A Time & Place for Every Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  The more rotund of the pair began to rail at him immediately as Hugh bent to retrieve the bags they had dropped. More than likely they were complaining about the rudeness of the locals toward the tourists or some typical nonsense, but as he stood, Hugh put a hand under his abuser’s elbow and bent his head low, speaking.

  From a distance, Claire couldn’t hear what he was saying, but a moment later the woman who had been near to a stroke minutes before was patting his cheek and smiling up at him while the other beamed just as brightly.

  Hugh glanced at Claire from the corner of his eye and winked. Claire grinned back, shaking her head exaggeratedly, dumbfounded that he had soothed them so quickly but more flabbergasted to realize that his charm had manifested itself as some sort of inside joke between them. As if it had become an unspoken challenge to see how swiftly he could do it.

  In her experience, things like inside jokes took time, sometimes years to develop. It bespoke a comfortable familiarity she wouldn’t have thought could be cultivated so quickly.

  What did it mean? Did it mean anything at all, other than demonstrate that they had spent too much time together?

  “Are ye well, Sorcha?” Hugh asked courteously as he waved the now-smiling women off, flashing his slashing dimples.

  “Yes, I’m … I’m just standing in silent awe of your amazing skills. Raving harridan to cookie-baking grandma in less than ten seconds. That has to be a new record.”

  “It isnae as hard as ye might think,” Hugh shrugged modestly. “Sincere apology, genuine compliments. It is a skill cultivated and honed over the years to survive in the fickle courts of Europe.”

  “So you’re saying anyone could be as charming as you with the right teacher?” she asked as he held out his arm gallantly with a slight bow and a raised brow. Claire slid her hand into the crook of his arm with a smile. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

  Hugh laughed, a deep infectious rumble that couldn’t help but draw a like response, and Claire joined him, falling as yet another victim to his tireless charisma as they walked up the busy street. “So you’re the tourist—the visitor from out of town like those ladies back there—what do you want to do first? We can take a harbor tour or take a ride up to the top of the Space Needle.”

  Hugh’s eyes followed her finger as she pointed to the tall building that he had recently described as little more than a disk on a tripod of legs.

  With a shudder, Hugh declined, “To the top? Nae, I hae nae desire tae be so far off the ground.”

  Claire grinned. “That takes away most of our options but don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”

  Chapter 29

  They walked several blocks more arm in arm while Sorcha pointed this way and that, describing the city of her birth. The climb was steep in places, and when Sorcha stopped her fast-paced walk to point out a colorfully textured wall, Hugh was almost out of breath. His breath caught for other reasons when she explained that all the different colored blobs were actually chewing gum stuck to the wall, and Sorcha took transparent joy in his revulsion at it after she explained to him what chewing gum actually was. Then they were off once more, heading uphill through a narrow alleyway, and Hugh thought if he were to be in this harried time for long, he would do well to work on his “cardio,” as Sorcha had encouraged him to do.

  It was a hurried time, with hurried people anxious to get where they needed to be in all haste. Though he doubted that he would ever fully grasp the need for such alacrity, Hugh couldn’t deny that he’d never been one to fall behind, literally or figuratively. It would be yet another aspect of his new life to cultivate.

  Bringing up the subject as they walked, Hugh was astounded to learn of the advancements in medicine that had been made since his time. More incredible perhaps than anything else he had learned thus far was how far the practice had changed from the bloodletting and superstition of his time, to the organ transplants and mechanical replacements of hers. It was truly a remarkable world, with much to appreciate, and Hugh regretted in many ways that he had not yet fully reconciled himself to the permanence of his situation.

  They soon reached an area bustling with people, their voices tumbling one over the other. A sign brightly lit against the gathering dusk labeled it as a public market, and another just below further defined it as a farmer’s market.

  As busy as it was, for the first instance since coming to this time, Hugh experienced something familiar. Perhaps not exactly the same, but the stalls of vegetables, meats, seafood, and flowers echoed the market days in Cromarty, and for a moment, Hugh felt a wave of homesickness unlike any he had yet experienced, made worse by the recently acknowledged certitude that he would never see it again.

  It was a staggering thought, that “never.” It was easier not to think on it, which was perhaps why he hadn’t been successful in reconciling himself to his fate. It was easier to look forward instead of looking back, but when the thought did take hold, as it did then, it was sickening to his very gut. It brought to mind faces he would never see again. A family lost to him by a scientific accident. How many people could fathom mourning the loss of all their loved ones at once? How could he explain the soul-crushing pain to anyone who still had even a single loved one?

  Sorcha paused at one stall, buying a few apples, but for the most part was content to browse the shops and save their dwindling funds. She was as serene as he was turbulent.

  Never. Never.

  “Hugh?” Sorcha paused with a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

  Hugh met her concerned gaze and forced a smile. He would not burden her with his sorrow again. For all that she had done for him, Sorcha did not need any guilt for her inability to return him to his proper place. Only her presence had softened the blow and was the balm he so desperately needed. Also, despite her assurances that the women of this time welcomed a man with a softer side, it was not his habit to show one. “I’m well. There is much tae take in.”

  “It’s good for you to get out,” she said. “Good for both of us. You know what might be fun? Maybe when we’re done here we could take a cab over to the Burke Museum. It would be educational for you, too.”

  “An art museum?”

  “No, it’s a natural history museum that has exhibits on the local Native American tribes, and there is an exhibit on the Kennewick Man that I haven’t seen yet.”

  “Who is the Kennewick Man?” Hugh asked, thankful for any conversation that would draw him away from his bleak thoughts.

  “They found this skeleton at the bottom of the Columbia River almost twenty years ago,” Sorcha told him as they continued to browse the produce stalls. “They dated the remains at almost nine thousand years old, from around 7500 B.C., and they weren’t Native American but something like Polynesian, I think. Which would be weird, right? It’s become something of a mystery, where he came from and how he got here.”

  Several astonishing thoughts streamed through Hugh’s mind. How did one “date” the age of bones? How did they know that they were not “Native American” in origin? But the most profound was the age of the skeleton. Seventy-five hundred years before Christ? How was that even possible, when all theologians of his time agreed that the world had not even been created by then? Most dated the time of Abraham at 4000 B.C. “How is that possible?”

  “Well, some think that there was a land bridge between Asia and North America at some point …”

  Hugh closed his eyes against a wave of exasperation, not for Sorcha’s inability to grasp his true question but for the ignorance of his own people. The world had changed in many ways, far beyond the medical advances of which they had spoken. Invention had turned a manual world into a mechanized one. Those changes, those advancements through science, he could understand. But to consider that the theological foundations of mankind were no longer true was incomprehensible. “Nae, lass, study of the Bible has shown that God created the world but six thousand years ago. How can this skeleton be nine thousand years old?”

  With
wide eyes, she stopped midstride and blinked up at him. “Oh … oh shit. When you read that History of the World book, didn’t you start at the beginning?”

  No, he hadn’t. Hugh’s interest had been in learning what had happened in the intervening years between his time and hers, not in reviewing what he knew—or thought he knew—of the past.

  “Maybe it’s better if you just stick with the more religious timeline of existence for now,” Sorcha was saying in the wake of his silence. “There’s nothing wrong with that. A lot of people still believe that way.”

  There had been so much to absorb these past days that Hugh hadn’t even considered how far-reaching the changes had been. His concerns had been over whether Scotland and his home had endured. It had never occurred to him—a man of science!—to consider how the winds of change might have altered the broader scope of the world. “Tell me there is still an accepted God,” he beseeched with feeling.

  “Yes, there is still a God … I mean, most major cultures still follow a religious deity. Christianity is still the most widely practiced religion on Earth,” she offered in what Hugh had to assume was meant to be reassurance, but he wasn’t entirely comforted by her words. “Wasn’t it a huge philosophical debate of your time to argue over the existence of God? You did have atheists.”

  “Aye,” he allowed. “But debating and believing are nae the same. What led the world tae show such falsehood in the Bible? More science?”

  “Apparently some science you could have done without,” Sorcha said, squeezing his arm consolingly. “But most scientists generally agree that the universe is about four and a half billion years old.”

  While Hugh tried to absorb that inconceivable number, Sorcha went on to explain the expression he had heard her use once before, the Big Bang Theory. There were other terms like evolution, creationism, Darwin, and survival of the fittest; descriptions of large reptiles called dinosaurs; and then something about monkeys that turned into men. Australopithecus and Neanderthal. “Hold,” he commanded harshly. “Are ye saying that the populous genuinely believes that men were born of apes?”

  “Evolution is a commonly accepted scientific fact,” she said. “Most religions hold firm in the belief that God created the Earth and put man on it just as he is now, but there is evidence that humans evolved over the course of millions of years from an ape-like being into the man or homo sapien we are today.”

  Something akin to nausea roiled in Hugh’s gut. Of all the things he’d had to absorb since his arrival in this bizarre future, this had to be the most unpleasant to contemplate. “I dinnae like tae think that my ancestors were apes.”

  “I don’t think anyone does when they ponder the idea too deeply.”

  Hugh snorted at that. “And what do ye believe?”

  “I do believe in God. As far as creationism, I like to think that the seven days God took to create the universe are a relative thing in the big cosmic picture and that maybe God was the one who initiated the Big Bang,” Sorcha said, then shrugged. “Who knows? Either way, there are still fights about it and how or if to teach it. Just like in your time, wars are fought over religion every day.”

  “How is it that what a man would like tae see changed through time never does, and that which he wishes tae remain the same is all that does change?”

  “Now that is a mystery, isn’t it?” she said kindheartedly. “I’m sorry to always be the one to deliver upsetting news.”

  “There is nae one else I’d rather hear it from,” Hugh said with complete honesty. “Ye hae been an excellent tutor these past days on all I will need tae know as well as those things I would rather not.”

  “I try,” she shrugged modestly but hugged his arm to her breast with a pleased smile. “There is still a lot to catch up on.”

  “Which I shall do naught but anticipate wi’ ye by my side.” Thoughtless words, but Hugh had no desire to amend them even though they implied more than either of them had spoken of thus far. In the weeks, months, and perhaps even years ahead, he did want Sorcha with him. Picturing his continued discovery of the twenty-first century without her was nearly impossible, and not only because she was a fair teacher.

  Clearly she hadn’t given the future beyond gaining his freedom as much thought as he had, since Sorcha merely stared up at him with an owlish expression that rounded her lovely violet eyes, her lips parted in surprise. Hugh stroked a thumb across her lower lip before lifting her sagging jaw back into place. “I know in the face of our plight we hadnae spoken of it, lass, but I would like tae hae ye wi’ me when I see the Scotland of this time. Will ye come wi’ me?

  Her mouth opened and closed again without even a whisper of denial or acceptance. Mayhap it had been a foolish thing to ask, but Hugh was becoming more certain about what he wanted from a life in this new world, and Sorcha was undoubtedly a part of it.

  Shouts echoed through the building, catching their attention. “What is the matter?” he asked with some concern, looking around for the source of the commotion.

  Though the distraction wasn’t one of her own making, she was obviously eager to welcome it, as she slipped her hand down into his, tugging him through the crowd until they came to a throng of people forming a large ring about one of the stalls.

  “Ya-a-a-ah!” Hugh could hear the long shout that had initially drawn his attention, and with his height was able to see over the group as one man threw a large fish to another. The crowd cheered and laughed with delight as yet another fish was thrown across the space.

  “What madness! Why do they do this?” he asked of Sorcha. “This is a market. Not a carnival.”

  “It’s like a show for the tourists,” she explained. “Don’t tell me your markets never had entertainment.”

  “The marketplace is always filled with those who entertain,” he said defensively, though he inwardly embraced the distraction from his morose thoughts. “Jugglers, musicians, and the like. However, they do not play with the food.”

  Sorcha sighed, shaking her head. “You are a hard man to please. I can only assume you’re hungry. Come on.”

  In truth, Hugh was an easy man to please, but he didn’t dare to say so to Sorcha. Instead, he followed her out of the crowd and around the corner, where she motioned for him to wait while she went to a small vendor in the hallway. In moments, she was back with a small brown bag. She handed it to him with a smile, and Hugh could immediately feel the warmth seeping through the bag. He raised a curious brow.

  “Try it, but if you don’t like this, I will know you’re truly insane,” she said mysteriously.

  Hugh shook his head with an exasperated grin and reached into the bag. He withdrew a rounded piece of what looked like a bread of some sort that was covered in what a quick touch of his tongue told him was sugar and exotic cinnamon, which he had only rarely tasted. Encouraged, Hugh bit into the warm treat and was immediately moaning with delight when the sweet, crisp exterior gave way. “Mmmmm.” He couldn’t help the childish expression of satisfaction as he finished the small pastry. A quick look into the bag showed him nearly a dozen more, and Hugh took another with delight. “I promised myself I wouldnae ask this again but what is this?”

  “It’s a doughnut. Deep-fried dough covered in sugar. Are you going to share? Or will I lose my hand if I reach into the bag?”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a laugh and held out the bag for her to help herself.

  “These are the best, aren’t they?” Sorcha said around a mouthful of doughnut. “My favorite thing about this place.”

  Hugh bit into his pastry, casting an eye over the crowd around them and their ridiculous entertainment. He chewed once, then paused. The air around them seemed suddenly dense. “I dinnae like this.”

  “Are you kidding? How can you not …”

  “Nae the donuts,” he said with an impatient slash of his hand. “Something is wrong.”

  “What do you mean ‘wrong’?”

  Hugh could feel Sorcha’s body tense at his side as if the dang
er he sensed had been passed on to her. “I dinnae,” he said, his body tensed. “Just a feeling.”

  “A bad feeling,” she clarified.

  “Aye,” he answered, still searching the crowds around them. A bad feeling that was usually accompanied by an unpleasant surprise. It was a precognition that had served him well in the past, in battle and at court. Hugh had learned to trust it. His gut twisted. He needed to get Sorcha to safety, to protect her at all costs. “I hate tae say this …”

  Sorcha groaned. “Then please don’t.”

  “I believe they are here.”

  Claire didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ were. Damn, she should have known better than to come out. She should have never dragged him off the island. “Have they seen us?”

  “Nae, I dinnae think so,” Hugh whispered brusquely. “It is probably incidental, coincidence that they are here. If nae, they couldnae see ye through the crowd and I would think they dinnae ken what I look like now.”

  A swift sigh of relief escaped her. “Should we try to sneak away?”

  “Nae, if we part from the crowd, we will be easier tae spot. I dinnae want tae take the risk and be seen together,” Hugh said, shaking his head as he considered their options.

  “What should we do then?”

  “Stay here.”

  She blinked up at him in disbelief. “What?”

  Hugh bent his head, slouching to meet the general height of the crowd. “Ye stay here,” he clarified. “I’m going tae circle aboot and see if I can spot them.”

  Claire grabbed his arm. “Maybe we should just try to sneak away.”

  Hugh laid his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb across the top of her hand. “I realize that this is yer time and yer land, lass, but please trust that I know what I’m aboot. Ye stay wi’ these people. Dinnae gae off by yerself, do ye ken?”

  Claire nodded jerkily. “What if they see me? What if they try to take me away?”