Part 8 (2/2)

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?”

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