Somewhere My Lass (11 page)
From just inside the dining room door, Mora peered around one side of Neil and Fergus his other while Mrs. Fergus strolled into the entryway. At the bar sat the Red MacDonald, his back turned to them. Hair the color of fiery hot coals fell over his shoulders, tangled like the mane of a horse left out too long in the wet. Over his leine, she’d heard Neil call a shirt, he wore a golden brown jacket and red and green plaid. And across one broad shoulder down over his back hung a great sword, slung in the leather back scabbard. The hilt of the claymore protruded above his shoulder blade.
Legs as thick as sturdy saplings extended over the side of the stool encased in full-length green trews. Brown shoes shod his big feet. He was a giant man, not so much taller than Neil, but brawnier and wicked.
Red MacDonald could kill man or woman and never flinch. She suspected Neil would mind a great deal, but also trusted he would do as he must to protect her and his future.
What of himself, though?
She cringed to think of Neil locked in battle with this mighty laird. He was fleet of foot, to be sure, but not yet hardened, and she doubted he knew much of swordplay. That might well be his undoing.
The Red MacDonald turned at Mrs. Fergus’s coming, blue eyes glittering from malevolence and drink. Glass in hand, he scrutinized her.
None of the other patrons took heed, but Mrs. Fergus met his keen regard, the pinch-mouthed Scotsman pitted against this woman of hidden talents.
The cunning chieftain seemed to sense something unusual about this most unlikely adversary. Stroking his beard, he took her measure, and not because he found her beautiful. There was an air of canniness about his regard.
But how did one weigh the threat of a seer and what would Mrs. Fergus do? Mora wished she’d cast an enchantment on The MacDonald, but that might result in her burning for a witch. Mora would never wish any evil on this dear soul.
Neil clenched one hand at his side and poised the other at the opening in his coat. He whispered over his shoulder, “I don’t like the way he’s eyeing her. If he makes a move in her direction, I’m going for my knife.”
She shuddered to think of that bloody great claymore slicing at Neil.
“He’s getting a snoot full of pepper spray,” Fergus threatened in a growl, totally unlike his usual good nature.
If it came to blows, Mora would throw herself into the fray, and God help them all. They had one dagger between them.
Hardly daring to breathe, she watched to see what Mrs. Fergus would do. They all did.
Instead of summoning her hidden powers, the pleasant matron made a show of opening her coin purse. “For a glass of wine,” she murmured, and then accidentally emptied its contents on the floor. “Oh my. So clumsy of me.”
Copper and silver rolled across the boards and sent more than one patron to their knees, especially as she waved off any efforts to return the booty. “Keep them. I’ll use my card.” Whatever that meant.
Lured by this trove, The MacDonald scrambled to join in the search, the greedy divil. The leather sporran at his belt held coins, but he always wanted more.
This was their chance.
“Ready?” Neil prompted in a whisper.
“Aye.” Nerves taut, Mora followed him across the entryway and through the front door. Fergus needed no bidding to follow at their heels.
As soon as they stepped onto the walkway, Neil grabbed Mora’s arm. He swept her across the snowy planks, down the steps, and over the whitened cobbles. Fergus might be slight, but by heaven he kept pace.
The falling snow feathered the chill air.
Was it her imagination or had a bellow, like an outraged bull, sounded behind them?
****
“Git yerself back here, MacKenzie! Have ye no balls? Fight like a man, ye coward!”
Anger ran hot in Neil’s veins but he ignored the insults hurled at him. He’d not be goaded into a fight he was in no way prepared to tackle. Besides, Mrs. Fergus had said to make all possible haste.
Heeding her directive, he rushed Mora to the vintage sedan the mature woman drove, opened the door, and hurried her into the passenger seat. “Sit tight.”
His back to the car, Neil turned around. Fergus panted at his side, squinting through his glasses. “Has he got Mom?”
Neil scanned the solitary figure on the walkway obscured by the curtain of flakes. “No.”
Mora thrust her head out of the cracked door. “If Mrs. Fergus be harmed, I’ll scratch his eyes out—”
“Doubtless she’s taken cover.” Confident his assailant would neither seek out nor find the wise woman, Neil pushed Mora back inside. “Stay put.” Then he barked at Fergus, “Get in the damn car!”
Neil flung himself behind the wheel and Fergus dove in the back. “Keep your heads down, you two. That lunatic may follow us.”
Neil wasn’t sure how the belligerent Scotsman tracked them to the restaurant in the first place. But he had an uncanny and unwanted way of turning up. If he was also some kind of psychic, Neil hoped he wasn’t as foresighted as Mrs. Fergus.
Maybe the Scotsman had quickly adapted to his new environment and learned how to take cabs, or thumb rides. Who in their right mind would pick this guy up?
Fellow actors, maybe. They’d probably think him some harmless eccentric and be only too happy to give him a lift, entertained, no doubt, by his colorful attire and speech.
A horse seemed a far more apt means of transport for the Highlander. And it seemed to Neil that he used to ride…a very long time ago. A chestnut horse, the feel of its velvety nose, its dark mane tossing in the wind, the rustic scent of the stables…teased at the edges of his mind. Only he’d never had a horse. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
No time for these thoughts now.
Driving on bad roads was a skill at which he excelled. He put the car in gear and peeled out of the lot. Dimly lit storefronts rushed by in a white blur. Blessedly, the snowy road was almost empty of traffic. No motorists to collide with. He even drove through a red light.
No cops in sight either. Thank God.
Being chased by a mad Scotsman wasn’t a situation Neil cared to explain on top of the recent murder in his house. He tore up the steep rise of the hilly town, praying no policeman spotted them and his luck held.
Neil paused on the porch and glanced back at the street. Icy pellets mixed with the fine snow stung his face. His breath puffed white in the frigid air, as did his two companions. Streetlights revealed only the sheen of falling powder and tracks left on the road from the borrowed sedan.
He should probably park the car around back. But time was running out to reposition the large vehicle. At least, for now, the coast was clear.
“No one in sight,” he muttered.
Fergus glanced over his shoulder. “Yet.”
The word reverberated in Neil’s racing mind. “We’d better hurry.” He turned and inserted the key in the locked door.
“Where’d this blizzard come from? It wasn’t in the fricking forecast,” Fergus added.
“Explains these coats your mom dispensed. Let’s hope the snow slows The MacDonald.”
Hands in her pockets, Mora peered back at the veiled street. “A wee bit of weather will not hinder one accustomed to tramping about the Hielans in the snow like a red roe deer.”
Fergus grunted in agreement. “She’s right. Mom seems certain he’s coming.”
Neil opened the front door. “Anything else she mentioned I should be aware of?”
“She’ll try to keep the portal open for three more days.”
“Is it in danger of closing?”
“At any hour.”
“Good Lord.” Neil entered the dark foyer and stomped his feet on the carpet. “But I already checked that upstairs door twice and it didn’t budge, let alone lead anywhere but outside.”
Fergus stomped in beside him. “Wormholes through time fluctuate.”
“Of course. Everyone knows that,” he said, tension making him snarky. “Since when are you an expert on wormholes?”
“I’ve been researching them.”
Mora brushed the white stuff from her fur with black gloves. “I’m here, am I not, and the Red MacDonald? What more proof of its existence do ye need?”
“A portal that doesn’t tumble us two stories to my backyard would be good.”
“It shouldn’t,” Fergus said. “Though they can shift.”
Neil swiveled toward Fergus whose features were indistinguishable beneath the brimmed fedora in the
Indiana Jones
style. “Where?”
“Not too far off the mark.”
“So we should land somewhere in Scotland?”
“Kintail, I trust.”
“But not necessarily the castle?”
Fergus gave a shake of his hat. “No. Before they close, wormholes sometimes get wobbly.”
“That’s reassuring.” Neil turned and locked the door behind them. “Leave the lights off. Attracts less attention. I’ll get a flashlight from the closet.”
“No need.” Fergus drew out his multicolored LED flashlight and illuminated the black hall in a strong violet beam.
Neil snorted. “Like that would go unnoticed. This is no time for a display.”
“Oh, all right.” Fergus reached in another of his many pockets and withdrew a flashlight disguised as the medical tricorder from
Star Trek
. He turned it on and a white stream played over the wallpaper and furniture.
“Don’t you have anything normal?” Neil asked.
“Define normal.”
Mora eyed the device in his hand. “A candle?”
The artificial beam revealed the shock in Fergus’s expression. “Candles went out with the horse and buggy.”
“Aye, the flames do puff out in a breeze,” she agreed.
Neil smiled faintly. Taking the unique flashlight from his friend, he shone it at the steps. “What now? Are we supposed to leap through a barred second story door and hope we land in Scotland?”
“Not
we
,” Fergus amended. “You and Mora.”
“How on earth can you be certain this so called portal is still open?”
“Besides Mom’s say so, you mean? With my magnetic energy field detector.” Fergus pulled a metal wand shaped like a laser from another pocket and held it in front of him. Clicking noises emanated from the device. “If the portal is open the clicking should grow louder.”
Neil rolled his eyes. “Where do you find these things?”
“Lots of
Trekkies
have energy field detectors. I’ve improved this one so it’s highly tuned.”
“Of course you have.” Fergus could invent his own.
Mora slipped her hand into Neil’s. “We stay together.”
He squeezed her fingers. “No matter what, I promise. I should get my revolver.”
“With me by yer side.”
An angry howl shattered the quiet night.
Mora startled, and Neil’s racing heart pounded even harder. “Damn.”
Fergus jumped. “Cripes! He’s here. Even if he stole a car, he couldn’t drive it.”
“He must’ve found someone very obliging to drop him off.”
There was no time for anything. Directing the beam up the steps, Neil sprang forward pulling Mora just behind him. “Upstairs
now
, Fergus, unless you want to face him alone.”
“Hell no.”
Fergus shot after them. His gadget clicked away like a metal detector at a garbage site. “That portal should be wide open tonight.”
The front door rattled. The wood resounded under a battering fist. Muffled curses carried from beyond the stout barrier.
“Told you we needed a taser,” Fergus panted.
Neil envisioned the force needed to fell a hippo. “I doubt that brute would be down for long.”
“Long enough to make our getaway.”
A great shoe kicked at the wood, accompanied by ferocious grunts.
“Hide in my room—gun’s under my bed and loaded,” Neil flung over his shoulder.
“I’ve never fired one!”
The door gave way with a shattering
bam!
“Aim and shoot! Can’t miss at close range.”
They tore down the upstairs hall. Ahead of them loomed the door to nowhere, eerie in the single beam of light surrounded by shadows. The intricate carvings on the old oak suddenly seemed quite ancient, and Neil wondered just where his family had acquired this particular antique.
But only for a moment.
Mora at his side, he lunged forward and grasped the knob. Unbelievably, it turned. Without the key.
Heavy feet pounded up the steps behind them.
“We’re going now!” Holding tight to her hand, Neil threw the door wide with his other.
Blackness greeted them, but not the snowy blackness he expected. Either the falling flakes were unaccountably blocked on this side of the house, or—
“MacKenzie! God’s blood, I vow ye die this night!”
“Go on!” Fergus shouted. “I’ve got my spray!”
Neil couldn’t leave his friend to face this psycho alone any more than he could leave a child, though it was incredibly brave of Fergus to offer. He spun around and shone the beam behind them. They’d need the light to see, though how to wield that and his knife—he needed to get his gun.
But Mora clung to his hand. How could he fight and grip her?
To his further amazement, Fergus faced their pursuer. The advancing Scotsman cast a long shadow, the personification of terror. His eyes glinted with the vengeance he swore.
Unswerving resolve in his stance, Fergus stood his ground. Pepper spray in hand, he let a pungent miasma fly up into The MacDonald’s enraged face.
With a yowl, the Scotsman covered his eyes and stumbled back. “Damn ye to the eternal flames!”
He careened into a heavy side table then lurched into the wall with a thud. Down he crashed to the floor. He lay still. Possibly knocked out.
Fergus’s courage had bought them a second. If he sped back downstairs, he could get away. The keys were still in the car under the driver’s side mat. “Go!”
Praying they didn’t tumble two stories down, Neil rushed through the open doorway with Mora.
