“What about Jake, lass? What did ye tell him?”
“Not much. He read the letter. He will help us if we need him to. Look,” she said. She pointed to her other hand, where her delicate fingers curved around several black spikes.
“For yer hair?”
“Yes. I lost the others he’d given me.” She sighed as if the loss of Jake’s gifts had hurt her, deeply.
Cameron fought the urge to growl. They had stopped at the side of the trail and let a family with boisterous kids go by. Happy laughter sounded foreign. He had nothing to laugh about until he stood over the dead body of his cousin. Iona pocketed the hair spikes, and his gaze rolled over her body and rested on her head of flaming hair. The color was as warm and welcoming as a Scottish Highland sunrise.
Would she be as welcoming if I leaned forward and kissed her?
“You’ve got that look on your face, again. Cut it out.”
Cameron blinked. “Cut what out?”
Iona yanked her hand from his grasp and threw both arms upward.
“Ye wore your hair up when I first laid eyes on yer beauty,” he said. She laughed, and her cheeks pinked. Alone, beside the trail, he watched as her gaze burned their own trail down his body.
“You say the prettiest things, sometimes, and those pants you’re wearing, Cammie, do nothing to hide your assets.”
CHAPTER 8
Iona laughed out loud. It was fun to render Cameron speechless. In fact, she suddenly felt powerful. He’d called her beautiful, but he meant it. Most men she met said empty words to turn her into a simpering puddle of mush. Cameron did it with a look.
She certainly wouldn’t let him in on that little secret.
When they arrived at Dorcas’ tent, Dorcas was awake and humming a Scottish tune. It sounded familiar. “What’s that song?”
“A ballad of hope, peace, and love. Oye, Cammie, yer a sight for sore eyes!”
Iona giggled when Cameron’s cheeks turned ruddy and he tugged at the hem of his vest. His muscles glistened, and he did his best to ignore both women. Silently, he strapped his sword belts over his chest.
“Here, lass.”
He thrust a small but very sharp sgian dubh into her palm. She nodded, understanding the significance of carrying protection, then shoved the sheathed weapon in the pocket opposite the one carrying the iron hair spikes. She patted the hidden weapon and felt a little safer, then pulled out the spikes.
“Donna fret. ‘Tis an old weapon. Ye will fit right in with the people of my time.”
Iona gathered her fiery hair atop her head and used Jake’s spikes to hold it in place. “Jake said these will make good weapons, too. I’m sure I’ll look okay.”
“Aye, ye must not let anyone ye meet know where ye come from.”
“Of course, but I’ll have to ask around—”
“Nay. Promise us you will keep yer mouth shut until ye complete yer task,” Dorcas said.
Iona’s eyes flicked toward the owner of the shaky voice who had stopped singing. Dorcas joined them at the center of the tent.
Indignant, Iona stared at the old witch.
“There’s no call for rudeness.” Iona fisted her hands, unsure why Dorcas would say such a thing.
“Iona, lass, ye talk funny,” Cameron whispered.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Just tell me what else I should or shouldn’t do.” Jake had also given her a leather satchel. Its sash was long enough that she could carry it across her body. She and Cameron had stopped at her tent to grab her potions and packets of herbs. She stuffed the white scrap of silk Cameron had given her inside her pocket.
They also had stopped at Haven’s tent. She traded in Haven’s backpack and returned it to the hook on the tent pole. She would never explain a zipper to a 16th century person. Iona stuffed the ancient book and several other packets of herbs inside her new satchel.
“I have told Cammie most of what ye two should know, but yer a fine witch. Ye will do well, but ye must—”
“Get out of the tent!” Cameron said, then coughed.
Smoke quickly choked the enclosed space. Puzzled, but sensing danger, Iona headed for where she thought the tent’s entrance lay. Hot sparks slammed into her chest, propelling her backwards into a display tables. Glass shattered and bags burst, filling the air with powdered herbs.
Something slimy touched her arm, and she pulled it back. She couldn’t catch her breath, and she lunged to her right to get away. The smoke burned her lungs, and suddenly reeked of sulfur. The wind whipped her hair loose and clawed at her skirts.
“Get out!” Dorcas screamed from her left.
Unsure she meant her or whatever terror had invaded the tent, Iona remembered her fire safety lessons from elementary school. She dropped to the tent’s floor, then crawled on hands and knees toward a smidgen of light. Was that the alley entrance?
Where was Cameron? Who or what caused the evil emanations clawing at her spine. Her eyes filled with tears and burned from the combination of smoke and herbs. She sensed pure evil; evil that coiled around her throat as if to choke the life from her.
She felt their attacker’s motives; revenge, jealousy, and…love?
How odd.
Closer to the light, and certain freedom, Iona pushed to her feet. At the same moment, two arms grabbed her around the waist. Thrown up and over a shoulder, she took a moment to regain her breath.
“Put me down!” She yelled, then breathed in a mouthful of acrid smoke. She coughed while praying Cameron was the man who carried her.
“Nay. Not until we be safe.” Cameron’s voice soothed her immediate jitters. Thoughts of Dorcas bubbled up, but first they had to get away from whatever raided the old crone’s tent.
They burst from the smoke-filled tent, and Cameron set her on her feet. He rubbed the amulet that hung around his neck. Iona listened to the low hum of his deep voice as he mumbled ancient words; words she’d recently read in Haven’s ancient book of spells.
Lightning crackled in a bright blue sky void of clouds. He shoved a piece of ancient parchment in her hand and said, “Say these words. Quickly!”
“What about Dorcas?” Iona’s trust in Cameron came to a head. Dare she put her faith in a man she just met? A virtual stranger?
“Read the words!”
Before she opened her mouth to ask another question, a robed figure marched from the tent brandishing a smoking walking stick. Gray mist billowed around his body and red eyes peered from under his hood.
She saw right through him, as if he wasn’t really there. Though she couldn’t hear his sandaled feet hitting the ground, his steps were fast-paced and sure. He headed straight toward her.
“What the—”
“Say them words now!” Cameron ordered as he tugged her behind a meat pie vendor’s stall. Iona didn’t stop to think. The words flew off her tongue.
Thunder, lightning, clouds above.
Send us back to an ancient Scot—
The last line of her spell never left her lips. A boom split the air. Her ears popped and her body flew upwards. Someone clamped icy fingers around her right wrist. Warmer fingers held her around her waist. Hoping she chose wisely, Iona forced her wrist free and hurdled into the dark.
* * *
“Where are we?” Iona asked him, then coughed. Cameron rubbed dirt from his eyes and rolled up onto his knees. Iona lay sprawled across the ground in front of him. Her flaming hair had lost its pins and had tumbled from a pile upon her head to spread over her back. He got to his feet, bent over, and lifted her.
“Thanks, but you haven’t answered my question.”
Cameron sighed as he checked his weapons. He had slipped his two swords into the leather scabbards crisscrossing his back when they had returned to Dorcas’ tent with their traveling bundles. They were still safely strapped onto his back.
His hand swept down to his side and rested on the hilt of his dirk. Taking in their surroundings, surprise flashed in Iona’s eyes the same time he noticed the
sun had nearly set. Twilight enveloped them in a colorless vista, near some old buildings.
“Wait a minute. It was lunchtime moments ago,” she said, then knelt and swept her hand through the damp grass.
“We have traveled through time, lass. The where of it, I cannot say. Ye neglected to speak the last part of the spell. Aye?”
She nodded. “I was rudely interrupted.”
Whomever that robed figure was, though but a ghostly apparition, he had used powerful magic against them. Could he be the sorcerer that had promised him riches then left him to suffer his cousin’s wrath?
Not one to wait around when danger lurked, he had rubbed the amulet, and Iona had spoken words of magic. Her witchery and Dorcas’ amulet had transported them from the New England Highland Games to…here.
“What ye be looking for?” he whispered. Iona searched the ground on her hands and knees and his thoughts flew to a darker place. Until he could reconnoiter their surroundings, her safety was paramount.
“Jake gave me those hair spikes. Wish I had a flashlight.”
“A flash-what?”
“Never mind,” she whispered, “get down here and help me. They might be useful as weapons.”
Cameron knelt beside her, but kept one eye on their surroundings. He gathered up three of the heavy iron spikes and prayed she’d slip them in her pocket. Her hair, tumbling over her shoulders, was delightful. Her hair fluttered behind her and down her back. Her scent, like rain-drenched heather, wafted over him and shot a surge of lust straight to his loins as it pushed away the odor of brimstone.
Cameron jumped to his feet, and adjusted his suddenly tight trews. “Stay here, lass. I shall get my bearings, and return when I discover where ye sent us.” He bent down and caressed her silken cheek.
Iona slapped his hand away. She stood and slipped the spikes into her satchel.
“Me? You told me to say words on some little piece of paper, but is it my fault some sorcerer out of a fairy tale interrupted me? You are not leaving me here, either. I’m sticking to you like glue.”
Her words gave him pause. Little she said made sense, but it did make sense to keep her safe by keeping her close.
Not too close.
She is angry. At me? Maybe not. At our situation? Most assuredly.
“Fine. Stay close, keep quiet, and follow my lead. We must discover where and when we are. These buildings donna look to be of Scottish origin. The odors of fire and sulfur fill the air.”
“I smelled a similar stench when that sorcerer pointed his stick at us. This smells more like…gunpowder. Oops, I don’t think we landed in the past.”
“Aye, we did. Just not the place we meant to find.” He nodded his chin toward a group of men. Their brown skin, threadbare shirts, and tattered workpants were evident under the light from the dozen flaming torches held high above them. The flames illuminated the fury on their dark faces.
“You didn’t answer my question. Where is Dorcas? We left her behind,” she whispered.
Her concern for his mistress was in her favor. “Dorcas Swann is a powerful witch. She can take care of her own life. We need to use caution.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
Cannon fire boomed to their right, and a woman screamed somewhere to their left. “Those men look like they be out for blood. Follow me.”
“They look dangerous,” she whispered, closer.
“Best we stay clear of them.” He liked the feel of her beside him. Heat radiated through him where she grabbed his elbow, and her scent calmed his warrior heart. With Iona as his ward, stealth was a better idea than fighting a crowd of angry men. Cameron led her behind the houses lining a wide, well-kept dirt road. She shivered, and squeezed his elbow.
“What?”
“Give me a minute.” Under the nearly complete darkness broken only by flames reflecting off low clouds, Iona pulled a small shawl from her leather satchel.
“Another gift from Jake?” He worked hard to tamp down the jealousy that turned his stomach and made his eyes widen. Iona rubbed her delicate hand up his naked forearm. She must have sensed his displeasure.
“He wanted me comfortable. It’s what friends do.”
A friend? If she spoke the truth, it did not change the underlying problem. Iona was not for him. Haven was the woman that would fulfill his heart’s desire. He could not lose focus, or he would never succeed.
“Aye. Jake. He promised to look after Dorcas. Feel better?”
“Yes. Thanks for reminding me.” Iona dragged the scrap of soft, dark wool up to cover her hair, then tucked in behind him.
They inched along an alley between two large homes. Picket fences lined a road where a hay cart sat, abandoned. He crooked his neck to watch the crowd at the far end of the unfamiliar street. Light from the gang’s torches transformed their simple shapes into eerie shadows
“These buildings look like mid-nineteenth century antebellum homes,” Iona whispered, and her breath slid over his cheek like a warm caress. “I had an aunt who lived in Savannah, Georgia and I recall the historic district was filled with such beauties.”
His right hand flew up, to indicate to her to stop and keep quiet. Muffled voices grew louder. Shouts and roars, undecipherable, made him shove her back into shadows.
“Something bad is stirring.” When he spied an opening beneath the porch of the nearest stately home, Cameron pulled Iona underneath seconds before the group of angry voices reached their location. He cupped his hand over her mouth and pressed her to his side. She squirmed then must have understood.
“Stay quiet,” he explained, “and we shall move once morning breaks. I need to get the bearings of this place without bringing attention to ourselves.” He felt her nod in the dark, her cheek brushing his shoulder. Without stopping to think, he slipped his arm around her huddled body and drew her close.
The night air brought with it a deathly chill, which he worried had nothing to do with the lack of sun. Something evil lived here in this time. How they had landed so far from their goal was a mystery. How they would continue their travels would have to wait until morning.
Cameron blinked as weariness threatened to pull him down into a fitful slumber. His companion’s slow breaths signaled she had found the courage to rest. Weariness overcame his duty to stand watch and, against his better judgment, his eyelids closed.
And he dreamed.
“I asked if anyone in this room has any objection to this pronouncement.”
Silence filled the once boisterous crowd. Every eye glared at Cameron with hateful curiosity. What would happen to the great warrior, Cameron Robeson, traitor to his clan?
“Nay? Then let justice prevail. Cameron Robeson…ye shall be escorted from this court.”
His cousin’s proclamation stabbed at Cameron’s heart. He bowed his head in shame. Comprehension came swift as a blade to that heart. He had lost everything due to greed and lust. The greed had been understandable, for he had nothing. But, what feelings he felt for Lady Haven had been rooted in lust.
His body’s desire for her led him to his destruction. This woman had to have cast a spell that had caused his downfall. Revenge boiled in his gut. Determination made him stand straight and face his hated cousin.
“Will anyone take this peasant under their wing and lead him from our presence, or must my warriors drag him from our midst? My honorable men are stretched thin since we agreed to help guard the land of Clan Keith.”
“The new treaty must be upheld above all else,” a village elder said. Several other villagers grunted in agreement.
“I shall take him.”
“Cammie?” The voice whispering in his ear was emotion-filled, and tickled his memory like an old Scottish tune. He stroked his companion’s hair as he nestled her closer into his side. She smelled deliciously of the Highlands, yet the odor of smoke persisted and ruined the pleasurable dream that had pulled him from his nightmare.
Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he hardened. The softness
of her skin made his loins stir with a sudden desire to throw her under him. Such a fantasy made little sense, since he loved another.
“Ouch!” She pinched me.
“Keep that up and we’ll be discovered.”
“Iona? I thought ye slept.”
“How the heck do you expect me to sleep if you keep touching me and making strange noises? Sounded like a nightmare.” She sat up and glared as if demanding a response.
He kept silent.
The smoke cleared. Iona was, indeed, a handsome woman. Her silky hair, splayed over his shoulder, blanketed him in the fresh scent of her shampoo, as if she washed her hair in a Scottish loch. Heat spread from her body to his through her layers of clothing, yet he shivered. Something was wrong.
Shadows hid her expression, but her eyes glowed with mischief. Whatever he had done while asleep was, at least in part, pleasurable to her. Before he could answer her accusations, his stomach growled.
She chuckled in the dark.
“ ‘Tis not my fault. We left after a meager lunch and packed no supplies. I assumed we would arrive in familiar territory and food would be no problem,” Cameron said.
“How could you still be hungry? I bought you lunch. Remember the little girl who wrapped herself around you in line?”
Cameron gave her a quick smile then realized she could not see any better than him. “She was not little, nor was she a girl. She was a beautiful young woman who assumed my friendly banter was…something else.”
“Right.”
An urge to kiss her came without warning. Shrouded in the dark recesses of a stranger’s porch, his hand found her chin. She inhaled a quick breath and he prayed it was in anticipation and not due to the night’s chill. Slowly, he lowered his face to her mouth.
She tasted sweet, like fresh cream and summer berries. He sighed and breathed into her mouth, then nibbled on her swollen lips; lips as soft as the belly of a newborn pup. He moved his mouth over hers and demanded a response. When she moaned, he wished to show her his homeland, where snow-capped peaks and fog-enshrouded moors would hide them as he made love to her.
Highland Games Through Time Page 36
