Finding My Highlander (4 page)

He watched Andra nibble the oatcake while hauling her things over a rocky slope to a small clearing near a stand of pine trees where she sank to the ground.

“What do you think she is doing, casting spells?” Struan harrumphed as the men came beside him to watch her.

“Nae,” said Rabbie. “It seems she sings to her departed. That looks like a funerary urn she’s holding. I’ve seen them on my travels in Europe. Sometimes they use them to return the remains of fallen warriors to their families.”

“Strange song and even stranger behavior, and you ken it’s a sin to burn the body. Only witches are burned.” Struan scowled at the lass. He’d never encountered a woman like her before.

Rabbie interjected before Struan continued. “Nae, they sometimes still burn the remains of fallen warriors when they die far from home. Also, they might burn the remains of plague victims. Mayhap it’s a loved one or family member.”

“I don’t trust her. It’s witchery, I tell you.” Struan was building up to a full-blown rant about witches. “And when your da and mother hear about her lying with Lorne, there will be hell to pay. He’ll be insistin’ Lorne marry the daft lass, and I can tell you, Laird Keith will not take lightly to his daughter being set aside.”

Even the suggestion stunned Kendrick. “No one will be insisting anything of the sort. Andra only meant to help him heal. There will be no talk of marriage. In fact, none of us will mention anything about last night to anyone. Is that understood?”

Rabbie snorted and pulled the reins of his horse forward. “Best get out and see if anyone is on our trail. Are you comin’ along, Struan, or are you staying here ogling the lass?”

Struan grunted, jerked his head, and mounted his horse. “You’ll be minding your tongue, Rabbie. Let’s get on with it, see if we can find anything out about the wench, and check your snares. We could all use nourishment a bit hardier than oatcakes and dried meat.”

Kendrick continued to watch Andra as the men rode quietly down the hill. He felt a deep tug in his chest and wanted to take her in his arms and sooth her obvious distress. “Och! What nonsense. What is it about her that is so disturbing?”

He did not gush over women and their heartaches. He had sealed his heart a long time ago and did not wish to open up to any woman ever again. His first wife came by way of an arranged marriage to quell strife between clans. They only had a year together, but he had come to love her. She was a sweet, biddable lass, and they were both young. However, when she and his newborn son died following the babe’s birth, he shut that door—permanently.

He turned back to his brother. Kendrick hoped he would wake today and show signs of improvement, so they could head home before more trouble found them.

Chapter Five

“Dad, I am certain I’ve lost my mind but from all appearances I have fallen through time and landed in one of your medieval stories of Scotland, rife with fierce and bloodied Highland warriors being hotly pursued by some threat. Rest assured though, I do not plan to play the weak damsel in distress to this band of men. You’d be proud of how well I’ve managed so far, even if part of me still believes I’m in an altered state suffering hallucinations.”

She pulled the wooden urn from her bag and clutched it to her chest, listening to the sound of birds calling up the day, breathing in the earthy smells, the clean air redolent with tangy pine.
How had this happened?
She had been sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking San Francisco Bay, she released some of the ashes, and an earthquake tossed her through a time portal.

Maybe if she laid out all of her things as she had then, she could reverse the process. She laid down the plaid, knelt on the ground, placed the
sgian dubh
beside her, removed the top of the urn, and reverently touched the Celtic cross at her neck.

“Okay Dad, I’m leaving your ashes on Scottish soil as you asked, you can send me back anytime now.” She tilted the urn, held her breath, and let the breeze take a small scattering of ashes. It was a bizarre parody of Dorothy clicking her heals saying, “there’s no place like home.”

To her dismay, nothing happened. She stopped the flow quickly, retaining most of the urn’s contents. She was certain that repeating this action would return her to her own time. If it didn’t work now, she might need the remaining ashes to try again. Quietly she waited. Still nothing happened so she began to sing “Dust in the Wind”,
one of her Dad’s favorite songs.

Her voice seized and a sob escaped as her shoulders began to shake. Her father’s baritone voice filled her head.
“Mo àlainn nighean, - my beautiful daughter - always remember, life is precious and short. Live well and fully before it all falls back to dust.”

Andra heard the horses pass behind her, but refused to look their way, she didn’t care if they left her alone. In fact, she’d relish a bit of quiet without them questioning or casting downright hostile glances at her. What had she done to annoy them? Wasn’t she the victim here? Well, to hell with it, she refused to play victim or fragile, fainting woman to their fierce, manly gruffness. No! She was strong and self-reliant, quite capable of handling herself. At the moment however, her head throbbed again and a light drizzle fell. Time to get on with it.
Nothing would be accomplished moping about or sitting out in the rain and catching a cold.

It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light after reentering the cave. Lorne was still sleeping by the banked fire; she approached him quietly to check his fever, which continued to burn. She rinsed the washcloth with fresh water and gently wiped his face, neck, and arms then reapplied a freshly wrung-out cool cloth to his forehead. At least he wasn’t shaking with chills any longer. That must be a good sign.

“Oh hell, what do I know about such fevers and wounds? I’ve done my best, Lorne.” She patted him gently and tucked the furs up around his chin.

When she looked around, it appeared only she and Lorne remained in the hideout. The sound of the waterfall splashing into the largest pool at the back of the cave entered her consciousness. “Well, sir, it seems you are still in the land of dreams and I am sorely in need of a bath.”

Approaching the large, dark pool below the waterfall, she could see a very faint edge of light at the top of the rock cliff, but she could not discern the size of the pool as the back portion lay beneath a rock overhang where the waterfall cloaked everything in shadow. She quickly stripped to her underwear and stepped onto the rocky edge while unhooking her bra. A sudden movement of water from the shadows at the back of the pool caused Andra to scream. She lost her footing and stumbled forward.

Emerging from the shadows, Kendrick moved toward her at lightning speed catching her with one hand braced against a shoulder and the other pressed firmly against one breast. Their eyes latched for a few seconds while she struggled to regain her balance. Her hands splayed across his hard, bare chest, the touch scorching. His fingers flexed, increasing the pressure against her flesh. A shocking fire ignited in her; her lips parted as if in invitation before her rational mind and self-preservation kicked into full gear.

Regaining her senses, Andra moved to Kendrick’s right, lifted her right leg, and with as much strength as she could muster, slashed her foot into the back of his knee. At the same time, she quickly thrust her arms up and out to break his hold on her body and yelled—
stop
!

Kendrick lost his footing and fell back with a splash. Andra didn’t wait to assess possible injury. She jumped out of the water, grabbed her things, and made a wild dash outside. The cover of pine trees where she had previously scattered her family’s ashes provided a shelter of sorts, a spot removed where she could calm herself.

“Damn, damn, damn, and bloody damn!” Andra sputtered and gasped, dancing about from one foot to the other as a fine drizzle turned into a full-fledged downpour while she tried to gain her senses and pull on her clothes.

When she fell into Kendrick’s arms, her whole body had burned with desire. “What is wrong with me? I’m in the middle of Scotland in God knows what time period with a virile man who sets me on edge with his every glance. Why am I behaving like a foolish teenager?” She didn’t ponder that question further. On edge hardly described the heat she felt in his presence. She needed to stay calm and focused on finding a way to return home, not fantasize about a hot Highlander from the wilds of Scotland.

“What in heaven’s name am I to do?” she yelled at the gray sky. She seemed to be doing everything wrong so far, despite all her good intentions.

Yet Kendrick hadn’t forced himself on her. He’d simply tried to stop her fall. Had she overreacted? No doubt, he was now seriously angry with her.

“What must he be thinking?” First, she heated her near-naked body in front of a fire and snuggled under blankets with his brother, and now she literally threw her again near-naked body into Kendrick’s arms only to execute a perfect swipe and block to knock him back into the water. Women in this time, whatever time it was, did not behave in such a manner. What did they call them? Wanton. He’d think she was a wanton, immoral lunatic.

She’d only intended to help Lorne when she slipped under the blankets with him, and she certainly had not intended the second event as a come-on. “Hell, I didn’t plan to dump him in the water,” she hissed, “I just ached for a bath.” Well, she was getting a thorough rainwater shower now, evidenced by her soaked clothing.

She drove the toe of her boot under clumps of pine needles. Why hadn’t he alerted her to his presence before she stripped off her clothing in front of him? “Duh! That isn’t so hard to figure out.”

Good Lord, but he was handsome, strong, fierce—even a bit amusing. She smacked the side of her head. “Get a grip! And stop talking to yourself!”

Kendrick had not followed her outside. What if he’d hit his head when he fell? What if even now, his blood seeped out in that damn, rocky pool of water? What if she’d accidentally caused him serious injury? Had he drowned? Her thoughts spun out of control. She had a bad habit of taking every scenario to all of its worst possible conclusions.

“Oh my God. Oh my God!” She paced the needle-strewn dirt chewing mercilessly at her lip. The clear image of Struan’s leering glee as he tied her to a stake admonishing her for evil intent against their laird filled her jumbled thoughts. Well, no time like the present to face the music, or in this situation, Kendrick’s wrath. At the very least, she needed to pull his drowned body from the water. And she needed to get out of the rain before she ended up sick.

“If he’s knocked unconscious, what could he do to me, right?”
Wrong, most definitely wrong.
She could envision few circumstances worse than her current situation or the terror her wild imagination unleashed in her thoughts. She groaned and turned back toward the cave.

* * *

Stunned speechless, Kendrick had watched Andra stand on the edge of the pool, disrobing and revealing the curvaceous vision of every man’s dream. Though he knew he should step forward or alert her to his presence, he found himself unable to move, mesmerized by the vixen. Just as she unfastened that lacey bit of silk cupping her deliciously full breasts, his conscience spurred him to step out of the shadows. Her startled scream and sudden catapult off the edge had him rushing to intercept her fall. When his hands landed on her shoulder and one breast, he felt a shock like heat lightening travel between them. He held her steady for barely a second before she became a complete berserker and upended him back into the water.

“God’s bloody rood, what in the hell just happened?” Kendrick pulled himself out of the water, snatched a piece of linen to dry off with, and started after Andra, his pride and his loins burning with equal intensity. Lorne’s rough, parched voice interrupted his pursuit of the daft woman. “Did a fiery water sprite just best me fierce brother?” he coughed.

“Lorne, you’re awake. How do you feel?” Kendrick knelt by his brother carefully checking his wounds.

“Like hellfire,” he croaked, “but I ken you might just be feeling a wee bit of the hellfire yourself.” He coughed, groaned in pain, and closed his eyes. Kendrick lifted a cup of water to Lorne’s lips. “Drink.” His brother took a few sips then slipped into unconsciousness.

He could do nothing further for Lorne, but he definitely needed to get his wits about him and find Andra. The hand that had caressed her firm, full breast still stung from the warmth of her flesh. She really had felt like a water sprite and moved with such force and power he could almost believe she was not of this world. Seasoned warriors could hardly have executed a more effective disarming. Thank God the other men were not present to see her flip him so easily; he would never live it down. Where had she learned that trick?

Chapter Six

Quickly donning his kilt, Kendrick moved to the cave’s entrance and watched as Andra mumbled then smacked the side of her head. She seemed perfectly adept at carrying on her own private conversations. Stomping toward the cave, head bent watching her feet instead of looking forward; she chewed furiously on her full, lower lip. When she finally looked up, her movement ceased abruptly. She stood in the pounding rain like a rabbit frozen in the heather.

“You…you are not injured, then? I…I am sorry…m…my laird. You frightened me. I was not aware of your presence in the pool and merely intended to wash.” Her tone betrayed both her irritation and an attempt to mollify him.

She looked contrite enough, he mused. Nevertheless, he kept a scowl plastered on his face. No sense allowing her to think he would tolerate such outrageous behavior. Still, it was difficult to suppress a slight quiver at the edges of his mouth.

All efforts of appeasement dropped from her eyes. “Are you smirking at me?”

“Smirk? I dinnae ken your meaning?” No longer able to contain his amusement, he barked a laugh. “You do remind me of a drowned cat, standin’ there in the pouring rain.” He flicked his fingers encouragingly. “Dinnae fash yourself, come back to the fire,”

Andra raised a fisted hand, a long, indignant index finger pointing at him as though she were admonishing a bairn. She stiffened her back and thrust up her chin. “Yes, well then, I think you should step back, and let me pass unmolested.”

No one of his acquaintance would dare question his honor much less admonish him in such a blatant manner. Yet here she stood besmirching his character once again with no provocation. Well, not much provocation at any rate.

With a voice harsher than he intended, he furrowed his brow, “I dinnae intend to molest you.” He didn’t force himself on women; the idea was abhorrent to him. Still, his mind had easily conjured an image of her writhing beneath him, more than willing to receive his attentions.

“‘Tis just a wee misunderstanding between us, Andra. Come out of the rain, and dry yourself by the fire.”

She continued to hesitate.

“Lorne spoke a few words but has slipped back into unconsciousness.” He suspected the news would be enough to spur her forward and it did.

“What did he say? I’ve been so worried. There are so many frightful consequences to head injuries and such terrible loss of blood. Do you know about amnesia? Was he lucid? Sensible? Did he recognize you?”

The woman was a seething caldron of questions and nerves. Despite her agitation, her hand stayed fisted and she brandished her index finger like a wee sword. Keeping a modicum of space between them, she moved forward. Their eyes connected, igniting sparks for a brief moment as she passed.

“Slow down, Andra. Dry yourself by the fire, and I’ll answer your questions.”

Ignoring him, she knelt beside Lorne and pressed her hand to his forehead. “His fever may be less severe, but to be honest, my hands are too cold to gage his temperature.”

Andra lifted Lorne’s head onto her lap and dribbled a few drops of water over his lips.

He moved his mouth and blinked up at her for a moment.

“Oh, thank God! Please, take a few small sips of water,” she urged.

He moaned, sipped, swallowed, and then drifted off again. She gently patted Lorne’s face calling his name. He didn’t respond.

Kendrick wondered if she was attempting to hide from him behind her concern for his brother. It was time for answers. He drilled her with an intense stare, letting her know he would brook no further avoidance. “Who are you, lass? How did you come to be in our path yesterday?”

Her furtive glances at their surroundings and hesitancy to look him in the face suggested an attempt to evade or at least divert him from his questions.

“I don’t…” she paused, took a deep breath. “I do not know how to answer that, sir.” Unflinchingly, she lifted her eyes to his. Her jaw stiffened. This was a statement as direct as though she had screamed it, her refusal to cower under his scowl. Time seemed to stop and the sound of water splashing against rock only intensified the silence between them. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“I mean to say, I am not certain how I got there, or even where I am now, except you and your men speak Gaelic, and as I believe you’ve already stated, it must mean we are in Scotland. However, I do not seem to remember anything else; I do not even know the day or year.” She touched her hand to her head and winced in pain.

He kept his face devoid of all emotion. Any feigned indication of discomfort on her part would not sway him from his task to gain what he needed to know.

“Aye, we are in Scotland. ‘Tis the year of our Lord 1705.” Her startled reaction puzzled him. A frightened look crossed her face and straight, white teeth clamped onto her bottom lip as she reached up to caress the cross on her chest while her eyes dropped to the dirt. He noticed she often touched the cross when she was nervous. It made him wonder—did she seek forgiveness for the lies yet unspoken?

“You’re claiming a loss of memory, is it? And yet, you seem to remember your name, Andra Heather Adair Cameron.” He harshly bit off her surname. He hated Cormag Cameron and his band of ruffians. He couldn’t subdue the question burning his brain: if a connection to his nemesis proved true, what would he do with her? “Which clan Cameron do you belong to?”

Two little creases formed between her eyes and nose and her mouth scrunched into a twisted expression of confusion. “I—I do not know of any clan Cameron or of any kin in Scotland. My father was a pharmacist, er…apothecary, a man of science, a chemist…” Her attempts to explain seemed to addle her. She gulped and rushed on, “My mother passed when I was very young and my father always kept me with him. We traveled extensively to far and exotic lands in search of knowledge about medicine and science. As he lay on his deathbed, he asked me to return the family’s ashes to Scotland. How I arrived here, wherever here is, I am unable to explain.”

Her voice trailed to a near whisper. “Besides, you would not believe my words as I scarce believe any of this myself. It’s all just a jumble in my mind.”

That last remark grabbed his attention. “Unable or unwilling, that is the question, isn’t it? And why would I not believe you if you spoke the truth? Furthermore, you ken ‘tis a sin to burn the body, unless it’s the body of a witch. And some consider dabbling in the healing arts a form of witchcraft.” He didn’t believe such nonsense, but decided the suggestion would provoke a more truthful response from her.

Kendrick stared at her, his face a stony mask. He knew she prevaricated. How did a person not know of their clan’s origins, or the location of kin in their homeland? Even if she didn’t know her clan, how would a woman travel alone to Scotland with her family’s ashes, especially a woman speaking in that strange English dialect?

It was unconscionable, no woman ever traveled about unescorted. And what Scotsman would fail to teach his daughter his native tongue or the history of his ancestors? Her explanations defied logic and her continued subterfuge angered him.

“Enough with the artifice. We both ken your words are false. I ken you are withholding the truth, and I’ll not stand for it. You will answer me and tell me the truth by one means or another.” With a harsh, biting tone, his voice reverberated off the stone walls like a boom. He loomed over her, jaw tight, chest thrust out, hands on his hips in his most intimidating pose. A flicker of fear crossed her face and then just as suddenly dropped behind green eyes ablaze with defiance.

She sucked her mouth into a tight line pulling the bottom lip under her teeth. If she kept nibbling at that lustrous mouth, it would soon be shredded and bleeding. He could not discern her thoughts as she continued to stare at him, baiting his anger, with Lorne’s head nestled in her lap.

“Dinnae think you can hide behind my brother’s body and not answer my questions. Are you a Cameron spy?” They had warred with the Cameron clans for generations. The Camerons sided with the Sassenach when it suited them or when they could gain lands or titles from the association. But that didn’t explain why she had so readily divulged her surname? If, however, her relations did not have filial connections to Cormag’s, he could always ransom her back to them. Unfortunately, she now knew of this refuge in the hills, and he would not allow her to divulge that information to their enemies, not even to some of their allies. The situation required careful consideration.

He took a threatening step toward her. “Or mayhap you’re a witch, as Struan insists?”

She gently laid Lorne’s head on the ground and rose to face him. They stared at each other over his brother’s prone body. Her brazenness intrigued him. That she dared stand toe-to-toe with him in a battle of wills took courage and baffled him more than a little. Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he admired her spitfire attitude. Still, she might also be a wolf in a lamb’s coat. He could not trust her nor let his guard down for an instant. It wouldn’t be the first time an enemy used a beguiling woman to obtain information or weaken an opponent.

* * *

Although Andra felt an urge to drop her gaze, she refused to show such weakness. That would not help her. Neither of them spoke nor seemed the least bit inclined to yield. Even though she could not win this trial of wills, she could not allow an accusation of witchcraft to go unaddressed.

“Do not denigrate my family or my father’s name, sir. He was a good and honorable man of science, and highly respected among his peers.”

Suddenly the cave seemed too confining. An overwhelming urge to run tingled down Andra’s spine, but where would she go? He towered over her, obviously intent on unnerving her, and his looming presence succeeded in unsettling every nerve. She bristled at his threatening posture as a fire erupted in her belly. Despite a normally calm, peaceful nature, she refused to acquiesce to threats. On the other hand, she did not want to anger him further. She needed to appease him in some manner if she wished to survive the night

“Laird MacLean.” Her voice came out deep and challenging, not in any way placating as she had intended. He raised an eyebrow at her tone. She modulated her voice as best she could and tried again.

“My laird, I apologize if my answers do not meet with your commands. I am doing my very best to answer as truthfully as I am able. Might we please sit a moment and try again without you threatening and questioning my every utterance?” She found the stunned look on Kendrick’s face almost amusing. Almost.

“You are a most audacious woman,” he responded, his voice rough and growly. “Every word you utter is an accusation against me, yet you are the one withholding information. In case it has slipped your powers of observation, we have been speaking and ‘tis you who’s evasive. You only need to answer my questions—truthfully.”

“I am not...” she swallowed a lie about to slip out. “I am doing my best. This is all so confusing. One minute I was sitting quietly with my family’s things saying a final farewell and the next minute I’m on the ground, the horses of the apocalypse charging toward me. I remember nothing else. I have absolutely no idea how I ended up in that wilderness.” She waved her arms around the cave. “None of this makes any sense to me.”

He watched her face closely, too closely. She sputtered for a moment, feeling much like a rabbit caught in a snare.
This is hopeless.
No matter how hard she tried to insert as much truth as she could, if she disclosed the truth, he’d consider her insane, or worse, believe his accusation of witchcraft. She dropped her head to her hands and swayed from side-to-side.

He probed further, his tone mocking, “Describe this place where you sat so quietly?”

“On a high cliff facing the ocean on a far distant shore,” she groaned at how ludicrous her response sounded, even to her.

“Talking to you is like pulling teeth. On exactly what distant shore might you have been while uttering this fond farewell?” His unrelenting, sharp tone of voice intensified.

“Please Kendrick, my head throbs, and I can’t tell you more. It is not clear to me, and God knows, I wish it were. I cannot answer what I don’t know or remember. I am at your mercy and beg patience. You have my word, I will continue to try and remember what happened in order to provide the answers we both seek.”

“The answers are right there in that stubborn head, Andra. Just speak them and we’ll be done with this. I will nae harm you, you have my word, and I stake my life on my word.”

Her eyes widened, and an annoying flush heated her cheeks. Rainwater still dripped from her hair and clothes. She shivered from the cold as much as from their confrontation. To continue would accomplish nothing. Exhaustion from her attempts to appease the man rendered her mute.

“You could drive a man to violence, you ken.”

She flinched at his threat and took a tentative step back.

He also took a step back, clenched, and unclenched his fists, as though to refrain from grabbing her to shake out the truth. “Get out of your wet clothes before you become ill. I do not wish to add another sick person to our party. I have no time to care for you as well as Lorne.” On that sour note, he turned away from her.

Well, the arrogant cad, what made his word more honorable? In truth, she couldn’t argue the issue. She must forge a believable story to keep the peace until she could return to the twenty-first century. After all, if she arrived here, surely there must be a way to return.