Elizabeth stared at him. "Don't you know? It's your country!"
"Well, they've never asked me for any seals. I thought the subject might have come up, what with you being archaeologists and all."
"I'm an anthropologist," Elizabeth reminded him. "And the Queen is welcome to any old bones I find. Actually, I think the stuff gets claimed for the Crown as a technicality, but in fact it would end up in a museum somewhere. Probably Edinburgh, like the St. Ninian's treasure."
Cameron nodded. "Very likely."
"But there isn't anything to find, of course. Tarans are unbaptized babies buried in unmarked graves. They wouldn't be buried with anything at all. Even the bones may be dust by now. I tell you, all this is Alasdair's idea of a joke." She shivered. "I have missed you. Denny is nice enough in his shallow little way, but sometimes I just want to talk to you so much ..."
Cameron wasn't listening. He stared ahead at nothing, one ear cocked in the direction of the cliff. After a moment's pause, Elizabeth heard it too. The echo of a scream that could only be Gitte, followed by shouts for help.
Cameron said, "They've found Alasdair."
CHAPTER
12
"He's going to be all right," Denny kept saying, although no one was listening. He was not sure what to do, but it seemed to him that being cheerful and encouraging was both innocuous and satisfying. He had no idea whether or not it was true, but it seemed the proper attitude to take.
Denny and Gitte had been the first ones to find Alasdair, as he lay unconscious but still breathing at the base of a rocky hill, his head just to the left of a white-flecked stone that must have stopped his fall. A smear of dirt and a long scratch on his cheek were the only signs of injury, but they knew that he must have hit the back of his head on the rock and that they must not move him. Denny remembered reading that somewhere.
After the one involuntary scream, Gitte had not uttered another sound. Denny shouted for help, his hands cupped against his cheeks, as he scanned the cliffs for a glimpse of the others. Gitte sat down on the ground beside Alasdair, never taking her eyes off his face, watching to see that his shallow breathing did not stop.
After a long few minutes, Derek Marchand and Tom Leath appeared, working their way down a grassy slope from the other direction. Leath bent over the body, taking Alasdair's wrist between his fingers. "What did you do?" he asked.
"Nothing!" Denny said, as if that were a virtue.
"Should we radio for help?" asked Marchand, kneeling on the other side of Alasdair. "Perhaps an emergency helicopter?"
"No," said Leath. "Our radio isn't strong enough. We can just reach the next island. Trust the medic to be the first casualty!"
"I suppose we'll have to get Dawson to take him off by boat, then. He's still here, is he not?"
Denny caught sight of Cameron's red anorak on the path above them. "He's just coming now!"
Leath glanced at Denny. "We need blankets from camp to cover him up. I expect he's in shock. Is there anything in the medical kit that would help? I suppose not. These scratches aren't serious."
"When we get on the boat, I will clean them," Gitte said calmly. "I am going with him."
Denny ended the silence that followed. "Well. . . right,'' he said. "I'm off to fetch the blankets."
Marchand didn't quite like the paleness of Alasdair's face— although it was a better face now that the scornful look was gone. He looked much younger somehow. "Should we make a stretcher of some sort?"
Leath shrugged. "From what? It might be better to waste no time. Just carry him to the boat as carefully as we can."
Marchand looked up at the lowering sky. "I hope the weather holds."
Elizabeth and Cameron spent their last few minutes together clearing space in the cabin of the boat for Alasdair. They found a stack of white woolen blankets in the chest with the life preservers, and Elizabeth was spreading them out on the floor, smoothing out the creases as best she could. Cameron was looking at sea charts. "I suppose I could make for Skye," he murmured, tracing his finger along the map. "But it's twice as far, and there's no hospital there. I think there's one on Lewis, but if he's badly hurt, he ought to go to Inverness anyway."
Elizabeth nodded, still smoothing blankets. "When will you be back?''
"Next Saturday," said Cameron. "I really can't come any sooner! I have to go to the mainland for supplies, and I expect I'll look in at hospital and see how Alasdair is doing. I need to get some work done on my project this week as well. I simply haven't time."
Elizabeth said nothing. She seemed intent on her work, but he could tell from the stiffness of her movements that she was listening.
"Of course, if there's an emergency, you can always call me on the radio."
"Not much chance for intimate conversation there," she said lightly.
"No. I am sorry. I know you're upset. And, of course, worried about Alasdair."
Elizabeth shrugged. Being worried about Alasdair might have been preferable to the guilt she felt for her slight concern. When she did not like a person, no misfortune that befell him could make her like him any better. "I hope he isn't seriously hurt," she said carefully.
"He shouldn't have gone climbing those cliffs alone."
"That was the whole point of it, Cameron," Elizabeth said. "Alasdair liked being alone, and he liked leaving people out of things. I think secrets made him feel superior. That's probably why he was studying medicine."
Cameron grinned in spite of himself. "You'll be all right here, won't you?"
"I suppose so. I'm coming down with a cold. Will you bring me some tissues?"
"I'll put them on the list.'' A movement up the hill caught Cameron's attention. "Here they come, Elizabeth. Gitte seems to be coming with him—she's carrying her duffel bag.''
Elizabeth got to her feet and slid her hand into Cameron's. "Leath and Denny are carrying Alasdair. He's still unconscious."
''It was a bad fall," Cameron said. ''I wonder how he lost his balance."
Elizabeth watched the silent procession make its way toward the boat. "I wonder if he did," she said.
"And then there were five," Denny said, as they walked back to the stone circle.
Elizabeth frowned. "Five?"
"You, me, Callum, Leath, and Derek Marchand. I'm not counting Owen until he comes back day after tomorrow."
"We'll manage," said Elizabeth. "I can hold the prism and do the chalk marks."
"I know. Certainly Alasdair and Gitte were more expendable than, say, Callum and I. Bad luck for him, taking a fall like that. Head injuries are funny things. I've known people knocked out like that who came to ten minutes later and went right about their business."
"I thought we might try to get Cameron on the radio tomorrow night and see what news he has of Alasdair. No, he said he's going to the mainland after supplies. The night after, then."
"Alasdair might be ready to come back by midweek," Denny said, "Unless he's one of the self-dramatizing types."
"Cameron said he isn't coming back until Saturday," Elizabeth said.
"Well, he's a very serious sort, is Cameron. He was always at the books at Fettes. Looked a bit like an owl in those days. Big glasses. Funny haircut. Terminal case of adolescence."
"He has improved considerably since then," said Elizabeth.
"Yes. I was very relieved to find that you weren't a seal or a porpoise," he told her. "Cameron has indeed progressed."
"I wish I understood him better. Sometimes I think that the British and the Americans do not speak the same language."
"So Cameron was telling me. When he first began driving in Virginia, he saw a sign that said drive on the pavement . . . something like that. Well, of course, in Scotland the pavement is the sidewalk. He thought they were mad."
"It isn't only that. You can learn that a jumper is a sweater, and a banger is a sausage, and that a trunk call means long distance. Even Americans have different names for things.