Laird of the Mist

by Foery MacDonell

  She looked embarrassed as Hamish took her hand and turned it over to gently pull away the small bit of cloth she had wrapped around it.

  ―No a wee thing, Molly,‖ he said gently as he dabbed droplets of the still oozing blood. ―Ye‘ve cut it fair deep. Ye were right to come, lass. Hold yer hand up to help stop the bleeding while I get my things, aye?‖

  Molly quickly did ashe requested, her face going a bit pale. ―It willna need to be stitched, will it, Hamish?‖

  Recognizing her fright, he put a hand on her shoulder. ―Nay, Molly. I‘ll just cleanse it and wrap it. That should do it. Ye look pale, lass. Would ye care for a wee dram to help steady ye?‖

  ―Oh, no, not first thing in the morning! But thank ye just the same. Ow!‖ She flinched at the sting of alcohol Hamish applied to the wound. ―That stings like a hornet!‖

  ―I‘m sorry at that,‖ Hamish apologized as he finished cleaning the cut and began to apply a small dressing. ―But it needs be done. As ye say, ye need no be ill these days. How is the wedding coming?‖

  Molly sat a little straighter in the chair and creased her forehead. ―Well, Olivia is doing most of the planning. It is her wedding, after all. But she does have some verra strange thoughts on it all. Verra odd, indeed.‖ She looked slyly at Hamish, as if he knew some truth he was keeping from her. ―I suppose she got those ideas living in Edinburgh, eh, Hamish?‖

  ―What kind of ideas might those be, Molly?‖ Hamish tried his best to keep a straight face. He already knew what she was referring to. Olivia had brought modern wedding planning with her and intended to implement it as much as possible.

  ―Well, for one thing,‖ Mollybegan, ―she wants Mary Anderson to make a wedding cake that has tiers sitting on upturned glasses. And flowers at the top of it. I never—―

  ―Oh, that.‖ Hamish interrupted. ―Aye, Edinburgh for certain,‖ he lied to cover Olivia‘s modern flair for the dramatic.

  ―Ah, so I thought.‖ Molly eyed him carefully, searching his face for clues of deception. ―And then there is that strange tune that Ian whistles all the day. Ye ken the one, it goes like…‖ she attempted to hum I Want to Hold Your Hand. ―Says it is their song, her s and Ian‘s‘. She wants Cat to play it on the fiddle for the ceremony. Why, Father MacMurich will turn pink when he hears such a Godawful noise.‖

  ―Now, Molly,‖ H amish admonished, his eyes carefully fixed on the bandaging he was adjusting. ―A harmless tune, surely? If the bairns have a song they enjoy together, why not let them have their day, aye? What‘s a simple tune, whether you and I find it pleasing or no?‖

  Molly sat back a little, thinking it over. ―Right ye are then, Hamish,‖ she agreed at last. ―I suppose it does no harm.But the cake…‖

  ―I‘ll talk with Olivia about the cake, Molly. Dinna worry. I‘m sure the lass doesna wish to make it an ordeal for poor, wee Mary.‖ Hamish patted her shoulder and led her to the door of the surgery. ―Better now?‖ he asked.

  Molly held up her injured hand and examined the bandage. Casting Hamish a suspicious glance, she said, ―Oh, aye. Better, indeed. Thank ye, Hamish.Oh, Morag‖ she addressed the witch as she opened the door. ―I didna see ye there.‖

  ―‘Tis fine, Molly,‖ she answered, looking at the bandage on Molly‘s hand. ―Are ye injured, lass?‖

  ―Nay, a weescratch at best. Hamish did a fine job of cleaning it,‖ she said, slipping out the door. ―I‘ll see ye later then, Morag?‖

  ―Aye, Molly. Later.‖ Then to Hamish, ―Have ye a moment then, Hamish?‖

  Hamish nodded and gestured to the chair Molly had just vacated.―Always time for ye, Morag. Do sit. What can I do for ye this fine morn?‖ he said, closing the door. He was always cautious when speaking with Morag. She knew he was from the future,and he didn‘t wish to chance them being overheard.

  ―Well now, Hamish. Idinna ken it is me ye can help,‖ the wizened woman said as she adjusted herself in the seat. ―Olivia, more like.‖

  Hamish let out an exasperatedsigh. ―Olivia? What has the lass done now? Are ye meaning to discuss her wedding ideas with me,too?‖

  Morag gave a croaking chuckle and waved a hand. ―Nay, Hamish. Though I have heard some talk. Hardly dangerous, a wee song and a cake, aye? Well then, it is a concern that may interest ye that I‘ve come about.‖

  ―Go on.‖

  Morag pushed back a wisp of hair fromher face and looked him in the eye. ―Ye ken the wee music box the lass has? The one that plays the song young Ian loves so well?‖

  ―Aye, Morag. I ken it well.‖ Hamish sat. Something in her tone said that this couldn‘t be good.

  ―Well, Olivia, bless her, left it on my table yesterday. Forgot it, she said. Hamish, ye ken it well that ye canna afford to be careless. Ye wouldna wish people to ken ye are from the future– ye and Olivia and Caitriona. That I sent Carrick through time to find ye? We could all be arrested for such a thing. Even the mere rumor of it. Ye must speak to her, Hamish.‖

  Hamish rose and began to pace the room. ―Aye,‖ he said at last. ―I see yer point, Morag. It wouldna do. Wouldna do at all. I will speak to her, indeed. If she canna be careful, I shall take the thing and put it away. We canna take the chance…‖ Hamish stopped as the door opened. Molly stood in the doorway, white-faced and seething.

  ―I kent it!‖ she said, her chest heaving in fury. ―I kent there was summat amiss with ye, the two of ye. And now I find ye all have been lying to me from the start! Who are ye, Hamish MacAllan? For ye are no the Hamish MacAllan that I kent all those years ago. The Hamish I dreamt about in my youth. The man who was my first love! He wouldha remembered me! He wouldna have treated me with such polite indifference. Who are ye, man?‖

  Morag gripped the edge of her chair, her face pale with the realization that Molly had heard the conversation. ―Molly…I…‖ she began.

  ―Nay, Morag. You are in this up to yer scrawny old neck, ye are. I wish an answer from Hamish, no you.‖ Molly turned back on Hamish to confront him again. ―Well, Hamish?‖ she hissed, arms crossed over her chest, defiance in her eyes.

  Hamish ran a hand through his hair and shot a helpless glance atMorag. ―Isupposethere‘s nothing for it,‖ he said, watching as the witch shrugged in defeat.

  ―Well then, Molly,‖ he began furtively, ―ye‘re right. I dinna remember ye. I‘m sorry at that. But the truth is…‖ he paused a moment to collect his thoughts. Every word he was about to say must be weighed and measured before he spoke them.

  ―It had better be the truth this time,‖ Molly spat. ―Do ye all think I‘m that dumb or daft, that I didna notice yer private, secret meetings? And from the look of it, Ian seems to be involved as well. Though I havena yet figured that one. So go on, Hamish. Tell me the story. What have ye all been hiding from daft, wee Molly?‖

  ―Ye arenadaft, lass. Inever thought ye were.‖ Hamish gathered himself to begin again. ―It was for yer own protection, I promise ye. Ye see, we are from the future, the three of us—Caitriona, Olivia, and me. We are from the year 2010.‖

  Molly became ashen at the word 2010,and slowly seated herself in the other chair. ―Go on,‖ she encouraged. ―This must be a fascinatingtale. Do go on.‖

  Having decided she looked strong enough to hear it, Hamish agreed. ―All right then. Let me begin again,‖ he said, checking the hallway outside and closing the door tightly. ―It beganwith Jenny‘s death…‖

  Chapter Seventeen

  ―So ye truly dinna remember me?‖ Molly asked, sitting in the parlor where they had removed to for the comfort of tea while Hamish filled her in. ―But ye remember Fiona?‖

  ―Aye,‖ Hamish answered, shifting in his chair. ―I dinna ken why. A mystery to be sure.‖

  ―And ye believe in this reincarnation thing, do ye?‖

  ―How else to explain it, Molly? I recall Fiona and some other memories, as if it were yesterday. I am sorry…‖

  ―It‘s fine, Hamish,‖ Mollytook a calming sipof her tea. ―It was a teenage infatuation on my part. I am sor
ry I threw it at ye, ye dinna ken it—not ever. I never told ye. I was too timid back then.I‘m embarrassed to have brought it up, ye being so much older than me at the time. Truly, it‘s nothing. I did love myhusband, ye ken. And I forgot about it altogether when I met him. I didna mean to imply…well, I lost my temper with all yer secrecy is it.‖

  ―I thought the tale would distress ye, Molly. But ye seem to have taken it well enough. Are ye sure ye are all right?‖ Hamish watched her carefully.

  ―I‘m not the wee girl everyone thinks I am,‖ she retorted with a smile. ―A strange story, to be sure. But better than left to wondering what devilment was going on. Mind ye, I dinna ken how much of it I believe, but I suppose it does explain some things, like Olivia‘s box that plays the tunes. Oh, aye, I have seen the thing, despite her attempts to hide it from me. I ken verra well the toy is no from Invergarry, and most likely no from Scotland, either. Time will out, I suppose. I will speak with Carrick, of course.‖

  ―Of course, Molly.‖ Hamish relaxed at last. ―And to the others, if ye like. But I would be careful...‖

  ―I dinna plan to make a public announcement, Hamish,‖ Molly chided him. ―I realize what such knowledge could bring upon us. I wouldna hurt the family with it.‖

  ―Of course not,‖ Hamish agreed.

  ―Well then,‖ she said,rising and moving toward the door. ―If that is the whole of it, I will go and speak with the others. Thank ye, Hamish, for finally telling me the truth.‖

  Hamish rose and gave her aslight bow. ―Ye‘re welcome, lass. I hope the knowledge doesna bring ye harm.‖

  ―Or any of us.‖ She smiled and let herself out the door, leaving Hamish to contemplate the morning‘s events.

  Good morning, Comtesse,‖ the deep voice greeted her. Startled, Fiona turned to see the elegantly uniformed captain alighting from a fit and shiny chestnuthorse. ―You look well, I must say,‖ he said as he walked slowly over to her.

  ―Captain Camden,‖ Fiona tossed her red curls under her wide -brimmed hat and opened her parasol to shadeherself. ―What the devil are you doing here?‖

  ―I am here to see you, Comtesse,‖ he said as he gave a slight bow. ―You did not respond to my messages, so I thought I would see if you were ill, or…‖

  Fiona quickly composed herself. She had not answered his many messages that had arrived over the last week since their initial meeting. She was unsure how she wanted to proceed with him, if at all. Besides, if she decided she did want something from him, best to leave him wondering, thus increasing his ardor.

  ―I have been quite busy, Captain Camden,‖ she said saucily. ―My many social obligations, you see. And I am leaving in another week to help my poor, dear father in Edinburgh.‖

  ―Ahyes, the poor father. Ill isn‘t he?‖ Camden responded, a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. ―He mustn‘t be that ill if you are still in Inverness.‖

  Fiona drew her back straight and eyed him sharply. ―That is none of your affair, Captain.‖ She turned to continue past him.

  Camden reached out and gently grabbed her elbow. ―So, itis,‖ he said, backing down a bit. ―I nearly forgot my manners; I was hurt by your ignoring my invitations. I do apologize. Allow me to take you to lunch?‖

  Fiona wrestedher elbow away slowly, teasingly. ―Very well, Captain. I accept.‖

  ―There is a nice little place a few blocks from here. Would you care to walk with me? I promise interestingconversation and decent food.‖ Camden extended his arm to her.

  Fiona smiled ferally. A bit of male attention would not come amiss. After all, the company she had been keeping was rather old and boring, if not politically important.

  ―I should be delighted,‖ she said, hooking her arm through his. ―Leadon, then.‖

  ― Wonderful, Olivia. Just wonderful!‖ Cat said as she rounded up behind her sister, who sat in the garden on her usual bench. ―Ye‘ve really done it now!‖

  Olivia looked up from her book. ―What now, Cat? Did I do something wrong…again?‖

  ―Oh,aye, something wrong.‖ Cat plopped down on the bench beside her and put her head in her hands. ―Molly kens…‖

  ―Molly kens? How much?‖ How is it my fault?‖ Olivia put down the book and turned to Cat, apprehension in her expression.

  Cat took a breath. It wasn‘t entirely Olivia‘s fault, after all. Molly had been suspicious of them for a very long time now. Maybe from the start.

  ―Yer iPod heightened her suspicions.‖

  ―She saw it? Oh no. I thought I hid it well.‖

  ―Apparently not. Then she overhead Grandda and Morag talking about ye having left the damned thing on Morag‘s table the other day. Oh well…‖ She sighed deeply and tried to relax. ―It mayna matter anyway. She doesna seem that upset by it all. I‘m no even certain how much she believes.‖

  ―I‘m so sorry, Cat.‖ Olivia put a hand out to touch her sister‘s arm. ―I really did think I had it hidden well. I guess I just forgot.‖

  ―It‘s fine, Olivia.‖ Cat was calmer now and smiled at her. ―I‘m just worried about what we are heading into, ye ken, the Clearances and all. If people thought something was amiss with us here, we could lose their support in the coming days.‖

  ―I understand,‖ Olivia assured her. ―Well, it‘s a bit of a relief, anyway. Not having to hide the truth from Molly is a good ting, I think.‖

  ―Ye‘re probably right,‖ Cat answered, playing with a lock of her long curls. ―It does make things easier without having to always be so careful, looking over yer shoulder before ye speak to make sure she isna around. Okay then, sprite.‖ Cat decided to change to a lighter subject. ―Tell me what yer latest wedding plans are. I hope ye havna added anything too strange.‖

  Olivia laughed—a light, tinkling sound. ―No, nothing strange. Ye‘ll be happyto ken I‘ve decided on a traditionalwedding, concurrent with the time we are in. A real 1746 wedding.‖ Olive smiled proudly, and Cat let out a huge sigh of relief.

  ―You are Scottish, a re you not?‖ Camden asked Fiona. ―You speak well -born English, but with your father in Edinburgh, I assume you are Scots.‖

  ―Lowland Scots, which makes us Loyalists, Captain. I assure you, I have no sympathies for the Jacobites,‖ Fiona told him. The charming captain had the authority to arrest her if he suspected she was a Highlander. These days, all Highlanders were suspected of being, if not outright Jacobite, at least supportive of them. But playing with fire was nothing new to Fiona. It was dangerously exciting, in fact. She softened her approach as she listened to the captain go on.

  ―Iwas not questioning your loyalty, Comtesse.Only your origins,‖ he assured her. ―Are you enjoying the duck?‖ Camden poured more champagne into the tall flute in front of Fiona‘s plate. ―For a small town, this hotel does a rather nice job of it.‖

  ―Understood, Captain. I apologize if I took it amiss. The rising has made Loyalists, such as myself, a bit testy. And yes, the duck is not bad at all.―

  Fiona wiped her sly smile with a crisp linen napkin, careful not to stain it with the red lip rouge she wore. She looked up coquettishly from her darkened lashes and whispered, ―Who would imagine a Scottish duck could be so—uh—sensual?‖ She licked a small corner of her lip in innuendo.

  Camden grinned at her remark. ―If you mean the fowl, Comtesse, quite so. If you mean me, Ineed not remind you that I am not Scots.‖ He lifted his champagne glass to her and took a sip, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  Touché, Captain.‖ Having finished her main course, Fiona was toying with a small plate of chocolates. She delicately chose one and examined it. ―Such extravagance in such times as these.‖

  She sighed and licked the long slender piece attentively. She cast her eyes upward as if in ecstatic bliss and sighedagain. ―I have missed the silky caress of chocolate on my tongue since I arrived here.‖

  She put it farther into her mouth and drew it out again from between her red lips, then ran the length of it down her tongue with a knowing smile.

  ―It i
s so very—well—almost erotic. And Inverness leaves one so parched. Don‘t you agree, Captain?‖

  Camden cleared his throat. He was clearly fascinated with the way Fiona handled the stick of chocolate. He appeared, in fact, rather tortured by it.

  ―Yes—parched, indeed,‖ he managed and reached out to grab her wrist which held the chocolate. ―Comtesse, please.‖ He looked into her eyes. ―Do stop. You are making me quite—thirsty.‖

  Camden leaned toward her to pour more champagne. ―I am having a small soirée tomorrow evening. I was hoping you would attend.‖

  Fiona put down the chocolate and folded her hands. ―No more champagne, Captain. I‘m afraid I must be getting back. And yes, I would enjoy attending your soirée. Where will it be?‖

  ―I keep a townhome here in town for my personal use,‖ he said with meaning. ―I will send a carriage for you at seven, if that is satisfactory to you. Let me escort you home now, Comtesse.‖

  Fiona agreed and they rose to go. They walked in silence most of the three blocks to the three-story manor which she was visiting.

  Camden walked her up onto the covered porch near the front door and quickly pulled her into the well-hidden alcove. He put his arms around her and kissed her, a slow, sultry kiss that seared her.

  Fiona returned the kiss and felt a slight shiver run down the young captain‘s arms. Delighted with the reaction she elicited, she deepened the kiss and felt his manhood rise long, thick, and hard below.

  ―I must go in,‖ Fiona said breathily, breaking the contact. ―Tomorrow night then, Captain.‖

  Camden‘s eyes held a fire that Fiona recognized. ―Tomorrow night, Comtesse,‖ he said as Fiona brushed her hand across the front of his crotch, lightly teasing the member within.

  Camden quickly recovered, tipped his hat at her, and strode swiftly down the stairs to the street and his waiting horse.