MacFarlane's Ridge (10 page)

There was silence. He stared at her doubtfully as she retreated into the bushes. “You’ve got a fiendish, wicked mouth for a lass. And why are ye dressed in those breeks and a man’s boots?”

Cam ignored him. She turned around and squatted down, hoping he wasn’t looking at her. When she finished, she glanced around. Being the middle of winter, there were no leaves around that looked promising.
This is not happening,
she thought, eyes closed.

“Are ye done yet?” he called.

“No. Are you in a hurry?” she snapped.

“If ye were wearing a proper dress ye’d be finished by now,” he advised.

“Oh, shut up,” she mumbled under her breath. There was only one option left. She pulled off her sweatshirt. Underneath it she was wearing a snug-fitting black tank top. Cam reached back and unsnapped her bra, removing it without taking off the tank top. She dug around in the pocket of her jeans for the Swiss Army knife, trying not to lose her balance. Once she had it out, she sawed the bra in half. She now had two very large pieces of pink silken toilet paper. When she was done, she rose up and saw him staring at her.

His mouth dropped open. “Put your top back on,” he gasped in horror. “Ye can’t be stripping down to your linens right here in front of me! What would people think? What kind of a lass are you?” He turned away, plainly scandalized.

She stifled a smile, but she was all too happy to put the sweatshirt back on; her arms and chest were freezing. She stuffed the other half of the bra in her pocket.

“Are ye decent?” Rob asked, a catch in his voice.

“Yes.”

He turned cautiously around to face her. “Don’t be undressing yourself like that again. It’s a wee bit disturbing.”

For the first time that day, she laughed. She thought of her appearance as many things, but disturbing was definitely not one of them. This was very interesting. Robert MacFarlane had placed himself back on the opposite side of the fire. He had added some wood, and there was now a nice blaze going. He was rooting around in one of his saddlebags. The dog was snoring loudly by the fire.

“Are you hungry?” Rob offered, holding up a strip of what looked like dried leather.

“A little. Can I sit down?” she asked.

Rob shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“What is that stuff?”

“Try it.”

She eyed it warily. “Not rabbit again, is it?”

He laughed. “Nae. Deer meat, smoked into jerky.”

“Oh!” Cam took a bite, and chewed happily. “It’s like a Slim Jim!”

“A what?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It's yummy."

He was watching her. "Ye have a strange way of speaking, lass." He thought of a moment. “Ye should know it's a wee bit hard to think of you as a lass dressed as you are. Ye might look better in a dress."

She gazed down at her baggy sweatshirt, faded jeans, and hiking boots. Her hair was a mess, and she looked thoroughly disreputable from her dip in the whirlpool and from clambering around the cave. She was sure her face was filthy.

"Well, where I live we all kind of look like this."

Rob made a disapproving noise. "And a shame it is, too, if the lassies all go about looking like the menfolk. How d'ye know who is who?"

She laughed. "Sometimes we wear dresses, just not every day. And they're a lot shorter than the ladies here wear them."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh? How short?"

She held a hand at mid-thigh level. His eyes widened once again. "I dinna think I would like that much showing on my own wife."

"You're married?" she asked. To her surprise, she was a little disappointed by the thought.

"Nae, I'm not, but if I were I would forbid my wife from flaunting herself about like that," he replied sternly.

Cam almost told him that many women in her world – her time? -- weren't even married and did as they pleased, but decided on second thought that now was probably not a good time to bring up the women's liberation movement.

It was quite dark now, and the fire crackled pleasantly. For a moment, Cam almost forgot that she was out in the middle of nowhere with a total stranger. She yawned heavily. Rob rolled out a blanket for her.

"Here." He dropped her coat on top of it and indicated that she should use it as a cover. She looked around.

"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked.

He grinned at her. "Dinna fret yourself. I'll be on the other side of yon fire. I'm not about to try to make unwanted advances."

Cam blushed. "I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that..."

He waved a hand indifferently. "No offense taken, lass. Now get some sleep. And dinna think I won't be watching you to make sure ye try nothing in the night. Just because you’re a woman doesna’ make me trust ye any more. In fact,” he reflected, “it makes me trust ye even less."

With that, he rolled up in his plaid and closed his eyes.

Cam was exhausted physically, but her mind was racing as she stared into the fire. This Robert MacFarlane certainly seemed like a decent enough person, but she couldn't tell him the truth about where she had come from. He would never believe it. Better to say as little as possible, she decided, until she could find a chance to get away from him. Then she could figure out a way back to the cave. On the other hand, there was the problem of Wanda Mabry to consider. If Wanda was here, Cam needed to find her. In fact, if she was here, that would make her the only person to have traveled through the Faeries’ Gate twice, and that would be very valuable information for Cam to have. Surely if Wanda had come here she would have made her way back to her parents' settlement. Cam decided that maybe staying with Rob was her best chance to find Wanda. And Wanda might be her best chance to find her way home.

When Cam woke up, the fire had almost died and there was no sign of Robert MacFarlane or his big black dog. She shivered under her coat. A soft nicker from behind made her jump. It was the brown mare, nuzzling in the snow for something to eat. At least, Cam thought, if the horse was still here Rob couldn't have wandered far. For that matter, if he
had
gone off and left her, maybe she could figure out how to ride the horse and see where it took her.

Taking advantage of his absence, she got her backpack and began to rummage through it. There were some things in there that would be difficult to explain if Rob found them, the lavender underpants being the least of them. He had already seen those and the blue toothbrush, so she just stuck them in a coat pocket. Next time she went behind a bush she would try to discreetly change her undies. The Swiss army knife was small enough to keep in the front pocket of her jeans, but the flashlight was going to be a problem. It was big and bulky, a police-style Mag light, and she had a feeling that the Colonial folk would regard it with a certain degree of superstition. She wanted to hang onto the first aid kit, but was afraid it too would be viewed as odd, in its white plastic box. Remembering that plastic wasn't even in existence yet, she emptied the Band-Aids and gauze and tweezers into her coat.
After all, you never know when you might have to travel through time to remove a splinter or mend a paper cut
, she thought. Then she dug a small hole with the Swiss army knife, and buried the flashlight and the white box. The mass of pulp that had once been Wanda Mabry's news clippings she tossed into the remains of the fire, where it let out a soft, sad hiss.

That done, she ambled over to the creek and squatted down. She had no toothpaste, but a good brushing would make her feel better. She dipped her hands in the icy water and splashed some on her face. Then she dipped the toothbrush in the creek and scrubbed the inside of her mouth. The bristles still tasted faintly of Crest, and she hummed happily. There was a noise behind her, and she jumped.

Robert MacFarlane was watching her with interest. "Is that what that's for, then? I had wondered. What about the wee scrap of silk?"

Remembering how horrified he had been at her description of women's skirts, she decided that the lavender underpants were best left out as well, and just smiled at him.

"Where did you go?" she asked.

He waved at the mountainside. "I had a peek around yon cairns and craigs. I had hoped I might find some sign of the Faerie’s Gate. I thought Charlie here could sniff it out, ye ken? He was Sarah’s dog. Before."

Cam waited expectantly.

He shrugged. "Nothing there. I hate to say this, lass, but I just might believe your tale, farfetched as it may be."

"You could stop calling me that, you know."

"What?"

"Lass," she answered. "You could stop calling me lass since you know my name."

"Aye," Rob agreed. "That I do, but I canna be calling ye "miss" or "madame" when you're walking about in those breeks and a man's coat. When we get back to the ridge I'll have Mollie put up something proper for ye to put on."

Cam looked up in surprise. "Back to the ridge?"

"Where Ian and Angus and Mollie live. Unless you know how to get home from here. Or did ye think you'd go back up into the mountains looking for your friend again and fall in yet another burn?"

Cam really hadn't thought about it. She had assumed she would stay and look for Wanda, but it never occurred to her
where
she would stay. Certainly, a man like Rob would have to make his way back to civilization eventually. She realized that he was talking to her.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I was saying I shall regret having to tell Ian that Sarah is dead, but perhaps tis better that way. Could be I will just tell him t'was no sign of her," he said somberly.

"Don't you think he should know the truth about his own wife? That she's dead, I mean," she amended. He was tossing handfuls of snow into the embers of the dying fire, which sizzled softly. He glanced up at her.

"Why should he get that much?" he grumbled, so softly that she could barely hear him. She let the remark slide, and helped him to roll up the bedroll and the plaid.

"Can ye ride a horse?" he asked.

"Well," she said doubtfully, "I rode when I was a kid, but it's been about twenty years."

His eyes narrowed. "How old are you, Cameron Clark?"

"Thirty-two. Why? You look surprised."

"I am. Ye have a lot of teeth for a woman that old, and not as many lines in your face as I would have expected."

"Mmm. That's very nice of you, I think," she laughed. She hoped he had meant it as a compliment.

"As to the riding of the horse," Rob continued, "if ye can hold on behind me we should travel a good deal faster. When we get back to one of the farmsteads, I may be able to get ye a mount."

With that, he hopped up on the mare and extended a hand down to her. She took it, wondering how on earth she was going to jump up on the back end of the horse. She didn't have to. He pulled her up behind him easily with one swift move. As he began to maneuver the mare down the mountainside, she instinctively tightened her grip around his waist, and was startled by her own reaction to the feel of his body. She blushed and was relieved she was behind him so he couldn't see the look on her face.

They didn't talk, and Cam was glad. It gave her a chance to ponder what was happening. He had indicated that he was taking her back to the place which, two hundred and twenty five years from now, would be known as the abandoned MacFarlane's Ridge. She would actually meet her great-ancestor, Angus Duncan, and Mollie and Ian, and baby Hamish. Furthermore, if her reckonings were correct, the country had just entered into revolution. She tried to remember her American History class from college. What had happened in 1775? She was fairly sure that that was the year that the battles of Lexington and Concord had been fought, and that the second Continental Congress had been convened then. Beyond that, she could remember nothing specific, other than what she had read in Mollie’s journal. Rob had owned a ship, hadn’t he? Had there been a Navy?

"So, you're a sailor?" she asked, breaking the silence, and she felt him tense.

"Aye, and have been for a good part of my life," he answered. "I’m a partner in a cargo ship with my uncle. But I'll not be doing it much longer. I would like to settle somewhere and own a wee bit of land."

"Really? I had thought you were a pirate or something."

He laughed. "Aye, well, there's some would call me that. Nae, I transport sugar cane and rum. Our uncle Andrew has a firm that ships for the planters in Jamaica. I run a fine ship that’s sitting in the harbor right now.
The Lady Meg
."

"You don't sail in the winter?" Cam was intrigued by this.

"I dinna have to. I bring the rum and the sugar here and take the tobacco crops back to Andrew, and we make enough money in the fine weather that we don’t have to sail in the bad. But Geordie's Navy has been making it a wee bit difficult to get in and out lately. Just to get into Richmond, I had to run a blockade of Major Pitcairn's ships."

"Cool," she said, without thinking. She had no idea who Major Pitcairn or Geordie were.

He reigned in the mare, coming to a stop. "Get down," he ordered.

"Why? What's wrong?"