A Time & Place for Every Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  No, he wasn’t angry with her.

  Only with the entire world, and who could blame him? Claire wished she could somehow comfort him and had even turned to do so when an awful thought struck her and Claire scrambled for her new cellphone, dialing her brother Danny’s number.

  “Danny, I need a favor …” she said a little desperately. It hadn’t occurred to her the night before. She could always call Danny. He was about as untraceable as an American could get these days … and smart enough to beat even the federal government at their own games. “How do I wipe the search history from my laptop, permanently? So no one could ever find it?”

  “Well, Sis,” her younger brother drawled. “Here’s what you do. You put it in a car and drive west …”

  Claire rolled her eyes at his unsurprising sarcasm. Well, she was going that way anyway, wasn’t she?

  Chapter 11

  “Cannae ye lower the volume of that noise?”

  Claire rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the first time Hugh had asked, but there didn’t seem to be anything she had said or done in the past few hours that could turn the bear he had become back into a rational human being. “Music, Hugh, its called music.”

  “I’ve heard music beautiful enough tae make angels weep,” he said crossly. “That isnae it.”

  With a soft snort, she bobbed her head from side to side to the drumbeat of White Lion’s “Radar Love.” She had an entire playlist of songs on her iPod specifically chosen for their ability to shorten a long drive. Queen’s “Fat-Bottomed Girls,” Train’s “50 Ways to Say Goodbye,” the Black-Eyed Peas’ “The Time (Dirty Bit)”… She’d had some scornful laughs over that one in that past but had always argued the “don’t knock it until you’ve tried it” philosophy. It was the best pick-me-up song when fatigue started to roll in.

  The drive between Spokane and Seattle wasn’t excessively long, but it was too long to drive in complete silence with a man who had redefined the term “angry Scot.” “A long drive without music to pass the time is hell.”

  “Listening tae it is hell,” he shot back.

  Ha, Claire thought with an inward smirk, if he didn’t like this she couldn’t wait to see his expression when Toby Keith’s “Red Solo Cup” came on. “Well, that’s gratitude for you. You might as well get used to it, Hugh. I’m not about to drive hundreds of miles to the dulcet tones of brooding silence, so there is no escaping it.”

  “I would be happy enough tae escape this car.”

  Claire sighed sympathetically. “Aren’t you doing any better? Waiting until after noon to leave might have been a mistake. It’s given you too long to think about it.” They had waited until early afternoon to leave town on the I-90 heading west with Hugh hunkered down in the backseat until Claire had felt certain – after watching the rearview mirror more than the road – that they weren’t being followed. The retreat in broad daylight had been Hugh’s idea, and Claire agreed it was a good one. They had to assume that Jameson and his crew would expect their prey to run under cover of darkness. Claire was also hoping that Jameson would assume that any assistance given to his “national threat” would be forced, not voluntary. Hopefully they would be on the lookout for an escape strategy more akin to a kidnapping than to collusion. For those reasons, Claire also ditched her first instinct to take the back roads and minor highways and opted instead for taking the interstate highway all the way to Seattle.

  It was a bold move she hoped would be unexpected. Besides, another part of her wanted to get away from Spokane and Phil Jameson as quickly as possible. And she was moving pretty fast, exceeding the posted speed limits until she was cruising at a steady seventy-two miles per hour.

  “It is wicked fast.” Hugh repeated his sentiment from the previous day but she thought his death grip on the door handle might have relaxed a bit as they ate up the miles. “Might ye at least allow me tae hear my thoughts and misgivings in silence? I assure ye, they gi’ me nae greater pleasure.”

  There was enough self-deprecating humor in the request for Claire to acquiesce, and she turned the volume down but not off. “Compromise?”

  Hugh nodded, deliberately releasing his grip on the armrest and on his lingering resentment. “I suppose it is rather fascinating that we will travel in hours a journey that would take days on horseback, even at a steady canter.”

  Claire couldn’t imagine facing such an ordeal, and told him so, gaining a new appreciation for the pioneers who had once made this trip in covered wagons. Running a hand around her steering wheel, she gave it an appreciative squeeze and sent up a prayer of thanks.

  Hugh continued, “Aye, ’tis easy tae see the appeal of this mode of transportation, but also I wonder why yer conveyance is so much smaller than many of the others I’ve seen?”

  “Small?” Claire repeated with a frown. It wasn’t as if she drove a Bug. Her Toyota Prius was fairly roomy on the inside, and the backseat was large enough to perform its primary function without breaking any kneecaps. “It’s just a matter of preference, I suppose, but Goose and I get along fine, don’t we Goose?” She patted the dashboard.

  Hugh’s eyes widened. “Ye named yer car?”

  “You name your horse, don’t you?”

  “Aye, but my horse comes when I call.”

  “Yes, well, my car talks to me,” Claire told him, pointing to the navigation screen on the dashboard, a device Hugh had so far steadily refused to acknowledge or comment upon, much as he had ignored the television when she had watched the news again after lunch.

  He didn’t break that trend by acknowledging the device now.

  “My carriage is much larger and far more comfortable, and many of the other vehicles look quite roomy,” he reverted to their prior discussion and pointed out the window at the passing traffic. “This one is too small inside. I should think that one of the larger ones might hae more room for the comfort of a braw man such as myself.”

  “Well, unfortunately, I didn’t buy this one thinking that I would be carting a braw Scottish fugitive across the state. Sorry,” Claire added sarcastically before wincing and offering a more sincere apology for her flippant tone. “I’m sorry. I tend to get a little snarky when I’m stressed. So, tell me then, what would you have me drive?”

  Hugh considered the road around them, glad to have something more to think about than the bitter revelations regarding his country and his home he had received that morning. There were many types of cars in the lanes around them. Some small, others large. Some hugging the ground and others perched high off the ground like a fancy phaeton. Finally, he saw one that intrigued him more than the others and he pointed it out to Claire. “That one. I’d have one of those.”

  Claire shook her head with a laugh as he pointed out a huge black Ford F-150 pickup with an extended cab and big twenty-four-inch wheels. “An F-150? Really? Only moments in the twenty-first century and you’re already such a guy.”

  “A guy?”

  “Let’s just say I shouldn’t have been surprised,” Claire chuckled. “It is an extremely manly truck after all.”

  “Truck?”

  “That’s what we call the vehicles that have that area in the back to load and carry things around,” she clarified, naming the generic terms for other types of cars as she pointed them out.

  “And the guy?” he asked again.

  “Only that the majority of people who drive those are men. Guys. Men. Pretty much the same thing.”

  “’Tis more of those colloquialisms ye spoke of?”

  “Yes,” Claire said. “Just like bloke or chap or whatever you would use.”

  “Ye used the word tae the agents who came looking for me,” Hugh told her.

  “I did?”

  “Ye said, ‘ye guys want to come in.’ I had thought it a term for a law-enforcement official.” He stared out the window for a moment, but Claire could see the reflection of his sorrowful countenance in the window. “This time is confounding.”

  Reaching out, Claire squeezed his arm sym
pathetically before hastily withdrawing her hand. “You’ll get used to it. Just give it time.”

  “I dinnae want tae get used tae it,” he retorted sharply, but like Claire, regretted snapping the moment the words emerged. “My apologies for my rudeness, Sorcha. While I am prepared tae forgi’ such a rebuke from ye wi’out malice in return for all that ye hae done for me, I know I should nae bring such grief upon my host.”

  “A little temper is understandable. I get that you’re scared.”

  “I am not scared,” Hugh ground out, clearly offended. “What a horrid word.”

  Claire raised her brows but didn’t look away from the road ahead. The word had popped out of her mouth without thought and she wasn’t anxious to pick another fight with him. Was it a Scot’s thing or a generational thing that prevented Hugh from admitting to any weakness? Trepidation was reasonable and justifiable given the situation he found himself in, and beyond a doubt, Hugh had to be feeling some level of fear. Was it really so bad to say so?

  He was a pretty brave guy, and Claire admired him for it, but she would easily have forgiven him the admission.

  “I merely want tae gae home,” he said after a muted minute.

  “I know you do.” She offered a kind smile.

  The silence stretched between them for so long even the lower volume of the speakers seemed to fill the car. “Why Goose?” Hugh broke the quiet at last with his question.

  A slight grin lifted the corner of Claire’s lips. “It’s so when I get turned around or lost I can say ‘Talk to me, Goose.’ I know you won’t understand the reference, but it’s from a movie … before you ask, I’d rather show than explain that one.”

  “I can wait,” he said, hastily. “Explain tae me instead, what is this 9/11 ye mentioned that prevents me from returning tae Scotland?”

  Claire explained the events of that tragic day in September to him and how the terrorists had hijacked planes—taking a slight detour to explain them as well—before concluding with a brief synopsis of the tougher travel restrictions. “There’s just no way you’re going anywhere without a passport,” she concluded as gently as possible.

  “Then we shall just hae tae acquire one.”

  “You can’t just ‘acquire one,’” she said. “You have to show proof of who you are, citizenship, the whole nine yards.”

  “Nine yards?”

  Claire bit her lip thoughtfully and shook her head. “I couldn’t begin to tell you. The point is, we can’t get you one.”

  Hugh waved a hand dismissively. “Surely ye know someone wi’ the right connections.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not as familiar with the seedy underground of society as you might like me to be,” she quipped sardonically but immediately regretted sniping at him once again. The situation was enough to make anyone touchy and she was feeling entirely too prickly. They would both have to work on containing their outbursts if they were to get along. “I apologize for my endless sarcasm. It’s a terrible epidemic these days. I know I keep saying it, but just give it some time, Hugh. We’ll figure something out.”

  Hugh was again silent for a long while before he sighed and said with forced joviality. “Perhaps we might determine where we might find a fair meal. I am famished.”

  “You ate just an hour ago!”

  “Yer pan-cakes this morning were verra good,” he assured her, sounding out the word carefully. “And the salad at luncheon as well, but I am a man with a man’s appetite. I need greater sustenance than yer puny meals provide.”

  Torn once again between amusement and irritation—though thankfully the former was growing stronger than the latter—Claire looked at the navigation screen. “There is a town up ahead where we could stop … but only because I was thinking of doing so anyway,” she added quickly, lest he think that she would always capitulate so easily to his demands. “We need to have you blend in better before we hit the city. Right now you might as well have a flashing arrow pointing at you, and the less conspicuous you are, the better chance we’ll have of getting by unnoticed.”

  “What do ye hae in mind?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Some better clothes and a haircut and shave.”

  “Shave?” Hugh stroked his beard protectively. “Is that necessary?”

  “Absolutely,” she insisted, taking a bit of devilish satisfaction in saying so. “The only men who wear a full beard these days are mountain men, Alabama football players, and eccentric San Francisco Giants baseball players. If you want to blend, it has to go.”

  For a moment, Claire thought she saw humor dancing in his eyes but then Hugh just shook his head mournfully. “If we must.”

  Pushing aside the thought that Hugh was either hiding something or laughing at her, Claire took an exit into Moses Lake and slowed at the next stoplight, gauging the town’s services. It wasn’t a populous place, and Claire knew they weren’t going to be able to be choosy. Finally, she pulled into a JCPenney parking lot and turned off the ignition. For a moment, she considered leaving Hugh in the car but knew it would be impossible to guess his size, especially in shoes. His feet were far larger than Matt’s reducing him to wearing a pair of flip-flops that had his toes overhanging the edge. “I just hope they don’t have security cameras,” she muttered as they entered the store.

  Hugh looked at her curiously and she clarified. “More roving eyes.”

  Understanding hit, and to Claire’s surprise, Hugh assessed the store’s security within moments of their entry and led Claire around the perimeter of the department store, weaving through the racks until they reached the men’s department.

  “Remember, we don’t have time to be choosy, so just pick something and be quick about it.”

  But Hugh wasn’t to be coerced into a pair of jeans and another t-shirt. “In truth, I’m nae certain I care for yer clothing. ’Tis verra plain and thin. I might well be naked.”

  Claire looked Hugh up and down at the thought and felt a little shiver race through her. In the tight t-shirt and sweatpants, it wasn’t that difficult to picture what he would look like in the nude, and Claire resented the fact that he had even prompted the imagination. “This coming from a man who had only a kilt and shirt when he arrived. At least your legs aren’t bare anymore.”

  “Nor is my arse,” he added. “But that wasnae my norm at all. I would wager I typically wore far more layers than ye, and heavier fabrics as well.” Hugh continued to browse the options slowly, fingering the fabrics thoughtfully, complaining about the lack of adornment or embroidery, and blatantly ignoring Claire’s pointed looks.

  “Please remember, we have limited funds,” she said when he finally gathered up a large bundle of clothing to take to the dressing room.

  “I will need more of yer clothing if I am tae ‘blend,’” he reminded.

  “We’ll have to work on a complete wardrobe later, so seriously, be thrifty.”

  Claire didn’t think there would be much trouble with that after Hugh saw the first price tag. His astonishment at the cost of a dress shirt had been evident. It was a good thing she hadn’t taken him to a Macy’s instead.

  While he tried on the clothes, Claire held the coat she had lent him while she gathered some socks and underwear for him, opting for boxers instead of briefs. At least Matt’s old wool coat had fit Hugh, so they wouldn’t have the added expense of outerwear for chilly evenings.

  Claire hugged the coat tightly to her, smoothing it down with a gentle hand. It had hurt to see Hugh in Matt’s coat. Matt had bought it long before he met her, before he had joined the Army. He had been bigger before, becoming leaner through his years in the military, but still he had hung on to that old coat, wearing it even after it no longer fit him.

  Like him, Claire hadn’t been able to let it go either, since his death. As she hadn’t been able to let go of a lot of things … and she wasn’t thinking only of his clothes. Her past was like that old coat, familiar and comforting, and she didn’t want to give it up. She’d never been able to let go of Mat
t. Of the memory of him, of them together. Everyone told her it was wrong for her to live in the past, to spend her life looking back instead of to the future. But Claire had hung on to it like Matt had hung on to that coat, thinking a new one would never be like the old.

  “I’m ready,” Hugh said, interrupting her thoughts. “I found a pair of shoes as well. I hae tae confess, though some of the clothing in this time seems inferior, the comfort of the footwear is enviable.”

  “Says the man with the bloody, linen shirt,” Claire muttered as she led him to the nearest register and paid for the clothes with some of her precious cash. Hugh watched the transaction keenly, taking a special interest in the register, but Claire cut off any potential questions by announcing that the store had an in-store salon that took walk-ins.

  She led the way to the rear of the building. One of the two stylists present took one look at Hugh and announced that it was time for her break, but the other, male stylist shot Hugh a longer, more appreciative look and waved them in. Claire explained briefly what she wanted.

  “It’s a lot of work,” the man who introduced himself as William said critically as he eyed Hugh up and down. “And I mean a lot of work.”

  Claire just nodded. Anyone could see that and, in truth, she didn’t have the highest hopes for the end result. “Do what you can,” she said and turned to Hugh, who was now frowning fiercely at her. “I’m going to gas up and get you some food. I’ll be back.”

  “I guess she’s the boss of you, isn’t she?” she heard William say as she walked away.

  Claire didn’t hear Hugh’s response, but seconds later the stylist’s merry laughter rang out behind her, leaving her to wonder what witty comeback Hugh had offered.

  A half an hour later, Claire had shaken off her doldrums and run her errands. She hadn’t really needed more gas in her hybrid, but topped it off anyway. Returning to the salon expecting to find Hugh waiting impatiently for her, she was instead met by the sight of the lone stylist sweeping a large pile of dark hair from the floor. Hugh was nowhere to be seen.