MacFarlane's Ridge (8 page)

Cam felt like she had been in the cave for hours. She had gone through several different passageways, and was now a bit disoriented. The sound of water was getting louder. There was still no sign of Wanda. The sound of her pursuer’s voice jolted her.

“Cameron! Damn it, I’m getting dirty and wet and pissed off! I know you’re in here!”

His voice echoed in the cave, bouncing here and there. Cam couldn’t tell how far away he was. Because of all the twists and turns in the passages, she wasn’t even sure if he was behind her. For all she knew, he could be right ahead of her, around the next corner. She clicked her flashlight off, and proceeded forward in the darkness. She moved cautiously, feeling each inch carefully with her hands. The stone was cool underneath her palms, and after a while she noticed it was damp. She could hear the roar of the waterfall. Far off somewhere, she heard him calling her name again. Suddenly there was a drop-off under her hand, and she swung wildly backwards on her knees to balance herself. Once she was steady again, she clicked on the flashlight for a moment.

The waterfall was glorious, at least thirty feet high. The ceiling of the room was so far up she couldn’t make it out with the beam of her flashlight. Below her, where she had almost put her hand, there was a drop of about five feet, down to a ledge. Beneath the ledge she saw a drop of another dozen feet or so, with a swirling, spiraling pool at the bottom. There were strange reflections in the light, different colors and sparkles, and Cam wondered idly what kind of crystals were in the pool to cause such a display.

“Cameron!” His voice boomed suddenly closer, and Cam knew it was only a matter of time before he found his way to the waterfall. With a surge of hope, she decided to try to climb behind the cascade and hide there. If she could make it, he would never find her. She doused the flashlight once more, stuck it in the waistband of her jeans, and slide down to the ledge. She pressed herself against the slick rock, and began inching towards the falls sideways. The rock was cold beneath her palms. She could hear him calling her, ever nearer in the blackness of the cave.

Looking up, she caught a glimpse of light. His flashlight bobbed in the darkness not far from where she had entered the waterfall room. Panicked, she tried to move faster, but her feet slipped on the wet stone. In a sudden moment of clarity, she realized what Wanda must have done. This was a dead end, and there was nowhere to go but down. Cam let go, and plunged into the whirling vortex below.

Wayne arrived in the waterfall chamber and shone his flashlight around. He was sure she had come this way, but there was no sign of her at all. He wondered idly if she was tucked in a crevice somewhere behind the falls, but on closer inspection he decided there was no way she could have gotten back there without falling.

“Cameron!” he called again. “I’ll find you! I promise you that. I will find you.”

And he knew that one way or another, he would.

Late November 1775

Southwestern Virginia

When the snow finally stopped, Rob followed directions from the locals to get to the place that the Shawnee called the Mountain of the Spirit Tears. He rode west for a few days, then turned and headed south for a few more. At one isolated farmhouse, a German family fed him and allowed him to sleep at their hearth. When he told them he was looking for the Mountain of the Spirit Tears, they crossed themselves and muttered prayers in their strange, guttural tongue.

He thanked them politely for their warnings, and the next morning headed back out, with one of Frau Wagner’s rabbit pies in his pack. He rode all day, and found himself at the foot of the mountain. As the sun began to drop lower in the sky, he tied up his horse and dug out a spot in the wet leaves to build a fire. While scraping the area clear, he found several small pebbles shaped like crude crosses. Thinking he could polish them up and give them to Mollie and Hamish for Christmas, he placed them in his pack.

Now that he was here, on the mountain itself, he had no idea what to do next. The old Shawnee had said there was a cave to look for, but this was a big mountain, and there could be hundreds of caves here. How would he know which was the right one?

He was also troubled by the falling-out he’d had with his brother before leaving the ridge. Ian had used numerous excuses, none of them very good, to avoid accompanying him on the search. He had to gather more meat for the winter so they wouldn’t starve. He had to gather more wood so they wouldn’t freeze. Mollie was now at Ian’s almost all the time, caring for Hamish and helping out with domestic matters such as curing the meat, gathering medicinal herbs for the simples room, and sewing clothes for the entire lot of them. In addition, Mollie decided she wanted a proper bed to sleep in, and had sketched a picture of it for Rob. He built the frame for her, and she was busily braiding ropes that she would weave across it. It occurred to Rob that if Mollie would just marry Ian, his brother too would have a proper bed to sleep in, and a warm one at that. But if Sarah was still alive, Ian certainly couldn’t marry her sister. Maybe that was another reason Ian didn’t care to find Sarah. Of course, Rob reflected, it was unlikely that Mollie would have the fool anyway. She still blamed Ian for Sarah’s capture, and actually threatened to behead him with her father’s sword when he had refused to accompany Rob. Rob laughed aloud at the thought of Ian being married to someone as hardheaded and fierce as Mollie Duncan.

Once he had his fire started, he pulled out the rabbit pie. It was cold but tasty and filling. Rob was only able to eat half of it before he was full, and he tossed a chunk to Charlie, who wolfed it down happily, black tail wagging. He would make a point of stopping back at the farm on the way back to the ridge. Maybe Frau Wagner would make him another pie. He leaned back against a large rock and wrapped himself in his plaid. It had been his father’s, and was the one thing Rob carried with him wherever he went.

His father. If only Alex could see his son now.

Alexander MacFarlane had lost his brother Dugald and at the battle of Culloden. The two of them had fought beside Hugh Duncan. Hugh had been just a boy, and had taken a horrible wound to the leg trying unsuccessfully to save Dugald. Alex was ten years older than Hugh, and risked his own life keeping the boy alive long enough to get him away from the battlefield. When it was over, and thousands of clansmen had fallen, they had limped back home to Dunbartonshire and tried to get on with their lives. After the Rising, the King had outlawed the wearing of the tartan and the playing of the bagpipes, and Scotland was a country of broken and battered people.

In the highlands, English soldiers hunted down men for sport, and starved out the families still alive. A charge of treason was automatically rendered against anyone who had fought on the side of Bonnie Prince Charlie in his attempt to claim the throne. In the lowlands, on the coast, Alex MacFarlane worked unnoticed as a shipbuilder and somehow his family managed to survive. Finally, in one last act of rebellion, Alex and Hugh decided it was time to take their families to the Colonies. While they would still be under English rule, they would at least be far enough away that they could be allowed to live peacefully. Tom Kerr and his children had joined them, along with several Murrays and McGregors. When they left Glasgow, young Robbie had stayed behind to work on the great ships and marry his Meg. Alex MacFarlane had somehow known he wouldn’t see his eldest son again, and had given Rob his great plaid solemnly.

“Ye take this and keep it safe, laddie. It’s kept me warm in both war and in love. Someday, ye’ll be allowed to wear it here again.” Alex had hugged Rob tightly, and gotten on the ship. Rob never saw him again. His mother had died at sea, bleeding to death after yet another miscarriage. His father lived fifteen years more, but in 1770 he had fallen from his horse, drunk, and died from his injuries. Now Ian lived in a house on Alexander’s land, and Rob kept Alexander’s plaid to keep him warm. As he hunkered down beside the fire, Rob was thankful for his part of the inheritance.

The next morning dawned sunny and crisp. Rob could see his breath as he stomped about to get his blood flowing. After years on a ship, unaccustomed to sleeping on the hard ground, he was stiff and sore. He smiled to himself, and thought perhaps he would fashion a hammock to sleep in, rather than a bed, whenever he built himself a house of his own..

He had spotted a stream in the distance last night, and guided the horse in that direction. The clear water burbled past him. Ahead was a small overhang of rock with a pool below it. The horse needed water, so Rob dismounted and led the mare through the brush.

“Come on, then, missy,” he said gently. “Ye can have a wee drink in a moment. Just let me get in a spot where we won’t go plungin’ into the creek.”

The mare stuck her soft nose into the cold water and nickered, blowing large bubbles. Rob squatted beside her and splashed his face. Charlie began to bark excitedly, and a slight movement beneath the overhang caught Rob’s eye.

“What in bloody hell?” he exclaimed. There was a body in the cold water, half submerged. What looked like the upper half was draped across a flat ledge. Rob splashed his way through the water to the motionless figure. Charlie paddled along beside him.

“Sir! Sir, are ye alive?” he called. There was no reply. When he reached the body, he rolled it over gently on the bank. It appeared to be a young man in his twenties. “Sir?” He placed his fingers upon the side of the neck, as he had seen the ship’s doctors do so many times, and felt a faint pulsing.

“Good, ye’re not dead yet, then. Come along, lad. Let’s get you out and get you dry.” He reached his arms around the young man’s chest, and when he did so, he discovered that this was not a boy at all. What was a lass doing dressed in trousers lying in a cold creek?

He pulled her back through the water and up on the opposite side, where the horse was now nibbling on some shrubs. Rob cleared another spot on the ground, and for the second time in twelve hours built a warm fire. He wrapped the lass in the big MacFarlane plaid and placed her as close to the flames as was possible without setting her on fire. The girl’s hands were mottled from the cold water, and Rob rubbed them vigorously. He stoked the fire some more, and waited patiently.

She had worn a coat that Rob hung up to dry, and carried on her back a waterlogged sack of some sort. Rob examined it with interest. It was held closed with a row of odd shiny teeth. He tugged on a small tab, and the teeth opened up for him. He reached inside, and his hand closed around something small and hard. He pulled it out. It was a little brush, but it was a queer color, as blue as the sky. He inspected it carefully. The bristles had been mashed flat, almost as if they had been chewed on by some wild animal. Rob peered inside the bag again, and a flash of color caught his eye. He grabbed the scrap of wet cloth, and wrung the water out of it. He held it up with both hands. It was an interesting color, as well. He had only seen that shade of lavender once before, on a young English nobleman’s velvet coat.

“Mmmmph,” murmured the figure beside the fire.

Rob glanced at the girl. “So ye’ll be feeling better, then?” he asked politely.

Cameron rolled over and coughed violently. She was cold, but someone had built a nice bonfire and wrapped her in a blanket. There was a strong smell of wet dog nearby. When she realized that she had been spoken to, she sat up with a jolt, pushing her damp hair out of her eyes.

“Who are you?” she wheezed. “And what are you doing with my stuff?”

The man knelt beside her. “I pulled you out of a freezing creek before you caught your death o’ cold, lass. And I was looking through your pack to see if I could learn who ye are, just in case ye chose not to live long enough to tell me yourself.”

Cam realized this strange man was holding her toothbrush and extra underpants in his hand. She studied him carefully. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and wore several layers of clothes, and his boots were made of a deep brown leather. His hair was curly and black, and in the back he had a short ponytail. His speech had an odd musical lilt to it. It was similar to that of the girl, Sarah, but not quite as thick. Maybe he was one of those re-enactors, like the college girl who had come into the shop and bought the bloomers and petticoats.

“So, lass. Are ye going to tell me your name, or d’ye mean to make me guess?” The man seemed friendly enough, but Cam was cautious. She was alone in the woods with a stranger, and a fairly good-sized one at that. Until she figured out where she was, it might be prudent to just tell him as little about herself as possible.

She cleared her throat. “Um. My name is Cameron.”

The man’s dark eyes widened, and she noticed they were almost a coffee color. “My mother was a Cameron! Where are your folk?”

Cam thought quickly. “Um, they’re all dead. It’s just me.”

Rob shook his head sadly. “Tis a shame. What’s your Christian name, Cameron?”

“My Christian name?”

“Aye. Sometimes it's Jane, or Elizabeth, or Susannah. Yours would be?”

“Oh!” Cam blushed. She had no idea what the man had been talking about, but she guessed he meant her first name. “Cameron
is
my first name.”

Rob frowned. “Ye maybe hit your head when you fell in the creek. Cameron is a family name.”

Cam must have looked as confused as she felt. Rob patiently explained. “Clan Cameron.
Mo righ’s mo dhuchaich
. For king and country.”

Cam shook her head. “I don’t understand you. My name is Cameron Clark.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. The Clarks are a sept of the Camerons. Ye look hungry. Would you like some pie?”

Cam brightened at this. Pie! She was famished, and now that she had warmed up a little, she felt like she could eat a horse. She took a bite of the plump pastry, and her eyes widened in amazement.

“There’s meat in it!”

“Aye. What were you hoping for?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cherries, or blueberries or something. Is this chicken?”

Rob shook his head. “Nae, that’s one of the Frau Wagner’s coney pies.” Seeing her look of bewilderment, he continued. “Conies. Hares. Rabbits. Wee bunnies.”

Cam felt nauseous. She had never eaten rabbit before, to the best of her knowledge. The dog watched her closely, waiting for a piece to fall to the ground.

“You’re turning green, lass. Is the pie not agreeing with your stomach?”

Cam gave a polite smile and chewed slowly. When she had thought it was chicken, it had tasted just fine. She was going to eat the rabbit pie if it took her all afternoon. After all, who knew where the nearest Burger King was? Finally, when she had finished, she really did feel better. The man offered her some water, which he carried in a skin on the horse -- a horse! She must be near one of the riding trails. Now that she was warm and fed, she had a chance to look at her surroundings a bit more. She was fairly sure she was still on Fairy Stone Mountain. It was colder than it had been before she went into the cave, and there was a good deal more snow. The shrubbery and trees looked similar, although she hadn’t remembered seeing the creek when she and Troy had made their hike.

Troy! She wondered if he was dead. He certainly hadn’t looked so good when she peeked out of the niche in the rocks. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. There had been someone else there too, someone following her. She didn’t think he had seen her drop into the whirlpool. She must have been swept downstream by the current. He could well be several miles away on the opposite hillside. If she could get to a pay phone, she could call the police, or Alice, or anyone.

“What did you say your name was?” she asked again.
Maybe
, she reasoned,
I am dead and this is the afterlife. Or it’s all a dream, like the Wizard of Oz…

“I didn’t say. And you seem to think you’ve been given two last names and no Christian one, Cameron Clark,” he smiled. When he grinned at her, Cam realized he was actually quite good-looking, in a rugged and outdoorsy sort of way. He had a small, crescent-shaped scar across his left cheek.

“So,” he continued. “Your people are all dead, yet ye still managed to find your way into a cold creek on a mountainside. Do you want to tell me how it came about?”