Warrior and the Wanderer (32 page)

And Bess knew she was the “uncertain prospect”.

She closed her eyes again, expecting that soon, Ian would sleep beside her. But she would not sleep. The moment she heard Ian’s familiar snores, she would seek out her clan, using the moonlight to guide her along the beach.

She would leave Ian to return to his life.

To the life of riches that he deserved.

* * * *

Bess walked along the narrow beach hugging her body against the rising wind. The weather seemed to pit its forces against her with each step she took away from the cave where Ian slept unaware of her departure. She hoped to find her clan hunkered down with the king’s soldiers somewhere along this dark beach. The moonlight pushed in and out from behind the clouds.

She bent forward and plodded across the sand avoiding the surf and the rocks littered across the beach.

Leaving Ian was the most difficult thing she had ever done. She had no choice. The mysterious Dane, the one of legend and obviously quite real, had allowed Ian to see down the glorious promise of his life in his time. And she was an “uncertain prospect”.

The Dane had done them both a service. Ian should have no trouble leaving her time and returning to his own. He should return to his own purpose and she should return to her purpose. Life gave one so few certain choices, and this was one. She and Ian were better off parted.

Her clan and her duty to them would easily fill her vacant heart, wouldn’t they?

She walked on guided by the moonlight, making sure she did not stumble over the rocks on the beach.

She did tumble though, but it was not a rock that lay on the beach. It was something far softer and far noisier than a sea-tossed stone.

Bess landed with an “oomphf” sound. Her exclamation was followed by a “bloody hell!” not her voice.

She quickly sat up and turned to look at who would be so daft as to lie on the beach at night.

The clouds parted from the before the moon. In the silver light Bess sat up straighter. Then she stood and curtsied as quickly as any woman could despite the awkward circumstances.

“Your Majesty!” she blurted out.

King James placed one sandy finger against his lips and said, “Shhhhh! They’ll find me!”

Bess knelt on the sand and crept closer to her king who sat with his thin legs in silk hosiery and fine buckled shoes splayed out from his velvet pantaloons. His doublet was coated in a layer of sand. She reached out and brushed it from his royal person as if he were a child of her own.

“Your kindness is once again overwhelming, Lady Campbell,” he said. “Where are your clan and my army?”

“That is what I was trying to find out. They should be along this beach readying for battle—” She stopped. “Your Majesty ye shouldnae be here. ’Tis most dangerous.”

“Yet you are here, Lady Campbell. ’Tis most dangerous for you as well.”

“I am the chief of my clan.”

“You are a woman,” the king laughed.

Bess bristled. “Good observation. ’Tis why ye’re the king. How did ye get here?” She helped him to his feet.

“I took a fishing boat and rowed it here myself until I hit a rock.”

“What happened to the boat?”

He pointed to the firth. “Broken. Gone.” He paused and stared at Bess. “You look most surprised, Lady Campbell.”

He guessed her mind right. This young king spent his days evading his guards and councilors, sinking fishing boats, and wanting to face battle. He was so like his father. The same father who had died on Flodden Field side by side with Bess’ father. Her destiny and the King’s were intertwined. The young man sensed that more than she did.

“I’ll let ye come with me,” she said. “But ’tis my clan I lead into battle—”

“And my army for me to lead,” he said.

“Aye,” Bess said trying to conceal the doubt in her voice.

She held out her hand. His Majesty took it. He smiled up at her. He was only a whisker shorter than her. His smile gave her a wee chill. The squeeze he gave her hand made her blush.

“Ye’re much too young for me, ye ken,” she said.

“Am I?” he asked with a sly wink, clearly influenced buy Ian.

“Aye,” she said firmly. “Ye are.”

They walked along the beach for a while.

James broke the silence. “Where’s the bard?”

After a pause, she replied, “He’s gone back to from where he came.”

“He was the best bard I have ever heard. His songs were most unusual. I remember one about a hotel, I believe, and heartbreak in it. I do not know what a hotel is, but I’m certain ’tis a wonderful place. Perhaps French. How is it that you knew this bard? From where did he come?”

She shook her head. What she knew, what Ian had told her, she would never tell another soul. No one, not even this young monarch, would believe her. She had only believed Ian because of the trust that had grown between them, of the way he looked at her, of the way he touched her, kissed her. And she would never see him again. The emptiness in her heart grew.

“I dinnae ken from where the bard has come. All I know is that he had left us forever.” She believed that so terribly much. Ian had to be gone in his silver carriage, back to a life that suited him better.

“’Tis a pity. He could have sung us into battle. Inspired us.”

Firelight glowed up ahead the beach, against the cliff and far, far from the view of Duart Castle. Bess and the king quickened their pace. In a minute Bess knew the watch saw them, Chief of Clan Campbell of Inverary and His Majesty King James strolling hand in hand.

The king had said Ian could have inspired this army with his music.

Bess sighed. Ian had already inspired her in ways she could never explain to her king. He would soon be back in his time and would never think on her again. She would carry his memory for the rest of her life and into battle at first light.

* * * *

Ian had a plan, if only the bloody ox would cooperate.

“C’mon beast!” Ian exclaimed in the light of early morning. “Haul this fine machine up the bloody cliff!”

He had a plan and Bess was not there for him to tell her. She was out there attending to her duty, plotting her revenge against Lachlan. He knew she had abandoned him for her clan. He should be happy for her. He should get the hell out of here and back to his own time. But damn if he could do that. He would find her, and surprise the hell out of her and anyone who happened to be around. It would be his final performance, and what a grand one it would be, if only the ox would move!

Bess had left him in the middle of the night. He did not have to guess far to know where she had run off. At least she had a handle on her priorities and destiny. He, on the other hand, was making a bloody muck up of the entire thing because he was staying, pushing the boundary of the Dane’s proclamation. He had a day left. Today was the day. And he had to seal the success of Bess’s clan with one brilliantly stupid idea.

The ox brayed and grunted up the scree. Its stout hooves skidded back a little. Ian, who was pushing the Corvette from behind, almost got run over by his own car.

“Just get to the top, beastie,” he urged under his breath. “And all will be good.”

What a stinking lie. He had no idea if all would be good, terrible, or just simple global disaster. All he did know at the moment was the Corvette had to get on relatively level ground.

If he drove it a warp speed on a Nevada highway to get to this time, then he would obviously need a level launch pad to get him to the future. Then his belly grumbled for the countless time sine he woke up.

“What I wouldn’t give for an I-Hop right now,” he grunted, pushing the rear bumper of the car another foot up the hill. Rocks rolled under his feet and the Corvette’s tires, and tumbled down, down the hill. He was pushing his future up the rock-strewn hill. Hundreds of tiny rocks tumbled out from under his bare feet since Lachlan had confiscated his boots.

The ox grunted one last grunt and breached the top of the hill. Ian continued to push the Corvette until the beast pulled it up over the edge and onto level ground. The whole task had taken little more than an hour or perhaps an entire morning. The only time that seemed to matter was when Ian had to leave this place.

Until then he would have a little twenty-first century fun in the sixteenth century. And in the end, he just might get to kiss the girl.

“For the last time,” he muttered.

He looked up at the broad back of his bovine auto club and shouted, “Whoa!”

The ox, remarkably, obeyed his command and began chewing the tufts of grass on top of the hill.

Ian glanced to the west as he walked around from the back of the car. The castle was a mere dot on the grey horizon, a few miles away. He looked to the east. The east coast of Mull was a mile away at the most. He was almost in the middle of what he guessed could become one nasty battlefield. Part of his plan was not to let that happen.

He opened the driver’s side door.

Ian looked at the sand and other debris in the floorboards. He got down on his knees and began scooping the stuff out. The gas and break pedals would be impossible to work if he did not perform some housekeeping.

He tossed out handful after handful of sand and bits of kelp, and one empty whisky bottle. He briefly thought of Lachlan’s tasty spirits. Even the villains James Bond faced had their odd talents, something they could do better than anyone else in the world. Instead of making whisky, the Bond villains could make underground lairs and nuclear weapons better than anyone else.

“I’ll take the whisky,” Ian mused, wishing he had some at that moment, anything to cut through his terrible case of morning breath.

A thought occurred to him, and he glanced at the empty bottle on the ground just as to the east a great rumbling rose on the landscape. The sound had to be Bess and her Highland army with the King’s army on the way to do battle.

He picked up the bottle and stared at it.

His plan suddenly came into sharp focus.

He would stop the battle before the first drop of blood was shed on this rocky ground. He just hoped the suspension on his car would hold out. Faith, not hope, made him know that when he turned the key in the ignition of his Corvette that the two hundred and seventy horses would roar to life, and sweet victory would be Bess’s.

He knew she would angry when he stole her battle thunder with a thunder of his own. Bess would be angry at first, but then she would thank him.

“Too bad I won’t be here to say ‘you’re welcome’,” he said.

He had to rid this time of one boil on its backside and the only way he thought to do so was to escort the bastard himself. He tossed the empty whisky bottle back into his car.

* * * *

Alasdair had managed to bring two horses across the firth. One for Bess and one for himself. He had also brought her chainmail, a helmet, and his claymore. He carried an axe and a hammer.

“I kent the bard would rescue ye,” Alasdair said. “He’s got an uncommon confidence. And now here ye be.”

Bess stared across the rocky plain at Duart Castle that was no more than a small blur on the horizon. The mist had begun to roll back in from the water. They would have to move quickly while the castle was still in sight.

“Why do I sense that ye wished I hadnae found ye?” she asked.

She could sense Alasdair shrug behind her. “’Twill be difficult for me to protect ye in battle. Ye havenae entered the field of conflict before.”

“And ye have, so I will take comfort in that.”

“Ye didnae have to bring His Majesty into the fray,” Alasdair grumbled.

“His Majesty brought himself. The king should lead his own army.”

“Aye, m’Lady.”

She urged her mount forward. The hundred men behind her, Alasdair, and His Majesty followed steadily behind. Their footsteps sounded like thunder. Their arms and armor clanked and rattled powerfully.

The chainmail hung heavy on her shoulders, and the helmet threatened to topple from her head. Her hair swept down from beneath the helmet and over the chainmail betraying her sex on the field of battle. Her riding in front with her king proclaimed her a leader.

Ian had not come after her, had not followed the shore to find her. He was well back in his own time by now seeking his certain future of wealth and fame with no memory of ever being in her time and with her.

The mist swirled and thickened around her and her army. Perchance it was for the best that the weather had turned foul and cloaked them from the enemy.

She urged the horse forward and faster.

The sooner she defeated Lachlan, the better.

“Lady Campbell,” King James said. “The mist is too thick.”

She stared straight ahead. Duart was barely visible, but as long as she could see it, they would move forward without hesitation.

“Lady Ca—,” the king began.

“We go forward,” she snapped. Then softer, “Yer Majesty.”

James lowered his chin and stared straight ahead mimicking her. “Aye. Of course. Forward.”

Then after a long pause, the king asked, “What do we do when we reach the castle gate?”