Page 14 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)
Chapter
Ten
T hey watched until Durand was out of sight.
The tide had claimed most of the beach now, forcing them to retreat up the rocky path toward their camp.
She could feel his gaze between her shoulder blades as they climbed, heavy with unspoken questions.
The confrontation she’d been dreading since her arrival in this century seemed inevitable now, hastened by her careless reaction to Durand’s news.
As they walked, Callum fell into step beside her, his quiet presence surprisingly comforting. “Ye did well,” he said softly, so only she could hear. “Durand has made hardened soldiers break into a sweat with his questions.”
Harper glanced at him gratefully. “He’s very perceptive.”
“Aye, and dangerous for it,” Callum agreed. “But William trusts him, and that’s enough for me.” He hesitated, then added, “Whatever secrets ye keep, Mistress, I’ve seen enough to know ye mean us no harm.”
The simple statement touched her deeply. Before she could respond, they crested the hill and their camp came into view. The small cluster of tents nestled in a sheltered hollow, smoke rising from the central fire where Moira tended her cooking pot. Home .
The older woman straightened as they approached, wiping her hands on her apron. “About time ye returned,” she called. “The rabbit’s near fallen off the bone, it’s been simmering so long.”
The rich aroma of stewed meat and herbs filled the air, making her stomach growl appreciatively. Despite the tension of the meeting with Durand, she found herself smiling at the domestic scene.
“Something amusing, lass?” Moira asked, noticing Harper’s expression.
“Just grateful,” Harper replied honestly. “For the food, and for your kindness.”
Moira’s weathered face softened slightly.
“Well, ye’ve earned it. Working from dawn till dusk alongside these lads, never complaining even when your hands bleed from the rocks.
” She gestured toward Harper’s palms, which bore several healing cuts from their expeditions along the shoreline along with the pink skin where she’d cut her hand.
“Not many fine Boston ladies would manage half so well.”
The praise coming from the usually taciturn woman warmed her more than she expected. Over the past weeks, Moira had become a steadying presence. Practical, no-nonsense, but quietly supportive in her own way.
“Go wash up at the stream,” Moira instructed, turning back to her cooking. “Food will be ready when ye return.”
William, who had been conferring quietly with Angus, approached as the others dispersed to their various tasks. “I’ll accompany ye to the stream,” he said, his tone making it clear this wasn’t simply a courtesy.
They walked in silence along the narrow path that led to the small freshwater stream where they collected drinking water and performed basic ablutions.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the sparse trees, casting dappled shadows across the ground.
In the distance, a curlew called mournfully, its cry echoing across the moor.
When they reached the stream, Harper knelt on a flat rock beside the water, grateful for the chance to wash away the salt and grime of the day. The water ran cold and clear over her hands, stinging the small cuts and abrasions that seemed a constant feature of life in this century.
He crouched beside her, close enough that their knees almost touched. “Ye nearly gave yourself away today,” he said quietly, his voice pitched low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond them.
Harper kept her eyes on her hands, watching the water flow between her fingers. “I know,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not just Durand,” William continued. “Ian watches ye too closely for my liking. And there are others who would pay handsomely for information about our plans.”
The mention of Ian sent a chill through Harper.
The fisherman had been increasingly present at their camp, offering to guide them to remote parts of the island, always seeming to appear when sensitive matters were being discussed.
Just last week, she’d caught him examining their maps when he thought no one was looking, his fingers tracing the routes they’d marked with unusual interest for a simple fisherman.
“I don’t trust him,” she said, finally meeting William’s gaze. “There’s something... calculated about the way he asks questions.”
William nodded, his blue eyes serious. “Aye, I’ve noticed it too. Angus has been following him when he leaves the camp. Twice now, he’s lost him in the caves.”
The revelation didn’t surprise Harper, but it confirmed her suspicions. “Do you think he’s reporting to the English?”
“Or to someone who reports to them,” William replied grimly. “We’re keeping him close for now. Better to feed him small truths we can control than have him sneaking about entirely.”
He reached out suddenly, catching her hand as she withdrew it from the stream. Water droplets clung to their skin, catching the sunlight like tiny crystals. His thumb brushed over her palm, tracing a half-healed cut near her wrist.
“Ye’ve endured much these past weeks,” he said, his voice softening. “Without complaint, without faltering.”
The gentle touch sent warmth spiraling up her arm, making it hard to concentrate on his words. His hands were powerful and calloused from years of wielding weapons and tools, yet his touch was surprisingly gentle.
“I’ve had to adapt,” she managed, acutely aware of how close they were sitting, how his knee now pressed lightly against hers. “It hasn’t always been graceful.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “I remember when ye tried to climb that cliff in your strange garments. Callum thought you’d lost your wits entirely.”
The memory made her laugh despite herself.
During their first week of mapping, she’d attempted to scale a rocky outcrop wearing her jeans beneath her dress, resulting in a tangled mess of fabric that had nearly sent her tumbling into the sea.
Only William’s quick reflexes had saved her from a dangerous fall.
“The next day I wore just the dress,” she reminded him, “and scandalized Angus by showing my leg while climbing.” She’d burned the jeans and her underwear that night, deciding it was too risky to keep them.
“Poor Angus,” William chuckled. “He didna know where to look.”
Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence, but William didn’t release her hand. Instead, his thumb continued its gentle exploration of her palm, tracing the lines there as if reading her future.
“Harper,” he said finally, using her name without the formal “Mistress” that he maintained in front of the others. “I need to know what ye’re hiding. Not just for the cause, but for your own safety.”
The intimacy of the moment, her name on his lips, his hand holding hers, made her want to confess everything.
But the enormity of the truth held her back.
How could she explain that she knew the tragic fate that awaited the Jacobite cause?
That she had read about the bloodshed at Culloden in history books, had seen the memorial stones marking mass graves?
“I can’t,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. “Not yet.”
Something flickered in William’s eyes. Disappointment perhaps, but not anger. “Do ye not trust me, then?”
“It’s not about trust,” she insisted, fighting the urge to close the small distance between them, to seek comfort in his embrace. “It’s about protecting you. Some knowledge is dangerous.”
“I’m well acquainted with danger,” he countered softly.
“Not like this,” she said, her voice barely audible above the gentle burbling of the stream. “Please, William. Give me a bit more time.”
He studied her face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a gentle squeeze of her hand, he released her and rose to his feet.
“Time is a luxury we may not have,” he said, looking toward the distant horizon where the sea met the sky. “The prince comes, and with him, war. But I’ll wait for now.”
He offered his hand to help her up, and she took it without hesitation.
As she rose, her foot slipped on the wet stone, sending her stumbling forward against his chest. His arms came around her instinctively, steadying her, and for a heartbeat they stood locked together, her hands pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, his arms encircling her waist.
Time seemed to suspend as Harper looked up into William’s face. This close, she could see flecks of darker blue in his eyes, could count the individual lashes that framed them. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt her breath catch, her heart hammering against her ribs.
For one dizzying moment, she thought he might kiss her, wanted him to kiss her with an intensity that shocked her. Then voices carried on the wind from the direction of the camp, shattering the moment.
“We should return,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. “Before they send a search party.”
Harper nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The brief moment of intimacy had left her shaken, not just by the physical attraction, which she had been fighting for weeks, but by the realization of how deeply she had come to care for this man from a time not her own.
As they walked back to camp, maintaining a careful distance between them, she knew the truth. She was falling in love with a man who lived three hundred years before her birth, a man whose fate might already be written in the history books. The thought was terrifying.
“Where’s Ian?” she asked, noticing the fisherman’s absence.
“Said he needed to check his nets before dark,” Callum answered, though his tone suggested he shared her suspicions. “Convenient timing, aye?”
As if summoned by her thoughts, Ian appeared at the edge of the firelight, his face flushed with whisky and exertion.
Something about his manner, a too-casual stance, eyes that moved too quickly over their gathered supplies made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
When he joined them by the fire, she noticed a small bulge in his jacket that he seemed particularly careful about, adjusting it subtly when he thought no one was looking.
Their eyes met briefly across the flames, and the calculating look he gave her before quickly glancing away confirmed her worst suspicions.
Later, after the others had gone to sleep, Harper stood before the fire, clutching the map and its case against her chest. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows across her face as she contemplated what needed to be done.
William’s silent approach startled her. She turned to find him watching, his expression unreadable in the firelight.
“I should burn it,” she said softly. “We can’t risk my copy falling into the wrong hands.”
When he didn’t immediately respond, Harper drew a deep breath. “I’m not being deceitful with you,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I will tell you everything about me, I promise. Just... not yet. Please.”
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackling of the fire. Finally, he nodded.
“Best get to it, then,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Wouldn’t want our work finding its way to English eyes.”
With trembling hands, Harper unrolled the parchment and fed it to the flames, then with a sigh, she tossed the case on the fire as well. She watched as the detailed coastlines curled and blackened, feeling as though the last thread tethering her to her former life had finally snapped.
“I learned long ago to trust your instincts,” William said, “strange as they sometimes are.” There was a gentle warmth in his voice as he added, “Sleep well, a leannan .”
The Gaelic endearment, my sweetheart , hung in the air between them. Harper’s breath caught at the intimacy of it, wondering if he had used the term intentionally or if it had slipped out unbidden in the darkness.