MacFarlane's Ridge (45 page)

“The bairns!” he said, exasperated. “Ye can lay the wee ones in there and pull ‘em behind ye so you dinna have to tote them around like sacks o’ flour in your arms all day!”

“Oh!” her eyes widened. “Oh, Jamie, how terribly thoughtful of you!” She handed a baby each to Ian and Angus, and pulled Jamie to her in a ferocious hug. “You’re a good lad, Jamie,” she said softly.

He blushed even more, and pulled away. “I’m glad ye like it,” he said shyly.

“Oh, I do,” she smiled.

“Look ye, there’s even room for wee Hamish to ride along, or Young Tom if Sally tires of carrying him,” he continued.

She looked at the boy fondly. It would be a shame if Winnie didn’t come back. She would miss out on seeing what a fine young man he was turning into. And if Rob could only see the lad now. Mollie gulped.

“I will cherish it greatly, Jamie,” she said honestly.

He beamed with pride. Mollie placed Sarah and Hugh, wrapped tightly in their blankets, in the wagon and took the rope handle.

Together, the six of them set off down the hill.

When they reached the range of mountains known as the Blue Ridge, Cam and Robert parted ways with Ambrose Meador. He had made a habit of playing cards in the settlements they stopped in along the way, and had accumulated enough money that he gave them his second gift.

They were camped in a field near a small crossroads village, and Ambrose had disappeared for the night, as he frequently did. Cam didn’t know if he had gone into town to gamble, or if he was simply giving them privacy.

She awoke and stretched luxuriously, Rob’s warm body pressed up against hers. Since the night at the tavern in Front Royal, they had spent every night burrowed together under their blankets, feeling the heat of skin against bare skin.

“Mmm,” she sighed, arching her back. “Morning.”

He laughed, a low, soft rumble. “Aye, that it is. We shall be back at the Ridge some time tomorrow.”

She rolled over and nuzzled up against him, her finger tracing the mermaid tattoo on his shoulder. “Can’t we just stay here, like this, for a day or two?”

“That tickles. I suppose we could, but ‘twill be getting cooler soon.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer. “It’s still a good walk from here to Ian’s, aye?”

She propped herself up on one elbow and leaned over, kissing him gently on the nose. “You’re ready to be home, aren’t you?”

Robert blinked. “Aye, that I am. Does that bother ye?”

She shook her head. “No. We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

He knew what she meant. “We do, Cameron Clark, we do.”

Cam looked around her at the field, and as she stared over the waves of goldenrod and wild lavender, she sat abruptly. “Ambrose is coming.”

Rob rose up and squinted. “Aye, he is. And it looks like he isna alone, although I canna see from here who he might have with him.”

Cam dressed hurriedly, pulling on her long wool stockings and Wanda’s old boots underneath her frayed traveling dress. Once blue, it was now a nondescript shade of gray.

As it turned out, Ambrose Meador was not accompanied by another person, but by a large horse.

He handed the reins to Rob. “Ah got to head to Liberty now. This is for you. So you can get home faster,” he explained.

Cam was at a complete loss for words.

Robert solemnly put out his hand to Meador. “You’re a fine man. I am proud to call ye friend.”

Meador nodded. “Ah’ll maybe come see y’all some time.”

“That… that would be wonderful, Ambrose,” replied Cam, trying to hide the catch in her voice. She took his hand in hers. “Thank you. For everything.”

And with that, the big, bearded man crossed the field and once more, vanished into the wilderness.

They approached MacFarlane’s Ridge from the north, and the first thing Rob saw was his cabin on the crest of the hill. Someone had finished the roof, and there was a door now, although it didn’t appear that the house was inhabited.

He examined the rough shingles carefully, and nodded with approval. “A fine job, whoever’s done this.”

“Ian, maybe, or Angus?”

Rob snorted. “Angus is happier with his nose in a book than working with his hands, and Ian doesna know one end of a hammer from the other. No, ‘tis someone else.” He looked around, anxiously. “Where d’ye suppose they all are?”

And then she heard it, faintly at first, then growing as the wind changed directions and brought the sound towards them. Music, and laughter.

“Someone’s having a party,” she said with delight. “It’s coming from down towards Tom Kerr’s house!”

Rob grinned. “A ceilidh. Tom’s always meant to host one but never got around to doing it. Well, that’s a fine thing, aye?”

They tied up the horse in front of the cabin, and opened the door. It was essentially as he had left it. A few pots for cooking lay cold beside the empty hearth, and Cam repressed a shudder.

“We could live here, I suppose,” Rob said doubtfully. “It doesna really feel like home, though, does it?”

Cam shook her head. Suddenly, a thought hit her. “I have just the thing,” she grinned. She reached into her bag and pulled out the scissors that Wanda had stolen from the desk of Lieutenant William Clarendon.

He frowned. “D’ye mean to stab me with those after we’ve traveled all this way together?”

She laughed. “No, no. It’s something that Wanda told me about, when we were traveling with the Mohawks. If a house doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, you bury iron under the hearth, and you bless the house.”

Rob arched his brow. “Aye, tis true. Although I’m not entirely sure those are iron.”

She frowned. “Well, they’re metal, so they should do, shouldn’t they?”

“It certainly couldna hurt, then, could it? And did the woman say anything about what sort of thing ye’d say to bless a new house?”

Cam studied the scissors. “Yes, she did. It’s a bit pagan, but if you don’t mind then I certainly don’t.”

Rob kissed the top of her head. “Wanda and those scissors got us out of Fort Wyndham. Ye can say anything ye please, aye?”

He levered the hearthstone up slightly, and Cam wedged the scissors beneath. The stone in place once more, she wiped her hands nervously on her skirt.

“I’m not positive of the exact words. I mean, I can’t remember all of it,” she apologized.

“It’s alright, lass. Just say what ye know,” he said gently, taking her hands in his.

She closed her eyes then, and thought of Wanda, red hair whipping in the wind, screaming her strange chant at Kills Bears and his braves.

Wanda, grinning and dumping tobacco leaves all over Wayne Sinclair’s desk.

Wanda.

“We bless this house by earth, from which we gain so much, and to which we shall give back. We bless this house by air, wind blowing through our home, fresh and pure.”

She could feel Rob’s body, hard and firm against her back, his breath warm in her hair.

“We bless this house by fire, which will keep us warm on the coldest of days, and light our darkest hours. We bless this house by water, washing away anything that might harm us.”

Our darkest hours, she thought. I believe we have already been through those, haven’t we?

Finally, she turned to him, and kissed him softly. “We bless this house.”

He smiled down at her, surprised. “Aye, that we do. That we do.”

As the sun began to drop over the ridge, bonfires sprang up here and there. Mollie and her family sat peacefully in front of the largest blaze, accompanied by the Kerrs and Angus and Jamie.

Tom Kerr pulled out his bodhran drum, and tucked it under the stump of his arm. With the remaining hand, he began to tap out a deep, low, rhythm. A few moments later, off amongst the campfires, came the sounds of someone filling a bagpipe with air. Mollie could feel the haunting drone of the pipes deep down into her bones, and she shivered just a bit.

“That’ll be one of the MacGregor boys,” murmured Ian over her shoulder.

She nodded, and glanced down at little Hugh, who was sucking noisily at her breast. Sarah was asleep in the wagon beside her, and Hamish rested his head on his father’s shoulder.

Tom Kerr’s daughter, Morag, was holding Young Tom. She handed him off to Sally, and rose to her feet. She was a good-sized girl, strong and healthy, and unfortunately, looked just like her father. When she opened her mouth to sing, however, she had the voice of an angel.

“I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world of woe,” she sang, her voice ringing clear and true, echoing through the mountain air.

“But there’s no toil or sweat or danger, in the world to which I go.

I’m going home to see my loved ones,

I’m going home no more to roam.”

The soft thrum of the bodhran and the droning of the pipes continued, accentuating Morag’s pure voice.

“I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger, so many miles away from my home,” the girl finished. There was a great deal of applause for Morag, and she blushed crimson.

Jamie’s eyes glinted in the firelight, as he watched Morag. “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” he whispered.

Startled, Angus looked at the girl. “Aye,” he said softly, “I suppose she is rather pretty, at that.” That was when he glanced over at his sister, but she was staring off past the flames, looking for all the world like she’d seen a ghost.

“Mollie?” he asked, concerned. “What is it, lass?”

She didn’t answer. Angus poked Ian with the toe of his boot. “Ian? What’s wrong with wee Mollie?”

Startled, Ian looked at his wife. “I dinna ken. Mollie? What’s wrong?”

Mutely, Mollie raised a finger and pointed. Both men, and Jamie, turned to see. Charlie, the big bull mastiff, leaped to his giant feet, and shot across the clearing, woofing joyfully.

And there, on the other side of the circle, stood a man and a woman, the orange light of the fire lending an almost supernatural glow to their faces. Ian rose slowly to his feet.

“Dear God,” he whispered, crossing himself quickly. Angus couldn’t even speak.

It was Jamie who broke the moment, leaping up and clambering over Angus and several Kerr children in his excitement. “Master Rob! Master Rob! Is it you?”

Rob scooped up Jamie happily. “Aye, tis me indeed! An’ look at ye, lad! You’ve grown near a foot since I’ve seen ye last!” He ruffled the boy’s orange hair happily, and pulled Cam forward out of the shadows. “You’ll remember, of course, Miss Clark?”

“Oh, aye,” said the boy, eyeing her appreciatively. “She looks a wee bit nicer when she’s not crying into a pot o’ rum, aye?”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Jamie, I think.” Cam looked over, then, to the spot where the boy had been sitting, and saw Ian approaching.

“Are ye alive, then, Robbie?” he asked hoarsely.

“I am,” Rob smiled. “I’m home, aye?” He pulled his brother to him in a warm embrace, and Cam stepped back, watching the sandy hair against the silky black.

“Cameron?” said a tentative voice. Cam turned and saw Mollie, a bundle clutched to her chest.

“Mollie,” she said cautiously.
Please don’t let her hate me for leaving
.

Almost as if she could read Cam’s thoughts, Mollie burst into tears. “Ye brought him back to us. I’m so very glad to see you, Cameron.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mollie,” Cam smiled with relief. Then, behind Mollie, she saw Angus approaching. His eyes were searching the crowd beyond her, and she swallowed hard and forced herself to say the words she had been dreading.

“Angus, I’m sorry,” she began.

He nodded stiffly, jaw set in grim determination, and for a moment looked just like his sisters. “Where?”

“Pennsylvania. Angus, she wanted me to tell you that it – that she loved you.”

“Aye,” he sighed. “And Peyton Basham? What became of him?”

Cam was surprised. “He’s gone too.”

Angus had a funny look on his face. “Ah. That explains it, then, doesn’t it?”

“Explains what?”

He laughed hollowly. “Johnny Burgoyne was able to take Fort Ticonderoga without having fired a single shot. He met up with Howe in Albany in August, and then moved into Philadelphia earlier this month. If the city hasn’t fallen already, it will shortly, aye?”

Cam stared. But of course Peyton Basham had to die, she thought wildly. If he had lived, and gotten the information passed along about Burgoyne, then it would have changed the course of the Revolution!

“Do you know if he had… a family?” she asked faintly.

“Aye, a wife and several bairns back in Liberty,” Angus muttered.

Good. Then Diana Basham is safe, and so are the letters in her collection at the county archives.

“Angus, I’m very sorry about Wanda,” she repeated. “So is Robert.”

She saw the tears glinting in his eyes then. “And so am I, lass, so am I.”