Page 8 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

Chapter

Six

T he fire hissed as fat droplets of rain fell, sizzling against the hot stones encircling the flames.

Harper huddled closer to its warmth, drawing her knees to her chest as she watched the Highlanders, who she’d learned were from the mainland, move around the small camp.

They’d been preparing for the approaching storm since dawn, when the sky had turned a peculiar shade of green-gray and the wind had taken on a restless quality.

“Ye’ll want to wear these, mistress,” said a weathered woman with gray-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun. Moira MacKinnon thrust a bundle of fabric toward Harper. “Canna have ye wanderin’ about in those strange breeks like some bewitched creature.”

Harper accepted the clothing with a grateful nod, fingering the rough homespun dress. The fabric felt coarse against her palm, a huge difference from the performance textiles she favored. What she wouldn’t give for a dress lined with cozy fleece. “Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

Moira waved her hand dismissively. “Young MacGregor has settled it.” She jerked her chin toward William, who stood deep in conversation with Ian MacPhail, their local guide.

Not wanting to offend the woman, Harper pressed her lips together to hide her smile at Moira calling William ‘young MacGregor’, then again, she had to be in her seventies, so to her, William likely did look young.

Their guide was a short, wiry man with skin tanned to leather by years of exposure to sea and wind. His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, tracing invisible patterns in the air while William nodded thoughtfully, blue eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Ye best change quick,” Moira advised, glancing at the darkening sky. “Storm’s comin’ fast, and ye’ll catch yer death in those outlandish clothes when the real rain starts.”

Harper retreated behind a large boulder to change, struggling with the unfamiliar garments.

The linen shift came first, then a bodice that laced up the front, followed by a woolen skirt that felt impossibly heavy compared to her fleece-lined jeans.

The wind off the water was cold, so after a moment’s hesitation, she kept her underwear and jeans on under the dress.

Her bra had to go, it just wouldn’t work with the bodice, so with a sigh, she decided to toss it in the fire when no one was watching.

Better safe than sorry. The arisaid, a long tartan shawl, completed the ensemble, though she was uncertain how to arrange it properly.

Layers were always the right choice when it came to unpredictable weather.

When she emerged, Moira clicked her tongue disapprovingly and stepped forward to adjust the arisaid, draping it over Harper’s shoulders and securing it with a crude wooden pin.

“There now,” she said, stepping back to assess her work.

“Ye look less like a changeling and more like a proper woman, though that hair...” She shook her head at Harper’s long tangled hair.

From somewhere on her person, Moira produced a comb, gestured for her to sit on the rock, and worked through the tangles.

When she was done, she nodded to herself. “Aye, that’s better.”

The braid was simple, secured with a bit of green ribbon. After a frown, Moira gave her the comb. “You’ll be needing this.” She patted her hand.

“Thank you. I was afraid I’d never get the tangles out.

” She touched the braid and then pocketed the comb in her jeans through a slit in the skirts.

The dress was long enough to cover her hiking boots, which she’d refused to exchange for the leather boots that didn’t have any support.

Her boots had been with her for a couple of years, and would be much better as she clambered across the rocks.

When they walked back into the camp, Angus looked up from polishing his dirk, his green eyes narrowing as they landed on her. “Clothes don’t make the woman,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear. “Still smells of deceit to me.”

Callum, who sat nearby mending a tear in his plaid, shot Angus a reproving glance. “Give the lass a bit o’peace, Angus. She’s done nothing to earn your scorn.”

“Nothing yet,” the man replied, testing his blade against his thumb. “But I’ll be watching.”

Rain began to fall in earnest now, large drops pattering against the ground with increasing frequency. William strode toward them, his expression grave.

“We need to move,” he announced, nodding briefly at her new appearance. “Ian says there’s a croft about a mile north that’s abandoned. We’ll shelter there until the storm passes.”

The small party gathered their belongings. All she had was the map case. Had anyone realized she was missing yet? Or found her backpack and phone?

While everyone was busy, she tossed her bra, sweatshirt, and jacket into the fire, staying to watch them burn. They were unrecognizable bits by the time the rain started coming down harder and did Callum’s job for him of quelling the fire.

They set off in single file, Ian leading the way with William close behind.

Harper followed, with Callum and a reluctant Angus bringing up the rear.

Moira was going back to her home and would bring them food after the storm abated.

The rain intensified with each passing minute, soaking through her new clothes despite the wool’s natural water resistance.

The landscape changed around them as they trudged through the downpour.

What had been merely rolling hills became treacherous slopes of mud and loose stone.

The heather, usually springy underfoot, now lay flattened by the deluge.

Despite her hiking boots, Harper slipped twice on the slick terrain, catching herself before she fell.

The third time, her foot slid out from under her when she tripped over a stone, and she would have tumbled down the hillside if William hadn’t reached back and caught her arm in a grip like iron.

“Careful,” he cautioned, his voice barely audible above the storm. “The ground here is fickle in the wet.”

His eyes lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary before he turned away, continuing up the path. She followed cautiously, feeling the weight of knowledge pressing down on her like the sodden wool of her skirts. In her time, she would have had waterproof Gore-Tex to keep her dry.

After what felt like hours, a low stone structure emerged from the mist ahead. Ian raised his arm, shouting something in Gaelic that was lost to the wind.

The abandoned croft was little more than a single room with walls of stacked stone and a roof that leaked in several places.

A crude hearth dominated one wall, its chimney miraculously intact.

The dirt floor had turned to mud near the doorway, but remained relatively dry in the corners and on the one side where the roof was still intact.

Ian immediately set about gathering what dry kindling he could find, while Callum used his flint to coax a reluctant fire to life. William secured the wooden door as best he could, wedging it shut with a piece of broken furniture.

“It’s not much,” he acknowledged, turning to her, “but it will keep us from the worst of the storm.”

“Thank you,” she replied, shivering despite herself. The temperature had dropped considerably, and her wet clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin.

Angus settled himself by the growing fire, pointedly leaving no room for her to join the circle. “So,” he said, his voice carrying in the small space, “will ye tell us what a ‘widow’ with a man’s learning is really doing on Eriskay with a map that is eerily similar to our own?”

The accusation hung in the air like smoke. William shot Angus a warning glance, but didn’t contradict him.

“I’ve already told you,” Harper replied evenly, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering. “My husband was a cartographer. I assisted him.”

“Aye, so ye say.” Angus leaned forward, firelight casting his face in sinister shadow. “And did your husband also teach ye about the movement of the tides and the formation of rocks? Did he teach ye to speak like a scholar instead of a proper wife?”

Heat rose to her cheeks, but not from the meager fire. “Yes, actually, he did. James believed women were just as capable of learning as men.”

“A dangerous notion,” Ian commented, though without the venom in Angus’s tone. “Unnatural, some would say.”

“Knowledge isn’t unnatural,” she countered, making a face as she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. “It’s the birthright of every human being, regardless of gender.”

William’s eyebrows rose slightly at this declaration. “Bold words, mistress.”

“Truth often is,” she replied.

A particularly strong gust of wind howled through the cracks in the walls, sending sparks dancing from the fire. The remains of the roof creaked ominously, and a fresh leak began to drip steadily in the corner.

“This storm has a voice like a banshee,” Ian murmured, making a subtle gesture that Harper recognized as warding off evil. “We’d best settle in for the night.”

“I want to check the maps first,” William replied. “If the weather clears by morning, we need to continue onward.”

He retrieved his map case and carefully spread the parchment on a relatively dry patch of floor near the fire. Harper hesitated, then joined him, curiosity overcoming her discomfort.

The map was beautifully rendered, showing the coastline of Eriskay and neighboring islands in meticulous detail. William traced a route with his finger, speaking softly to Ian in Gaelic. Harper followed the movement, noting where the thin line of his nail moved across the paper.

“There’s a reef there,” she said suddenly, pointing to a spot just offshore where William had indicated the French ship might drop anchor. “It won’t show above water, but it sits just below the surface. The tides in this area can be dangerous.”

William’s hand stilled. “And how do ye know this?”