Jamie looked equally horrified, so she supposed they were in agreement there. She dropped a casual little laugh.
“Just kidding, of course. Why would I need a dagger or anything?”
She excused herself before anyone stopped her or gave her looks she was going to have to acknowledge. She had to stop and stand in the middle of the great hall for a moment or two, simply to appreciate the fact that she wasn’t catching a quick glimpse of it on her way to being tossed down into Malcolm MacLeod’s dungeon.
She supposed she might go a very long time without having that be a part of her reality without missing it one bit.
She hoped Jamie meant what he said by making herself at home, took a deep breath, then headed toward the stairs. It was odd to think about how many people had gone up and down those stairs over the years, which led her to wondering what James MacLeod thought about the same. Maybe he never thought about it. Maybe he was too busy making a dash for his armory, such as it was, in order to fight off any stray time travelers who might show up at his door.
His life must have been very odd.
She understood that, unfortunately, as she took her time getting to that room, then spent more time in there than she probably should have. There was actually a great deal to be impressed by. His collection of things that didn’t look brand-new was extensive. She decided abruptly that she absolutely wasn’t going to ask how many of those things he had used himself over the years.
She wandered back down the hallway, then paused by another open door. He had told her to make herself at home, so she took a deep breath and peeked inside. A study, by the look of it. She ignored her unease and went inside, then paused in shock at the sight of the map hanging over his desk.
It was Mrs. McCreedy’s map.
Actually, on closer inspection she realized that while it was in the same style as Mrs. McCreedy’s, this one was far more extensive. It was the ultimate pirate map. She stared at it forseveral minutes without making any judgments about it, just letting it tell her what it would. It was very well drawn, she conceded. It was also covered with those painfully familiar Xs. She leaned up a bit to have a closer look and realized that next to those Xs were labels.
Barbados. Salem. Victorian England withDon’t go there againin parentheses next to it.
Medieval Scotland.
She lost count of the marks that indicated something of a medieval vintage. She frowned thoughtfully as she looked for Nathaniel’s cottage.
There was an X penciled there, but no tag—
She moved as the sound of voices coming her way reached her. By the time Jamie and Nathaniel entered the study, she was wedged behind a sofa and wondering what the hell she was doing.
Nothing good ever comes of eavesdroppingwas what her father always said.But everything interesting doeswas what Bertie Wordsworth had always added under his breath as her father had been walking away. She knew that because that was the lecture her father had always given his under-chauffeur and she had always been privy to that conversation because she’d always been eavesdropping. Just for the practice, of course, not because her father had ever said anything interesting.
She’d had an interesting childhood.
She had the feeling her life was about to become substantially more interesting if she could just keep from wheezing long enough to listen to those two settling into chairs.
Chapter 26
Nathanielwas extremely happy for a chance to sit down, have a glass of extremely lovely whisky, and not feel like he needed to have his sword within reach. It was, he could safely say, the first time he’d ever been in the MacLeod familial hall where that had been the case.
Dinner had been very edible, but he’d cooked it. He supposed Jamie had done that on purpose so he could keep an eye on the field of battle, as it were. Emma had done a fine job of avoiding anything controversial, but Nathaniel had the feeling his comfortable evening was about to end.
“So,” Jamie said, studying him carefully, “Mistress Emma has gone back how many times?”
“Three, my laird,” Nathaniel said respectfully.
“And she encounters the same thing every time?”
Nathaniel nodded. “It doesn’t seem to matter what either of us does,” he said carefully. “She winds up in the dungeon every time.”
“Weel,” Jamie said, shifting uncomfortably, “I’ll admit we do have a rich tradition of tossing bodies in that pit, but please don’t bring that up with my wife.”
“You don’t mean she found herself there,” Nathaniel said, feeling slightly aghast.
“I refuse to admit to anything,” Jamie said, “but please don’t bring it up at any family gatherings. I filled in the pit, but obviously someone decided that was unwise. I’m sorry your lady has seen the inside of it.” He shivered. “’Tis full of vermin and filth.”
“I know,” Nathaniel said dryly, “having had my own stay there. I would prefer that Emma not see the inside of it again, which is one of the reasons I wanted to see you.” He thought it might be prudent not to add that he was thrilled to be discussing things with the laird of the hall over a whisky and not over blades.
Jamie snorted. “I imagine you have several reasons for coming to see me, not the least of which is to see for yourself who lived over the hill from you.”
