Page 75 of Luthias

That was easy enough to answer. “I’m an intern at a medieval museum for the summer, and I’m a forensic anthropology student working on my PhD.” She saw how he was looking at her and grimaced. “Smaller words, right. I’m a scholar who studies how people died long ago, and what killed them, and why. My focus is on analyzing bladed weapons and the wounds they inflicted. Bones and artifacts tell us a lot about history, and what it was like to live in times like yours.”

“You study death to learn of life.” Camdyn shook his head. “Why should a wench like you be of value to my clan?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your time-traveling sword meant to bring back someone else and I picked it up before they did.” She pulled up her knees and tucked her arms around them, trying to get warm. “Can I ask you a question now?” When he nodded she peered at the orange streaks that were almost glittery in the sunlight. “Why is your hair two completely different colors? Is that from dye?”

“’Twas two questions,” he said, and then rubbed his hand over his head. “’Tis a birthing mark.”

Another strange birthmark. Did the whole clan have some genetic propensity for odd pigmentation?

“Okay.” Obviously he felt sensitive about it, Emery thought, so she went back to empathizing. “It’s a little cold here, but I think my dad would have loved this place. He always wanted to live in the mountains. He took me hiking all the time. Does your father live here?”

“My sire despised the highlands.” He picked up a flat rock and tossed it so that it skipped across the stream. “Naught but stone and snow and cold, he’d say. A kingdom fit only for goats and sheep.”

She grimaced. “That’s kind of harsh. Is he from a warmer place in Scotland?”

“Aye. Warmer and more beauteous and glorious than may be dreamed.” Camdyn made a nasty sound. “Thus he never saw anything of worth in the highlands. Most days of my boyhood he’d ignore us all, keep to the stronghold and brood by the fire. No matter how much wood the lads and I piled in the hearth, ’twas never hot enough for him. When he died I brought my heaviest cloak to wrap him, hoping ’twould keep him warm in the afterworld.”

Emery felt a surge of compassion. From the pain in his tone Camdyn must have just lost his father. Right after her dad had died she remembered how alone and depressed she’d felt, too. She’d wondered if she’d ever have anyone in her life she could love that much again.

“Losing your father must have been hard on you,” she said gently.

“Aye.” He took off the dark cloak he was wearing and draped it over her shoulders. “Your sire, he must be agonized over your vanishing from your time.”

“No, he died, too, a few years ago. My mother drowned when I was little, so I don’t have anyone to miss me anymore.” She eyed the rushing waters and remembered the horrible churning of the ocean as it had tried to swallow her along with her mother.

“I shallnae put you in the river,” Camdyn said gruffly.

“Thank you.” She rested her chin on her knees. “We should go back, you know, before someone realizes I’m missing and notices that you’re gone. You did threaten me in front of your clan.”

He waved his hand. “Let them think the worst. I but wished to speak with you alone, so I might fathom what’s meant for my brothers and me, and if ’twill be wrought by the facking Carack.”

“Why do you hate them so much?” she couldn’t help asking. “I mean, other than them being founded by Prince Kaer, and being so wealthy, and coveting your lands and all.”

“’Tis no’ enough reason for you?” He glared at her again. “The bastarts, they’re sly and conniving. They’d stab a man in the back to dodge a fair fight. Before the truce we lost hundreds to them on the battlefield, but at least we ended as many Carack.”

“Sounds like a never-ending stalemate to me,” Emery said. “Thanks to nuclear weapons, we have a lot of those in my time.”

Camdyn nodded. “If you’re from the future, then you ken what becomes of the MacRoss. Tell me.”

She could make up something, or she could level with him. With Camdyn, it seemed the painful truth would be better than a kind lie.

“I’ve been studying Scottish clans for a while, but I’ve never heard of yours,” Emery admitted. “There’s a Clan Ross who were highlanders, but no MacRoss. I did see a tartan at my museum with the same pattern as the one Luthias wears. It was attributed to your clan.”

“In seven centuries, a plaid, ’tis all that’s left of us.” He uttered a sour chuckle. “That I can well imagine.”

“Mayhap you should ponder what I’d do to anyone who harms Mistress Parker,” a hard voice said from behind them.

Emery got to her feet and turned around to see Luthias and Taveon dismounting from horses a few yards away.

“Uh-oh. The cavalry’s here.” The laird looked ready to kill someone. “Let me do the talking, okay?” she muttered to her kidnapper

“You stupit bastart,” the laird said as he strode toward them, his hands fisted and his expression dark.

“Whoa, guy, don’t over-react.” Emery stepped in front of the armorer and held up her hands. “I asked Camdyn to go for a walk in the woods with me so we could talk things out and end the hostilities. We’re cool now. I mean, we’re fine.”

“She lies,” Camdyn said. “I took her from your chamber and forced her come with me.”

Emery stomped as hard as she could on his boot.