by kc dyer
He shrugged, still beaming all over his mud-caked face. “Usually only for events like this. Me mum’s clan are the MacKenzies, so it’s her family plaid.”
The rest of the team appeared to be clearing the field. “Oi—Patel!” someone shouted. “Quit kissin’ that girl and come fer a pint!”
Ashwin’s face fell. “Guess I’d best be off,” he muttered, and turned to go.
I grabbed his arm and planted a big kiss on one muddy cheek. “See you soon, Ash.”
His mouth dropped open, then he gave a whoop, which momentarily deafened me. “I wasnae kissin’ her—she were kissin’ me!” he yelled, as he ran back to join his team.
I waited until they were well into the beer garden before I wiped the mud off my lips and wandered over to the next event. He hadn’t even seemed surprised to see me, but if that boy’s heart was going to be broken, it wasn’t me who would be responsible.
A large set of wooden seats had been erected to watch the heavy events, but I skirted them and stood near the fence to one side. Seeing the huge men throwing their enormous hammers, I remembered the picture on the side of the bus from early in the springtime, and my high hopes then of finding my Fraser from amongst their number. The memory was threatening to erase the happier mood I had been in since kissing Ashwin, so in the end, I decided it was better to hang out in the agricultural exhibits. Fewer regrets there, anyhow.
Sometime after lunch, I looked up to find Jack beside me.
“Have you had enough to eat?” he asked anxiously. “I’ve been in the main tent over there all day, signing books with the others.”
“There’s plenty to eat,” I assured him. “Pasties and meat pies and bannock … Not that I’m very hungry after that giant breakfast.”
“A full Scottish breakfast does stick to your ribs,” he admitted. “But honestly—are you enjoying the day?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “I’ve wanted to see these Games since I got here. I can’t believe I actually get a chance to be here in the end. Thank you for bringing me.”
He shook his head impatiently. “You don’t need to thank me. Coming here was just an obligation I couldn’t get out of. But if it makes you happy, then I’m happy, too.”
“It does,” I said. “I just feel sort of—I don’t know—poignant? Nostalgic? I SO hate to leave.”
“Look,” he said intensely, and he took one of my hands in his. “If you want to be here, we will find a way to make it happen. You’ll have to go home first …”
“To Chicago,” I interrupted, thinking of the little wee room at Morag’s.
“Yes,” he went on, not really noticing. “But we will get you back. I promise.”
My eyes followed him as he walked over to the big white tent, and it occurred to me that I had never seen Hamish in a kilt. But I suddenly doubted that he could cut a finer figure than Jack did at that moment, striding off into the afternoon sun.
I thought about telling him so, for about half a minute. I even walked a few steps in the direction of the tent. And then I saw the sign. Not from above, though it might well have been. No, this sign was right in the middle of the field. It was a direction sign.
Author Event, it read. Meet our Guests of Honor.
Guests.
I took a step back, shaded the slanting rays of the afternoon sun from my eyes, and peered at the tent. A long line of people carrying books snaked out the door and around one side of the field. Inside the tent was pretty dark, but if I squinted my eyes, I could just make out the outline of Jack, sitting up on a raised platform, signing books.
And beside him?
A woman with dark hair, dressed like a vivid butterfly in blue.
Herself.
How had I missed this? I should have known …
The tinny public address system gave a squawk, which made me jump.
“Ten minutes to final presentations at the main stage. Ten minutes.”
In the distance, I could see the top of a huge log moving behind the white special-event tent. Suddenly the log disappeared, only to reappear, flipping end over end. A roar went up from the crowd.
“Ach, I knew yeh couldn’t stay away. Still got yer room fer yeh, should ye want it, aye?”
I turned around to see Morag’s smiling face. She had two leggy young sheep in tow, one in a harness of red and the other green.
I grinned at her and it felt good. I was pretty sure I hadn’t really smiled since the last time we’d clinked teacups that night making butter.
“Maybe not right away, Morag. But I will be back.”
She beamed. “I know it. Yeh comin’ to the presentations?”
“Yes.” I reached down to pat one of the woolly sheep. “Are these …?”
“Aye. Them late twins you helped deliver. Tole’ ye I were savin’ ’em for summat special, righ’? They are to go to the guests of honor, after they finish presentin’ the prizes.”
I laughed. “I imagine they will be thrilled,” I said.
“Damn well should be. These are fine pedigreed sheep. They’ll make a fair decent lamb chop, I’ll tell ye that.”
Oh, I did not want to think of those sweet fuzzy things as chops. “Maybe they can be wool producers instead?” I said pleadingly, which made Morag laugh.
She pushed one of the leashes into my hand. “Come gi’e me a hand, would yeh? You can hand Wallace here over to that fine lookin’ writer lad.”
I hastily handed the leash back. “Oh no—no. I couldn’t do that. I’ll just watch from the crowd. But wait a minute. If this is Wallace …”
“Yep. Named ’em special for the guests, o’ course. This little fella is Wallace, ‘named special for Mister Findlay’s new book.”
She held the red leash up and the lamb at the end capered a little. “An’ this one’s for the lady. Called ’im Fraser, righ’?”
I stared at her, mouth open.
“After a character in her books—name o’ James Fraser. Yeh mus’ read ’em, if ye havenae, lass. Lovely tale-teller, she.”
Morag bent down, scooped the lamb up, and held her out to me. “Sure ye dinnae want to help hand him over? Ye did find him an his brother in the field that night, aye?”
In a bit of a daze, I stepped forward and she thrust the lamb into my arms. I couldn’t come up with any words, but there was no question Morag was right. I guess I had found Fraser, after all, though he was not exactly the one I was looking for. I nuzzled its soft wool a moment before it lurched its head back suddenly and bashed me in the chin.
“Whoah there, Fraser—careful now. Ye dinnae want tae hurt the lady who helped ye into the world, do yeh?”
I set the lamb down on the grass and handed his harness back to Morag. “You’re very sweet, but I think it’s best if you do the presentation. I’ll cheer you on from the audience, okay?”
Morag shrugged. “Suit yerself. Ye know where tae find me when ye return, aye? Or yeh could drop me a line sometime—I jes’ had them put in the router this week. Got mah own Wi-Fi channel now, and a new MacBook tae boot.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, and rubbed my sore chin as she and her two woolly little charges hurried over to the stage.
The sun set over the main platform as the final presentations wrapped up. The winner of the caber toss that’d I’d seen behind the main tent turned out to be Geordie, and I had a minute to congratulate him as he stood afterwards, holding his trophy. He told me Hamish had said he was never coming back to Nairn.
“He were full o’ some nonsense about sun and fun. But I’ve no doubt he’ll be back.” He took a long drink from the cup of his trophy, and I realized he’d filled it with beer. “Really thowt yeh were the one fer him, there. But that blondie he ended up with? Yowza!”
He leered blearily at me until a tsking lady organizer walked by. She grabbed the trophy cup from him, dumped the beer into the grass and led him away.
In the final act of the evening, a small child stepped on stage, tugging the lambs along, and presented them i
n turn to the guests of honor. I cowered, watching behind one of the heavies in the crowd. And then in a flurry of smiling and thanks, it was all over. The crowds streamed toward the exits and to the overflowing beer garden that had been set up nearby.
In a moment, Jack was beside me again.
“Would yeh like to meet her?” he said, catching me peeking up at the stage. “We can go up now, before her car comes.”
I shook my head. “No. I—I can’t bear facing her again.”
We walked along toward the exit. “What happened, Emma? You wouldn’t tell me that night in Philadelphia. And you’ve never put anything on your blog.”
“I swore to myself I’d never mention it again. And I haven’t.”
His voice dropped a little. “What could be so terrible? Did you vomit on her or something?”
I paused beside a blue-striped tent near the exit.
“Nothing like that. It’s just—I’d waited in line for her the whole day, and when I finally got up to speak to her, she was so kind. She smiled up at me, and I wanted to tell her everything. To confess what I was about to do, and to ask her where—where she thought I should look to find my Fraser.”
I had to stop for a minute and catch my breath. I was ashamed to realize my eyes were tearing up, just at the memory.
“In the end, there were just too many questions. I opened my mouth to speak to her, but instead of saying anything, I just burst into tears. She handed me a tissue, very kindly, of course, but I still turned and ran away.”
Jack gave me a bit of a strange look. “Emma,” he said. “I thought writers were bad about living inside their own heads! You worry too much. Listen, people cry about my characters all the time.”
I sniffed a little. “Really?”
He paused a minute. “Well, not really. I can’t say anyone has actually burst into tears over my writing. But I get it. As a fellow author, I really get it.”
I took a deep breath. He was right. It was time to find my way past it.
“Anyway,” he went on, “she’s marvelous. You’ll love her. Please let me introduce you.”
Looking up at him, something else surged in me. The hero worship that had haunted me for so long would never really leave, but for the first time, I was conscious of feeling something else in its place. I thought back to the kiss—the kisses, really—he’d given me at the bookstore. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure I wanted to share any of the time we had left with someone he thought was so lovely.
Even if I thought she was lovely, too.
“No—no, I don’t think so,” I said, and turned and walked toward the exit gates.
To: [email protected]
From: PCAlthrop@l*thianandb*rders.p*lice.uk
September 13
Miss Emma Sheridan,
This is to acknowledge receipt of your email, including your booking number and itinerary for your return to Chicago, Illinois, United States of America on September 14.
We have been in touch with our Stirling colleague PC Doris Potts, and appreciate your timely follow-up with our office. With receipt of this email, you have met all requirements as outlined by that precinct.
Please remember to check in with one of our officers at the Edinburgh terminal prior to your departure. Failure to do so will result in a permanent notation to be placed on your United Kingdom immigration file.
Thank you for your cooperation,
Police Constable Lawrence Althrop
Jack had let me use his phone to check my email. I’m pretty sure he was as relieved as I was when I read it out to him, as we drove into the dark. The soft warmth of the summer afternoon had given way to a cool wet evening with an edge to it that I recognized. A swirl of leaves blew across the windshield as the car pulled out. It would soon be fall. I realized with a jolt that it would be the only season I’d not lived through in Scotland.
I had no idea when Jack’s flight was due to leave, but my flight was scheduled just before noon the following day. However, the celebrations after the Games had gone late into the night. We’d been stopped at the gates at our first attempt to leave, and dragged into the Beer Garden tent by Geordie and a collection of the winning tug o’war team.
Every time we’d tried to head out, Jack had been drawn back into the merriment again, to raise a glass to someone’s triumph on the present-day Highland battlefields. That Jack was drinking Irn-Bru (Scotland’s other national drink, according to Geordie), was our saving grace, in that it allowed him to finally elude the grasp of the scotch- and beer-slowed revelers sometime after two in the morning. The sounds of the celebration roared on in one of the tents behind us as we slipped away at last.
When we got to the car by the Castle, he’d apologized for the late start.
“We’ll not have time to stop home at this hour, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a journey all the way down to Edinburgh. I can make up a wee bed for yeh in the back seat, if ye like,” he’d said, but I waved the offer off and sat beside him. The chances were I’d snore less sitting up, anyway.
Not that I did.
The car’s engine was the only sound as the miles rolled away under our wheels. It turned out that my snoring worries were all for naught anyway, since I didn’t sleep a wink.
I spent the drive thinking over all the mistakes I’d made, beginning way back with my first boyfriend Campbell. I realized I had been casting men in roles they didn’t suit; trying to make them each fit my image of what a boyfriend should be, all the way through to Egon. Sure he was a philanderer, and that was entirely his to own, but hadn’t I secretly known that part of him existed? Hadn’t I thought I could make him change? And because Hamish reflected some of the physicality of my ideal mental image of Jamie, I had pretended the other parts of him didn’t exist until it blew up in my face. I needed to learn from all these bad choices. These were choices Claire would never have made.
For a long time, when sleep wouldn’t come, I looked over and watched Jack driving the car. After all my time in Scotland, and all the friends I had found, it was he who was the one I had come to most depend on. And even though in the dark I could see there was no ring on his finger, the fact that there was a Rebecca in his life meant that I needed to learn from all the bad choices I’d made in the past. I turned and stared out into the darkness as the road took us away from everything I had grown to love.
Sometime just before dawn, the car shuddered a little as we pulled onto a side road. I’d been drifting—thinking again about Jack’s kindness since I’d met him. Before my arrest, and especially after, he’d gone out of his way to make sure I’d felt safe and comfortable. And now he was driving all night to make sure I didn’t get arrested again.
The car slowed a little with the change of roadway and I lifted my head to see he was looking at me. His face appeared a little worried in the lights from the dash.
“Ach, I’m sorry Emma,” he said, his finger tapping against the steering wheel. “I dinnae mean to wake yeh. It’s just—there’s somethin’ I thought ye might like tae see before you catch your plane.”
I sat a bit more upright, and surreptitiously wiped the side of my mouth. “I wasn’t asleep,” I said. “Where are we?”
He turned a sharp corner and then pulled the car to a stop.
“When I was growin’ up, my cousins had a place near here. We used to come as children, to play on the stones.”
He peered out the window at the sky. A thin gray line showed the shape of a dark hillside looming above us. “I believe it’s stopped raining,” he said. “Would yeh like to step out with me?”
The circle of stones stood silent in the near-darkness. I was still panting a little from the climb, but it was much easier to see now than it had been when we’d left the car. Leaves swirled underfoot and around our ankles as we walked up the path. Jack had taken my hand and held it through the long climb in the dark, but he dropped it then and stepped forward into the circle.
“Holy smoke,” I breathed.
The dark gray s
tones seemed to materialize out of the air around us—solid but somehow out of time. The air was crisp, and a curled brown leaf skittered across the dew-studded grass in front of me. We were in a clearing that had no right to be where it was—a flat, sort of oval space somehow carved out of a wooded hillside. Unless you stumbled upon this place, I don’t know how anyone could have known it was there.
I spun around, trying to take it all in.
“Is this more like the place you were looking for?” Jack said, his voice hard to hear above the wind.
“Yes. Definitely.”
Unlike the earlier circles I’d visited, this one had no cairn at its center. There was a collection of eight small stones forming a sort of ellipsis, encircled by a group of twelve much larger, more evenly-spaced stones. A single stone connected the two groups.
I walked over to look more closely. Of all the stones, this was the only one that had the same cup marks on it as the cairned circles at Clava and Drumnadrochit. I traced one of the marks with my finger, wondering.
The trees above us were rimmed in pink. I looked up to see Jack watching me as I walked around the ancient, sacred space. I could see his face clearly for the first time since the car. He looked anxious and—something else I couldn’t read.
“This is amazing,” I said. “I’m so happy I got to see it before I had to leave.”
“I’m glad,” he replied. “When I read the post you’d written about your search for the circle, I remembered this place. I hadnae thought about it in years.”
I lay my hand against the cool stone with the cup marks. “Do you know what these mean?”
He shook his head. “No. We mostly used this place to hide from the adults when I was young. We’d play cowboys and Indians from the programs we loved on American television. Not terribly politically correct these days, but the coolest thing ever, back then.”
He walked over beside me. “I’ll wager this is the sunstone, so maybe whoever placed it here marked it this way as an indicator. We used to lie on the grass and watch the sun move over it, as I recall.”