MacFarlane's Ridge (17 page)

Two days after Christmas, Cam reached the town of Liberty. She found her way to the one inn the settlement boasted, and got a room with some money Mollie had given her. Mollie had warned her about the dangers that awaited a woman traveling alone, and so she signed in as Master Clark, a book merchant from South Carolina. She had smudged some dirt on her lower face, to create the effect of a manly shadow.

“Will you be staying here long, sir?” inquired the innkeeper, a stout woman named Polly.

“I’m not certain,” Cam said in as deep a voice as she could muster. “Just until I locate my sister.”

“Ah,” Polly said, with raised eyebrows. “Well, there’s a royal regiment in town. It may do you good to ask them to keep an eye out for her.”

“Thank you, I’ll do that.”

Cam found her room and slept for sixteen hours. When she finally emerged the next morning, she ventured out into town.

Liberty was not so different from the Bedford she remembered. It was a great deal smaller, but the main street hadn’t changed much. A group of red-coated soldiers with muskets and bayonets marched up the main street, and she jumped out of their way. Cam decided that rather than checking in with the soldiers’ garrison, she would try the town tavern. Surely if a strange woman had wandered into town, someone there would know.

The tavern was dark inside, and once her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she saw that most of the tables near the fire were full of soldiers. There were few women to be seen. She found a spot in a corner where she could sit unobserved until she got her nerve up to start asking about Wanda.

A plump barmaid waddled over to her, and she ordered a bowl of stew and some bread, which seemed to be what everyone else was eating. Maybe they just had a single-item menu here. It was a far cry from Burger King. When the barmaid returned with her meal and a tankard of ale, Cam smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said. “Can you help me? I’ve just arrived here.”

The barmaid plopped into a chair. “I can see that. I didn’t think you was from here.” The girl had a broad English accent, and Cam thought she sounded a bit like Eliza Doolittle in
My Fair Lady
.

“I’m looking for my sister. She’s disappeared, and I think she may be somewhere near here.”

The girl looked skeptical. “I don’t think so. I’d’ve heard if there was a new lady in town. There ain’t many ladies around here, you know.”

“Are you sure? Her name is Wanda Mabry.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she stood up. Cam noticed her surreptitiously making the sign of the cross over her chest. “Haven’t heard of her. I have to go back to work, sir.”

Cam watched as the girl backed away, and scurried over to the tavern keeper. She could see that the barmaid was whispering and pointing back to her. Cam nodded politely. What in the world was going on? Obviously the girl had heard of Wanda. The tavern keeper approached her. He was a large man with a walrus mustache and a bushy blond beard.

“You need to go,” he said bluntly. The soldiers and other patrons were now watching the little drama unfold.

“I’m sorry,” Cam said. “I was looking for my sister.”

“She is not here. You go now,” he ordered.

Cam rose from her seat. She would have to squeeze past the man to get out of the tavern. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m leaving.”

As she inched past the barmaid, the girl hissed at her, and spit. A glob of saliva landed on Cam’s cheek. Without thinking, she punched the girl, hard, in the nose. A gush of blood sprayed out, and suddenly they were on her. Several men were grabbing at her, and they hauled her bodily out to the street. They tossed her unceremoniously onto the dirt road.

The barmaid shook a fist at Cam. “You’ll find your sister in hell, where she belonged, ye bastard!”

The drunken group had left the tavern and was now advancing on her. A couple of the soldiers were brandishing swords, and a few were readying their muskets. What was happening? Where was Wanda?

Cam got up and ran. The mob followed her, shouting, as she darted in and out behind buildings. She ducked into the rear of a blacksmith’s shop, where she faced a dead end. Pulling a wagon wheel over to the wall, she climbed up and over, and found herself at the back of a small house. She heard a deep bark, and smelled the unmistakable odor of wet dog. Suddenly, strong hands were grabbing her from behind.

“Don’t make a sound,” Robert MacFarlane whispered, “not if you wish to stay alive.” He threw his plaid around her like a cloak, knocked off her hat, and pushed her up against the wall in a rough embrace. He pulled her face into his chest.

Cam was terrified. They were going to kill her and she had no idea why. Obviously it had something to do with Wanda. And now Rob MacFarlane – how had he ended up here? – was literally the only thing between her and an angry mob. She could hear their shouts getting closer. She was being hunted, just as she had been hunted in the cave. She shook with fear, and closed her eyes.

Rob was nuzzling in her hair. “Dinna say anything, not a word. Here they come.”

Charlie growled softly.

“Who’s there?” shouted a man’s voice. “Where did he go?” She could feel Rob glancing back over his shoulder.

“Do you lads mind giving us a wee bit of privacy?” he asked politely.

“Oh! Sorry!” There were laughs and snickers behind them.

“Give her a little bit for me, you lucky bastard!” one of them smirked. There was a great deal of good-natured catcalling as the mob made its way on down the street.

He held her a few minutes longer, and Cam was too stunned to pull away. Behind her was the cool stone wall, and in front of her was Rob’s body, warm and solid, pressing up to her, protecting her from the raging crowd.

“Cameron?” he murmured.

“Mmph?” she mumbled into his chest.

“Are ye hurt, lass?”

“No. What are you doing here?” she asked one of the buttons on his coat.

“Look at me.”

She peeked up at him.

“We need to get you out of here, lass. Where is Betsy?”

Cam was puzzled. “Who?”

“My horse!”

She had to think. Her mind was racing. “The stable. The one behind Basham’s boarding house. My stuff is in a room there.”

“Aye, then we’ll get ye back there and stay hidden till dark. As soon as the sun sets we’ll ride out.”

“Okay,” said Cam. Rob led her through small alleys behind houses and shops until they reached the rear of the boarding house. He lifted her quietly through the window into her room. She curled up on the bed in a fetal position, the plaid still wrapped around her body. She was shaking.

“There, lass, you’re safe for now,” Rob whispered, patting her shoulders.

“They were going to kill me,” she said.

“Aye, they might have done so,” he agreed. “Or perhaps just run ye out of town, tarred and feathered.”

“Why? What did I do?” She felt him tense, and glanced up at him.

“Ye asked about your friend. Wanda, was it?”

“Yes… what do you mean by “was”?” she asked, realization dawning.

“I’m sorry, lass, I truly am. I got here yesterday afternoon and asked about her.” Tentatively, he pulled something from the pouch tied at his breeks. It was Wanda’s purple crystal, dangling from its thong. “Your friend is dead.”

Cam couldn’t control it anymore. She burst into tears and buried her face in the flat feather pillow.

“She came into Liberty about the same time you arrived at the Ridge,” Rob went on. “She told them she had come through the Faeries’ Gate, and that on the other side of it were amazing things that had to be seen to be believed. She was talking like a madwoman, lass. She spoke of flying ships and carriages that moved with no horse, and of great wars that would someday come. They thought she was a witch, lass, and I’m sorry for it.”

“A witch? What did they do to her? Please tell me they didn’t burn her,” Cam sobbed.

“Nae, lassie, they dinna do that here anymore. They simply ran her out of town. It was dark, and she couldna’ see where she was going. She went off the edge of a gorge.”

“How could they think she was a witch? She was just trying to tell them…” Cam stopped. What could she say? That Wanda had been telling the truth?

“There’s more.”

“What more could there possibly be?”

“Just before she fell, she put a curse on them.”

“A curse? That is ludicrous!”

“Is it?” Rob asked. “She told them that soon another would come. Another one like her. From the magical place she was from.”

He was watching her carefully. Cam didn’t open her eyes, but she could feel him looking at her. “Why did you come after me?” she asked.

“I dinna know, exactly. I suppose the alternative was unthinkable,” he said simply. He got up and left the room.

When the sun went down, Rob tapped at the window. Cam grabbed her saddlebag and followed him out to the stable. Betsy was saddled and ready to go. Rob had ridden Ian’s horse to Liberty. They stole out of town quietly, never speaking. Finally, when they were far enough away, Rob stopped. While he caught a pair of plump squirrels, Cam built a fire. Rob nodded approvingly.

“That’s a good flame, lass. I dinna suppose you’ve learned to clean game?” he said pleasantly.

Cam laughed. “No, I still haven’t. I’d hate to deprive you of the chance to do it.”

Rob smiled, and the flickering light highlighted the mark on his left cheek.

“How did you get that? That scar, I mean?” asked Cam.

“Defending a lady’s honor.”

“Really? How noble of you. Seems like you do that a lot,” she said.

He snorted. “Well, the lady in question really had no honor to defend, although I didna’ know that at the time.”

“Who was she?”

He stared into the flames. “She was my wife.”

Cam started. “Your wife? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

He waved a hand indifferently. “It’s in the past. I was young and foolish. Meg was young and beautiful. The rest doesna’ matter.”

Cam thought for a moment. “Is she why you – oh, never mind.”

“Is she why I what?”

“Nothing.”

“For God’s sake, woman, you’re as bad as Mollie. Would ye finish a bloody sentence if there’s something ye wish to know?”

She sighed. “Is she why you never married anyone else? Because she hurt you?”

Rob speared the squirrel on a stick and held it in the flames. “I seem to remember ye telling me that your marital status was none of my business…”

“Yes, well, you made it clear that it was your business. Therefore, I’m entitled to ask about yours.
Quid pro quo
, as it were,” she smiled.

“
Touché
. The reason I never married again is because I have been at sea for fifteen years. It’s best not to have a wife when you’re away for months at a time. I know men who’ve tried it, and it doesna’ seem to make anyone happy.”

“When are you going back?”

He paused. “I’m not. I’m going to sell my share of
The Lady Meg
to my uncle in the spring.”

“Oh.” Cam wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she kept her mouth shut and watched the squirrel roast in the flames.

“I’ve a wee gift for you, if you’ll have it,” Rob said abruptly.

“For me?”

“Aye. It was to be a Christmas present, though it’s a few days late.” He pulled out the small square package that Tom Kerr had given him and handed it to her. “I had one of Tom’s lads pick it up in Liberty.”

“Thank you, Robert. I – I don’t know what to say. I have a gift for you too, but it’s back at Ian’s place.” He watched her as she untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper. It was a copy of
MacBeth
.

“Ye said ye were looking for a missing copy of it. This one isna’ old and valuable, but I thought ye may enjoy it,” he said cautiously.

Tears sprang to her eyes. So he
had
been paying attention to her all this time. “Thank you. I will treasure this,” she said honestly. She jumped up and gave him a hug, startling him. When she went to pull away, he released her reluctantly.

She sat by the firelight and flipped the pages. It had been published in New York, in 1774. She held a brand new book in her hands, which, in her own time, would be worth thousands of dollars.
I’m no better than Wayne Sinclair,
she thought suddenly, ashamed of her thoughts. She looked at Rob.

“When I was a lad,” he said, “my father taught me and Ian to read with Master Shakespeare’s plays.”

She flipped to a random page and began to read aloud. “
’What’s the business, that such a hideous trumpet calls to parley the sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!’”

Rob winked at her, and struck a noble pose. “
’O gentle lady, tis not for you to hear what I can speak: the repetition in a woman’s ear would murder as it fell. O Banquo, Banquo, our royal master’s murdered
!’” He had recited from memory.