She settled into him, and he pulled her into his lap. He cupped her arse with his thighs, her weight pressing against his swollen length. She squirmed as if unfamiliar with how her movements drove him to want to strip her naked.
Cameron caught his breath and broke away from her lovely mouth, shifted, and kissed her thoroughly. She groaned in the darkness, stirring him to stroke her breast with a gentle caress. He waited for her body to stiffen beneath his touch. When she melted into him and pressed her nipple’s taut little peak against his palm, he smiled into her mouth.
“Too many clothes,” he growled.
She moaned a pleasure-filled response, and stirred him to take more. At the same time, he could not understand why. She was not Lady Haven.
A noise made him pull her tighter to his side. When a dozen rats scurried by, followed by smoke and windswept cinders, his hand replaced his lips and muffled her scream. Their private lair was on fire.
“The building is ablaze. Out!” Cameron spoke close to her ear. Iona crawled on hands and knees toward the hole they had entered. He fought the urge to pull up her skirt and mount her right then and there. How had she confused him so easily with her mouth and hands?
“A witch can do much,” he cursed.
Once outside, he joined Iona who crouched against the foundation. She batted cinders from her shawl. The odor of burning wood grew closer and the air choked him.
“Cover yer nose and mouth. Follow me.” Cameron crossed the short alleyway to another home, but decided to get farther away. “These buildings are too close together. The whole town could go up in flames. Hurry us away.”
“Do you have any idea where we are?”
“Nay. I have never seen streets lined with such fences nor lights upon tall poles of iron,” he said, pointing toward the street. A crowd hurried passed the open alley. Iona stifled a scream. He shoved her behind bushes that lined the next home’s foundation. He pointed a finger toward a direction he prayed would lead them away from the danger.
“Run!”
CHAPTER 9
They ran through the alley and past rows of neatly trimmed bushes he had never seen in his life. A cat screeched. Dogs barked. A horse screamed in terror. As they traversed the yards of several properties, the shouting lessened and the smoke diminished. When a smaller street bisected their path, they turned and headed away from the main thoroughfare and its throng of angry men.
“That crowd was made up of darkies.”
“What?” Iona whispered. “Do you mean black people?”
“Aye. I saw not but a handful at the games, and those were merchants. Odd features, I noticed. Dark hair, as coarse as a boar’s hide.
“We call them African Americans. They came to the United States as slaves. I have a horrible feeling we are in the mid-nineteenth century, around the time of the American Civil War.”
“Civil war?”
“Yes, states divided into two camps. Sometimes whole families separated and fought against each other. It was a brutal war and the Confederate Army, consisting of the southern states, lost to the north. I have a bad feeling we are somewhere in the south, on the cusp of a battle. These homes appear abandoned.”
“And the darkies?”
“Left to fend for themselves. They’ll want food and riches and…”
“Blood?”
“I was thinking women, but that would be the same thing.”
Cameron’s gut twisted at the thought of Iona at the hands of a disgruntled mob seeking vengeance. They had to remain hidden at all costs.
They kept to the shadows, Iona close behind as he led them farther from the smoke and crowd. Iona pulled her hand from his, then pointed to a structure across the street. “I know that building.”
“How could ye? Ye said this is not your time.”
She shook her head and whispered, “I can’t explain it, but the shape of it is very familiar. Maybe I saw a picture in a library book or in a photograph at my antique shop.”
Iona had explained the business she owned with her father, selling old items they called antiques. To his mind, old was old.
“We must keep moving, lass.”
“I think I saw a movement behind that lace curtain,” Iona whispered in his left ear. When had she crept close? Heat pulsed off her body through the hand she had placed gently on his shoulder. When he noticed her other hand pointing toward a three level home, he followed her gaze.
Cameron clasped her hand in his and crept up and onto the porch. The wide boards stained white wrapped around the entire main floor of the wood building. The porch railing held boxes holding small clumps of wilting flowers. A lonely rocker sat in one corner near a short side table of white-painted iron.
Delicate lace curtains fluttered in the breeze. Through the single open window the scent of pipe tobacco drifted over them. The sun had barely risen. Angry voices hid behind the song of morning birds. A stiff breeze thick with the scent of flowers tossed loose dirt in the street. They had moved away from the source of the smoke, but danger lurked around every corner.
“Who goes there?” a man’s voice shouted before the barrel of a weapon loomed from within.
“He has a shotgun! Run!” Iona made to run back down the steps, but Cameron had a hunch safety lay inside the building with whoever held the weapon of iron and wood.
Cameron lunged and grabbed the weapon’s long barrel before the man could fire off a shot. Though rare in the Highlands, he had heard talk of such weapons when he had discussed metalwork with Jake. They were said to produce a deadly wound. Jake also said their boom would wake the dead.
“Let us not advertise our presence to the angry mob, sir. We mean no harm to ye and yers.” From the other side of the large window, the man flinched. He wiggled the fingers injured when Cameron had wrenched the gun from him. When he noticed the fear in Iona’s widened eyes, he nodded. The well-dressed older man pulled himself upright and straightened his jacket. He deftly climbed out the open window, and bowed.
“Excuse me, dear lady. Please forgive my actions. My wife has left town. I am in desperate need of escape, but the roaming gangs have thwarted my departure at every turn. I thought ye were more of them.”
“We understand, sir,” Iona said, “but may we continue our conversation indoors?” All three glanced back toward the center of town. Loud voices and several screams rent the air.
The man turned on his heel and they followed his thin back around the corner of the porch toward the home’s rear entrance. His shoulders shook before he opened the door and led his visitors inside.
He shut the wooden door quietly behind his guests and they followed him to the front of the house. The man picked up his discarded pipe and gave it a quick puff. “I am John Moffat.”
“Cameron Robeson, and this be Iona Mackenzie. Sir. Where is your wife?” Cameron figured if she made it to a safe location, they should follow. It could give them the time needed to figure out why the spell went wrong.
The well-dressed gentleman stared at the floor in a daze. Cameron leaned through the open window. The sun crept higher into the eastern sky. A few gunshots split the silence. Cameron guessed they were still too far to be of concern, but getting out of town was a better option than staying in this tinderbox of a structure.
“Rebecca has headed to a little town to the west, in Calhoun County near the Alabama mountains. Her sister’s daughter is expecting her first child any day, now.”
“And your children?”
His shoulders drooped lower and he ran a trembling hand through his graying hair. “We were not blessed.”
“Mr. Moffat, what year is this?”
* * *
Both men turned toward Iona, seemingly surprised she’d spoken. The older man looked positively shocked at what she’d asked. Cameron’s mouth opened as if he meant to still her tongue then decided against it.
Good.
Both she and Cameron knew they weren’t in Scotland, but there was a good chance they had traveled to
the past. In order to get them back on their destined path, she had to figure out what dropped them in the middle of a war zone.
“Lass, call me John. ‘Tis the year of our Lord, 1864…May the twenty-fifth, 1864.”
“Be ye a Scot, sir?” Cameron asked, as if to change the subject.
“Aye, though me and the missus have lived here a good forty years. Now I fear it is all gone, or soon will be. But, why does yer companion ask such a silly question?”
“Ignore her, sir. She gets befuddled when fearful. She will probably next ask ye for the name of this here town. ‘Tis best to placate her, when she gets like this,” Cameron said.
She punched him in the side. The old man chuckled.
“What town is this?” Iona ignored Cameron and waited for his answer. She knew the date, now. What little she’d seen of the town made her breath hitch.
“This once lovely village is called Dallas, on the outskirts of Atlanta.”
“Atlanta, Georgia?” Iona walked toward the front window and peeked out.
“Aye. I fear my choice to stand and preserve our home has been a foolish decision.”
“Why did ye not travel alongside yer wife, John?” Cameron asked.
“Pride. This is my town, my home, a home I built with my own two hands. How can I leave it to those freed slaves?”
“Freed?” Cameron asked.
“Aye. Many families up and left, leaving them behind. They are fending for themselves for the first time. I never owned slaves, but I fear them.”
“This is only a building. If they want to burn it to the ground, you must move on,” Iona said with a gentleness that nearly made her forget the historical events that were about to happen. She squinted at the church, and recognition doused her like a bucket of ice water.
“Dear God. I knew I recognized that church.” Iona stared at the structure across the street, set back behind a stand of shade trees.
“New Hope Church? Aye, it is a town landmark, but ye look as though ye have seen a spirit, lass.”
“Iona? What is it? Yer white as a ghost.” Cameron rubbed her forearm. His touch seared her with a heat she wished she could relax into, forget everything, and go home. Until she corrected the spell that brought them to a town near Atlanta in 1864, their very lives were definitely in danger.
“The Union forces are almost here!”
Cameron drew her to his side but his embrace did nothing to ease the fear that swept across her when John confirmed her guess.
“I fear ye are correct. Most of the townsfolk left when rumors surfaced that Union forces battled our young men at Resaca to the north.”
“Then why are these people roaming the streets? Why haven’t you left as well?”
Cameron glared at her. “The man built this house, lass. Ye will never understand what it feels like to have to abandon yer home; to know others will live in or destroy it and ye have no say.”
Iona didn’t know how to answer that. She hoped their new friend took the hint and got out of Dodge. Smiling in order to manage her composure, she pushed away from Cameron and stared out the window from behind the curtain.
“Tell us more about what has been going on, here.” Cameron flicked his gaze her way for a moment, but she kept glancing out the window. A few more little factoids could threaten their plans, yet she was intrigued. Anyone would be, but she bought and sold furniture, paintings, and other articles of the time period. To actually run her fingers across a desk, table, and rocker that looked brand new was a rush.
“The fires started yesterday, mainly at the warehouses and train yards. I fear it spreads by its own volition.”
“Or helped along by stragglers. Many men carry torches.”
“Cammie,” Iona wanted to shout, but concern kept her voice steady.
“Lass?” He walked over to where she peeked out the window. The sun hung brightly in the east, and the air still held unhealthy wisps of smoke.
“We need to leave today. Now. We can’t be here. Not today.”
Cameron turned to their reluctant host. “We must all leave the area. How far is it to where your wife has gone?”
“A dozen or so miles to the west. I pray she is safe. From there we can move farther west. We have relatives even further away, far from the battles. Shall you two accompany me?”
“ ‘Tis a fine idea, sir.”
“John. Please call me John.”
“John, we shall need foodstuffs, water, and money.”
John’s face paled. Iona worried he thought he had welcomed thieves inside his home. She walked over to where he’d dropped into a chair. “John, I believe Cameron is suggesting we carry items with which to barter, should we come across unruly people on the way. We, unfortunately, have little but our weapons, a shawl, some herbs, and a blanket.”
John smiled, and rose to his feet. He bowed, then kissed her hand with a flourish that brought color to Cameron’s cheeks. Cameron patted John’s shoulder then followed him to the dining room. John pointed at several drawers then led Cameron into the kitchen.
While Cameron gathered more information from their new friend, Iona began the task of bundling family heirlooms. If his wife had left without any inkling of the battle looming closer, she probably left everything of value. As an antique dealer in her real life—a life she may never return to—Iona chose only the finest items, which were also the easiest to carry.
The dining room sideboard held monogrammed silver spoons of substantial weight. Passing them by, she pulled out several silver bowls only to discover they were actually highly polished Scottish quaiches, engraved with the family crest.
Joining the men in the kitchen, she puttered in the pantry and returned to the dining room with a large potato sack. She wrapped the silver bowls with care, then stuffed her bundle inside her leather satchel. She had to remove the packets of powders and vials of potions so she shoved them in her pockets. She might need them on their journey.
We can’t leave John alone.
She had carefully avoided the large windows as she searched the front room. In the kitchen, at the rear of the house, she listened in on John’s conversation with Cameron.
“They took Missionary Ridge and decimated Resaca. They mean to wipe out everything between them and Atlanta. God preserve us.”
This cannot be happening.
She scoured her memory of American history, chagrined to find she had not paid attention in class as well as she should have. But, the Battle of Resaca rang a bell.
“Aye, their General Sherman is the devil incarnate. I heard tell General Johnston retreated to Allatoona Pass. Sherman pushes forward, driving his troops in order to smite the south into oblivion.”
A huge boom shook the house. Iona stifled a scream and held onto the kitchen work table. A pitcher rattled and several paintings in the nearby dining room shook side to side.
“What was that?”
“Either the train yard fire caused manufactured goods to blow, or cannons are firing at Sherman’s troops. A few of our soldiers remain to the north of town.”
“They have no leadership?” Cameron asked. The warrior’s eyes stared at their new acquaintance.
He no longer surprised her. Cameron Robeson was not like any man she’d ever met. He was assuredly from a different time, where life or death was a daily struggle. She’d stay close to him and pray his strength and her wits would get them out of this mess.
“General Johnston has most-likely high-tailed it southward to protect Atlanta. He has forgotten us in his haste. The townsfolk destroyed what little our own army dinna commandeer to assure that nothing of use fell into Yankee hands. I have barely enough food to sustain us a few days.”
“Pray ‘tis enough until we get ye to yer good wife.”
Iona had another idea. “Has your wife any jewelry?”
CHAPTER 10
Iona’s question seemed to startle John. His eyes widened and he puffed furiously on his pipe. When the kindly southern gentleman stared at her in h
orror, she quickly explained that she had already packed his Scottish heirlooms.
“We want to save what might be precious to your wife, sir. What is dear to her? Let us help you deliver them safely to her.”
“Aye, there be a few pieces she would cry over. Others, not so much. Those we shall use as barter.” John led her toward a staircase, and pointed to the second floor. Iona hurried up to the second floor landing.
“We must leave at once if we are to gain our freedom from this madness. Slaves are roaming the streets out for blood,” Cameron called after her.
“I’ll be quick.”
“Upstairs in our bedroom, the first door on the right, is a jewel-encrusted box.”
Iona peered into the room then called down to John. “The pretty box on the dressing table?”
“Aye.”
The box was small, ornate, and very heavy. Iona pressed it under her right arm like a football, then plucked a heavy cloak from an open oak armoire. A pair of leather lace-up boots near the bed looked about her size.
Without asking, she settled the box and cloak on the bed, slipped off her uncomfortable damp slippers, and laced up the boots.
“An improvement.” The cloak and boots would help. She had no wish to freeze another night. Shoving her slippers in the cloak’s deep pocket, she returned to the main floor. The men were in deep conversation. She dumped the contents of the jewelry box on two linen towels. John walked over, his brow furrowed with questions.
“Why do that?” the older man asked.
“Your wife has no need of a fancy box, sir. Not if she wants her jewels saved. Let the gangs think someone beat them to it. Divide them into two piles. I shall carry those pieces you deem precious to her. You carry the others. Have you any money?”
Before he could answer, a commotion on the front wraparound porch brought all three to attention. Cameron flattened his body against the wall where he could still peek outside, his hand on his dirk. John’s fear was palpable.
Highland Games Through Time Page 37