Twice A Hero Part 8

She'd just finished showing Liam things that wouldn't be invented until well into the next century. She knew very little about him, yet Homer had said he was a self-made man who'd worked his way up from poverty. Just the kind of man who might take an unknown and potentially useful object apart to see if it could be reproduceda If he survived.

"So you won't predict my fate," he said. She looked up to see him on his feet again, arms crossed. "I must be very important in this future of yours if you're afraid my knowledge of my own destiny will change it." He leaned over her. "Well, Mac? Am I a great man in your history books?"

She swallowed, hastily gathering up the things she'd laid out on the mosquito netting and shoving them back into her pack.

"I'm not much good at this time-travel business" she said. "I don't know what would happen if I interfered with the way things werea"are supposed to go. I shouldn't be here."

Babbling, Mac. But she forgot the clumsiness of her rationalizations when she realized her watch wasn't where she'd left it. She felt around, scooting in a circle.

"You promised me the flashlight, but I prefer a different souvenir."

She jumped up. Liam held the watch quite brazenly in one large hand. He was visibly pleaseda and triumphant and infuriating.

"Give it back," she demanded.

"I don't think so, Mac. This seems more appropriate. I'll keep it asa proof of your little story."

"Then you believe me?"

He didn't answer but pocketed the watch, easily avoiding her swipe at his hand.

"d.a.m.n it, you can't keep that!"

"How do you propose to get it back?"

She eyed his pocket. There was little chance of distracting him, and none of overpowering him. And he knew it.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't change your history. My future is very clear to me."

Oh, yeah. She'd never been one for crying, but she felt absurdly like bursting into tears. Just great. "You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.

All at once he was directly in front of her. "Then we do have something in common."

Mac contemplated the pulse beating at the base of his throat, noted the way the crisp curling hairs of his chest nestled in the open neck of his sweat-darkened s.h.i.+rt. He didn't smell the way she'd expect a man in his condition to smell. He smelleda nice. No, that was definitely the wrong word. "Nice" implied something tame. This was not a tame smell, or a tame kind of man. Her own heartbeat picked up speed, and she took a quick step backward.

"I doubt it," she said. For a moment she thought he'd say or do something she wasn't going to like, but he only barked a laugh, turned on his heel, and began to walk away.

She grabbed her pack, s.n.a.t.c.hed up Liam's mosquito netting, and followed. Now what? He had her watch, and she should make an effort to retrieve it. She should try to go back through the tunnel to her own time, but she'd already done that; it emphatically hadn't worked. She was just beginning to realize the full, and frightening, implications of what she had done.

Just by somehow coming back to the past I may have changed the future already. How can I possibly be sure? The longer I'm here, the more risk that I'll mess something up. No one knows the consequences of something like this, and Liam O'Shea definitely isn't the one to share the burden with.

Oh, h.e.l.l.

"Are you coming?" Liam called. He'd stopped at the opposite border of the ruins, where the real jungle began. Hands on hips, he glared at her as if he'd like nothing better than to charge off without her. He certainly hadn't issued her a formal invitation to accompany him back to his camp. But he was waiting, and it was nearly dusk, and he had her watch, and she didn't know what else to doa "I think I'd rather stay here," she blurted.

He gave an eloquent shrug. "Suit yourself. I don't doubt that you can repel scorpions, poisonous serpents, jaguars, and hostile guerrillas bare-handed." He tossed his sack over his shoulder and turned on his heel, disappearing among the trees and heavy foliage.

Oh, that was bright, Mac. Reject the only connection you have to reality. And your only protection in this jungle.

She scowled at the cowardly thought. Protection, my foot. I'm not some sheltered little Victorian female who can't take care of herself. I don't need him. She threw the mosquito net in a heap beside the temple wall and flung herself down on it, slapping at bugs with more energy than accuracy. Her repellant had decided to give up the ghost.

And it was definitely getting darker. The sun had all but vanished behind the horizon of trees. She looked skyward, listening to the voice of the wilderness. The monkeys and birds were setting up their daily dusk symphony of screeches, howls, and roars. They weren't dangerous, but there were the scorpions, snakes, and jaguars Liam had mentioned. None, in all probability, as much of a threat as the man himself.

What was she thinking? He wasn't a threat. If there was a threat, it wasn't to her. It was to Liam himself. She wasn't even sure when it was, or where, or how it would happen. Only that he was going to die, and she was sitting here feeling sorry for herself.

Mac dropped her head into her hands. If Homer'd been right and Great-great-grandfather Sinclair had murdered his partner, and she was here where it happened, shouldn't she be doing something about it?

Like what, Mac? Play bodyguard? Wait around until Perry shows up, if he does show up, and fling myself between them? Change history completely without understanding the consequencesa"if I could do it at all?

Or let it all occur the way it was supposed to, knowing she could have prevented an act of murder.

Her head had begun to ache in earnest. This must be some kind of cosmic joke. Was Homer somewhere up there masterminding the whole thing?

You overestimate me, Homer. I'm not cut out for playing G.o.d.

With an explosive breath Mac jumped to her feet. She couldn't just sit here thinking in circlesa"

"Change your mind yet?"

Mac thought she'd never been so grateful to hear an irksome voice in all her life. Liam sauntered into the dim aura of light, c.o.c.king a supercilious brow. "I have a fire going," he said. "You might as well join me. There isn't much food, but you won't starve."

Starve. Mac tried to remember the last time she'd eaten. Her stomach chose that juncture to loudly second Liam's suggestion. She slapped her hand under her ribs to silence it.

"I suggest you make up your mind quickly," he said. "It'll be pitch dark in a few minutes."

Mac glanced at her wrist, remembering belatedly that Liam had commandeered her watch.

Still she hesitated. You're not afraid of him, are you?

She didn't like the answer she came up with. The only men she'd been around for the past ten years had been academics and students, most of them buried in studies of one kind or another. Liam O'Shea was utterly different. She'd known that from the photograph. She'd been attracted to that quality while it was safely confined to a printed image.

Now it was almost overwhelming. Just because he's handsome and sarcastic and thinks you're a female joke . . .

Forget that. She wasn't going to let any man, from any era, determine her actions. Whatever his motive for offering help, be it curiosity or self-interest or something else entirely, she didn't have a whole lot of choice. The sensible thing to do was follow his advicea"for now. Go back to his camp, eat, rest. Tomorrow she could tackle the tunnel again.

She lifted her chin and met Liam's hooded gaze. "All right. I'll, uha be glad of your hospitality. Thanks."

He gave an ironic bow and turned back for the jungle.

She pulled on her backpack and followed him. Sure enough, the last of the sun had vanished save for a faint patina to the west. Even the birds and monkeys were winding down. The mosquitoes, however, had not yet retired for the evening.

"Some things never change," she said.

Liam slowed his pace to match hers, lifting a brow in an unspoken question.

"Mosquitoes," she clarified. "We still haven't figured out how to get rid of them."

He slapped idly at several specimens perched on his bare forearm. "They're nothing to botflies and scorpions. But perhaps you haven't met our other eight-legged neighbors? It should be an interesting introduction."

Mac made a firm resolution not to let him witness her discomfort by so much as a single scratch, and vowed to douse herself with repellant at the first opportunity.

Liam led her along a recently cut path into the jungle, heading away from Tikal. "So, Maca"do the women of your time often travel alone in the wilderness?"

"Some do."

"And their men permit it?"

"It's not a matter of permission. We do what we like and take our own risks."

"Then your men don't even protect their own."

Ah. She kept forgetting the kind of women he was probably used to dealing with. In 1884, feminism was still waiting to be born.

"In my time," she said, "women aren't owned by men. A lot of women don't need them at all."

"Oh?" In the dimness she could see the angry set of his jaw. "And are you an example, wandering in this jungle alone, like a lamb going to slaughter?"

"I'ma"" She choked back her retort. "I admit that things didn't turn out quite as I expected. Buta""

"But it's fortunate for you," he said, "that I'm not one of these men of yours who leave women to fend for themselves."

"For your information, it's not every day that people walk through a time tunnel into the past. Men or women."

His scathing "ha" told her he didn't believe in her time travel. Had she expected it to be easy?

"Don't worry," she said. "You aren't responsible for me. I'm not askinga""

He cast her a look so ferocious that she forgot what she'd been about to say. "Nor am I. You'll do as you're told and be grateful I don't toss you back where I found you."

She hastily considered the best stinging comment to make in reply, but she had no time to put it into effect. One instant Liam was beside her, the next striding ahead to meet a man who'd suddenly materialized on the path before them.

"Fernando!" Liam said, his unexpected grin dazzling in the extreme. It was aimed at the short, dark, lithe man in a pale s.h.i.+rt and loose trousers, who returned the greeting more solemnly in Spanish. He was recognizably Maya Indian, like the guide who had brought her to the ruins.

The two men exchanged a low-voiced conversation in Spanish and halting English. At the end of it Fernando nodded to Liam, glanced with open curiosity at Mac, and retreated the way he had come.

Liam turned to Mac. "Fernando," he said. "One of my muleteers. I didn't expect him to come back, but I underestimated his loyalty."

"Come back?"

"They all left yesterday morning," he said, bitterness twisting his smile. "They must have been paid well. But Fernando preferred me to Perry as an employer."

All left. Paid well. Mac closed her eyes briefly. "I left hint in the jungle." Perry's words. They were burned into her mind.

She summoned up an aspect of mild curiosity. "Someone paid your a.s.sistants to leave you alone in the jungle? That's pretty rotten."

"Yes. My partnera"my frienda"Peregrine Sinclair."

He was watching her. He knew she knew of Perry. She'd let that slip, and she had the photograph.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I've never met your friend," she said with perfect honesty. "I guess it's not something you expected to happen."

"Not exactly. Ah, I can smell the coffee from here."

Mac could, too, and her stomach continued to give a running commentary on its empty state. Fortunately, Liam was too preoccupied to notice, the set of his lips grim and his attention fixed on the trail.

They reached his camp in less than ten minutes. It was set in a smallish clearing, ringed by tall corozo palms. A pair of palmetto-frond shelters stood at one side, and a medium-sized tent at the other, with a small cooking fire set in front of it. The gray-brown shape of a mule stood tethered close to the tent. It lifted its head and swiveled large ears in their direction.

Fernando was crouched over the fire, stirring the contents of a large dented pot suspended over the low flames. Liam rattled off some command in Spanish and strode toward the tent, leaving Mac to her own devices.

She nodded to Fernando. "Hola. Pleased to meet you."

He was unnervingly quiet for some time, studying her with keen concentration. When he spoke it was in musical, rapid Spanish she couldn't follow.

"Sorrya"no comprendo," she said haltingly. "I don't speak much Spanish."

Fernando nodded and spoke again, more deliberately. Mac wished she'd taken the time to learn more Spanish before she'd come to Guatemala. "No puedo hablar espaola""

"He asked what you're doing here in the jungle."

Liam appeared faintly amuseda"at her expense. He squatted beside the fire, a pair of dented tin cups hooked by their handles around his thumb. "Fernando has guessed you're a woman under those clothes."

"Bright man."

Liam inhaled the steam emerging from a second lidded pot. His hard face took on a blissful expression. He wrapped a piece of cloth around the handle and poured himself a cup of dark, fragrant liquid. Almost as an afterthought he tossed Mac the other cup. "Help yourself."

She did, nearly burning her fingers in the process. Apparently Liam had a tongue made of iron. She blew the surface of the scalding coffee, crouching where she was.

"Well, Mac," Liam said, his gray eyes glowing like molten metal in the light of the fire. "Why don't you tell Fernando what you're doing here, just as you told me? He does understand some English."

And wouldn't you find that amusing, she thought. It'd been bad enough trying to explain time travel to Liam. She smiled politely at Fernando. "I came to see the ruins."

Fernando didn't look like the kind of man who'd give much away, but even Mac could see he was dubious. The corner of Liam's mouth twitched. He spoke to his muleteer in the same fluent Spanish he'd exhibited before. One word stood out among the rest: loca.

"What did you tell him?" Mac demanded. "That I'm crazy?"

"It's the simplest explanation. Unless you've another you haven't told me." He polished off the rest of his coffee in one gulp. "And, Maca"try not to display too many of your peculiarities. I wouldn't want Fernando to get the wrong notion of American women."

"I don't think he's the one who needs educating."

"I agree." But his sardonic glance told her exactly who he thought was in the greater need of instruction. "Fernando will have tortillas and meat and beans ready in a few minutes. In the meantime, I suggest you make yourself a place to sleep. There's room for you in the tent."

Mac looked at the canvas tent. Close quarters, indeed.

"Let me rea.s.sure you that I have no intention of compromising you, Mac," Liam drawled, setting down his cup.

"Even if you did have 'intentions,' O'Shea, women of my time know how to defend ourselves from guys with testosterone poisoning."

Confusion flickered across his face, but he masked it quickly enough. "You seem to have left your weapons behind. Or do you havea skills I haven't seen yet?"