MacFarlane's Ridge

by Patti Wigington

  The temperature had dropped in the night, and when she climbed out from under her blanket, she could see her breath in the air. She shivered, and scampered behind a tree. Her head was spinning, and she was very cold. Her mouth felt like something had built a nest in it.

  When she came back, Rob was still asleep. She tossed a handful of branches on the fire and poked them with a stick. The flames began to grow once again. Teeth chattering, she lay back down on the ground and snuggled up close to Rob, although not quite touching him. If nothing else, he was certainly warm.

  “Mmmph,” he mumbled. She burrowed in closer, and noticed once again how nice he smelled. He flung an arm around her and pulled her into his chest. Cam’s head still hurt, and she dozed off.

  A short time later, Rob awoke slowly. There was something warm and soft nuzzled up against him. Forcing one eye open, he realized it was Cam. He groaned. This was not the sort of thing a man should wake up to when he was trying to restrain himself. He tried to free himself, but she had somehow tangled her hands around his arm, and he was trapped. Giving up, he laid his head back down. His face was buried in her hair. Cam squirmed slightly, and he could feel the heat of her body shifting against him. This was torture.

  “Move over a wee bit, lass,” he whispered.

  “Mmm? It’s too cold.”

  “Move over. Ye’re mashed up against me.”

  “Mm. You’re warm,” she mumbled sleepily.

  “Aye, ye dinna know the half of it,” he murmured, pushing her arms unceremoniously away. Finally free, he stomped off to the woods. She was right, it was bitterly cold this morning. But if I lay beside her much longer, I’ll not be responsible for my actions, he thought. She had apparently been up already, and had stoked the fire a bit. The morning was a gray one, and it looked like there was snow on the way. The sooner they got back to the ridge, the better. Then he would decide how to get her back to the Faeries’ Gate.

  “Wake up, Cameron Clark. Time to be moving.”

  Cam rolled over and stuck out her tongue. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m warm again,” she moaned.

  He knelt beside her and felt her skin. Her face was flushed and clammy. “Lass, ye’re burnin’ up with a fever!”

  “No, I’m not,” she protested. “I’m cold!”

  “Aye, I’m sure ye are, but ye’re ill. Let’s get you on the horse. If ye can stay on her, we may be able to find some shelter before it snows again.”

  “No,” she argued, but her heart wasn’t in it. She felt horrible. Rob put a hand on her rear and shoved her up onto the horse. She closed her eyes and tried not to throw up. “I don’t think I feel so good.”

  “Ye look worse now than ye did the first time I saw you. If ye can stay on there, we can find a place to bide until the storm is past.”

  “Whatever.” Cam rested her head on Betsy’s shaggy mane, trying to ignore the rocking stride of the horse. Suddenly queasy, she leaned over and retched.

  “Will ye live, lass?” called Rob from behind her.

  “Mmph. Just barfing up a lung, thank you,” she said. Her tongue felt thick when she spoke.

  Rob was worried. The woman was obviously not well at all, which would be fine if they were back at the ridge, where she could lay in a warm bed and Mollie could fill her up with broth all day and lay mustard poultices on her chest. But they weren’t back at the ridge, and the weather was getting considerably worse. In the distance he could hear wind beginning to howl, and the low rumble of thunder. He would have to find or build shelter soon.

  Cam was miserable. Her head was pounding, she had thrown up several times, and she couldn’t stay warm at all. “Let’s go home,” she said to Betsy, who chose not to respond.

  Suddenly Rob was beside her on his own horse, peering down at her. “We’ll need to stop, lass, and get you settled. I think I can make out a cave ahead. Will ye stay here and wait for me?”

  “A cave?” Cam stared at him with feverish eyes. “Caves suck. Pphhtt.”

  “Aye, well, and you’re raving like a madwoman now. Stay here.”

  She was too nauseated to argue, and closed her eyes, clinging to the horse. After what seemed like forever, he returned, and shook her awake.

  “Cameron? Come, I’ve found us a wee spot to hide in while it storms, if ye can make it that far.” Even as he spoke, icy droplets were beginning to fall and the wind was rising. Rob led the horses through the brush quickly. When they arrived at the wide mouth of a cave, Cam slid off Betsy into a heap on the ground. Rob grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her inside. The cave was not a deep one, but it provided good enough shelter from the icy rain that was now falling in droves. There was enough room for the horses as well. Rob ran back out into the storm to grab a few thick branches that were not yet soaked through.

  “Here, now, these ought to do for a fire,” he murmured, pulling a flint box from his saddlebag. He glanced at Cam out of the corner of his eye. She was paler than before, and a bit waxy looking. She was staring out at nothing. Once the fire was going, he laid her down beside it, and piled every blanket he had upon her. He lifted her head gently and slid the folded plaid underneath for a pillow. Finally she slid into a restless half-sleep, and he watched her as she tossed and turned.

  He kept watch for four days.

  An angry mob was chasing her as she ran through the streets of Liberty, only after a while it wasn’t Liberty, it was present-day Bedford. She banged on doors and cried for help, but no one would answer her. Then she ran into Alice’s diner, which was strange because the diner was in Haver Springs, not Bedford, and Troy and Wanda were behind the counter.

  “Can I help you?” asked Troy.

  Wanda smiled and handed Cam one of her cats. “Go through the Faeries’ Gate.”

  “But I don’t want to,” Cam tried to explain, and then the mob was at the door, red-coated soldiers led by Wayne Sinclair and Seth, her old boyfriend. Why was Seth here? He was supposed to be in Charleston.

  “Kill the witch!” he roared, and his hands turned into great sharp claws. She ran and ran, and she was in the cave again, headed toward the whirlpool. Wayne threw rocks at her as she ran.

  “Kill the witch, kill the witch!” chanted the crowd as they closed in on her.

  The cat smiled up at her as she clutched its black fur. “Ye should jump, lass, and go through yon Gate,” it suggested, winking at her.

  So she jumped.

  Gasping and retching, Cam sat up feebly, clawing for air. She could barely breathe.

  “Lass?” asked a voice.

  She looked around, confused. There was a man there, oh, yes, it was that nice Robert MacFarlane from Mollie Duncan’s journal. How sweet of him to pop in and visit her dream. Only she wasn’t so sure she was still dreaming anymore.

  “Where are we?”

  “In a cave, about halfway between Liberty and the ridge. Do ye recall any of what’s happened?” Rob asked.

  She nodded. “A little. They tried to kill me when I asked about Wanda yesterday.”

  He raised his brows. “Yesterday? Nae, lass, ye’ve been laying up here for five days now.”

  “Five days? Are you serious?” She began to cough and had to lay back down.

  “Aye, that I am. I had feared you were going to die. Ye look like hell, lass, if ye dinna mind me sayin’ so.” He smiled wanly at her.

  “I don’t mind. I feel like hell. And I’m hungry.”

  “Good. That means ye aren’t going to die just yet, then. I’ve got a wee bit of bread for ye.” He handed her a stale chunk.

  “What are you eating?” she asked. It looked better than bread.

  “Salted pork. Ye canna have any.”

  “I want some,” she pouted.

  “It’ll come back up, and I’ll not be cleanin’ up any more messes now that ye’re awake.”

  Cam glanced down. Under her blankets, she wore nothing. “Er, where are my clothes?”

  Rob blushed. “After a day or two they weren’t fit to be worn b
y anyone. I burned them. Ye had… well, they weren’t fit.”

  “I see.” Cam was as embarrassed as he was. “I have another pair of trousers in my saddlebag.”

  “Aye, I know. Ye can put them on after ye’ve eaten some bread and we’ve gotten you cleaned up a wee bit.”

  Cam sniffed delicately, and realized he was right. She smelled like dried vomit and a number of other equally unpleasant things. “Okay. Is there a stream or anything nearby?”

  He flashed a grin at her. “Not quite. I explored a wee bit while ye were thrashin’ about like a lunatic. Ye weren’t very interesting company, ye ken. There’s a wee puddle towards the back of this cave.”

  Cam peered into the dim light. She couldn’t even see the back of the cave. “Okay. Is it warm like the one under Ian’s house?”

  He winked. “Nae, lass, it’s icy cold, but it’ll get ye clean.”

  A cold bath was the last thing she wanted now that she was finally warm again. Another smell assailed her as she stretched her arms, and she pulled them down in a hurry. She sighed. She would take a bath, cold or not. It was better than being smelly.

  January 8th, 1776 –

  I am most afraid for Miss Clark and Robert. They have been gone for some time now and I believe that had he found her, they should be home by now. I had originally hoped he would find the strength to reveal to her his True Feelings, but given the recent turn of events I merely hope he has kept his silence. The long-departed Meg and her indiscretions have harmed him deeply. Meanwhile, I still have not raised with Ian the issue of my affection towards him. I do not wish to appear too forward, but I am more than frustrated.

  In the meantime, our newest houseguest, while originally quite pleasant, is beginning to aggravate me with a constant barrage of questions.

  After bathing, and resting for another two days, Cam was finally ready to travel again. She and Rob had talked about a number of different subjects while she recovered. She had learned a great deal about what was happening in the Colonies, and discovered, to her surprise, that not all Colonists were in favor of revolution. She, on the other hand, told Rob about her time, and all of its technological advances. She chose not to mention some of the social ills, such as drug use and sexually transmitted diseases, but for the most part was honest with him. They talked about literature, and together they read the entire copy of Macbeth aloud. Cam noted that only two topics had not come up. Rob had not mentioned his feelings for her again, and neither one of them talked about her return to the Faeries’ Gate.

  After another two days of riding, they arrived back at MacFarlane’s Ridge. As they passed the trail leading to Tom Kerr’s house, Mollie met them on the path. She was not smiling.

  “Ye made it home! We were beginning to think ye werena’ coming back!”

  “Aye, well, yon lassie took ill, and we spent a week in a cave,” replied Rob. Cam grinned wanly. She was exhausted.

  Mollie beckoned to Rob, and he leaned down. She whispered something in his ear, glancing at Cam. Now what? Cam wondered.

  Rob’s jaw was set grimly, and he spurred his horse into a gallop up the hillside without a word. Mollie walked beside Cam, as she guided Betsy along.

  “So ye are well enough, now?”

  “Yes. I got quite sick when we left Liberty. Rob took care of me.”

  “Aye, he’s good for that. He’s always been one to take care of the wrong women.”

  The venom in the other woman’s voice startled Cam. “What are you talking about, Mollie?”

  Mollie shrugged and kept walking. They were almost to the house. There was an unfamiliar wagon out front. Charlie was using it as a latrine.

  “Mollie? What is going on?”

  Mollie paused, and turned to look at Cam. “Ye never told him the truth, did ye?”

  Cam’s blood ran cold. “The truth? About…?”

  “Your husband! You never told him about your husband, did ye?” Mollie spat.

  Cam felt disoriented. “I don’t have a husband, I told him that.”

  Mollie snorted. “Aye, well, then I suppose this man who’s been in Ian’s house for a week claiming ye’re his wife is just in my imagination, then?”

  Cam looked up in horror. The door to the house opened, and Rob emerged. A man stepped out behind him.

  “Darling! I’ve been so worried!” said Wayne Sinclair.

  Chapter Nine

  The next moments passed by Cam in a blur. Wayne Sinclair was here, he had found her, and worse yet was claiming he was her husband. Rob’s face was like a thundercloud, and Mollie looked ready to rip someone to shreds with her bare hands. Everyone was staring at Cam, still astride Betsy.

  “This man is not my husband,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

  Wayne patted her knee, and she flinched. “I know you haven’t been well, my sweet. If you’ll just come back with me, back home, we’ll get you some help. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  For the first time, she looked at Wayne. He was dressed like Ian and Rob, in Colonial attire, although the similarities ended there. While they wore simple linen and wool, Wayne was bedecked in a fine coat of claret velvet and fawn-colored breeches. He wore a tricorn hat and carried a walking stick. He had somehow cultivated an upper-class British accent. All in all, Wayne looked like an eminently respectable eighteenth century gentleman. She barely heard him as he chatted politely with Rob and Mollie.

  “I’m afraid she’s been a bit delusional lately. Sometimes she makes up stories about being from another place or time, and then wanders off and I have to go hunting for her. She probably told you she was looking for a missing friend.” Wayne sighed sadly. “I truly appreciate your caring for her until I could find her.”

  The others watched her warily, as if they expected her to start howling and spitting at any moment.

  They think I’m insane! Rob thinks I made it all up, and that I am completely bonkers.

  Cam slid down from the horse. “Rob, please! This man is not my husband! It’s all lies! He’s the one I told you about that was trying to kill me!”

  Without a word, Rob turned and headed up the path to the half-built cabin, with Charlie happily trotting along behind him. Mollie pointedly ignored Cam.

  “Master Sinclair, it is getting’ a bit late for more traveling, and I am sure your wife needs some rest. Will ye not wait until morning before ye leave us?”

  Wayne smiled, and Cam wanted to knock those shiny teeth right out of his mouth. “That would be grand, Miss Duncan. I do hope we aren’t imposing on your hospitality…”

  “Nae, it’s no trouble at all.” She finally looked at Cam. “A place to sleep is the least we can give ye.” Mollie stormed inside, slamming the door behind her.

  Cam whirled to face Wayne Sinclair, with his one blue eye and one brown. As long as they were here, he wouldn’t harm her. He would wait until he got her away from this place.

  “You bastard,” she seethed. “What are you trying to do?”

  He examined his perfectly manicured nails. “Well, my dear, I am simply trying to take my wife home.”

  “Your wife? How dare you tell these people that I am your wife?”

  Wayne raised an eyebrow. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he quoted. He moved closer to her. “Actually, I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  Cam watched him. “For what?”

  He smiled. “For bringing me to Mollie Duncan. All this time I had tried to find her journals… I had no idea what a fascinating woman she is in person.”

  “You leave her out of this, Wayne. Leave her alone.”

  “Oh, no, on the contrary. I can’t leave her out of it. I’ve got plans for her, Cameron.”

  Cam rolled her eyes. All he needed to do was start twirling his moustache. “Really, Wayne, you’re sounding quite clichéd.”

  “Just think about this, Cameron. If Mollie Duncan’s journal is an historical find, think how much the real Mollie Duncan would be worth.”

  “You can’t be serio
us!”

  Wayne was very close to her. “Oh, I am very serious. After we’ve left here, you’ll become ill again, having a relapse, and you’ll ask me to come get Mollie to help you. She’ll come with me if she thinks you need help.” He smirked. “Of course, you won’t, but who cares?”

  A thought struck Cam. “Where is Troy?”

  “Who? Oh, Deputy Dawg? Dead, I expect. Again, that would fall under the heading of “who cares?”

  She slapped him, hard, across the cheek. “I will not go anywhere with you. You can tell these people whatever you like about me but I will not leave this place with you,” she hissed.

  He shrugged, the slap appearing not to have bothered him in the slightest. “Suit yourself. It’s either you or Mollie Duncan. Whatever. Just remember, if you act like anything other than a dutiful little wife, I will make these poor, ignorant hillbillies pay.”

  The door opened, and Ian came out. “Miss Clark?” he said tentatively. “I mean, er, Mistress Sinclair?”

  “Don’t call me that, Ian, it’s not my name,” she snapped, disregarding Wayne’s warning. “What is it?”

  “Mollie asked me to tell ye that supper is ready for ye, if ye’re hungry?”

  Cam pushed past Wayne. “Thank you, Ian. I am famished.” As Ian stepped aside to let her through, she whispered softly, “Get Rob. Please.”

  Mollie was inside, feeding Hamish some porridge. She ignored Cam completely.

  “Mollie? It’s not true,” said Cam. “This man is not my husband.”

  Mollie glanced up at her. “He says ye’re no’ right in the head, and that ye’d deny bein’ his wife because o’ your madness. He got here the day after you left, ye know. I’ve heard all about you and your visions of flyin’ carriages and men on the moon.”