Page 13 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

Pride swelled in her chest. The map represented countless hours of work.

Climbing treacherous cliffs for better vantage points, wading into tide pools to measure depths, observing currents during different phases of the moon.

She and William had developed a seamless working rhythm.

Her geological expertise and experience working with a well-known oceanographer in her own time complemented William’s practical knowledge of navigation and Callum’s artistic skills.

While she liked to draw whimsical sketches, he was a true artist.

“The reefs here,” Durand continued, pointing to a section of the western coastline, “you’ve marked underwater formations that aren’t visible from the surface. How did you determine their positions so precisely?”

The question hung in the air, seemingly innocent yet pointed. William tensed beside her, his arm brushing against hers as he shifted position. The brief contact sent warmth spreading through her despite the tension of the moment.

“Mistress Harper has a gift for reading the water,” William interjected before she could respond. “She can see patterns in the waves that reveal what lies beneath.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue. Harper had used her knowledge of how waves behaved when passing over submerged obstacles, knowledge that wouldn’t be formally codified for another century. But the way Durand’s eyes narrowed suggested he found the explanation insufficient.

“A remarkable gift indeed,” the Frenchman murmured. His gaze flicked between them, noting perhaps how William had stepped slightly closer to Harper, the protective stance unmistakable. “One that would be invaluable to any naval power.”

The implication was clear. Such knowledge had significant military value. In an age of wooden ships that could be shattered on hidden reefs, accurate charts meant the difference between victory and disaster.

Durand’s fingers traced another section of the map, where Harper had insisted on marking a hidden channel that could safely accommodate ships during high tide. “And this passage? Even local fishermen claim it’s impassable.”

“They haven’t observed it at the right tidal phase,” Harper explained, unable to resist the pull of scientific explanation. “During the tide, when the moon is full or new, the water level rises enough to create a safe passage over the submerged rocks.”

Durand’s eyebrows rose. “You speak with remarkable certainty for someone who has only recently arrived on Eriskay.”

Harper realized her mistake too late. William shifted subtly, his shoulder now partially shielding her from Durand’s penetrating gaze.

“Mistress Harper has spent many hours observing the tides,” William said smoothly. “She has a methodical mind.”

Durand hummed noncommittally, returning his attention to the map. “The prince will find these charts most useful. I must take my leave. If the weather holds, the prince should reach Scottish waters within the fortnight.”

Harper couldn’t suppress a small gasp. “So soon?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to her with varying degrees of surprise and suspicion. She realized her mistake immediately—her reaction suggested foreknowledge she shouldn’t possess.

“I merely meant,” she added hastily, “that preparations here seem far from complete.”

Durand’s gaze sharpened. “You are well-informed about our preparations, madame?”

The air between them crackled with tension. It was almost as if she could feel the blood draining from her face as she quickly came up with a plausible explanation.

“Mistress Ross has earned our trust,” William stated firmly, stepping slightly closer to her side.

His proximity was both reassuring and distracting.

She could smell the faint scent of heather and peat smoke that clung to his clothing, could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“She has proven her loyalty through her actions.”

Durand studied them both for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Of course,” he said smoothly, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I meant no offense. In these dangerous times, caution becomes second nature.”

He turned his attention back to William, extracting a sealed letter from inside his coat. “The latest intelligence from France. Routes of English patrols, names of suspected spies, details of supply ships. Memorize it, then burn it.”

William accepted the letter with a nod. “Any word of Captain Mercer?”

If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed it — the flinch when he said the name.

Harper had heard him mention the captain in his sleep, muttered like a curse during restless nights.

Once, she’d awakened to find him sitting by the dying fire, staring into the embers with such raw hatred in his expression that she’d been afraid to approach him.

“Still commanding the garrison at Fort William,” Durand confirmed. “But he’s been ordered to Edinburgh to assist with reinforcements. You may yet have your chance for revenge, my friend.”

A muscle twitched in William’s jaw. “Justice, not revenge.”

“The line blurs in wartime,” Durand replied with a Gallic shrug. “Now, I must not linger. The tide waits for no man, and time grows short.”

The sailors pushed the boat back into deeper water. As Durand prepared to depart, he paused, turning back to Harper with a considering look.

“A final question, if I may, Mistress? What do you believe will be the outcome of this rising?”

The question struck her like a physical blow. Of all the things he might have asked, this was the most dangerous for someone with her knowledge. She felt William’s eyes on her, heard Angus shift his weight behind her.

“I believe...” she began carefully, “that history is written by those brave enough to shape it.”

Durand studied her for a long moment before a slow smile spread across his face. “A diplomatic answer worthy of Versailles itself. Au revoir, madame. I suspect we shall meet again under even more interesting circumstances.”

With that, he pushed off into deeper water, raising his sail with practiced efficiency. They watched in silence as his boat grew smaller against the vast expanse of sea, eventually disappearing around a distant headland where a larger ship was waiting.

“Well,” Callum said finally, breaking the tense silence, “that went better than expected.”

Angus snorted. “The Frenchman suspects something. Did ye see how he watched her? Like a cat at a mouse hole.”

“Enough,” William said sharply. “Durand suspects everyone. It’s why he’s still alive.”