Twenty-four

I f Oliver Phillips did not, as they said on the telly, make his move soon, she thought she might either slay him for making her wait so long or perish from that waiting and go to her grave a maid.

Mairead stood in the clan Cameron's great hall and surveyed a place that definitely smelled better than it had in her day. She'd been inside a pair of times before as a guest of Giles and Dougan and felt perfectly safe given that she hadn't been much of a temptation to anyone there. The hall had been large, but the Cameron clan had needed all that space to accommodate their rambunctious selves. Whoever had tidied up the place over the past four hundred years had certainly done a fine job.

But what made it truly spectacular were the souls who inhabited it currently. Cameron and Sunny were lovely people who had graciously welcomed her into their family circle without hesitation and shown her every courtesy. She was still struggling a bit with how to accept their kindness, which she imagined said more about herself than she wanted it to.

What was easier was to watch the way that collection of Camerons and Camerons by either marriage or affection treated Oliver.

His friends were seemingly very fond of him, teasing him ferociously about his book of ridiculous tasks, and engaging in the same sort of rough camaraderie she'd witnessed between Giles, his brother, and a few of her more tolerable cousins. Oliver's lads there, though, would have stepped up to guard his back without hesitation, of that she was certain.

The women of his family seemed to be equally fond of him, treating him as another treasured member of the clan, with Madame Gies especially lavishing extra love and attention upon his deserving head. Perhaps that could be accounted as a success for his governess who had turned out to be his… aunt…

She closed her eyes and let the memory wash over her. His governess Maud who had turned out in the end to be his father's youngest sister . She couldn't say it happened with any more or less frequency, that remembering of things she had never seen whilst in her mortal frame, but she was almost growing accustomed to them.

Time was an odd thing, indeed.

She opened her eyes and found Oliver looking at her from where he stood on the far side of the comfortable collection of Future furniture there before the fire. She smiled and shook her head. He shot her a look she had no difficulty interpreting, but he was drawn back into the conversation at hand before he could possibly have mouthed any delicate sentiments. The saints only knew it wasn't exactly the place for any scorching looks.

"Mairead?"

She jumped a little when she realized Ewan Cameron was standing next to her, wearing a more serious look than usual. He was, she would freely admit, exceptionally handsome. He looked actually a great deal like Robert Cameron himself, tall, dark-haired, with lovely, bright blue eyes.

"How can I help?" he asked frankly.

She considered. She wasn't one to speak freely of things that should have been held close, but perhaps there was no harm in asking the opinion of a man who obviously knew Oliver very well.

"I'm studying the battlefield," she admitted.

He smiled. "Is there any particular prize on that field?"

She didn't dare nod across the comfortable padded benches to where the object of the conflict was standing, rolling his eyes at the things Derrick said whilst glancing her way often, perhaps to see how she fared.

"That one there," she said, then she looked at Ewan. "If I'm not looking too far above myself."

He smiled dryly. "There isn't a person in this hall who doesn't realize he's absolutely mad for you."

"He did say as much yestereve," she admitted. "And I returned the favor."

Ewan only smiled. "What advice can I offer, then, to nudge this budding romance along?"

"Tell me what I'm to do."

"Short of locking yourself in a loo with him and hoping for the best?"

She smiled. "Aye, other than that."

Ewan clasped his hands behind his back and studied the hall for a bit, perhaps gathering his thoughts. She didn't want to gather any of her own because they seemed to center around wondering if she were daft to take Oliver at his word. Perhaps he was just slightly fond of her and didn't want to hurt her feelings—

"May I speak frankly?"

She looked at him and nodded. "I'm prepared."

He smiled. "If he's moving slowly, which even I can see he is, I don't think it's from a lack of affection for you."

"You don't?" she managed.

He shook his head. "I think that he hesitates because it's one thing to go after a treasure that's sparkly and valuable but not have your heart invested in it because it's not going to be yours anyway. It's another thing entirely go to after something you very much want to have for the rest of your life."

"Because he fears the loss of it?"

Ewan nodded.

"I should be the one worried," she said bluntly. "I am not beautiful—"

"You are," Ewan said with a smile. "And even if you don't think so, he does. That's what matters, isn't it?"

"But I'm not going anywhere," she murmured. "What I want, if I'm allowed to want it, is over there."

"I think you're allowed," Ewan said. "As for your lad over there, he's already lost you once, hasn't he? I think he just doesn't want to lose you again."

"And he thinks he will?"

Ewan shrugged. "He can be a bit of a numpty from time to time, so aye, he probably does. I think it's up to you to help this relationship along."

"By asking him to wed me?" she asked, aghast. "But that is his manly duty."

Ewan laughed a little. "I wasn't suggesting you propose. Just give him a shove in the right direction, then stand back and look beautiful. He'll figure out the rest eventually."

She considered. "I could do that."

"You could make a little sport of him as well," Ewan suggested. "He really enjoys that."

She smiled in spite of herself. "I've seen what you lads forced him to do. Not even all the horses you promised him are worth that."

"I think he could have a fairly fancy car with many horses under the bonnet if he did the maths properly."

She nodded, putting the idea of horses where she'd never imagined them going on her ever-lengthening list of things to investigate.

"He's a good man," Ewan said, suddenly looking a bit serious. "But you know that or you wouldn't love him. He's also very fortunate to have you. You'll invite me to the wedding, aye?"

She nodded.

She only hoped she would be asked to be a bride before she was too old to enjoy it.

The rest of the day passed pleasingly with good food and lively conversation. She never managed to sit next to Oliver, but she realized his mates were arranging that, no doubt to vex him. She would concede that he sent her a handful of affectionate smiles and at least one mildly warm look, which she supposed was progress.

Cameron made a generous loan of an automobile to him to use for the rest of his holiday, which Oliver seemed to appreciate. She, however, wasn't at all certain how she felt about the idea that his holiday would eventually come to an end, leaving them both perhaps wondering what the future held for either of them.

She trotted out her best manners for the farewelling, thanked Emily sincerely for what she understood to be a small trunk full of clothing for her own use, then allowed Oliver to see her securely tucked into a smaller automobile than Jamie's. It seemed very luxurious, though, and Oliver seemed to have no trouble guiding it away from the keep.

"Music?" he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. "Do you want me to sing to you?"

He shot her a look she couldn't quite interpret. "I think I might weep if you do, so perhaps later. Unless you can think of a madrigal or something akin to it."

She shrugged and did her best with what she remembered that silly Frenchman having foisted off upon them whilst he'd been about his work of looking for ready ears. Tasgall had suffered it for exactly three days before he'd sent the poor man off to look for more tolerant pastures, which Mairead discovered later he'd found in Cameron Hall.

She finished and looked at Oliver to find him rubbing his eyes.

"Are you unwell?" she asked.

He shook his head and smiled, his eyes very red. "You have a beautiful voice. I warned you I would get a little sentimental."

She shook her head. "Daft lad."

"That was a very beautiful song," he said quietly. "I think I've heard it before."

Mairead nodded to herself. He did, after all, have the benefit of several centuries of music in his past. That particular tune had always pleased her and the accompanying words were, she would allow, not entirely too syrupy sweet.

Oliver held out his hand for hers. She supposed he could drive and hold her hand at the same time, which might be, as Ewan suggested, a decent nudge in the right direction. She held his hand and decided to see if that made any difference.

Her decision was, once they'd reached her family home a pair of hours later, that whilst it had been quite lovely, it hadn't inspired any declarations of affection or proposals of marriage.

Oliver turned the car's engine off, dropped his hands into his lap, then looked at her.

"Thank you for coming with me to Cameron's."

"Of course," she said. "The helicopter was… well, it was a marvel and nothing but." She put on a smile. "Thank you for helping me find my manuscript."

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but either his good sense or a lack thereof apparently stopped him.

"Wait for me?" he asked.

She suspected she might be doing that forever if something didn't change soon, but she was a woman with a plan. She wasn't entirely certain what that plan entailed past encouraging looks, but she wasn't unable to think on her feet.

She nodded, then watched him climb out of the car. She listened to him fetch her gear out of the back of the beast, then open her door. She took his hand and allowed him to help her out, then followed him up to the front door.

He knocked, which she couldn't argue with. Jamie and Elizabeth had been very kind to her, but it was still their home now and not hers. She found that the thought made her feel slightly out of sorts, which seemed particularly ridiculous.

Perhaps she needed more sleep.

Jamie welcomed them inside, quizzing Oliver about their activities as they made their way to the fire. She listened with half an ear, made polite conversation with Elizabeth and the children, promised to show Patricia all the lovely things Emily had given her, then came to a conclusion that seemed to sum up what was bothering her the most.

Dating, much like traveling through time, was not for the faint of heart.

She looked at Oliver who was sitting in a chair opposite her only to find him watching her as if he had no idea what she was thinking. She scowled at him, had a look of surprise in return, and wondered if anyone would think she'd lost her wits if she took off one of her trainers and threw it at him.

She glanced at him again, just to fix in her mind how exceptionally braw he was before she mussed his hair with one of her shoes, only to find that he'd taken to resting his elbow on the edge of his chair and his chin on his fist. He was watching her with the faintest of smiles, which she hardly knew how to interpret.

"Well, young Oliver," Jamie said suddenly, "you'd best hie yourself off to your wee cottage for the night. Mairead needs her rest."

Oliver blinked, then looked at Jamie as if he'd just woken up from a particularly lovely dream. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It might be time to end your date," Jamie said mildly.

Oliver frowned. Mairead found that to be somewhat promising because she didn't care at all for the way her grandfather was encouraging Oliver to get up and move toward the front door.

Then again, doorways were useful in certain situations.

She considered what her father might have told her, considered what Ewan had suggested, and took one final look into her heart. She wasn't surprised to find that she had nothing but love for that man standing over there scowling at her grandfather.

And perhaps in the end, all she could do was offer him a view of a particular direction and let him decide for himself if he cared to continue on that way.

She popped up out of her chair and intercepted him before Jamie could push him more than a pair of steps from his seat. She looked at her laird and smiled.

"I'll take care of him."

"You will?" Oliver asked, sounding surprised and not a little unnerved.

Jamie only clasped his hands behind his back and looked at her with a pleasant expression on his noble visage. She smiled briefly at him, then turned her attentions to Oliver. He was watching her with a look of speculation on his own handsome face, as if he weren't quite sure what she intended but he wasn't going to stop her when he discovered it.

She looked at him, then looked at the door to the hall. He looked at the door as well, then back at her, wide-eyed.

She nodded, sending him a knowing look.

He scratched his head.

Jamie sighed, then turned and resumed his seat. Mairead glanced at Elizabeth to find her smiling, which she appreciated, ignored her grandfather who was stroking his chin and shaking his head at the same time, then turned back to the man in front of her who looked thoroughly baffled. Perhaps more of a nudge was needed.

"There's a doorway there," she said pointedly.

He looked at her as if he feared for the state of her wits. "Well," he said carefully, "yes, there is."

She waited.

"Why does that—oh." He shut his mouth abruptly, then seemed to consider things he hadn't before. "A threshold," he noted carefully.

Jamie groaned.

Mairead forced herself not to scowl at him, though that took quite a bit of effort. She instead turned a smile on the man facing her. "Indeed, there is."

He studied her for a moment or two in silence, then he smiled, that dry smile that she had grown uncommonly fond of in so short a time, she half wondered if she'd dreamed that smile of his for years before she'd met him.

He held out his hand.

She looked at his hand, then at him. He was only watching her with what a duller maid might have called affection.

She smiled and put her hand in his.

"Very well," Jamie said, heaving himself to his feet. "I'll see to the handfasting, though a proper wedding would suit as well."

"I'll propose formally as well, my lord," Oliver said gravely. "But with your blessing, I would like to keep her next to me from this moment forward."

Mairead looked at Oliver in surprise, but he only sent her a glance that whilst perhaps not scorching, was full of promise.

"If she's willing," he added.

Mairead found both of them looking at her, along with Elizabeth and the children, and decided that perhaps for once, she could have what her heart desired.

"I am," she said quietly. "With all my heart, I am."

Oliver closed his eyes briefly, then smiled. She suspected he might have indulged in a fond embrace if Jamie hadn't been in his way, but she suspected that along with keeping watch over the strands of time, her grandfather felt compelled to deal out a bit of teasing as often as possible. Her uncle Lachlan would have liked him very much.

And if Jamie pulled a lovely piece of ribbon out of his pocket, she could do no more than smile at Oliver through her tears and discreetly avoid mentioning that Oliver's cheeks were just as damp as her grandfather bound her together with her love on the threshold of her family home.

An hour and a bit of supper later, she was standing outside Moraig's croft with her newly made husband and wondering if he was truly as nervous as he looked. He glanced at her.

"Are you concerned?" he asked.

"About the doorway?"

"That, too."

She shot him a dark look, had a huff of a laugh as her reward, then felt him squeeze her hand.

"We'll be fine," he said. "I'm certain of it."

She admired his confidence, but held on tightly to her wee rolling trunk with her free hand, just to fix herself in the present day should the doorway have other plans for them. Oliver opened the door, then reached inside and lit the lights. She crossed the threshold with him, then sighed a little in relief.

"The proper time," she said.

"I think I've rarely been more relieved," he said, with feeling. He took her trunk from her and set it against the front wall, then looked at her. "A fire?"

She nodded. "Please." She paused, then smiled. "It won't bother me if you're here."

He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded before he led her across the wee gathering chamber. She found herself invited to sit, which she did, and watched him build a fire in the cold hearth, ignoring the echoes of watching him having done that sort of thing before. He fed his fire for a bit, then finally sat back on his heels and looked at her.

"Might I say something serious?" he asked, his expression serious indeed.

She nodded slowly. "If you will."

He turned and walked over to her on his knees, then took her hands. "I would like to do the traditional twenty-first century marriage ceremony with you, as well."

She had to clear her throat, but that was likely from the fire. "Would you?"

He nodded. "I would."

"With a ring?" she managed. "And a trip to a honeymoon destination where we might sip champagne poolside?"

He smiled. "I'm being serious."

"And I'm trying not to weep."

He bent his head, kissed her hands, then looked at her. "Bridal magazines?"

"Emily thought I should at least have a wee peek at one."

"Well, she's definitely the one to put in charge of packing for our honeymoon trip." His smile became a bit graver. "And yes, Mairead, a ring and a priest and perhaps our families all gathered in your father and grandfather's hall."

She supposed there was no point in trying to hide the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "In truth?" she whispered.

He nodded. "But until then, I'm happy that this was for us alone. I didn't want to leave you at Jamie's again."

She supposed there was no point in hiding her blushes either. "I didn't want to remain behind."

He nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable. He looked around them for good measure, then back at her. "I suppose we just ate supper."

She nodded.

"I could read to you," he offered.

She looked at him in surprise. "Read?"

"Do you have any other ideas?"

She considered, then imagined there was no reason not to be about their marriage presently as they meant to go on. She rose to her feet and pulled him to his. She put her shoulders back and nodded briskly. "Let's be about the proper activity for a married couple. I'm braced."

"Braced?" he echoed faintly.

"I know the general particulars," she said, nodding again. "Let's have it over with."

His mouth opened and closed several times, as if he simply couldn't find anything useful to say. She frowned thoughtfully, then stroked her chin for good measure.

"Should we have asked Jamie for suggestions?"

He gaped at her. She supposed she shouldn't have teased him so terribly, but she had to admit she was beginning to understand why his lads did it so often. ‘Twas especially satisfying when she saw in his eyes the moment he realized what she was doing. He looked at her shrewdly.

"I'm not sure if I should be relieved or embarrassed by what I'm about to say," he ventured, "but I have done this before so it might not be as awful as it could be."

She gasped. "You libertine!" Then she paused and looked at him with a frown. "I've said that before to you, haven't I?"

"At least once."

She took a pair of steps forward and put her hands on his chest, then smiled up at him. "I'm teasing you."

"I know."

She smiled at him. "I'm trying to put you at ease."

"I wasn't nervous," he said defensively.

"Oliver, you were speaking of another supper."

"I'm a lad," he said with a shrug. "We're simple creatures."

She laughed a little, because he was so much more than that and she loved him desperately. "But you're very charming creatures, so why don't you attend to your work?"

"Will you spend the evening blushing?" he asked.

"Will you ?"

"Very likely."

She waited.

He looked at her and made no move.

She supposed the present moment was not the one to begin to worry in truth, but she was damned close to it. Oliver was a magnificent, braw, deliciously fashioned man, but he looked as if he might be contemplating a trip to the gallows. She lifted one eyebrow and looked at him pointedly, but that only resulted in his clearing his throat and taking a deep breath.

"We could begin by holding hands," he said carefully, as if he expected her to run screaming into the night at the first wrong word.

She blinked. "Hold hands?"

He nodded. "Very proper and polite. The Duke of Birmingham would have approved, I'm certain."

She felt herself begin to frown and couldn't stop. "Is that all?"

"I could give you a fairly interested look or two."

She glared at him and didn't bother to stop that .

"We could also kiss," he said thoughtfully. "One or two, perhaps, and very chaste."

"Would it ruin the evening if I reached for my knife and stabbed you?"

He looked at her solemnly. "It might."

She started to give him the proper tongue-lashing he deserved when she realized his eyes were twinkling.

"Are you teasing me?" she asked.

"I thought you might enjoy it."

"If you tell me it's something from your book, I will stab your mates."

He laughed a little and pulled her into his arms. "I invented it all on my own, clever lad that I am."

She permitted herself a small laugh, partly unwillingly given, because he was a braw, lovely man and she could freely admit that she loved him. She met his gaze.

"Thank you."

"For being so clever?"

She nodded. "And for rescuing me."

"It was most assuredly my pleasure."

"And," she ventured, "for loving me."

He pressed his lips against her forehead. "That is most assuredly a privilege."

She leaned up and kissed him just to, as Ewan would have advised her to do, point him in the right direction.

He smiled and returned the favor, then lifted his head and looked at her gravely. "I love you," he said quietly.

"I love you back," she said, then she smiled. "Emily told me that's a chic way to say it. What say you?"

"Very chic," he agreed. "And I'll gladly accept those words however you want to say them and in whatever language suits you." He paused. "Except Latin. Mine is nonexistent except for clan mottos."

She considered him. "Are you nervous?"

He glared at her, but it was very weak and not at all convincing. She smiled, then decided more demonstration couldn't go awrong. She put her hands on his cheeks and set to her goodly work of kissing him until he might possibly be swayed to her purpose.

He laughed a little as she allowed him to breathe. "I refuse to admit what I am," he managed. He considered her. "A little light reading from Constance Buchanan's latest?"

She looked at him evenly.

He only shrugged, but he seemed to be fighting a smile.

"You know what sort of gel I am," she reminded him.

"Stride forth and conquer?"

She nodded firmly.

"Yes," he said, looking at her with affection, "I do. I do know what sort of gel you are."

"You should know," she said, "whilst we're discussing the rest of our evening that Emily said I looked very fine in these black pieces of clothing."

"Very fine?"

She looked at him solemnly. "I believe the word she used was hot ."

He began to smile. "Did she?"

"Do you think I look hot?"

He bent his head and kissed her softly. "Scorching."

She laughed a little. "Indeed."

He smiled at her fondly. "And before I feel well and truly scorched, why don't we speak frankly about what lies before us."

She swallowed confidently, not at all uneasily. "I am not afraid."

"Of me?" he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"Well, of course not you," she said, feeling equally surprised. "But this… well, you know."

He smoothed her hair back from her face and smiled again. "Let's do this. We'll make ourselves a comfortable nest on the floor not too close to the fire because there isn't any possible way I'm going to fit in Moraig's little nook over there."

She nodded. "That seems reasonable."

"We'll find pajamas."

"Emily bought me some very pleasing ones in pink," Mairead agreed. "They have these charming wee felines on them."

He bowed his head and laughed. "I can't kill her, but I might have to shout at her."

"Why? They're adorable. She said they are ones you are very fond of, so I will wear them with pleasure."

"Perfect," he said, looking as if he might like to laugh again, but didn't quite dare. "Then after we've garbed ourselves in luxurious pajamas and made a proper investigation of the freezer to see if there might be dessert, why don't we just have ourselves a wee cuddle in front of the hearth?"

"A cuddle?"

"Accompanied by a few kisses," he amended.

"Only a few?"

"Several."

She smiled. "And?"

"You're doing this on purpose."

She leaned up and kissed him softly. "I am."

He reached for her hand. "Let's go make sure the door is locked."

"And then?"

He laughed a little and tugged on her. "You'll put your knife in the fridge for safekeeping and we'll see where the rest of the evening leads."

She thought that a most acceptable plan.