Highland Laddie Gone

by Sharyn McCrumb

  Cameron, detecting a note of bitterness in Elizabeth’s voice, said, “I don’t mind. Do you want to?”

  “Maybe. I have to find somebody first. Can I meet you later? At the Chattan tent around seven?”

  “Leave him with me!” boomed Lachlan. “I’m having a high time hearing about the Rangers bashing the Celtics.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “As a Gaelic people, I should think you’d be more sympathetic to the troubles in Northern Ireland!” Without waiting for an answer, she swept away.

  Lachlan and Cameron exchanged puzzled glances. What did Belfast have to do with Scottish soccer matches?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ELIZABETH found Geoffrey at the sign-up booth for athletic events. “What on earth are you doing?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “Well, I thought I’d get into the spirit of things. Learn how to do something. It might be useful for Brigadoon. What have you been up to?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Can you do without me for a while? I’ve met somebody…”

  Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What’s he like?”

  “Mmmm. He looks like Prince Philip did when he married Queen Elizabeth.”

  “Oh! He’s Greek!”

  Elizabeth scowled. “He’s from Scotland. He has a Ph.D. in marine biology, and the way he talks is just lethally sexy.”

  “Oh. Scottish. Too bad.”

  “What do you mean, too bad?”

  Geoffrey grinned. “Remember what you told me earlier? All the Highland clansmen were either murdered after Culloden or driven out of Scotland. So if this guy comes from there…”

  “Shut up, Geoffrey. You always exaggerate. Anyway, I don’t care if there were sharks in his gene pool, he’s adorable. And he has an accent like pancake syrup-all l’s and r’s.” She sighed.

  Geoffrey groaned. “Are you going to get a grip on yourself, or do I have to turn the hose on you?”

  Elizabeth made a face at him.

  “And what about your boyfriend the grave robber?”

  “Milo?” She hesitated. “Well… we aren’t engaged or anything. I told Mary Gillespie we were, but that was in self-defense. Anyway, I’m just showing Cameron around the games.”

  “From the way you were talking earlier, it sounds as if he’ll need a bodyguard to protect him from his guide.”

  “Oh, you’re worse than Bill. Anyway, what are you doing right now?”

  “Why do you ask, cousin?”

  “Because I want to go to the dog field, and I need you to keep the moggie for me.”

  “The… moggie?” echoed Geoffrey in forbidding tones.

  “Bobcat, Geoffrey. Anyway, can you keep him for an hour, please? You’re not scheduled for any games now, are you?”

  “Not till tomorrow. I signed up for something called a saber toss. The idiot that typed the sheet misspelled it, though.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “It should be very interesting. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. See you later!”

  Andy Carson found his visiting Scottish professor at Lachlan Forsyth’s souvenir stall, discussing gardening-something about a Partick thistle. “Here you are!” he exclaimed, clapping Cameron on the shoulder. “What do you think of the games so far, eh?”

  “It’s a bit like Disneyland,” murmured Cameron.

  “Just like home, eh!” boomed Andy, who never listened to other people’s small talk. “Well, come over here. I’d like you to meet a clan chief.”

  Cameron shook hands with the wizened man in a green kilt. “How do you do, sir?”

  Andy Carson performed the introductions. “Dr. Campbell here is an M.D., Cameron, but he’s also a member of the board of trustees at the university.”

  “Class of ’39,” grunted Dr. Campbell.

  “He’s been one of our chief supporters for the Center of Marine Science.” Turning to Colin Campbell, Andy explained, “Dr. Dawson here is our visiting marine biologist from Scotland.”

  “Excellent,” said Dr. Campbell with a thrust of his jaw. “About time you people got an expert in here. Though you Scots haven’t done such a good job over there.”

  “At Great Cumbrae? Our work on seal migration-”

  “Seals? Who gives a good goddamn about seals, young man? What have you done about Nessie?” Without waiting for an answer, he edged in closer. “There’s been another sighting here, you know.”

  Cameron blinked. First selkies, then bobcats, and now sea serpents. He wondered if jet lag ever caused people to hallucinate. He hoped so. America couldn’t really be like this… could it?

  “I work with seals and porpoises,” he said faintly.

  Dr. Campbell wasn’t listening. “It was in the Eastern Bay this time. That’s an arm of the Chesapeake right across from Annapolis, Maryland. Scared the hell out of a couple in a sailboat. You people are familiar with Chessie, aren’t you? Have you seen the 1982 videotape? How does it compare with Nessie?”

  “I don’t know,” said Cameron. “Maybe a paleontologist could advise you-”

  “Well, consult one,” snapped Colin Campbell. “The Center can afford it. I’ve certainly donated enough money to it.”

  “I haven’t had much time to talk to Dr. Dawson, Colin,” Andy Carson put in hurriedly. “He hasn’t even visited the Center yet. Maybe we should postpone this little talk until-”

  “What do you know about Nessie, young man?” Dr. Campbell barked.

  “F.-all,” said Cameron. “Which is all I want to know.”

  Andy Carson laughed nervously. “That dry British sense of humor, eh, Dawson? I’m sure you don’t realize how important Dr. Campbell is to our department. Why, his efforts on the board of trustees were instrumental in getting this center set up in the first place. His donations played a big part in endowing the visiting professorship you received.”

  “Are you saying that you took me away from North Sea seal studies to come over here and study sea serpents?” cried Cameron. “A year’s work down the bloody cludgie!”

  “Get somebody else, Carson!” snapped Colin Campbell.

  “Now, gentlemen, please. This is a social event-”

  “Right,” said Cameron. “I have no intention of discussing it further until we do so officially. Excuse me, please.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away. A dozen yards from Lachlan’s stall, he stopped and looked about. Kilted people edged past him on either side, but he didn’t see anyone he knew. At least it wasn’t so hot anymore.

  Cameron glanced up at the sky. So that was it! A bloody great cloud had settled over the meadow. He felt a drop of rain hit his cheek. Some outing this had turned out to be. He was trying to decide whether to seek shelter when he caught sight of something familiar. Cluny the bobcat was rubbing up against a tent pole, while beside him a crowd of people were huddled together, perilously close to treading on him. Cameron hurried over.

  “Hello!” he called out. “Elizabeth! Are you here?”

  The bobcat’s lead unwound from the throng of people, but the person at the other end of it was not the Maid of the Cat. A young man in yellow poplin slacks looked at him inquiringly.

  “Sorry,” stammered Cameron. “I was looking for a dark-haired young lady who had charge of the lynx earlier.”

  Geoffrey pointed an accusing finger at Cameron. “Pancake syrup!” he cried.

  “Oh God!” thought Cameron. “Maybe it’s something in their water supply. Has anyone ever checked America’s water supply for mind-altering substances?”

  Geoffrey smiled. “I’ve heard of you,” he explained. “The young lady you’re looking for is my cousin Elizabeth. She left this beast with me while she went to look at sheepdogs. Would you like to watch him for her?” This last hopeful query was nearly drowned out by a clap of thunder.

  Cameron hesitated. “Do you know which way she went?”

  “In that direction,” said Geoffrey, pointing. “Come on, I’ll see if we can find her.”

  The rain was pelting down even harder now, punctuated by flashes of
lightning, all of which made Cluny even less anxious than usual to walk on his leash-particularly when foolish people were trying to make him head for an open field in a thunderstorm.

  “Damned cat!” yelled Geoffrey over the rain. “We’ll never get there at this rate!”

  “How far is it?” Cameron called back.

  They had left the circle of clan tents and were headed for the lower meadow where the herding practice took place. The wind, blowing from that direction, had pretty well drenched them after the first two minutes.

  “She won’t be out in this downpour!” cried Geoffrey. “I think we ought to wait it out on the hill under the trees. But first I’m going to stash this cat somewhere!”

  Beside a stack of boards and Some concrete drainpipes, Geoffrey noticed a long wooden box with a latched door. Reasoning that this was probably a cage meant for Cluny in the first place, Geoffrey flipped up the latch and shoved the bobcat in headfirst. A rumble of thunder covered any sounds of feline displeasure at such cavalier treatment, and Geoffrey, the rain dribbling down his neck, closed the door and sped up the hill toward Cameron.

  A few moments later they were settled at the base of a relatively dry oak, watching the sports field turn into a mud puddle.

  “Do you come to these things often?” asked Cameron politely.

  “God, no! It’s a boot camp for lunatics.” Cameron laughed at that, and Geoffrey added, “That’s a line from Brigadoon. My community theatre group is doing the play, so I came to soak up atmosphere.”

  “Is it about Scotland?”

  “Don’t you know it? It’s a Lerner and Loewe musical. Brigadoon is an eighteenth-century Scottish village that doesn’t want to be corrupted by progress, so their minister prays for a miracle to keep them from having to change.”

  “What happens?”

  “The village only exists one day out of every century. See, they’d go to bed in 1753, and when they woke up in the morning it would be 1853, and so on. But the village always stays the same. Neat trick, huh?”

  Cameron frowned. “Well, it has some drawbacks, you know. One day they will wake up to find themselves in the parking lot of the Aberdeen Hilton, I bet.”

  “Great idea! I wonder if I could talk Sinclair into doing an epilogue?”

  “Have the games given you any inspiration?”

  “The costumes are quite good. I may make a few sketches tonight. But what has really been interesting is viewing everything from the context of Brigadoon. I mean, this farce practically is Brigadoon. The festival exists one day a year; and no matter what’s happening in Scotland, it’s still Bonnie Prince Charlie-time here on the mountain.”

  “Spot on!” Cameron nodded. “It certainly isn’t the Scotland I come from. But at least they seem to be enjoying themselves. Your cousin, for instance.”

  “I think the rain is beginning to slack off. Cloud must be moving,” said Geoffrey, peering up at the sky. “You’re right, of course, about-did she tell you the family’s pet name for her, by the way?”

  “No.”

  Geoffrey smiled. “I thought not. When Elizabeth was little, her older brother Bill claimed not to be able to pronounce the name, so he called her something else.”

  “That’s not uncommon. Elizabeth is difficult to say, I should think.”

  “Yes, but they will never convince me that three-year-old Bill, unable to say Elizabeth, should do such a first-rate job of pronouncing Lizard-Breath.” “That’s what he called her?” asked Cameron, laughing.

  “That was it. You ought to try it sometime and see what she says.” Improvisational melodrama was Geoffrey’s specialty.

  “Right. Well, I think that’s it for the storm. I suppose we should go down and let the cat out of the box,” said Cameron.

  “Good idea. If we’re both standing there, he can’t zip out of the box and escape.”

  Geoffrey opened the wooden door carefully, motioning for Cameron to be ready. Nothing happened. After a few seconds of silence, Geoffrey leaned down and peered into the box. “Kitty? Kitty? Oh my God!”

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “Nothing. He’s happy as a clam at high tide. Oh my God. I’m doomed. I knew I shouldn’t have quoted Macbeth this afternoon.”

  Cameron opened the door again and looked. There was Cluny in his tartan ribbon, surrounded by feathers, chewing contentedly on a sinewy bone.

  “What is it?” whispered Geoffrey.

  “Oh, fowls, absolutely,” Cameron informed him. “See this bone here? There’s been more than one of them, too. I’d say he’s eaten them all.”

  Geoffrey put his hand to his brow. “All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam at one fell swoop?” “There you go again,” said Cameron, recognizing the quote.

  “The herding ducks! These things were going to be used in the sheepdog trials tomorrow. Elizabeth will kill me. How many were there?”

  Cameron pulled on Cluny’s lead, drawing the reluctant bobcat out of the box in a cloud of feathers. After a brief examination, he turned to Geoffrey: “Five, I think. All white-domestic ducks.”

  “Good,” muttered Geoffrey. “Those shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  “Find?”

  “Come on. I’ve got the car keys. But you have to promise not to tell anyone about this-especially not my cousin!”

  Cameron trailed off after Geoffrey, the bobcat at his heels, wondering if duck-rustling was a hanging offense in the States these days. Coming to America seemed to be much akin to falling down a rabbit hole…

  “I think it’s stopped raining,” said Elizabeth. She was sitting on a campstool in the doorway of Marge Hutcheson’s tent, with a mug of tea balanced in her lap.

  “Finish your tea,” said Marge. “Somerled doesn’t need all that much practice.” The border collie pricked up his ears at the sound of his name, and then stretched back out on the floor of the tent. His mistress-a hardy, gray-haired woman in tweeds and jodhpurs-rumpled his fur affectionately, “Nosy brute!”

  “I expect I’m a nosy brute, too,” said Elizabeth shyly. “But I was really shocked to hear about-you know-Dr. Hutcheson.”

  Marge grunted. “Poor Walter. Sometimes a dog will chase a truck just to prove he can keep up with it. I don’t suppose they ever give any thought to what will happen if they catch it.”

  “What’s she like? I guess I could find out for myself, since I was invited to their party tonight. But that was because of Cameron.”

  “Who’s Cameron?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “He’s from Scotland.”

  “Not a very high recommendation with me nowadays,” said Marge dryly.

  “Oh, dear, I forgot. So is she. Dr. Hutcheson was bragging about her being the niece of the Duke of something… Rothesay?”

  “The Earl of Rothes, I expect,” said Marge. “He’s the chief of Clan Leslie. Used to be in publishing.”

  “Umm… I thought he said Duke, but he may have got it wrong. He wasn’t as up on those things as you are.”

  “No, Walter is a bit of a liability in everything except medicine. Still, this is the first I’ve heard of it, so he’s sure to know more than I.”

  “Did you know her?”

  Marge smiled. “We weren’t best friends, dear. Somebody or other brought her to the country club once, and she managed to get Walter to give her golf lessons. I’m sure she plays much better than he does. Anyway, the first I heard of it was a few months later, when Walter decided that we weren’t the same people we used to be and that he wanted to find himself.” She shrugged. “We had Sanderson draw up the property settlement, and the divorce went through. I didn’t even go to court for the occasion.”

  “That’s terrible!” cried Elizabeth. “After all these years.”

  “I expect it’s worse for Walter,” said Marge complacently. “Imagine living with somebody who thinks of John Lennon as Julian Lennon’s dad. Of course, Walter married her trying to feel young again, but I doubt if he’s succeeding at it.”

&
nbsp; “Yes, but how do you feel?”

  “I get by. I guess I feel most of the time as though someone has rearranged the furniture: you know, everything’s familiar, but not quite right somehow. But I have the farm and the dogs, and I stay busy.” She grinned. “I suppose you thought I ought to be after her with a pistol?”

  Elizabeth blushed. “I didn’t think I ought to go to the party. Because of you.”

  “Nonsense! And miss a chance to snoop? By all means go. You won’t hurt my feelings a bit.”

  “Well… maybe Cameron will enjoy meeting another Scot.”

  “Perhaps. How long has he been here?”

  Elizabeth burst out laughing. “All day!” she managed to say.

  “Oh, right. Well, I doubt if he’s quite that desperate for the company of his fellow countrymen, then. But by all means, go to the party. I take it you’d like an excuse to spend some more time with this young man?” Elizabeth nodded shyly. “Well, out with it! What’s he like?”

  “Very proper. And very witty in a deadpan sort of way… Did I mention that he has a Ph.D. in marine biology? And he speaks BBC British with trilled r’s.”

  “Edinburgh,” grunted Marge. “What is it, Somerled? Are you tired of being inside? Well, come on, then. I’ll give you a walk. And as for you, young miss, you should go back to your cabin and get out of that stifling kilt getup. You’ll feel much better in summer clothes.”

  “But I’m Maid of the Cat,” Elizabeth protested.

  Marge Hutcheson shrugged. “Please yourself. But if your Scottish fellow is anything like the Brits I know, he has a sense of smell like a blind bloodhound.”

  “I’m on my way!” cried Elizabeth, lunging for the door.

  Walter Hutcheson, his ducal package still under his arm, was making the rounds of clan tents, making sure that he had invited all the chiefs to the party. Marge had always taken care of the inviting before, but Heather hardly knew anyone, so he couldn’t expect her to do it. He hoped she would remember the ice this time. Heather was still learning the art of entertaining. Marge had made it seem so easy that he’d never given it much thought.