “But it’ll be on your head if she don’t show.”

“She’ll show,” Jack said.

So, there on the field, I promised twice,
just so he knew I was good for it, and Jack was whisked away.

Most of the morning I’d just meandered,
enjoying the sunshine and the spectacle. There were caravans parked all around
the grounds, delineating the space, and the blue and white-striped awnings were
everywhere. I wandered from one to the next, taking in the various exhibits.

Tiny, kilted dancers took turns on a stage,
toes pointed and legs kicking as they skipped and twirled, then bit their
fingernails nervously afterward, waiting for the results of the judging.

I spent a few anxious moments worrying that
I would bump into Hamish, but thankfully the first person I ran into that I
knew was Katy from the library.

“Now, this is a surprise! I’d heard ye’d
left to go back to America,” she said, after giving me a hug.

“Yes, well, I’m on my way,” I managed.

“Grand, grand,” she sighed. “I’d love tae
see America. I’ve been to France a few times and Spain once, but niver across
the pond, aye?”

“It’s a big pond,” I said, and then quickly
tried not to think too closely about the crossing of it.

“I s’pose ye’ve heard that Hamish has
finally gone too, then, the big dunderheid? He’n that new hen o’ his.”

“Hamish is gone? To America?”

She nodded emphatically. “As he allus
wanted. And good riddance to the lad, aye?”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wished
happiness for him, but mostly? I kinda hoped his Sunshine screwed him as
thoroughly as she had me.

“Weel, have a lovely time today,” said Katy,
sincerely. “Ah can’t believe ah’m sayin’ this, but I miss seein’ ye at the library.
Haven’t had to clear out a single cache since yeh left. No—wait, I’m
lyin’. The Jones boys were in lookin’ up pictures of the Duchess of Cambridge—that
time before the babies when she were in France, ye know. I did have to clear
those out righ’ quick.” With a final kind pat on my arm, she bustled off.

I wandered over to watch the older girls
compete in Highland dance, whirling in clean right angles above the swords
placed beneath their feet. From there I headed over to watch the sporting competitions,
from wrestling to hammer throw.

I arrived just in time to see a long row of
men in kilts get dragged through the mud in the tug of war finals. Among the members
of the triumphant team, I saw Ashwin running around in jubilation. I waved at
him and he leaped the rope barrier and came over to wrap me in a giant bear
hug. It was a definite improvement on our last meeting.

“Congratulations,” I said, after extricating
myself.

“Thank yeh verra much indeed,” he said,
proudly. “We won because of mah new fitness regimen.”

“Fitness regimen? So you’ve quit smoking?” I
asked, delighted.

“Don’t be daft! I’ve shifted from lager to
ale. Geordie tol’ me it’d make the difference, and damned if he wasnae righ’!”

“Ah.” I decided to change the subject, just
to be safe. “I’ve never seen you in a kilt, Ash. It suits you.”

He shrugged, still beaming all over his
mud-caked face. “Usually only for events like this. Me mum’s clan are the
MacKenzies, so it’s her family plaid.”

The rest of the team appeared to be clearing
the field. “Oi—Patel!” someone shouted. “Quit kissin’ that girl and come
fer a pint!”

Ashwin’s face fell. “Guess I’d best be off,”
he muttered, and turned to go.

I grabbed his arm and planted a big kiss on
one muddy cheek. “See you soon, Ash.”

His mouth dropped open, then he gave a whoop,
which momentarily deafened me. “I wasnae kissin’ her—she were kissin’
me!” he yelled, as he ran back to join his team.

I waited until they were well into the beer
garden before I wiped the mud off my lips and wandered over to the next event.
He hadn’t even seemed surprised to see me, but if that boy’s heart was going to
be broken, it wasn’t me who would be responsible.

A large set of wooden seats had been erected
to watch the heavy events, but I skirted them and stood near the fence to one
side. Seeing the huge men throwing their enormous hammers, I remembered the
picture on the side of the bus from early in the springtime, and my high hopes then
of finding my Fraser from amongst their number. The memory was threatening to
erase the happier mood I had been in since kissing Ashwin, so in the end, I
decided it was better to hang out in the agricultural exhibits. Fewer regrets
there, anyhow.

Sometime after lunch, I looked up to find
Jack beside me.

“Have you had enough to eat?” he asked
anxiously. “I’ve been in the main tent over there all day, signing books with
the others.”

“There’s plenty to eat,” I assured him.
“Pasties and meat pies and bannock … Not that I’m very hungry after that giant
breakfast.”

“A full Scottish breakfast does stick to
your ribs,” he admitted. “But honestly—are you enjoying the day?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “I’ve wanted to
see these Games since I got here. I can’t believe I actually get a chance to be
here in the end. Thank you for bringing me.”

He shook his head impatiently. “You don’t
need to thank me. Coming here was just an obligation I couldn’t get out of. But
if it makes you happy, then I’m happy, too.”

“It does,” I said. “I just feel sort of—I
don’t know—poignant? Nostalgic? I SO hate to leave.”

“Look,” he said intensely, and he took one
of my hands in his. “If you want to be here, we will find a way to make it
happen. You’ll have to go home first …”

“To Chicago,” I interrupted, thinking of the
little wee room at Morag’s.

“Yes,” he went on, not really noticing. “But
we will get you back. I promise.”

My eyes followed him as he walked over to
the big white tent, and it occurred to me that I had never seen Hamish in a
kilt. But I suddenly doubted that he could cut a finer figure than Jack did at
that moment, striding off into the afternoon sun.

I thought about telling him so, for about
half a minute. I even walked a few steps in the direction of the tent. And then
I saw the sign. Not from above, though it might well have been. No, this sign
was right in the middle of the field. It was a direction sign.

Author
Event
, it read.
Meet
our Guests of Honor
.

Guest
s
.

I took a step back, shaded the slanting rays
of the afternoon sun from my eyes, and peered at the tent. A long line of
people carrying books snaked out the door and around one side of the field.
Inside the tent was pretty dark, but if I squinted my eyes, I could just make
out the outline of Jack, sitting up on a raised platform, signing books.

And beside him?

A woman with dark hair, dressed like a vivid
butterfly in blue.

Herself.

How had I missed this? I should have known …

The tinny public address system gave a
squawk, which made me jump.

“Ten
minutes to final presentations at the main stage. Ten minutes.”

In the distance, I could see the top of a
huge log moving behind the white special-event tent. Suddenly the log disappeared,
only to reappear, flipping end over end. A roar went up from the crowd.

“Ach, I knew yeh couldn’t stay away. Still
got yer room fer yeh, should ye want it, aye?”

I turned around to see Morag’s smiling face.
She had two leggy young sheep in tow, one in a harness of red and the other
green.

I grinned at her and it felt good. I was
pretty sure I hadn’t really smiled since the last time we’d clinked teacups
that night making butter.

“Maybe not right away, Morag. But I will be
back.”

She beamed. “I know it. Yeh comin’ to the
presentations?”

“Yes.” I reached down to pat one of the
woolly sheep. “Are these …?”

“Aye. Them late twins you helped deliver.
Tole’ ye I were savin’ ’em for summat special, righ’? They are to go to the
guests of honor, after they finish presentin’ the prizes.”

I laughed. “I imagine they will be thrilled,”
I said.

“Damn well should be. These are fine
pedigreed sheep. They’ll make a fair decent lamb chop, I’ll tell ye that.”

Oh, I did
not
want to think of those sweet fuzzy things as chops. “Maybe they
can be wool producers instead?” I said pleadingly, which made Morag laugh.

She pushed one of the leashes into my hand.
“Come gi’e me a hand, would yeh? You can hand Wallace here over to that fine
lookin’ writer lad.”

I hastily handed the leash back. “Oh no—no.
I couldn’t do that. I’ll just watch from the crowd. But wait a minute. If this
is Wallace …”

“Yep. Named ’em special for the guests, o’
course. This little fella is Wallace, ‘named special for Mister Findlay’s new
book.”

She held the red leash up and the lamb at
the end capered a little. “An’ this one’s for the lady. Called ’im Fraser,
righ’?”

I stared at her, mouth open.

“After a character in her books—name
o’ James Fraser. Yeh mus’ read ’em, if ye havenae, lass. Lovely tale-teller,
she.”

Morag bent down, scooped the lamb up, and held
her out to me. “Sure ye dinnae want to help hand him over? Ye did find him an
his brother in the field that night, aye?”