A Bride Worth Billions

by Morgan, Tiffany

  In order to beat off the cold, I pulled a heavily insulated parka from my pack. It, of course, didn’t look anything like a parka and it instead looked like a long, thick shaw. I draped it over myself and felt immediately comforted by it. As a precaution, I dry swallowed an all-purpose antibiotic, and then before I finally moved on, I activated my homing device embedded in the thick pewter bracelet I wore around my left wrist. Not that I really needed to take this extra step because the moment I slipped it on it began monitoring heart rate, respiration, the whole physical gamut. My creepy little facilitator knew I was alive and well, but activating so that he could track my movements as I traveled was just an extra added sense of protection. Once I was as snug as a bug and feeling a lot less exposed to element of the 12th century and I started moving.

  12th century Scotland is a world at war. At the specific period I paid a massive amount of money to be sent into, Scotland was not only at war with England, but they were also at war with each other and with Ireland.

  You see, at around 1300 AD, Robert The Bruce was crowned the king of Scotland. This happened because he and his family had been involved with some dirty dealings with the British crown and England backed his kingship. Well, what happened next was the Bruce turned around and declared war on England 6 months after being crowned. The rebellion, of course, became to be known as The Wars Of Scottish Independence which ended up lasting for 30 years. But at the very beginning after the execution of William Wallace, The Bruce had the support of 90% of all the Scottish clans. The other 10% all laid claim to the thrown of Scotland, including the largest and most powerful highlander clan, the Comyn-Balliol.

  The Comyn-Balliol were a hard-bitten people who were at one time the servants of the Bruce dynasty, but rebelled against the Bruce dynasty and continued to fight them even after Robert The Bruce declared war against England. On top of all of these other struggles, Scotland also invaded Ireland as means of shoring up their coastal defenses against the English. And, of course, the Irish were and even more deadly opponent than the English were because the Irish didn’t prescribe to the same rules of warfare that the English did. Like the Scottish highlanders, the Irish were more likely to sneak into your camps at night and kill you in your sleep other than charging at you in a straight line.

  I had chosen to be sent to 1306 AD, a year which happened to be one of the fiercest years of the rebellion where patrols of English, The Bruce’s armies, and the Comyn-Balliol rebel highlanders were as common a sight as herds of sheep and goats. It’s an incredibly dangerous and lawless time in Scottish history, but it was also a period where a single woman could easily blend into the crowds of refugees who’d been driven from their rural villages to the relative safety of Glasgow. But in the same breath, it was also an extremely dangerous time to be a woman traveling alone. But then again, hasn’t it always been a dangerous time to be a woman? I knew the chances I was taking, but I knew it would be all worth it.

  I’d been transported about 10 miles outside of Glasgow, but it was 10 miles of entirely undeveloped Scottish hill country. No roads, no paths, really nothing but rocks, sheep, and acre after acre of damp grassland with very little in the way of cover to protect you from the elements. On my night out in the highlands, I was lucky enough to find a shallow cave to shelter me against the night and the sudden, sheeting rain that began to fall once the sun went down. For hours, I sat and listened to the steady waves of water and the occasional thunderclap and bolt of lightning, and breathing in the sweet, damp air as I sat cozy wrapped in my parka with several of my heating inbuilt, battery-powered hearing elements keeping my body temperature at a nice and toasty 65 degrees.

  I breathed in all that wonderful, sea tinged air and it left my head swimming as if I was drunk. Yes, I had been in such elements many times before when I traveled back to 9th century Austria, but academics rarely, if ever, were permitted to stay overnight anywhere they were studying unless you had special permissions to observe a battle or some other such important events. But for me, this had never happened. Because as a historical anthropologist, I studied the day-to-day life of the Visigoths and not their sleep patterns or the histories of their wars. So, obviously, there were no overnight stays for me. But let me tell you this, there is no smell as sweet as the oxygen of the ancient world. You can smell everything with such clarity. You can smell fires from miles away, the ozone of lightening, the richness of the grass, the pungent, heady stink of other human beings.

  When I woke the next morning, this was the smell which filled my nostrils to overflowing. The odor of unwashed bodies and open sewage trenches. From the smell, I knew that I was close to Glasgow.

  When we think of cities, almost all of us can only imagine high glass and steel towers, automobiles belching smog, and literally millions of people living on top of each other. But modern cities also have the benefits of contained sewage systems, electricity and electrically generated heat. But for the most part, modern cities are vastly efficient and well organized. But when you compare them to ancient cities—particularly Dark Age cities such as London, Dublin, and Glasgow—they almost seem as if they’re magical creations.

  Ancient cities weren’t so much founded as they were formed out of necessity, this was particularly true of Glasgow. The Bruce’s rebellion had driven thousands from the rough environs of the highlands and other small villages to its borders. Before the refugee’s arrival, Glasgow could’ve maybe comfortably supported and protected around 5000 people, which was quite a large population for a city at the time. But since the wars had begun, its population had swollen to twice that number and the new extended city was a hodge-podge of poorly constructed wood houses and torn and battered tents.

  But there was something so alive about the whole scene. As I walked through the muddy streets, vendors sold everything from food-to-handmade weapons and tools. Roving musicians and various entertainers performed for tips and flocks of mud covered children ran all about, dodging between the legs flustered and slightly annoyed adults. Yes, there was a constant danger of the English that threatened their lives on a daily basis. There was always the possibility that King Edward’s forces could suddenly sweep in and burn the city to ashes. But none of that mattered, because, at the moment, they were safe and among their people.

  I stopped for a few minutes to watch a puppet show with a large group. The show depicted the history of the Wallace uprising-to-his capture and execution, and then to the beginnings of Robert The Bruce’s uprising. It had long been rumored that the Bruce had betrayed Wallace in order to gain the crown of Scotland, but in this particular show, it depicted the Bruce in the most heroic light. The show ended with the Bruce and his band riding towards battle. I moved on with a smile creasing my face and I was barely aware of my surroundings and had crossed into a blind alley, and as I turned, I was confronted by a dirty little man with a long nose that looked like it had been broken several times. As I turned, he narrowed his eyes, and punched me square in the face and the world went black.

  When I came awake, I was being poked and prodded at with sticks by a group of small children. They stood over me giggling; I imagine they thought I was dead and were enjoying the novelty of a lifeless body. But as my eyes fluttered open, I heard a shout, and all of the children quickly scampered away.

  “That’s right, you little arses, be gone with you!” Suddenly my eyes were filled with what one could only describe as a classic highlander. He stood a little over 6 feet and his body seemed to be carved out of granite. He wore the traditional colors of his clan—which looked to be Comyn-Balliol—and his rugged, handsome face was bristly with 3 or 4 days of not shaving. He stared down at me, his eyes curious, wondering himself if I was dead or alive, but once he noticed that my eyes were open, he quickly squared down next to me and helped me sit up.

  “Are you alight, lass? Was it the scamps who knocked you down into the muck?” He asked.

  I reached up and felt the knot of flesh under my right eye. I flinched in in pain as I barely
touched the spot where I had been punched. It was going to be a nasty little bruise that would most likely only begin to fade after my 31 days in the past were up; thank God I had taken the extra time off. I could only imagine my co-workers reactions to seeing me with a massive shiner. I rubbed the wooziness out of my eyes and began to mentally check to make sure that there was nothing wrong with me physically. More or less, I felt alright, a little shaken up, but otherwise … But then I noticed that my bag was missing! On no! Even though what it contained all appeared to be of this era in history, everything inside of it was a modern convenience of some sort, and exposing this time period could possibly radically alter the time continuum. Mind you, none of it would probably be a negative change, but…

  And then I noticed my transponder was gone, the man with crooked nose had stolen my only way home!

  ***

  It was supposed to be practically impossible to remove a time transponder from a person’s body. The little funky piece of jewelry was designed specifically for the individual and was even directly linked to your DNA. Basically, without you to operate it, it was nothing but a metal bracelet. But there were also supposed to be security measures put in place that were meant to make it next to impossible for someone else to remove it. Most notably if someone tried to take the wristband off while I was sleeping or unconscious, the person trying to steal would get fried with 50,000 volts of electricity. It would basically knock them into next week or possibly kill them.

  But like everything else in time travel, there was that certain percentage of people whose devices didn’t function correctly or who would fully experience tumbling down a time tunnel. Or maybe the Rayland Corporation manufactured nothing but junk or hadn’t activated the defense mechanism. Whatever had happened, I was now officially fucked six ways to Sunday. Without the transponder, I couldn’t go home and as far as Rayland was concerned, I might as well have never existed. Without the transponder, I was completely off the radar. Sure, they’d eventually notice that they weren’t receiving vital signs from me and they’d maybe send a recovery team. Here’s the problem with that, though: The transponder acts a homing beacon, it gives the recovery team your exact time frame and location and without it connected to the user, it’s kind of a craps shoot whether they get the time and place right.

  So, here’s another downside of time travel: It’s not exactly an exact science. I know, you would think they’d have it down to an exact science before actually sending anyone back in time, but there’s so many variables involved with it, that they can’t pinpoint the exact date and location. If Rayland ends up sending a recovery team—and that’s a big if, especially when it comes to a single individual with no family to worry about them, such as myself—they could end up jumping back a year before I even arrived, or by as much as 10 years, and as far location is concerned, it’s just as big of an issue. More or less, I was absolutely screwed if I didn’t find the transponder. Don’t get me wrong, I love this period in history, but that didn’t mean I wanted to spend my entire life here.

  I shot to my feet and immediately regretted it. The man with the crooked nose had obviously given me a minor concussion when he punched me, and my head began to spin and I could feel my legs giving out from under me, luckily the highlander who’d shoed off the kids poking me with a stick was there to catch me.

  “Hold on a minute, lass,” He said as he steadied me. “That a big bump you’ve got there. Try and take it easy and tell me what’s got you so fired up?”

  Well, you mean other than the fact that I was a woman stranded from her own time, you fucking barbarian! Of course I didn’t say any such thing, but trust me, I was tempted to. I had to keep in character, though, just in case there was the possibility of recovering my transponder.

  ‘There was a man,” I said as I shook the cobwebs loose from my head. “He punched me and when I was unconscious, he stole my bag and my mother’s bracelet! It’s everything I have in the world, I have to find it!”

  “Just take a moment and calm down some more. Can you tell me what the man looked like?”

  “He was short, he had long dirty brown hair, and his nose was crooked.”

  “Crooked?”

  “Yes, like he’d been punched in it a dozen times and it never healed proper.”

  “Aye, I know exactly who you’re talking about because I’ve busted his nose a time or two before. His name’s Shamus, it’s just like him to do this to a woman.”

  “Do you know where he is? I can’t just let him take my things like that! I just can’t”

  “No need to worry, lass, we’ll get them back. Are you feeling well enough to walk, or you need a minute more?”

  “No, I should be fine. Please, take me to him!”

  “Alright, then,” He said as he led me from the blind alley by the hand. “Oh, and as proper introduction, I’m Shaun of the Kilryan Clan.”

  “I’m Sharron, also of the Kilryan.” Me and my big mouth. I knew the names and locations of every clan during this time period and I had to choose to you my own name? Thankfully, the Kilryan were a massive and wide-ranging clan. Their holdings were to the far south, but they were nomadic by nature, so it wouldn’t have been too uncommon to run into a clan member you’d never met before.

  “You’re an awful long way from home, ain’tcha?” He asked, giving me a grin over his shoulder.

  “And ain’tcha? And what are you doing wearing Comyn-Balliol colors for?”

  “Ah, you noticed that, did ya? Shaun said with a laugh. “I’m doing some soldiering for the Bruce. The Comyn-Balliol are campaigning hard against the King and he’s having me sneak into their camps so I can feet out information.”

  “That’s quite sneaky, I might say. Devious even!”

  “Aye, well, the Comyn-Balliol are being arses aren’t they? The whole country needs to be behind the Bruce if we’re to drive the English from our lands, yeah?”

  “Aye, I suppose so..”

  We spent the rest of the afternoon walking all throughout Glasgow, checking on the man Shamus’ usual haunts. As we searched, he told me of the secret missions the Bruce had sent him on over the past several months. None of them seemed to be very dangerous, lots of subterfuge, but not much in the way of action.

  “That’s what bothers me about it, you know. I’m a highlander, I ranged with Wallace before they martyred him.”

  “Ya did not!” I said with as much incredulity as I could muster. The one thing you have to remember about the Scots no matter what age they’re in, all of them are born storytellers and Scot women knew their men liked to tell stories, so it was almost expected of me to question him as if he was doing nothing but telling tales.

  “I did so! I was only 15 when I joined up with his band! I was even there when he was captured! Barely made it out of that scrape alive, you know? The priests dragged me off the field because I had a big stomach wound, they thought I was dead for sure.”

  “Well, how didn’t ya die?”

  “The father’s sewed me back up, believe it or not! I’ve got a big scar to prove it. Maybe I’ll show it to you once we get to know each other a bit better?” He smiled and winked over his shoulder. I couldn’t help but blush a bit. I even thought about flirting back a little, but then Shaun’s hand tightened around my wrist.

  “There’s the little scrub now!” He said as he began charging us towards the man who’d punched me. I suddenly filled with relief when I saw that he was still carrying my survival pack. Shaun grabbed the crook by the back of his neck and slammed him to the ground with all of his strength. The thief landed flat on his back, the wind whooshing out of him. Shaun grabbed the collar of his filthy shirt.

  “Since when it is it alright to be robbing a woman?” Shaun shouted as he slapped him hard across the face.

  I yanked the back off of the now cowering thief’s back and immediately started rummaging through it. Everything seemed to be still in the bag, all except for my transponder I started pulling things out, think that maybe
I had somehow missed it. But as spilled everything out, I knew it wasn’t in there. As I stuffed my survival tools back in the pack, I suddenly became enraged, and I punched Shamus in the exact spot he’d punched me earlier in the day.

  “Where’s my bracelet, ya little bastard!” Shaun looked at me for a moment as if I lost my mind, but quickly returned to the task at hand.

  “Ya heard the woman, ya little shite! Where’s the bracelet?”

  “I… I sold it! I sold the cursed little thing hours ago!”

  “You’re going to show me where! And you’re gonna do it right now!”

  Shaun yanked the thief up to his feet and he quickly led us to where he said he had sold it. But all we found when we arrived was a muddy, empty patch of land.

  “I swear! The wagon was just here a little while ago! Ask the man in the other stall, he’ll tell you the same!”

  “Friend!” Shaun called over to a little bald man who was selling leather goods, “was there a wagon here earlier today?”