Finding Fraser(113)

And beside him?

A woman with dark hair, dressed like a vivid butterfly in blue.

Herself.

How had I missed this? I should have known …

The tinny public address system gave a squawk, which made me jump.

“Ten minutes to final presentations at the main stage. Ten minutes.”

In the distance, I could see the top of a huge log moving behind the white special-event tent. Suddenly the log disappeared, only to reappear, flipping end over end. A roar went up from the crowd.

“Ach, I knew yeh couldn’t stay away. Still got yer room fer yeh, should ye want it, aye?”

I turned around to see Morag’s smiling face. She had two leggy young sheep in tow, one in a harness of red and the other green.

I grinned at her and it felt good. I was pretty sure I hadn’t really smiled since the last time we’d clinked teacups that night making butter.

“Maybe not right away, Morag. But I will be back.”

She beamed. “I know it. Yeh comin’ to the presentations?”

“Yes.” I reached down to pat one of the woolly sheep. “Are these …?”

“Aye. Them late twins you helped deliver. Tole’ ye I were savin’ ’em for summat special, righ’? They are to go to the guests of honor, after they finish presentin’ the prizes.”

I laughed. “I imagine they will be thrilled,” I said.

“Damn well should be. These are fine pedigreed sheep. They’ll make a fair decent lamb chop, I’ll tell ye that.”

Oh, I did not want to think of those sweet fuzzy things as chops. “Maybe they can be wool producers instead?” I said pleadingly, which made Morag laugh.

She pushed one of the leashes into my hand. “Come gi’e me a hand, would yeh? You can hand Wallace here over to that fine lookin’ writer lad.”

I hastily handed the leash back. “Oh no—no. I couldn’t do that. I’ll just watch from the crowd. But wait a minute. If this is Wallace …”

“Yep. Named ’em special for the guests, o’ course. This little fella is Wallace, ‘named special for Mister Findlay’s new book.”

She held the red leash up and the lamb at the end capered a little. “An’ this one’s for the lady. Called ’im Fraser, righ’?”

I stared at her, mouth open.

“After a character in her books—name o’ James Fraser. Yeh mus’ read ’em, if ye havenae, lass. Lovely tale-teller, she.”

Morag bent down, scooped the lamb up, and held her out to me. “Sure ye dinnae want to help hand him over? Ye did find him an his brother in the field that night, aye?”

In a bit of a daze, I stepped forward and she thrust the lamb into my arms. I couldn’t come up with any words, but there was no question Morag was right. I guess I had found Fraser, after all, though he was not exactly the one I was looking for. I nuzzled its soft wool a moment before it lurched its head back suddenly and bashed me in the chin.

“Whoah there, Fraser—careful now. Ye dinnae want tae hurt the lady who helped ye into the world, do yeh?”

I set the lamb down on the grass and handed his harness back to Morag. “You’re very sweet, but I think it’s best if you do the presentation. I’ll cheer you on from the audience, okay?”

Morag shrugged. “Suit yerself. Ye know where tae find me when ye return, aye? Or yeh could drop me a line sometime—I jes’ had them put in the router this week. Got mah own Wi-Fi channel now, and a new MacBook tae boot.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, and rubbed my sore chin as she and her two woolly little charges hurried over to the stage.





The sun set over the main platform as the final presentations wrapped up. The winner of the caber toss that’d I’d seen behind the main tent turned out to be Geordie, and I had a minute to congratulate him as he stood afterwards, holding his trophy. He told me Hamish had said he was never coming back to Nairn.

“He were full o’ some nonsense about sun and fun. But I’ve no doubt he’ll be back.” He took a long drink from the cup of his trophy, and I realized he’d filled it with beer. “Really thowt yeh were the one fer him, there. But that blondie he ended up with? Yowza!”

He leered blearily at me until a tsking lady organizer walked by. She grabbed the trophy cup from him, dumped the beer into the grass and led him away.

In the final act of the evening, a small child stepped on stage, tugging the lambs along, and presented them in turn to the guests of honor. I cowered, watching behind one of the heavies in the crowd. And then in a flurry of smiling and thanks, it was all over. The crowds streamed toward the exits and to the overflowing beer garden that had been set up nearby.