Shadow Dance_ A Novel Part 5

His behavior and his att.i.tude changed the second he started talking about his research. Thankfully, he wasn't chewing when he began his history lesson...his one-sided, slanted history lesson.

"In 1784 the magnificent Laird Ross MacKenna sent his only daughter, Freya, to the clan Mitch.e.l.l. She was pledged to marry the Laird Mitch.e.l.l's oldest son, who everyone knew would become laird just as soon as his esteemed father pa.s.sed on. According to my doc.u.ments, there was a terrible attack en route to the Mitch.e.l.l holding."

"The Buchanans attacked?" Jordan asked.

He shook his head. "No, not the Buchanans. It was the clan MacDonald who attacked. The Laird MacDonald was against the alliance between the MacKennas and the Mitch.e.l.ls because he believed it would make them too powerful. The ambush occurred on the bank of the great loch, and in the skirmish, the fair la.s.s, Freya, fell in."

He waited for her to acknowledge what he'd told her, and so she nodded. "Did she drown?" she asked, wondering how he would pin her death on the Buchanans.

"No, and it was written that she could swim, but the rain began, and the loch was stirred into a frenzy. Suddenly there was a great shout, and one of the MacKennas looked across the loch just in time to see a Buchanan warrior pull Freya out of the water. The la.s.s was still alive, for her arms were flailing."

"Then that is a good story about the Buchanans," she pointed out. "You've just told me that a Buchanan warrior saved the woman's life."

The professor's eyebrows lowered. "The la.s.s Freya was never heard of or seen again."

"What happened to her?"

"The Buchanan took her. That's what happened. He saw her, he wanted her, and he took her."

She thought the professor expected her to be shocked, and she knew he wouldn't appreciate her laughter. "Was there only one witness to this...kidnapping?"

"One reliable witness."

"A MacKenna."

"Yes."

"Then you must agree that the story might have been exaggerated so that the Buchanans would be held responsible." Before he could argue with her conclusion, she asked, "Can you give me another example...with doc.u.mented proof?"

"I'll be happy to," he said.

Unfortunately, his salad arrived, and he began his story while digging into his plate. Jordan looked down at the table so she wouldn't have to watch.

He stabbed at his lettuce as he said, "Look in your history books, and you'll read that in 1691, King William III ordered all the clan chiefs to sign a loyalty oath by January 1, 1692.

"The MacKennas were the most honored and respected clan in all of Scotland. William MacKenna, as head of the MacKenna clan, headed for Inverary in November with a band of clansmen to sign it. On the way he was met by a messenger who told him that the king was making changes to the oath and that they were to return home until they received word. When they arrived back at their holding, they discovered their livestock had been scattered, and many of their buildings had been set afire. By the time they were able to establish order again, the deadline had come and gone.

"It was then that they learned that the messenger had been a liar and not from the king at all. The loyalty oath had not been postponed."

He gave her another one of his glowering glares. Uh-oh. She knew where this story was heading.

"And?" she prodded. "What happened then?"

"I'll tell you what happened." He dropped his fork and leaned forward. "King William was furious with the MacKennas for disobeying his order. As punishment he made the MacKennas pay a heavy toll and relinquish a good portion of their land. Worse, they fell out of favor with the monarchy for decades to come." Nodding, he picked up his fork and stabbed a tomato wedge. "There's no doubt who sent the messenger and who wreaked havoc on the MacKennas."

"Let me guess. The Buchanans?"

"That's right, dearie. The despicable Buchanans."

He'd raised his voice and nearly shouted "despicable Buchanans" at her. Other diners in the restaurant were watching and listening. Jordan didn't care if he wanted to make a scene. She'd keep up.

"Was there actual proof that the Buchanans sent the messenger or attacked the MacKenna lands?"

"There was no proof needed," he snapped.

"Without actual doc.u.mented proof, this is all hearsay and fairy tale."

"The Buchanans were the only clan underhanded enough to want to discredit the revered MacKennas."

"So says a MacKenna. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the story's been reversed, and the Buchanans had at some point been attacked by the MacKennas?"

The wicked look on his face told her she'd punched all of his b.u.t.tons. His fist hit the table. "I know my facts. Don't forget, the Buchanans started it all. It was they who stole the MacKenna treasure."

"Exactly what was this treasure?" Jordan asked. This was the subject that had piqued her interest in the first place.

"Something very valuable and that rightfully belonged to the MacKennas," he answered. Suddenly he sat upright in his chair and scowled. "That's what you're really after, isn't it? You think you'll discover the treasure...maybe even find it for yourself. Well, I can a.s.sure you the centuries have hidden it well, and if I haven't discovered it, you certainly won't be able to stumble upon it. All of the atrocities committed by the Buchanans over the generations have obscured the origin of the feud. It's likely that no one will ever find it."

She didn't know why she was letting him get her all riled up, but she was suddenly determined to defend her family name. "Do you know the difference between fact and fantasy, Professor?"

Their conversation became more heated. The two of them barely managed to keep their voices below a shout, even though Jordan did get a little carried away with a few choice names for his clan.

All conversation ceased as soon as dinner arrived. Jordan couldn't believe the huge hunk of nearly raw meat that was placed in front of the professor. Next to it was a giant baked potato fully loaded. Her little chicken dish looked like a child's portion in comparison. The professor's head went down, and he didn't come up for air again until he had devoured every bite. There wasn't a piece of gristle or fat left on his plate.

"Would you like more bread?" she asked calmly.

In answer he shoved the bread basket at her. She was able to get the waitress's attention and politely requested more. From the waitress's wary expression, Jordan a.s.sumed she'd witnessed the argument, and she smiled to a.s.sure the woman that all was well.

"You have a great pa.s.sion for your work," Jordan complimented. She decided that if she didn't start humoring him, he might leave without letting her see his research, and the trip would be completely wasted.

"And you admire my dedication," he answered and then launched into another tale about the dastardly Buchanans. He stopped long enough to order dessert, and by the time it arrived, he'd worked his way back to the fourteenth century.

Everything in Texas was big, including food. She stared at the top of the professor's head as he devoted himself to inhaling every bite of the huge wedge of apple pie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

A waiter dropped a gla.s.s. The professor looked around and noticed how crowded the room was becoming. He seemed to shrivel up in the booth as he kept a close eye on who was coming and going.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I don't like crowds."

He took a sip of his coffee and said, "I've stored some data on a flash drive. It's in one of the boxes for Isabel. Do you know what a flash drive is?"

Before she could answer, he said, "All Isabel has to do is slip the flash drive into her computer. It's like a disk, and it can store volumes of data."

His condescending tone irritated her to no end. "I'll make sure she gets it," she said.

He told her the price of the flash drive and said, "I a.s.sume you or Miss MacKenna will reimburse me."

"Yes, I will."

"Now?" He pulled a receipt from his pocket and stared expectantly at her, obviously wanting payment right this minute, and so she got the money from her billfold and handed it to him. He wasn't the trusting sort. He counted the money before tucking it into his wallet.

"As to my research...I have three large boxes. I've spoken at length with Isabel, and against my better judgment I have decided to let you take them to make photocopies for her. She has a.s.sured me that she takes full responsibility, and so I will rely on her integrity as a MacKenna. I'll know if anything is missing. I have a photographic memory. Once I've read something, it stays with me." He paused to tap his forehead. "I remember names and faces of people I met ten, twenty years ago. It's stored up here. The important and the unimportant."

"How long do I have to make the copies?" she asked, wanting to move the conversation along.

"I've been so busy getting ready for my trip. I'm leaving sooner than I originally planned. You'll have to stay in Serenity and make your copies here. It shouldn't take you more than two days at the most. Maybe three," he allowed.

"Is there a print shop in town with copy machines?"

"I don't believe so," he replied. "But there's a machine at the grocery store, and I'm sure there are others around town."

After two more cups of coffee, he requested the bill. As the time for their parting grew closer, every minute seemed to drag. When the check came, he pushed it toward her. At this point she wasn't surprised.

Her brother Zachary had always been able to gross her out. He was much better at it than any of her other brothers, but tonight the professor had usurped his t.i.tle as the king of gross. Professor MacKenna wiped his mouth with his napkin, which had lain folded on the table throughout the meal, and scooted out of the booth.

"I want to get home before it gets dark."

It wouldn't be dark for at least another hour. "Do you live far from here?"

"No," he answered. "I'll meet you at the car and transfer the boxes. You'll take good care of them? Isabel spoke highly of you, and I'm trusting her."

"I'll take good care of them," she promised.

Ten minutes later the bill had been paid, the boxes had been transferred to her car, and Jordan was, for the time being, rid of the professor.

She felt liberated.

JORDAN WAS UP BRIGHT AND EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING. She drove the car over to Lloyd's Garage and was parked and waiting for him to open his doors.

She hoped to get the car patched up, then drive to the grocery store she was told had a copy machine. If all went well, she could get one box finished and maybe half of another. Two of the boxes were filled to the top, and, fortunately, the professor hadn't written on both sides of the paper because the pen he'd used on some of them had bled through.

The garage doors opened ten minutes after eight. After popping the hood and looking at the engine for about thirty seconds, the mechanic, a brute of a man about her age, leaned against the fender, crossed one ankle over the other, and gave her a slow and definitely creepy once-over while he wiped his hands on an oily rag.

He must have thought he'd missed something in his rude inspection because he gave her the once-over again, and then again. Honest to Pete, her car hadn't gotten this much attention.

She was going to have to put up with the jerk because he was the only mechanic in town until next Monday.

"I'm pretty certain the radiator has a leak," she said. "So what do you think? Can you patch it up?"

The mechanic had his name, Lloyd, printed on a strip of masking tape and stuck to his s.h.i.+rt pocket. The edges were curling up. He turned away, tossed the dirty rag on a nearby rack, and then turned around again.

"Can I patch it? Depends," he drawled. "It's egregious is what it is."

"It is?"

"You know...salivient."

Lloyd obviously liked to use big words whenever possible, even when those words didn't make sense. Salivient? Was that even a word?

"But you can fix it?"

"It's almost beyond repair, sweetie."

Sweetie? I don't think so. She silently counted to five in an attempt to keep her temper under control so she wouldn't blow up. It wouldn't do to alienate the man who could get her car running.

Good old Lloyd had worked his way down to her feet and was on his way back up when he said, "What we have here is a serious situation."

"We do?" Determined to get along no matter how irritating the man was, she nodded. "You said it was almost beyond repair?"

"That's right. Almost."

She crossed her arms and waited for him to finish another trip down her legs and back. He should have them memorized by now. "Would you care to explain?"

"Your radiator has a leak."

She felt like screaming. She'd already told him that.

"I could probably repair it temporarily, but I can't guarantee it would hold," Lloyd continued.

"How long will it take you to repair it?"

"Depends on what I find under the hood." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and when she didn't immediately react, he added, "You know what I mean?"

She knew exactly what he meant. Lloyd was a real degenerate. Her patience ended. "You've already looked under the hood," she snapped.

Her obvious anger didn't appear to faze him. He must be used to rejection, she decided. Either that or he'd stood outside in the sun too long and had fried his brain.

"Are you married, sweetie?"

"Am I what?"

"Married. Are you married? I need to know who to bill," he explained.

"Bill me."

"I'm just being hospitable. You don't need to snap at me."

"How long will the repair take?"

"A day...maybe two."

"Okay, then," she said pleasantly. "I'll be on my way."

He didn't understand until she walked around him and opened the car door.