Rhys: A Highlander Short

by L. L. Muir

  He opened his eyes to the dark interior. Night had fallen and very few passengers were awake, and those who were sat staring ahead of them, their faces glowing from the eerie light of telly screens. He dropped his gaze to the third seat, and found something much larger than a mouse making itself at home just beyond his sock and boot.

  Two somethings, as it happened.

  The young lad of perhaps five years old, and his sister—miniature even for a house trained three-year-old, pressed themselves together on the empty aisle seat on his short row. Oblivious to his waking, they huddled beneath a pitiful excuse for a blanket they’d brought with them, and any warmth it might provide was kept away from their bodies by those ridiculous excuses for coats. After all his trouble alerting the womenfolk, the bairns were still cold and miserable.

  He glanced across the aisle and noted the absence of Miss Kinder Care. Since the vehicle seemed to be airborne, still, he assumed she had gone to the loo. Perhaps the children had taken it upon themselves to find a warmer situation…

  Rhys was just about to take matters into his own hands when Kristin reappeared. It took her a three count to notice her charges were missing. By the time she turned, he was back to feigning sleep, but he watched carefully to see if she might leave them where they sat.

  “Look you,” she hissed, “get back in your seats. I was only gone a minute.”

  His teeth parted as he waited, anxiously, to see if she might treat the bairns roughly, but she did not. He relaxed his jaw as she carefully set the wee lassie on her feet, then nudged her across the aisle. Sadly, she set one on each side of her, which meant they would both be colder on their own.

  At least she made certain they each had a blanket, ineffective as they might be. And it wasn’t as if Rhys could do anything about it. They were nothing to do with him. He was nothing to do with them. In a matter of hours, they would be in the care of a grandmother who would surely harbor motherly instincts where they were concerned.

  Not that it was his concern.

  In the darkness, his head shook of its own accord.

  Nothing to do with me. I have breadcrumbs to scatter all over the city of New York. I cannot be distracted by puppy dog eyes and chattering teeth…no matter how wee…

  Chapter Five

  The guards—or rather, the air stewards—took it upon themselves to decide when their passengers should wake. They brought their wheeled alters out and bid Rhys and the rest to worship at it.

  But this time, there was more than peanuts and beverages on offer—there was actual food, which was produced in wee boxes covered with plastic. Everyone was given the choice of “salad or fruit plate.” The word the air stewards seemed to stress was “or.”

  The routine was excruciatingly slow, and that was something coming from a man who had wandered the same acres for nigh three centuries. When they finally reached him, Rhys chose the fruit plate since he’d never eaten salad in his mortal days, and he was in no position to complain if he did not care for it. He was certain the guards would frown on a request to exchange the wee meal.

  The cart moved on, leaving him staring at his wee box of five grapes, a pre-pealed orange floating in a sealed cup, a square inch of mysterious white cheese, and two crackers sealed together. He only hoped he could learn his way into the packages before he starved.

  His belly croaked its encouragement and he glanced up to see if the questionable sound might have offended anyone. The young lad giggled into his hand, then looked back at his own box. He turned it over a few times, then set it in his lap, waiting for help.

  Kristin’s head tilted back at an odd angle. Her eyes were closed but her face was lit by her telly. The small speakers pressed into her ears had left her oblivious to the food ritual. Beyond her, the lassie shook her box for a moment, then peered around Kristin to show her bottom lip to her brother before she passed him the box.

  The poor mite looked in horror at the second box, glanced about, then found Rhys watching him. “They gave her a salad,” he whispered, as if the wee box contained food meant for a cat.

  Rhys looked to the ceiling to see if God was perhaps watching the debacle. Then he closed his eyes and silently argued with himself.

  He visualized holding tight to the reins of a horse—only the horse represented his soul-deep urge to interfere. A few hours more, he told the beast, and their grandmother will see to their every need.

  The horse’s eyes narrowed in the universal expression of have you gone mad?

  “Ye’re right, of course,” he said aloud. “Only a monster.” And he could not live with himself two days, let alone the years he was prepared to fight for, if he was not worthy to live them.

  The lad had long since given up on anyone helping him and had resorted to chewing on the corner of his box to get it open. His only reward, of course, would be a few grapes, for the rest of his food would require more work. The sudden success of freeing one corner surprised him and some of the grapes escaped, but he jumped down and collected them, brushed them on his wee coat, and gave them to his sister.

  Rhys exhaled sharply out his nose to get the laddie’s attention, then he waved him over. He tilted his head for a good look at the sister, then waved at her to come to him as well. A man seated one row behind them sent Rhys a suspicious frown but got a fierce scowl in return for his trouble. Rhys tried to give the man credit for looking out for the children’s welfare, but he did not appreciate anyone thinking he had impure motives.

  The boy arrived with both boxes in hand. The one held dark green leaves, a packet of oil, and a white plastic fork. He wrinkled his nose at the bairns. “We’ll leave this for Kristin, aye?” He then tossed it over onto the chair beside the sleeping lass.

  He pulled out the tray before the middle seat and went to work opening the two boxes of fruit, the laddies and his own. The pair waited for permission to start.

  “Eat the grapes while I work on the rest, aye?” Then he took the dark red juice from his own tray and told them to share it.

  Thankfully, the rest of the packaging came apart with the use of his teeth—a trick he’d learned from watching another passenger. When the wee lassie offered him the second half of her cracker, he declined, insisting he was full to the gills with peanuts. And soon, with all the tidbits of food liberated, the three of them grinned at each other until every crumb was gone.

  Kristin changed positions, during which they all held their breath, but her eyes never opened.

  “Do either of ye need the toilet?”

  They did not.

  “Then sit here, beside me, and we’ll get ye warm. How does that sound?”

  When their little mouths quivered, he had to look away, briefly. He helped them out of their coats, tossed them onto the empty chair, then helped them get settled into the one seat. He then pulled the excess plaid off his shoulder and spread it over the two with enough to tuck them in around the edges.

  “There now. Fine Scottish wool will warm ye to yer bones in no time. If ye close yer eyes, ye can feel it.”

  Whatever the brother did, the sister repeated. So when he tipped his head back and shut his eyes, she did the same. And with smiles on their faces, they fell asleep.

  Kristin roused and stretched. Her body jerked when she remembered what she was supposed to be doing, and her brows came together when she found her charges across the aisle again.

  Rhys got her attention with a wave, then he pointed to the bairns before pressing a finger across his lips. Her jaw dropped open in outrage, but he shook his head very slowly in warning. To his surprise, she stood and came closer, bent toward him and whispered. “I can take it from here.”

  “Touch them,” he said pleasantly, “and I’ll make such a ruckus they’ll have to land the plane in Greenland, ye ken? Ye’ve already failed in yer duties. They were cold, and hungry, and weary. Ye’ve failed in yer duties, and if ye lay a finger on them before New York, I’ll be sure to let their grandmother ken the truth of it.”

  “I ca
n’t allow a stranger to—”

  “A stranger who cares is better than an acquaintance who does not.”

  “We’ll all be watching,” said the woman from the row ahead. She nodded to the man who sat behind Kristin’s seat, who nodded back.

  Rhys inclined his head to show his appreciation, then pointed across the aisle. “Go on with ye now, Kristin,” he whispered, “before ye wake them.”

  He settled back in his seat and closed off the air blowers, admitting that he had, once again, given in to the instinct to interfere. Only this time, he hadn’t lost his life over it. When he closed his eyes, he could not sleep, and so the images that came to him were not dreams—just the memory of dreams that had haunted him each time he’d returned to his deathbed.

  Colonel Sabastian Huntly’s face always came to the fore—Colonel Bastard was a name he thought apropos, though he’d never stooped to using the name, even in the man’s absence.

  Huntly’s father was minor Scottish nobility, which meant little to the rest of the world and everything to the son. He was as oblivious to the needs of his men as a King was to the needs of his servants. The casualties only bothered him in terms of percentages lost when compared to the enemy. The blood split, the lives cut short—they were nothing to do with him.

  Huntly. Even now he wanted to spit…

  After the lines had fallen, Colonel Huntly had become engaged in a sword fight at the back of Lord Lewis Gordon’s regiment. Rhys remembered turning away, ready to engage another Redcoat of his own. The closest one, however, had his rifle raised to his shoulder, the end pointed beyond Rhys, aimed at the men fighting behind him. As the enemy’s finger curled around the trigger, Rhys realized the load was meant for the pompous target at his back—Huntly.

  Since the Redcoat was too far away to distract with a sword, there was only one way to thwart him. Rhys had only the span of a heartbeat to decide. When his brain failed to do it, his muscles made the choice for him. He lunged to the right, his round wood shield trailing uselessly behind. And he succeeded. The musket ball never reached its intended target.

  He’d stopped it. And stopped himself in the doing.

  As he lay dying, he at least had the satisfaction of knowing that Colonel Sebastian Huntly was aware of his interference. Another man shouted that Lumsden had stepped in front of a bullet for him. And before consciousness escaped him, Rhys realized, sadly, that he’d be remembered for being the fool who gave up his life for…Colonel Bastard.

  Chapter Six

  It seemed like hours later when the distant rattle of the drink cart lured Rhys out of his sleep, but he’d sat still for long enough that his human form seemed locked into place, and he was loathe to move more than his eyes. He peeked through his lashes to see if the noise had roused the children as well and found there was yet another trespasser in his row of seats.

  Beside the lad and lassie sat a lovely woman with straight black hair just past her shoulders who sat gazing into their sleeping faces with a world of envy on her face. Rhys watched her for a full minute before he realized the woman’s arm stretched across the pair, and the lassie’s wee hand held tight around one of the woman’s fingers. Her little cheeks shone rosy and pink, moving only slightly when she sucked upon her thumb.

  If anyone else would have dared touch the bairns, he might have felt a bit territorial, but there was something proprietary about the way the little midge clung to her.

  The woman pulled her gaze away and looked at Rhys as if she’d known all along he’d been watching. “I’m eternally grateful, Mr. Lumsden. Promise me you’ll love them well.” While she watched the bairns again, she got to her feet, walked up the aisle…and disappeared.

  Rhys was still trying to understand when the lassie let out a grief-stricken wail. The little hand that had been holding…her mother’s…reached out in the direction in which the woman had gone, and only after her second wail did her eyes open. “Muuuma!” Fully awake, she proceeded to break every heart in the room as whispers passed that the wee’uns’ mother had recently died.

  Kristin’s expression made it clear she had no intention of helping. And Rhys had no intention of asking her to. The laddie tried to put his arm around his sister, but she shrugged him off and reached again for a mother that was no longer there.

  “Right then.” Rhys uncovered the children, tossed his plaid over his shoulder, and got to his feet, then he sidled out into the aisle. The lassie showed a sudden agility and jumped out of her seat to follow. But when she turned up the aisle to go after her mother’s spirit, Rhys captured her and lifted her up to face him. “Ye canna go that a’ way, ye see?” He showed how the drink cart blocked her way. “We’ll go look for her the other way, aye?”

  The screaming lowered to a steady keening, but at least he had her attention. Her brother knelt in the seat with his hands on the chair arm, watching like a nervous guard dog. Tears had already washed trails down his cheeks.

  “Ye’re brother shall come with us,” Rhys said. He settled her on his hip, he pulled his hair free and showed her the tail it made. “We’ll take a look about. When ye wish to turn, ye pull this,” he said. “Go on. Give it a try.”

  He reached out for her brother’s hand and the girl took hold of his pony tail for balance.

  “Come, laddie. I’ll not leave ye alone.” To the spirit of the boy’s mother, he added, Aye, I promise.

  For centuries, he’d mourned his own life being taken from him, and here was another tragedy. Only it was unlikely a young Scottish witch would come around to return that life to the young mother. She wouldn’t be offered a pair of days to see what had become of her children, but hopefully, she could trust him to ensure the bairns were well cared for.

  “Go in peace,” he said softly, hoping it would help.

  For half an hour, the three trod a path through all but first class. When they reached the first set of bathrooms, the lassie pulled his hair and they crossed to the far aisle and continued in that fashion, shaping an eight with their progress. They were forced to stop at one point when the line for the loo filled their path.

  An old gentleman looked up into the lassie’s face. “My ye’re a tall lassie. And look at yer brother. Why, he’s not tall at all.” He bent and shook the lad’s hand. “What’s ye’re name, sir?”

  “Albert.”

  “And yer tall sister?”

  The boy giggled. “Isla.”

  The man waved to the bairn as if she were far off shore. “Halloo, Isla!”

  Isla giggled in answer, then pulled on Rhys’s hair to get them going again. They retreated the way they’d come and finally reached their row of seats again. Once they were seated, it was clear Isla was gearing up for another bout of greetin’, but instead, she popped her thumb into her mouth and leaned against her brother.

  She needed distraction, to be sure.

  “Albert, is it?”

  Albert nodded.

  “Tell me about yer mum, Albert. What was her name?”

  People gasped all around them as if speaking of the dead was unacceptable, but Rhys had let his instincts lead the way. If he were a small child missing his mother, it seemed to him the best balm for his pain would be to speak of her, long and often, so there would be no chance of losing details.

  Tears be damned.

  “Sarah,” Albert answered eagerly. “Her name is Sarah, but we call her Mumma.”

  By the time the airplane landed, the young laddie’s mouth was dry and his voice hoarse. Thankfully, Isla had been pacified by his stories, brief as they were. She’d forgotten her thumb for the time being and even offered a word or two, a smile and an enthusiastic nod now and then, on the subject most dear to her.

  “Ye’re a fine brother,” Rhys assured Albert, while they still had time to speak. “I promise to stay with ye while we track down this grandmother of yers.”

  Kristin moved over to their side of the aisle. “Cora Huntly.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Cora Huntly is their g
randmother. She’ll be waiting at the baggage claim.”

  Huntly? Huntly! What sort of trick have ye played upon me, Soncerae?

  Chapter Seven

  After exiting the plane, Rhys put Isla on his shoulders, held onto one of her little legs, and held tight to Albert’s hand as they walked through their designated areas with Kristin skulking behind them. Their first stop was customs, where Kristin produced the children’s passports. When a guard asked Rhys why he’d come to the United States, he thought better of giving revenge as his reasoning and offered holiday instead.

  At the moment, he would have preferred revenge on a certain Scottish witch. And though he controlled his expression for the sake of the bairns, he fairly seethed inside.

  How dare Soncerae manipulate him so? He’d believed the destination had been his own choice, but somehow, she’d herded him onto that airplane like a lamb bound for slaughter. What made him the most furious was that two innocent bairns, suffering from their mother’s loss and the upending of their lives, had been used in such a manner.

  Was it Soni’s intent to have him embrace the Huntly family? Did she plan to demonstrate that, if it hadn’t been for his own sacrifice on Culloden these bairns would never have been born?

  Nonsense. Albert and Isla had naught to do with Colonel Bastard, and Rhys refused to linger long enough to prove it. The journey was over, as was Soni’s manipulation of him. He would fulfil the promise he’d made to the mother and see the children safely to their grandmother. Then he would return to his planned course.

  They never made it to Baggage Claim. The moment they passed through the wall that divided Customs from the rest of the airport, it was over.

  “Albert!” An elderly woman shouted the name and immediately broke into sobs.