Page 14 of Luthias

Trotting to keep up with his long strides, Emery wished she hadn’t asked the laird to send away her guards. Still, as menacing as Camdyn seemed, she felt pretty sure he wouldn’t actually hurt her. He hadn’t so far, and this was starting to feel more like a scare tactic. She needed to get him to open up to her about what was going on with him. Like most bullies he probably didn’t like being laughed at, so she could start with that.

“I shouldn’t have kicked you, or called you names, or made fun of your hair,” Emery told him. “I’m not usually that mean, but I was angry and a little scared. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“I dinnae want your apologies,” Camdyn said, but not with any real heat.

What did he want from her? Emery wondered.

The armorer finally stopped at the edge of a fairly sizeable river and shoved her down until she sat on the bank. He then knelt down and scooped up a handful of water, using it to splash his face before he dragged his dark hair back.

“If you intend to dunk me in there,” Emery said, discreetly scooting back away from the water, and wrapping her arms around her middle to hide her shivering, “you should know that I can’t swim, and I’ll probably drown pretty fast. That’s a good thing, right, that I can’t swim? In this time you guys think only witches float.”

“’Tisnae such things as witches,” Camdyn told her flatly.

“Even better.” She gave him her friendliest smile. “So what do you want me to tell you? Besides the fact that I don’t work for the Carack Clan. Which I don’t. Ask away.” She lifted her hands. “Without beating me up or dunking me in the river, please.”

He walked back and sat down beside her, giving her a long, narrow look before he said, “What do you in your future?”

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.