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Claire, her palms sweating and her heart thudding unmercifully, stood at Cam’s side as he handed over his ticket and passport to the ticket agent wearing a Santa hat and Christmas earrings. During the night, she’d fretted about whether or not to tell him how she’d come by the passport, fearing it might get him out of the country but might pose a problem getting him into England. In the end, she decided ignorance was bliss, should it not work and the agents at the other end take him into custody and insist he take a lie detector test. This way, he’d pass.

When the woman smiled, wished him a pleasant trip and handed him back his documents, Claire nearly fainted with relief. She caught her breath as she watched the agent slap a sticker on Cam’s luggage—all the clothes she’d purchased the day before at Tall-E-Ho’s—then led him toward the security check-in.

She stopped some twenty feet from the entrance and pulled him aside, letting a large group of harassed-looking passengers rush past. “You’re not armed, right? You left your knives at my place. You have to go through the metal detectors.”

He smiled down at her. “I’m not armed.”

“Good. Okay.” It still took all she had to keep from frisking him anyway, knowing him as well as she did.

“When you get off the plane, head toward the sign that says United Kingdom Citizens. That’s you. And try like hell to get in line with a woman inspector. And smile … a lot. Chat with her. She’ll love your accent.” One look at those dimples of his and the inspector would likely forget what she was doing and pass him through. “And call me the minute you get to London.” Once she knew he was safe, she’d tell him how she came by his passport. Warn him not to reuse it. If he really wanted to come back to her, he’d move heaven and earth, go through whatever channels he needed to, to get a legitimate passport. If he didn’t … well, she would deal with that pain when it came. Right now she could barely keep from falling to the floor in a puddle of grief.

“Claire,” he slipped his arms around her, then tipped up her chin so he could look in her eyes. “I canna thank ye enough.”

“There’s no need. It’s been my pleasure—and a hell of an adventure.”

“That it has. Ye need ken something, though. After learning about Mrs. Grouse leaving, I met with yer father.”

“You what? Why? When?” How dare he?

“Dinna be cross. I was having a difficult time thinking ye alone in this place. I wanted to ken what kind of man he was. If he had truly changed as he claimed.”

“You read the letter?” I don’t friggin’ believe this.

“Love, I believe he’s sincere in his grief. That he now fully kens all he’s lost.” When she growled deep in her throat and slapped his chest with her palms, he gave her a squeeze. “All I ask is that ye think on it, lass. To mayhap see him just once. Promise me that?”

“Augh!” How could he do this to her, here and now of all times? When he remained silent, only bent at the knees to look her square in the eye, his head tipped in question, his dimples taking shape, she huffed, “All right, I’ll think about it, but I won’t promise you anything beyond that.”

He kissed her, softly then with growing urgency as if they hadn’t spent hours making love until the wee hours of the morning. Her fingers dug into him trying to hold him closer. If only she could crawl into him and go with him.

Too soon, he broke the kiss and pressed her head to his shoulder and she could hear his heart thudding. Maybe for the last time. Oh God. Do not cry. Do not fall apart.

Into her hair he whispered, “I wish with all my heart ye were coming with me, lass. I’ll miss ye terribly.”

“I wish I was going as well.” But this was something he needed to do on his own. To come to grips with his new reality. She took a deep breath, and with every muscle in her body crying out, demanding she cling, she stepped away. “You’d best get going or you’ll miss your flight.”

When they’d got in the security line, he on the inside, she on the outside, wishing she could follow him in, to be sure he made it onto the plane, she wrung her hands and told herself this was just as well. She’d likely turn into a blubbering mass if she watched his plane take off.

As he handed his documents to the security guard, she said, “You’ll call the minute you can?”

He leaned toward her and kissed her a final time. “I promise.”

And then he was gone.

Too agitated to sit, Cam watched the first of those around him step toward the open doorway, hand over their tickets, and then did the same. Palms sweating, he followed his fellow passengers down a low-ceilinged corridor to the airplane. Something he never wished or dreamed to travel in.

Christ’s teeth, I wish Claire was with me.

With no small measure of trepidation he stepped over the threshold and was greeted by a lass who smiled at him, looked at his ticket and waved to his right saying, “Enjoy your flight.”

Not likely. The very fact that he would take flight in just minutes had his gut in a bloody knot.

It took a moment to find his seat by the window. As Claire had instructed, he found the exit sign and counted the rows to it should he have need for it. As people filed in, many tossing baggage into the overhead compartments, he tried to squelch his anxiety, assuring himself that this many people wouldna be flying were it not safe. He hoped.

A florid man two decades older than Cam settled into the seat next to him. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Cam watched as the man secured himself with a belt and quickly reached beneath himself, found his straps, and followed suit. Ack, this didna bode well for what was about to happen.

The man extended his hand. “Jim Lord, from Bristol.”

Cam shook it. “Cameron MacLeod, Rubha, Scotland.”

“Going home, huh?”

“Aye.” For the first time in almost three hundred years. What would he find?

A woman in livery stopped at their side. “May I get you gentlemen anything to drink while we wait for the rest of the passengers to board?”

Jim said, “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

She smiled at Cam. “And you, sir?”

“Whiskey.”

She listed three and he chose the last.

“Neat or on the rocks?”

“Neat.” Sounded less dangerous.

A moment later she handed him a short clear cup and a bowl of nuts. He downed the whiskey in one swallow.

Jim laughed. “Don’t like to fly, huh?”

“Nay.” Who would? He really should have been more insistent Claire exchange the airplane ticket for one on a vessel. Accck.

Too soon all the seats were full, the overhead compartments closed and a disembodied voice welcomed him on board, telling him the flying time to London would be eight hours and a few minutes. Beyond imagining. The last he’d heard, the trip took eight weeks.

As the airplane began to roll, four women in dark blue livery stood in the aisles demonstrating what was being pictured on his personal TV. When the vehicle thrust forward at unimaginable speed and then leaped into the sky, he decided the ladies’ precautions were for naught. Should the airplane decide to plummet back to earth, he’d be splattered across the incredible landscape below like an egg.

Moments later, his breath caught again. He was staring down at clouds. Mesmerized by their shape and height, the way the sunlight illuminated the huge columns, he startled when the flight attendant again asked if he’d like anything else to drink. “Whiskey, if ye please. Three, they’re wee.”

Two hours and twelve wee whiskeys later, he closed his eyes and prayed for sleep only to be jolted awake sometime later by a voice saying, “Mr. MacLeod, please prepare for landing.”

He yawned, looked out the window and his breath caught. London lay beneath him, a maze of houses and roadways by the thousands and he was heading straight for them at breakneck speed.

He bolted upright in his seat, his heart beating with a force strong enough to break ribs. To his amazement, his fellow passengers looked not the least alarmed. At his side Jim said, “You sleep like the dead.” He jerked a thumb toward the rear. “I feel sorry for those bastards in the back, sleeping upright all night. I flew coach only once and swore never again.” He heaved a sigh and started collecting his belongings. “Hell of a day we picked to travel, huh? Gatwick will be a madhouse.”

Cam nodded, having no idea what the man was going on about, and pulled his ticket from his pants, another gift from Claire, to memorize the information about his flight to Edinburgh and saw a number in the lower right-hand corner. $4,489. Sweet St. Bride! Why had he not noticed this when she’d given him the tickets? He’d have demanded she return it and that he travel by sea. Ack!

Jim hadna lied. Gatwick was indeed a madhouse. As people hurried past, he followed Jim to the baggage claim. Waiting beside a movable steel track, Jim asked, “Is anyone meeting you?”

“Nay. I go on to Edinburgh tonight.”

“Have a safe trip. Ah, our baggage is finally coming out.”

Cam collected his one bag, another gift from Claire, and followed the crowd toward the customs signs. Seeing United Kingdom, he angled left and got in line.

The woman flipped open his passport, looked from the photo to him, and he smiled, flashing his dimples. “Good morning, lass.”

She smiled in turn. “Do you have anything to declare?”

“Nay.” Claire hadna mentioned a declaration and he could only pray he’d filled the form out correctly.

She scanned the form, stamped the passport and handed it back. “Have a nice holiday, Mr. MacLeod. Next!”

He stepped over the red line and he was in England.

Finding the telephones, he followed Claire’s directions, telling the operator her number and that he was calling collect.

A moment later, Claire said, “Hello?”

God, it was good to hear her voice. “ ’Tis I, I’m in London.”

“Cam! Are you okay? Did everything go smoothly? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Aye, all went well, but I nearly choked seeing how much the ticket cost ye. Ye really shouldna have, love.”

“I wanted to.” After a pause she said, “You need to know something about your passport. Now don’t get upset, but—”

“Claire.” Cam looked about to be sure no one was listening, leaned into the booth and whispered, “I ken. Ye were sweating bricks, yer eyes never leaving it as it went from hand to hand in Boston.”

“Oh.” She blew out a breath. “It was such short notice and you have no documents—”

“I understand.” His Claire had done a little judicious reiving of her own.

“No, you don’t. You can’t use it again.”

That gave him pause. “I see.”

“You’ll have to apply at a government office for another in Scotland if you wish to go anywhere outside of the UK … England or Scotland.”

He frowned, but then if she could manage such, so could he. “I shall apply for another then.”

“Good.” After a minute she said, “I already miss you.”

“And I ye. You’ll take care, Claire?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“And ye’ll give thought to what I said about your father?”

“I’ll think about it.”

She truly did need to think on it. She was now alone in this world, and if Cam was any judge of men, MacGregor was sincere, a man ill at heart.

Having already said their good-byes, he whispered, “I shall return.”

Her voice cracked as she said, “I’ll be here.”

Ten minutes later, Cam, his stomach growling, waited in line for fish and chips and heard a woman shout, “MacLeod? MacLeod!”

Curious, he looked around and spied a woman frantically waving at him. Christ’s blood, ’twas Maggie Wheaton! What on earth was she doing here?

She rushed up to him, her baggage in tow. “I thought it was you! What are you doing here? You naughty boy, you were supposed to call me the moment you got your passport.”

She looked over her shoulder and waved an urgent hand at the thin young man trailing behind her. “Come on, Jason.” To Cam she said, “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see you. I mean it. You’re an answer to a prayer. Jason really is as sick as a dog.”

When Jason joined them, Maggie said, “Jason Jackson, meet your salvation, Cam MacLeod.”

Jason, pale as whey save for a bright red nose, eyed him from head to sneakers. “Pleased to meet you.” Without waiting for a response, he turned to Maggie, “Does this mean I can go home now. Please? Christ. I feel like shit.”

The man, nae doubt handsome under better circumstances, looked like it as well.

“What,” Cam asked of Maggie, “do ye mean by salvation?” He had no desire to get tangled up with this woman and her friend when he was so close to being home.

“I mean the opportunity of a lifetime just fell in your lap and you’re about to make a shit load of money. Don’t scowl at me. I’m talking serious money. More money than you’ve ever seen in your life.”

Serious money? “I’m listening.”

“Good.” She looped her arm through his. “We need to find someplace where we can sit down and talk.”