MacFarlane's Ridge (13 page)

“It was a book, and it was very valuable,” she explained. There was no way she was going to tell him about Mollie’s journal.

“What kind of book? It must have been very rare, indeed.”

Cam’s mind raced, trying to remember which authors had lived before 1775, and settled on the obvious. “Shakespeare. It was a very rare copy of a book by William Shakespeare.”

He smiled. “Which play was it?”

She glanced down at his plaid. “Um,
Macbeth
. Do you know that one?”

“Do I know it? Aye! Tis about a Scottish king, and he is married to a madwoman.”

She smiled at his description. “So anyway, this guy wanted the book, and he thought Wanda had it, so he tried to kill her, but I thought she had gotten away, and so I went to the Faeries’ Gate to find her. Then he killed another friend of mine, or at least I’m pretty sure he did, and he tried to kill me.”

“All for a book? It must be worth a fortune, lass.”

“You have no idea,” she sighed, thinking of all that had happened in the past few days. “No idea at all.”

They made camp for the night, and Rob warmed up Frau Wagner’s pies near the fire. The bread was nice and soft, and Cam made happy noises while she ate. Rabbit pie really wasn’t that bad, once you got past the whole idea that it had been a cute little bunny in a previous lifetime. She noticed that she wasn’t as sore today as she had been, and thought maybe she was getting used to being on the horse. She had tried to refrain from putting her arms around Rob’s waist as much as possible today, and was beginning to get the hang of keeping her balance. Pleased with herself, she wrapped in the quilt Frau Wagner had given her and gazed up at the stars contentedly.

Rob was covered in his plaid a few feet away. He studied her with interest. He suddenly remembered what it had felt like this morning, waking up next to her, and pushed the thought quickly from his mind. He was simply going to assist a lady who needed help, that was all. He would help her find this Wanda, and then send them both packing back to Charleston in a hurry. He had neither the time nor inclination to have a woman in his life, especially not this one, he thought. He had other things to think about, like selling his ship, acquiring some land, and starting a farm of his own. There was land available near Ian’s, and the fertile ground was perfect for a tobacco crop.

Cam’s eyes closed, and her breathing steadied as she fell asleep. Rob stayed awake for a long time after that, watching her through the flames.

The next morning, when they woke, snow was falling again. The temperature had plummeted during the night and Cam was chilled to the bone. She stomped her feet, trying to warm up. The skies, which had been sunny and blue the day before, were now a foreboding shade of gray.

“This storm looks like a nasty one,” Rob pointed out. “We must hurry if we’re to make it to Ian’s today.”

They quickly climbed up on Betsy, and urged the gentle mare forward. They spoke little. It was too cold to talk, Cam thought, and she abandoned her resolution not to touch Rob MacFarlane. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, her quilt over her head like a cape, and tried to keep warm. She must have fallen asleep like that, because the next thing she knew he was shaking her.

“Up there,” he yelled over the howling wind. “Beyond that tree line. That’s the ridge where Ian and Mollie live. We might just make it before the squall comes in!”

“How much longer?” she shouted.

“I dinna know exactly, but it should be by midafternoon!”

Midafternoon? She felt like they had been riding all day. With no sun out, it was impossible to get an idea of the time. Cam suddenly felt very dependent, and held on even tighter. She pulled the quilt around her some more.

As the hours passed, the sky blackened, and Cam could see fat wet snowflakes beginning to fall. This was the sort of snowstorm that moved into the mountains quickly. She hoped it wasn’t much further, because if the snow got bad, they would find themselves lost in the blizzard.

Suddenly something was grabbing her leg, and she screamed, startling Rob, who whirled around, knife in hand.

“Mollie!” he exclaimed, and slid off the horse.

Cam looked down, and saw that what had grabbed her leg was a small woman wrapped in a green plaid shawl over a brown woolen skirt.

“My apologies,” Mollie said with a frown. “I thought perhaps Robbie had brought back my sister, Sarah. A wee bit hard to tell what’s under a big lump of a quilt like that, aye?”

Cam smiled weakly and slid off the mare. This was Mollie Duncan! Cam was surprised. She was not at all what Cam had expected. She had thought Mollie Duncan would be a large, formidable woman, like Frau Wagner. The woman in front of her was barely bigger than a child. She had large slanted eyes that peeked out from a fringe of pale blonde hair. Cam thought she looked like the paintings of elves and fairies on the book covers in the science fiction-fantasy section at the bookstore.

Mollie looked her over. “Ye’re chilled to the bone, and filthy to boot. Let’s get ye inside and bolt the door, there’s a fierce wicked storm a-comin’. Ian! Your brother’s back, an’ he’s brought a visitor! Get his horse taken care of!”

Ian appeared from the house and gazed apprehensively at his brother. The two of them looked nothing alike, Cam thought. It was Rob who made the first move, taking Ian’s hand warmly.

“Did ye no find her, then?” Ian asked softly.

Rob glanced at Cam, then shook his head. “She is dead, Ian. I am sorry for it.”

Ian nodded, and looked at the ground. “Aye. Well, then. I’ll be stablin’ your horse. You and – dear Lord, is that a woman under that blanket? -- you go get a wee bite, Mollie’s made chicken stew and there be plenty.” He paused. “It’s good to have ye back, Robbie.”

Rob smiled. “Aye.”

Mollie Duncan practically dragged Cam into the house, and sat her down in front of the hearth. It was much like the Wagner farmhouse, but bigger. It appeared to have four rooms rather than two.

“Your clothes are soaked, lass! Strip down and set by the fire!” the tiny woman ordered. Noticing Cam’s hesitation, she snapped, “I’ve seen plenty o’ sick folk before and they were all half naked or more. I’ll turn my back if it will make it the easier for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Cam meekly.

She left the room, and Cam hurriedly undressed under the quilt. She did keep her underpants and tank top on. Even though she had worn them for several days, until she had a change of clothes she wasn’t giving them up.

Cam was thoroughly exhausted, but still forced herself to take the time to look around the room. Although the house was not large, it was cozy. Over the fireplace opening, she noticed three bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. She sniffed them tentatively, but could only identify the basil with any certainty.

When Mollie came in she spotted Cam, nose buried in the dried twigs, and laughed. “Rosemary, basil and rue,” she said.

“They smell good.”

“Aye, an’ tis good luck to have the three of them hanging above your hearth.” Mollie paused, and looked her over.

“Ye’re awfully tall for a lass, and a wee bit thin.” She sniffed daintily. “I imagine ye’ll be wanting to clean yourself up a bit?”

Cam blushed. “I don’t suppose you have a bathtub?”

Mollie shook her head. “Nae, but I have something much better. Follow me.”

Cam followed her into the next room. It was no bigger than a large closet, and it was quite chilly. The walls were lined with shelves, and the shelves were packed with bags and jars of dried plants and fruits. There were several large hams dangling from the beams in the ceiling. Mollie leaned over and pulled up a ring in the floor, opening a trapdoor.

“Down there,” she pointed. With that, she hopped nimbly down the ladder. Cam was confused. Why would going into the cellar have anything to do with bathing? She followed Mollie cautiously, careful not to drop her quilt.

When she reached the bottom, Mollie had a lantern in her hand, and Cam saw that she was not in a cellar at all, but a small cave. In the center was a pool, and Cam could see the steam rising from it. Ian MacFarlane had a hot spring under his house.

Mollie handed her a bar of rough soap. It smelled like bayberry. “I make it myself. I hope it will suit ye. Robbie says ye’ve traveled a long way, and had a hard time of it. I’ll give ye some time down here alone.” Mollie smiled shyly at her. “It’s been a long time since there’s been another woman my own age here, besides Sally Kerr, and she’s been busy with her bairns. If ye like, I could comb the snaggles out of your hair once you’ve washed.”

Cam couldn’t help but smiling back. “That would be wonderful, Mollie. This soap is heavenly. You should market it and make a fortune.” She suddenly realized she was rambling. “Sorry. Er, what am I going to wear?”

Mollie thought a moment. “Well, you’re too tall to wear anything of mine. We can borrow a dress from Sally until we can make one that fits you, but we canna get to her place till the storm lets up.” She grabbed the quilt away from Cam and looked at her critically. “I can see I’ll be needin’ to fatten you up a wee bit. Ye’re rather long in the legs, are ye not? Ye can borrow one of Ian’s shirts and a pair of trousers until we can get to Sally’s place. Now, go take your soak. Ye smell like cow dung.”

With that, Mollie scooted back up the ladder and out of sight. Cam stripped off the offending tank top and underpants, and poked a toe into the pool. It was indeed warm, and it wasn’t long before she was completely immersed. She slid underneath the water and blew bubbles, and scrubbed herself heartily with the soap. She washed her hair twice, feeling like it would never be completely clean after going so long without shampoo. As she bathed, she sang cheerfully. This was heaven. The only thing missing was a razor. She could live in Ian’s cellar for the rest of her life, she thought with a smile, and just have Mollie toss down a bucket of stew every once in a while. She floated luxuriously in the spring pool and pondered what was going to happen next.

The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in. How was she going to get home? What if she was trapped here forever? Although she wasn’t exactly sure how long she had been here, it had been a few days at least, and therefore her shop should be open today. If no one had noticed her absence yet, once she didn’t open the store on Wednesday, Alice and Hal would figure out there was a problem. On the other hand, surely someone at the Sheriff’s Department would have noticed that Troy was missing and begun a search. She hoped he was alive. She liked Troy a lot. He was a good guy, even if she didn’t return his romantic inclinations. She splashed the water in frustration. There was a good chance she’d never get back. She would just be another missing person in the statistics. No one would ever know what had become of her.

A movement near the ladder caught her eye, and she looked up to see Mollie approaching tentatively. She held a bundle.

“I’ve brought ye a shirt of Ian’s, and a skirt that was my sister’s. I forgot it was here. Ye can try it on and see if it fits ye. And here’s some wool stockings that might be the right size,” she announced.

“Thank you,” murmured Cam, as she clambered out of the spring and dried off with a rough cloth Mollie handed her. The room felt cool now that she was out of the warm pool, and she dressed in a hurry. Mollie had to help her with the green wool skirt, which had a tie in the back to keep it from falling down. It was a few inches too short, but it would do, and Ian’s long shirt fit her just right. The stockings were thick and her feet warmed back up immediately. She wiggled her toes inside the stockings.

“I like these,” she admitted. “Thank you for doing this for me, Mollie.”

Mollie stepped back and eyed her. “Aye, you’re certainly welcome. We can probably let out that skirt some and make it longer. In the meantime ye’ll have to make do with men’s shirts. Nothing of mine will fit those long arms o’ yours.”

Cam glanced down a bit self-consciously.

“Now,” said Mollie, “come on upstairs and we’ll get the mice out o’ your hair.”

She followed Mollie obediently up the ladder, and back into the main room. The fire blazed heartily, and a small boy about a year old sat playing with a pile of wooden blocks. He looked at her with wide eyes.

“Doo,” he said authoritatively. Cam smiled down at him. He was short and stocky, like his father, but she could see a resemblance to Sarah and Mollie in the boy’s pale hair and slanted eyes.

“Hello there,” she said.

“Doo,” the boy repeated.

“Move your bottom, Hamish. That’s a good lad. This is Miss Clark, and she’s come to bide with us a while,” Mollie said. She sat on a chair and pulled up a stool for Cameron. “Sit here, then.”

Cam sat, and soon Mollie’s deft fingers were combing and detangling Cam’s freshly washed hair. Neither of them spoke, and the only sounds in the room were the crackling fire and the singsong noises of the boy. Somewhere in the house, Cam could hear male voices. Although she couldn’t make out what they were saying, she decided from the tone that Robert and Ian were having a rather heated argument.

She was warm and comfortable, and her eyes began to close.

“You’re done, lass,” whispered Mollie. “Ye look much more presentable now. Come, ye need to get some sleep, aye?”