There were two pubs to choose from in the village, though he supposed the ever-increasing tourist trade would have supported more. He chose Keith MacLeod’s place because it was the more touristy of the two, and he favored it precisely because of that. It put him more often than not in the way of those who came to try to flush him out of the forest, but it kept him out of the way of most of the locals. He definitely had good reasons for that, and those reasons were, put simply, the laird from up the way, the laird’s brother, and that same laird’s cousin. Those lads tended to frequent the tavern down the street.
He had done a flawless job of never encountering any of them over the past five years, and he thought it was best that it stay that way. Having more than a passing acquaintance with James MacLeod’s fourteenth-century progenitor was odd enough. That he was actually doing any, er,time travelingwas likely something that would have seen him safely installed in the local insane asylum if anyone knew, and that was something he wanted to avoid. The very last thing he wanted was to be answering any questions from James, Patrick, or Ian MacLeod about his own activities.
He’d heard the rumors about them, absolutely barking speculation about why those three looked as if they had simply up and stepped out of a medieval battle scene.
It was absolute rubbish, of course. James MacLeod and his kin were just men with a terrible fondness for the past who had made themselves a little kingdom there near the forest. He wasn’t about to tell them about any of his own adventures, no matter if they might or might not have been kin. He was a MacLeod, true, but there were MacLeods aplenty in Scotland.For all anyone knew, he was related to that lad over on Skye. His own sire had traced his lineage to yet another branch of the family, but Nathaniel supposed no one he knew would be interested in that.
He realized with a start that he was fair to finding himself in true peril a heartbeat before he walked into that trio of London lassies he’d seen several days before. He spared a moment to marvel at their tenacity before he ducked into a darkened alleyway. He slipped around the back of the pub and ventured inside the kitchen. It certainly wasn’t his first time using that entrance, and he suspected it wouldn’t be his last. He almost ran bodily into Fiona’s father.
“Keith,” he said, relieved. “Good to see you.”
Keith MacLeod, yet another of the innumerable MacLeods in the area, pursed his lips. “Hiding, Nat?”
“You know me,” Nathaniel said, giving the kitchen a cursory glance to make certain there were no huntresses, stray medieval clansmen, or American gels with long, dark hair hiding amongst the veg.
“I do,” Keith said, “and I trust you, which is likely more important, aye?”
Nathaniel looked at him then. “Sorry?”
Keith blew out his breath. “You, having a care with Fiona. She’s young and apparently mad for you.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Nathaniel said, “and I’m old enough to be her father.”
“So I keep telling her,” Keith said seriously. “Complain about your knees a bit more and perhaps she’ll believe you. Now, what do you need?”
“Besides a safe haven and a whisky?” Nathaniel asked. “Information, mostly. Have you seen a woman with long hair, maybe a Yank?”
“She’s up at Southerton’s, but Mrs. McCreedy likely already told you as much. She just left here a few minutes ago, so you might catch her if you run. I’ll have supper waiting when you get back, if you like. Takeaway or not?”
Nathaniel opened his mouth, then realized he didn’t know. He’d been dealing in the currencies of life and death for the pair of days so deciding what he wanted to eat, never mind where he wanted to eat it, was simply beyond him. He looked at his host helplessly. “I have no idea.”
Keith nodded toward the back door. “Be off with ye then, laddie. I’ll have something waiting for you after you’ve found your prize.”
Nathaniel rolled his eyes with what he hoped passed for a dismissive laugh, then slipped out the door and made his way to Southerton’s. He saw one alleyway blocked by an SUV, so he continued on to the far side of the garden and rounded the house to the front.
He wondered when it was he would stop running into things that potentially spelled his end. He hid behind a trellis and peered at the little tableau standing there in the light spilling down from over the front door.
Damn it, what next?
He had the distinct feeling his anonymity was about to become a fond memory, and that had everything to do with those three women standing there.
He recognized his American quarry right off and realized he had grossly misjudged the fairness of her face. Quietly beautiful, if her looks could be thus qualified. What he wanted to do was sit down and paint her. A pity he had absolutely no skill with paintbrush or pencil. He wondered absently if she would sit still long enough for him to learn how to use either.
There was, he noticed with a certainty that surprised him, something slightly fragile about her, something that said she’d had just about all she could take that day. He realized he was reaching for the dirk down the side of his boot only after he realized that he was neither in a time where he could rush out and defend her nor carrying a dirk.
He set aside the alarm he felt over those realizations and forced himself to turn his attentions to the other two women standing there. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any problem identifying either of them.
The wench on his Yank’s right was none other than Sunshine Cameron, countess of Assynt. He didn’t know much about her past what she looked like, but she seemed to keep that ferociously competitive Robert Cameron in check, so Nathaniel supposed she must be fairly strong-willed herself. But that wasn’t what gave him trouble. It was that she was standing across from her sister, Madelyn, the lady of Benmore, wife to one Patrick MacLeod.
The same Patrick MacLeod who happened to be brother tothe laird up the way, a man Nathaniel absolutely didn’t want to visit with over a pint down at the pub.
Perhaps he should have addedgenealogy expertto his résumé. Just trying to keep straight all the people he had to avoid was becoming a part-time job.
“I don’t know how he found me.”
Nathaniel listened to the sisters comfort the woman he could only assume they knew, then it occurred to him what she’d said. Who had found her, and why was that so upsetting? He could certainly understand being stalked, but his reaction was generally annoyance, not fear.
He eavesdropped shamelessly and gathered that she had been discovered by someone she had left behind quite happily in the States, and she was unhappy enough about the turn of events that she was considering changing lodgings. She seemed highly uncomfortable about that as well. Money worries, perhaps, or simply an unwillingness to pack her gear. Who knew?
