Chapter 19
Sunny stood next to Ian MacLeod on the edge of his training yard and wondered if she had just lost her mind.
She’d woken up that morning to the sight of Cameron sitting near her bed and felt her heart leap a little.
She’d decided on the spot that orchestrating a little trip to Ian’s would be a great idea. Now, she had a different idea.
She was insane. Still.
“That lad there didn’t learn his swordplay in this century.”
Sunny realized she’d forgotten that Ian was standing next to her. She focused on him with an effort. “What makes you think that?”
“Because he’s not thinking about what he’s doing.
” He studied Cameron for another moment or two.
“Watch him as he fights. This is no choreographed dance for him. He’s either reacting without hesitation to Pat’s assault, or he’s on the attack, moving to exploit Pat’s weaknesses.
His sword is just an extension of himself.
” He looked at her and smiled. “That’s the difference between someone who grew up using a sword to keep himself alive and one who learned the skill for less pressing reasons. ”
“You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
Ian grinned. “Unbelievable, isn’t it?”
“I know you know how to fight, Ian,” she said wryly. “I just never thought about the theory behind it.”
“Well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he drawled with a very good American accent. “Turning those Hollywood stunt lads into the real thing.”
“Which they never can be.”
“Some manage it,” he conceded. “But those men live and breathe swordplay for years. Occasionally I find one who truly has a gift for it.” He nodded toward the field. “But your wee friend fights this well because he spent his youth with a sword in his hands and used it to keep himself alive.”
“You think?” she said, her mouth very dry all of the sudden.
He shot her a look. “Sunny, I’m no fool. I can’t give you a precise date, but I’d put him pre-fifteenth century, at least. I don’t suppose you’d be able to shed any light on it, would you?”
“Me?” she asked hoarsely. “Why would I?”
“Because you’re standing here not realizing that tears are running down your cheeks—which is something I’m doing my gentlemanly best not to notice.”
She dragged her sleeve across her face. “You have an overactive imagination, Ian.”
“Well, I’m not imagining what I’m seeing out there. Robert Cameron is very, very good. Even Pat’s having to work a bit, isn’t he?”
She turned back to the field and had to admit that Ian was right. She supposed it was nothing to her brother-in-law, but if she’d had to face Cameron over blades, she would have surrendered without hesitation.
Then again, he was fighting Patrick MacLeod, and that should have at least given him pause. He did pause, at one point, and look at her.
“Water,” he demanded, his chest heaving.
Ian looked at her in surprise. “Are you going to humor him?”
“Maybe he’ll take off his shirt,” she said, before she thought better of it.
Ian looked at her and laughed. “Sunny, are you lusting after that lad there?”
She turned and walked away before she had to answer. She imagined Ian would waste no time in telling Cameron what she’d said, which was reason enough to hurry back to the house before she had to be privy to it.
She walked into Ian’s kitchen but didn’t even have the distraction of Ian’s very pregnant wife, Jane, to keep her from having to go back out onto the field before she was ready to. She filled a pitcher with water, collected four cups, then walked back out into the garden.
She refilled Cameron’s cup three times before he nodded his thanks.
“And what of her payment?” Ian asked mildly.
Cameron blinked in surprise. “Surely she wasn’t serious.”
Sunny hadn’t been, really, but now she found that she couldn’t help but push his buttons just a bit more. “I might have been,” she said. “I might be still.”
“I have a scar or two—”
“And I don’t?” Patrick interrupted. He stripped off his shirt and hung it over Sunny’s shoulder. “Give the gel her due and come on. I’m not finished with you yet.”
Cameron balked. Sunny wondered why. He certainly hadn’t had any trouble stripping in front of her to take a bath in medieval Scotland.
Then again, he’d had the body of a medieval laird in that day and scars had been just a part of the package.
Perhaps he thought that if she saw him now, she would be shocked.
“You took off your shirt last night,” she reminded him.
“He what?” Patrick thundered.
“It was dark, though,” she said regretfully.
Patrick strode back onto the field. “Cameron, get your sorry arse out here. I’ve a few lessons in deportment to teach you.”
Cameron yanked his shirt off over his head. He took a step closer to her and laid it very carefully over her shoulder.
“I will repay you for this, believe me,” he said in a low voice.
She imagined he would, unfortunately, She also decided that asking him to take off his shirt had been a very bad idea indeed.
In fact, the whole morning had been a very bad idea.
She’d hoped he would clunk himself on the head with his sword and find a few memories floating to the top of the soup as a result.
Instead, he’d displayed his medieval self—his now shirtless medieval self— without any flashes of memory that should have either brought him to his knees or sent him into her arms.
And she was very much worse for the wear.
“Penelope Ainsworth is a shrew,” Ian said idly. “He’s a fool if he weds her.”
“Does no one have a secret up here?” she muttered.
“Not when you’re the laird of the hall up the way and the lads down at the pub thought you were daft to even look for a woman south of the border.”
“He obviously loves her or he wouldn’t have asked her to marry him.”
“Then why is he watching you when he should be attending to his swordplay? And why did he spend the night on your floor?”
“He needed something for a headache and the storm kept him at my house,” she said. “I pushed him into this here.”
“To see what he was?” Ian asked. “Or to force him to see it?”
She sighed. “A bit of both, actually.”
“I think, cousin, that there is a great deal more to this tale than you’re telling me.
But since I am the least nosy of my relations, I won’t press you for the details.
I will tell you, though, that I would kill him for you if you wanted me to.
And if he hurts you any more, I’ll kill him with or without your permission. ”
“Very medieval of you, Ian.”
He winked. “You can’t expect anything else, can you?”
She certainly couldn’t.
She supposed, quite a while later, that Patrick would have carried on for the rest of the day if it hadn’t been for Ian demanding his turn. Patrick relinquished his place finally, though he heaped abuse on Cameron’s head as he walked away. Ian strode out, fresh as a daisy.
“Let us see, my lad, how you fare against a real swordsman,” he said brightly.
Patrick cursed his cousin, but Ian only laughed. Sunny handed Patrick the pitcher of water. He drank straight from it, then upended the rest of it over his head. He shook himself off like a dog, sending water scattering everywhere—including on her.
She used the least damp part of his shirt to dry her face off, then handed it to him. He pulled it down over his head, then went to look for the scabbard for his sword. He resheathed his blade thoughtfully, then came to stand next to her.
“Well,” he said finally, “I know what he is. Now I want to know who he is.” He looked at her. “Are you going to tell me or shall I guess?”
She looked at him for a moment, then turned and walked away. She sat down on a bench that was hardly ever used by those possessing a sword. Fortunately, she wasn’t one of those lads, and she’d had enough for the day.
Patrick sat down next to her. “You know, Sunshine,” he continued relentlessly, “the first thing out of your mouth when you returned from your little jaunt was not Patrick, how lovely to see you, it was Where’s Cam?
I’m assuming Cam is short for Cameron. Odd, isn’t it, that we now have a Cameron clansman standing fifty paces in front of us, one who can’t seem to stay away from you, one I can personally guarantee was not born in the twentieth century. ”
“Are you sure?”
He shot her a look of faint disgust.
“All right, you’re sure,” she said with a sigh. “Now that you’re sure, what is it you want?”
“I want you not to hurt,” he said seriously. “I want to know what happened to you, where you went, who you fell in love with.”
“Who I—” she spluttered.
“I recognize the symptoms, if not the disease.”
She wanted to continue with her denials, but knew there was little point. Patrick had watched her weep for over a week after she’d come home—and he was no fool. She supposed he’d guessed most of it anyway. “Maddy will kill me if I tell you things I haven’t told her,” she said with a sigh.
“Trust me, Sunny, nothing you tell me can possibly equal the unrestrained speculation your sister has engaged in for the past month.”
She imagined that was true. It was also true that Patrick was an absolute vault when it came to keeping secrets.
She’d watched Jamie try to pry things out of him without any success.
No matter the pressure, Patrick never budged.
Whatever she told him in confidence would go no further, not even to her sister.
“All right,” she said, surrendering. “What do you want to know?”
“Who is Cam?” he asked, without hesitation.
She nodded out at the field. “Him.”
He didn’t look at all surprised. “And you met him in the past?”
“Yes.”
“Why doesn’t he know you here?”