He had to assume the phone belonged to that dark-haired gel he’d seen in the forest—though perhaps saying that he hadseenher didn’t quite describe the encounter. He had been in the past when he’d almost run bodily into her standing in the future.
Or at least he hoped she’d been in the future.
He’d almost lost his head as a result of his surprise, but he’d managed to save his sweet self and pull back into his proper time period. Or, rather, the time period where he’d been loitering. At the time.
He sighed deeply. His life was, he had to admit, extremely odd.
At least he was safely tucked into the modern part of his life for the moment. He picked his sword up and carried it back to the bedroom, then hid it behind a trio of hand-tailored suits he only wore when forced. He looked at them for a moment or two, then decided it wasn’t a good use of his time to think about when he might need to wear one of them next. He shut his closet door and went back into his kitchen. He considered what to do about that phone lying there on the table, then decided perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to venture into the village to see if he couldn’t find its owner.
There was an added benefit to that piece of altruism, and that was potentially eliminating the possibility of someone lurking in the woods nearby, looking for her phone and perhaps seeing things she shouldn’t. Heaven only knew he encountered enough of those sorts of women as it was. Why the rumors that went around the pub about him weren’t enough to frighten them off, he surely didn’t know.
He put the phone in his pocket and made sure his house was put to bed for the moment. No sense in giving anyone reason to execute a rescue of his stove, again perhaps seeing things they shouldn’t have.
Besides, he needed dinner and a stiff drink. He didn’t keep anything in his own house save a few bottles of wine that were too expensive to casually open, simply because he’d had his own brush with drinking too much and he knew better. But a pint down at the pub or a glass of whisky at someone else’s table? That he could do.
He looked at his mobile, then cursed the lack of reception in his house. It was almost as if he lived in some sort of time warp where modern conveniences just didn’t exist.
He didn’t allow himself to start down that well-worn mental path. The irony of it was just too much.
He would obviously have to head to Inverness soon if he wanted to see what those of the legal profession were combining. He tended to think that no news was good news when it came to lawyers and their business, but for all he knew, he would be on a flight to JFK to deal with them sooner rather than later. At least in New York, he didn’t have medieval clansmen trying to kill him.
Unfortunately, that respite never lasted very long.
Half an hour later, he was walking into McCreedy’s for thebarest of necessities, grateful he’d caught her before she closed up for the evening. Mrs. McCreedy was busy tending a pair of well-seasoned widows, so he nodded politely to the three of them and went about his own business. If he lingered a bit until the shop was empty, well, who could blame him? He didn’t trust very many, but that woman behind the counter was one of them. She’d gotten him out of more than one tight spot with a nod toward the back exit.
He made polite chitchat with her whilst she was ringing up his tins of nonperishables, then leaned casually against her counter and laid the phone down.
“Any ideas?” he asked.
“Ah, a proper Scottish tribute right there,” she said approvingly.
“Unfortunately not mine.”
“Did you pinch it from some southerner who vexed you?” she asked sternly. “Not sure I’m in the market for stolen mobiles, lad.”
He smiled. “Nothing as nefarious as that, I assure you. I found it in the woods near my house.”
“And you didn’t try to unlock it?”
“Would you expect anything else?”
“You’re a canny one, Nathaniel, to be sure.” She picked the phone up, studied it, then looked at him. “You didn’t see the owner?”
He wasn’t sure he dared admit that he might have, but he supposed there were reasons enough why he might have seen a gel in the woods.
“I think I may have seen her in the area,” he conceded. “Tall, dark-haired, a bit too thin.”
Mrs. McCreedy nodded knowingly. “I’ve seen her. She’s here for a week at Southerton’s inn, though I don’t know how she’ll manage that long there, things being what they are in that house. I think she came from the States to take in the scenery.”
“Brilliant,” he muttered. “They’re coming across the Pond to look for me now.”
“And aren’t you a fine catch,” Mrs. McCreedy said with a laugh. She raised her eyebrow and shot him a look. “If I were fifty years younger, don’t think I wouldn’t be fishing for you.As for the other, her you’re wanting is at the pub, or so I heard a bit ago. Her name’s Emma, if you’re interested.”
“Your spy network, Mrs. McCreedy, is no doubt the envy of Her Maj’s secret service.”
“If you only knew, my lad,” she said sagely. “If you only knew.”
He didn’t imagine he wanted to know more than he already suspected, so he simply wished her a good evening and escaped whilst he still could. He carried his sustenance out to his car, then walked up the street to the pub.
