MacFarlane's Ridge (14 page)

Mollie guided her to another room, and Cam toppled into the bed. She never heard Mollie covering her with the thick blanket. Mollie Duncan took one last peek at the sleeping stranger on her feather mattress, and tiptoed out to the common room. She got Hamish ready for bed, and tucked him into his pallet by the fire. Then she sat and waited. She knew Rob and Ian would be in whenever they finished discussing things.

December 8, 1775 –

The young lady that Robert has brought to us claims that she was with my beloved sister at the time of poor Sarah’s death. Apparently she was struck by a carriage, the driver not seeing her as she ran into its path. While I am naturally distressed by this most horrible news, in a way I am relieved to know that Sarah is now in the safest hands of all.

Ian seems not at all surprised by the news of my Sister’s death, and I sense that he is a bit relieved. I have forgiven him somewhat for his reluctance to have his wife returned from Captivity by Savages. I do understand his point of view, although I do not agree with it. Hamish is recovered from the sickness that kept him coughing all last month, and Ian is making an effort to spend more time with his son. I look at the boy and see my Sister in his eyes, and it saddens me that he will never know her. I take comfort in the knowledge that when he is older, I can tell him that she died protecting him. Had she not stopped the Savages at the door, they surely would have butchered the child where he lay.

It appears that somehow Sarah found herself in Charleston, South Carolina, which is where young Miss Clark has traveled from, many miles from here. Miss Clark, in contrast, is searching for a missing friend of her own, whom she believes to be in this area of Virginia.

Although she is a bit reserved I should like her to be my Friend.

“So now that ye know for certain that your Sarah’s gone, Ian, what d’ye mean to do about Mollie?” Rob asked his brother. They were sitting in the back bedroom, sharing a bottle of whiskey. Rob sat on Ian’s bed, his long legs dangling off the end. Ian perched in a corner chair, ruffling his hands through his sandy hair.

“What do I mean to do about Mollie? I’m not sure I know what ye’re saying, Robbie,” he frowned.

Rob sighed. “You’re thick as a post sometimes, Ian. I mean are ye planning to marry her or not?”

Ian’s eyes widened in terror. “Marry Mollie? Are ye daft, Robbie? I’m afraid o’ Mollie. Why would I marry her?”

“Well,” Rob reasoned, “she has been living here and taking care of the lad for ye. She cooks for ye, cleans your house, mends your torn trousers, and basically makes sure your whole life doesn’t fall to ruin while ye’re moping about over your lost dead wife.”

Ian scowled. “Are ye finished?”

“Nae. I’ve really only just started. Now, you and I both know that Mollie is living here and she sleeps in her own bed, or at least she had better be, since I went to all the trouble of building it for her…”

“Oh, she is, she is,” interjected Ian hurriedly.

“Then in that case, she is practically a wife to ye anyway, except in that one aspect. And ye know people will start to talk after a while. So if you don’t mean to marry her, ye need to send her back to livin’ in her own house, Ian.”

“Who would take care o’ me if she moved back to her place?” Ian asked, quite concerned.

Rob refilled his glass. “You might consider takin’ care o’ yourself, aye?”

Ian fidgeted. “Marry Mollie? I don’t know, Rob, she’s a bit of a harpy lately. She yelled at me the other day.”

Rob laughed. “Ian, whoever you marry will yell at you at some point.”

Ian shook his head. “Not Sarah. She never yelled at me.”

“Aye, well maybe she should have. At any rate, think about it. If you’re not going to marry Mollie, then let her get on with her own life and find herself a husband.”

Ian reached for the bottle. “Aye, and what’s this woman you’ve brought back here with ye, dressed in man’s clothes and covered in dirt?”

“Once again, you’ve managed to turn the conversation away from you and back to me, Ian.” Rob raised his glass in a salute. “I just mean to help her out a bit. I’ll look for her friend and then send her back off to Charleston.”

“How did she come to be in the mountains? And how did Sarah get to the Carolinas? We’re more than a wee bit from Charleston,” Ian pointed out.

“Aye, well, she says she got lost while she was looking for her friend. By the way, do you know a family named Mayberry?”

Ian thought hard. “I dinna know for sure. I believe I once met some Mayberrys from a settlement up near Big Lick, but ye should ask Angus. He knows everyone in the county.”

“And when will Angus be back?”

“Sometime in the spring. He’s spending the winter in Philadelphia, then he’ll be makin’ his way back through Richmond. Ye should read some of his letters. He is sitting with men of importance, like Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Franklin!” Ian said proudly. “But back to yon bedraggled lassie…”

Rob rolled his eyes and finished his whiskey. “There’s nothing more to say.”

Ian hopped over to his brother and sat beside him on the bed. “Is she married?”

“Nae, she’s an old maid, like you’ve turned into.”

Ian boxed his older brother on the ear, and received a punch in the gut for his trouble. They fell onto the floor, pummeling each other, until finally Ian wiped the blood from his nose and said, “All right, Robbie! I give, I give!”

Panting, Rob rolled onto his back. He could feel his left eye beginning to swell. “D’ye think Mollie will fetch me some snow to put on this?”

“I doubt it. She’ll more likely blacken your other eye.”

“Aye. It’s good to be home again.”

“Aye. Good to have ye back, brother.”

“It’s still snowing,” said Mollie, as she handed Cam a steaming cup of black coffee.

“I thought it must be. It’s so quiet here in the mountains.”

“Aye, and the snow makes it even more so. It was a storm like this last year when my sister was taken.” Mollie looked pointedly at Cam. “You saw her.”

Cam sighed. She had known this would come up sooner or later. Obviously Rob had told Mollie some of what had happened. She nodded. “I saw her. I’m sorry, I really am. I did what I could to help her.”

Mollie shook her head, and fiddled with the hem of her long skirt. “Aye, well, I dinna know how much Robbie has told ye. It might have been harder for her if she had come back here.”

Remembering her conversation with Troy -- had that only been a week ago? – Cam merely nodded.

“I do thank ye, though,” Mollie continued. “Not only for tryin’ to be of aid to her, but also for letting us know that she really is dead. Ian can go on, now. Not bein’ certain was the worst part of all of it, ye ken?”

Cam understood. There was a noise from the doorway, and the brothers MacFarlane entered the room. At some point in the night she thought she had heard singing, something about stealing cows. Ian looked perfectly horrible, the obvious result of a large bottle of whiskey that now lay empty in a corner. A smudge of dried blood was crusted to his upper lip, and there were rust-colored spots on his white linen shirt. Rob, on the other hand, looked quite cheerful, despite the swollen eye. He nudged Ian out of the way, and crossed the room to the coffee pot in the fire. Cam was sipping her coffee carefully. It wasn’t quite what she was used to, by any stretch of the imagination.

As he poured himself a cup, Rob looked around the room. His eyes rested on Cam. He started, and Cam watched as the hot coffee spilled over the rim of the cup.

“Bloody hell!” he swore, hastily putting the pot back on its stone. He hurried outside to stick his hand in a snow bank.

“While ye’re out there,” Mollie called, “Ye may wish to grab a clump for your black eye as well, ye big fool!”

Ian staggered over the fire and sat down. He gawked at Cam, and did nothing to hide his surprise. “Look at ye! Ye’re not near so bad when ye’re cleaned up and combed out, are ye, lassie?”

Cam smiled radiantly at him. “Thank you, Ian. That’s very nice of you to say so. Er, what happened to your nose?”

He put a hand to his face. “I dinna remember, exactly, but I expect Robbie punched it.”

By this time, Rob had come back in. Cam smoothed out her skirt and smiled pleasantly at him, but he said nothing. He merely went over to the table and helped himself to a plate of eggs, which he wolfed down heartily.

Cam seethed. He was insufferable. It was obvious that Rob had been startled by her appearance this morning, she had seen the double take he did before spilling coffee all over his hand. Ian had been polite enough to comment on the way she looked, but his brother couldn’t be bothered, even though she knew he had noticed. What was it about Rob that made her want to just slap him?

When she had gotten up this morning, Mollie had already been awake. The younger woman fixed a breakfast of porridge, eggs and ham that made Cam salivate. She had offered to help – despite what Rob MacFarlane thought, Cam was a fair cook – but Mollie shooed her away. Cam occupied herself playing with Hamish, who was demonstrating his ability to not only build but also topple piles of wooden blocks.

“How can any man eat eggs after drinking as much as ye did?” grumbled Ian.

Rob shrugged. “I’ve drunk far more and far worse than that on a ship.”

Ian looked back at Cam. “Did ye travel from Charleston by ship?”

“Um, no, not exactly. I got sort of lost,” she answered vaguely. Apparently Rob had not mentioned the Faeries’ Gate to Ian or Mollie, and Cam was perfectly content to avoid the subject.

“I got lost in the woods once,” said Ian. “It was in a great fine forest near our home, just outside of Cumbernauld, and I was but a wee sprout…”

“You were at least twelve, and it was in a wee thicket behind our grandfather’s house, you fool,” grumbled Rob. “She doesna’ want to hear your story.”

Cam glared at him. How dare he? “On the contrary, Rob, I would love to hear it. Ian, would you please continue?”

Ian grabbed a chunk of ham from the table and resumed his story. “As I was saying, I was just about this high, no bigger than wee Hamish…”

Rob snorted and stomped out into the snow, slamming the door behind him. Mollie watched him with interest. There was obviously tension brewing here. She wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but she could tell there was something. She would keep watching and see what developed.

Robert MacFarlane grabbed a spade from its place beside the door and began to scoop snow. The flakes had finally stopped falling, and the sun was now peeking out from behind the clouds. He shoveled the snow off to the side, clearing a path to the barn. The exercise was good for him, it was just what he needed.

He hadn’t planned on being so startled this morning when he saw Cameron Clark. The change in her appearance wasn’t as shocking as his own physical reaction to it. To compound matters, his fool brother was in there gawking over her like a lovesick schoolboy, and telling her tall tales about his non-existent youthful adventures.

After Meg, Rob had been convinced he would never become involved again, and so far he had kept true to that promise. Now he found himself thinking about Cameron Clark almost all the time. A voice broke the silence.

“Ye’re working hard, Robbie.”

“Aye, Mollie. Someone’s got to clear a trail, and Ian’s too busy with yon lassie to be bothered.”

She smiled. “And why should ye it matter to ye, Rob, if Ian is busy with yon lassie?”

He shrugged. “Ian has work to do. He’d be better off if he got to it.”

Mollie laughed softly. “Ye’re jealous, Robbie MacFarlane. You are!”

“I’m not. Why should I be?” Rob snorted.

“I saw the way ye looked at her this morning, Rob, and I’ll wager she saw it too. Have ye told her how ye feel about her?”

“There’s nothing to tell, Mollie,” he said, tossing the spade into a drift. “I barely know her, and I have no feelings for the lass, other than feelin’ sorry for her and wishing to help her find her friend.”

“Aye, and if she was old and fat and ugly you’d no doubt want to help her then, too?”

“I would, aye.”

“Mmm.” Mollie paused a moment, and fidgeted with her shawl. “Ye know, now that we know for certain that Sarah is dead, it does free your brother up to marry again.”

Rob nodded. “Aye, and your point, Mollie?”

She arched her brows at him. “Perhaps yon stranger won’t want to go back to Charleston any time soon. She may find a reason to stay on here at the Ridge.”

Rob laughed. “You think Ian will want to marry her, is that it?”

Mollie merely looked at him.

“Mollie, I dinna think that will happen. She’s even more stubborn than yourself.”

“And what’s that got to do with any of it?”

“Ian’s a good man, Mollie, but he’s not a terribly strong one, aye? He needs a woman who will stand back and let him be in charge of things. A woman who will make him act like a man. That’s why Sarah wasn’t much good for him. She never bothered to stand up to him.”

Mollie shook her head. “I think you’re wrong, Robbie. Ian needs a woman strong enough for him to lean on without his knowing it. He doesna’ want to be in charge, really. He likes havin’ someone who will make the decisions so he doesna’ have to.”

He looked at her, startled. “By the Saints, Mollie! If I didna’ know better I’d think you loved the fool. You do, don’t ye?”

She glanced back to the house quickly. “I dinna think he’ll ever have me.”

Rob thought for a moment. He supposed it was only natural that some feeling would develop between Mollie and Ian. As he had pointed out to his brother only the night before, they were practically man and wife in any case. Furthermore, a woman like Mollie Duncan would be good for Ian. She might make a man out of him yet.

“Ye could ask him,” suggested Rob.

“Ask him? To marry me?” Mollie was horrified.

“Or ye could just tell him to. He’d be too frightened to refuse.”

She laughed. “Ah, Robbie, ye always know how to make a lady feel better. Now what are ye to do about the lass in the house?”

“Nothing to be done, Mollie,” he said firmly. “I have things to do that dinna concern her.”

“Hmph! And what sort o’ things might those be?”

“I mean to sell my interest in
The Lady Meg
, for one thing.”

“Robbie! Are you certain?”

“And why not?” he argued. “I have no desire to turn pirate and run royal blockades. I am tired of a life at sea, Mollie. I want to live off the land, and stay in one place, like Ian has done. Perhaps begin a wee tobacco crop of my own, and have some cattle and some sheep. Some nice fat ewes would do well here in these mountains, aye? And any self-respecting MacFarlane should have cows on his land.”

Mollie sighed. “It does sound as though ye’ve given it some thought.”

“I have. Ian farms his place with no one’s help – exceptin’ yours, of course, Mollie – and does a fine job of it, and Ian is lazy! A man that works as hard as I do would make a fine success of farming!”

There was a noise behind them, and Rob turned. Cam and Ian had come out of the house. Hamish toddled through the snowdrifts, pausing to eat a handful or two here and there. Cam had bundled him up tightly in every layer of clothing she could find. She was similarly attired, and was wearing her long leather coat over two skirts and a pair of Ian’s shirts. Charlie sniffed eagerly in the snow.

Cam shivered as she exited the house. At least the wind had stopped, and the sun was finally out.
Give it another three months, and I just might be warm again!
She glanced up and saw Rob quickly look away from Mollie.
So that’s what’s going on
… Cam smiled broadly at Mollie, who gave her a tentative grin.

“So, when can I start hunting for Wanda?”

“Wanda?” asked Mollie. “Ah, your missing friend. I dinna think we’ll be lookin’ for anyone in this snow. Mayhap when it melts ye can do some searchin’.”

“When it melts? When will that be?”

They all stared at her like she had sprouted horns and a tail. Finally Ian spoke. “Beggin’ your pardon, lassie, but bein’ from Charleston ye must not have had much experience with snow. It melts when it’s ready to melt, ye ken?”

Cam shook her head in frustration. She kept forgetting that she was in a different time. There was no Weather Channel to watch, no CNN, no six o’clock news with Doppler radar to tell her what was happening. She was in a world where everyone got information by word of mouth, and where it could take weeks, or even months, to receive news. Likewise, the only way to tell when the snow would melt was to wait for it to happen.

“So it could be spring before I can go anywhere?”

“Aye, it could well be,” admitted Mollie. “But ye’re welcome to stay here as long as ye wish. Is she not, Ian?”

Ian broke into a wide grin. “Aye, that she is.”

Cam watched Hamish waddle through the drifts. She could easily find herself cooped in this house for the next three months with this family. Ian practically drooled every time he looked at her, and Rob apparently had decided he disliked her, now that he was back at home. At least she had Mollie to keep her company. Nonetheless, it was going to be a long winter. Thank goodness for the stories.

Every night, after the dishes from supper were cleared away, Mollie told a story. She had a musical lilt to her voice, and Cam loved to listen to her speak. Although she had been in the Colonies more than half her life, Mollie still spoke with the rich dialect of her native Highlands.

“Tell the one about old Gabby McNab,” pleaded Ian. “Tis a fine scary tale for a windy night such as this.”

“Aye,” agreed Robert from his chair by the fire. “Gabby McNab is a good one.”

Mollie looked shyly at Cam. “Would ye like to hear about old Gabby?”

Cam blinked. “Um, okay. Who was Gabby McNab?”

“He was a piper,” blurted out Ian, “an’ a greedy ol’ gomerel, at that!”

She laughed. “I’d love to, Mollie, if you don’t mind telling it.”

“Not at all, ‘twas one of my Da’s favorites, ye ken, an’ he’s the one who taught me the telling.” Mollie sighed, and Cam saw her pull her knitting from the basket by the fire. As she told her stories each night, she would knit, the clicking needles moving in time like a metronome to the sound of her voice. “Robbie, be a dear and pass me the blue yarn, would ye? Thank you.”

She looped the yarn around one of the skewer-like needles, and began to click. Cam sat under a blanket, Hamish curled up in her lap, and closed her eyes to listen.

“A long time ago, in the borderlands of Scotland, there was a man called Gabby McNab. Gabby was a piper, he was, and he traveled all about to different villages. Sometimes, when he ran out o’ money, he would earn a few pennies by fixin’ things, pots and pans and the like, with a wee bag of tools he carried at his belt. He would play his pipes for the folk at different inns, and the keepers would let him bed down for the night. Old Gabby was quite miserly, though, and never spent his money if he didna have to. His tartan was faded and frayed, and covered in stains from where he’d been sleepin’ in the heather, and his boots werena’ really much good at all, ye ken, for they were made of old strips of rags, and sometimes his clarty old big toe would poke through where the cloth was worn.