A Time & Place for Every Laird

The Drummosse Muir

Near Culloden, Scotland

April 16, 1746

It was a colorful battlefield.  The green of the springtime moors and
the Highland kilts contrasted with the turbulent grey-blue of the sky and the vivid blue of the regimental flags.  But mostly there was red.  The red coats of the Hanovarian army, which vastly outnumbered the supporters of the bonny Prince Charlie, offered a bright counterpoint to the duller red of the Highlanders jackets, whose kilts of green, blue, and red were stained by the sickening hue of their bloodshed, washing the moors of Drummoisse.

T
here was also the red of anger, veiling the Highlander’s vision as he watched the carnage.  More than a thousand of his countrymen—brothers, clansmen, and friends—were dead already, fallen amid the vicious hand-to-hand melee while many of the enemy who still stood.  His mount shifted restlessly beneath him, eager to join the fray as he was, to avenge the lives of those already lost.  To spare others a certain death.

The cannon f
ire from the Hanovarians continued relentlessly until the blasts were ringing in his ears and raining earth upon their small group as they watched the slaughter from a rise in the distance.  Swords clashed and men shouted out their clan’s cry for battle or cried out in pain as they were run through.

“Your Highness, we must retreat.”  The words were n
either his own nor directed at him, but as they were spoken the Highlander’s jaw clenched in denial.  Mayhap they should.  If they could not save or avenge, fleeing this ill-conceived catastrophe was one of few options remaining, but he was a Highlander by blood and right.  The blood of his ancestors raging in his veins demanded that he not accept defeat.

Their
forces on the left flank had not joined the fight that was ripping apart their countrymen by cannon fire and sword.  Their main attack had been forced by soft ground to push right and was now pressed from both sides, with no escape from the slaughter, and the combat had waged for no more than half an hour thus far.  At this rate, the battle would be lost in the same amount more.

He couldn’t stand fo
r it.  He hadn’t wanted it.  This Jacobite cause wasn’t his own, but he was a man who supported his clan, supported the uncle who had called him to arms.  Nae, he hadn’t wanted this, didn’t believe in it, but he would not stand by and be an observer to bloodshed and death… his own pristine jacket red as well but not dyed so by the blood of brother or foe.

His mount shifted under the clenching of his thighs and started forward as he unsheathed his mighty claymore.

“Nae, cousin!” a voice shouted over the din.  “Ye dinnae hae tae!”

“Aye, Keir, I do,”
the Highlander ground out and spurred his mount into a gallop as he headed into war.  Behind him, more of his clansmen followed, including his cousin, and he plowed through the fringes of the bloody battle, swinging his sword left and right at any red-coated soldier he encountered until he was at the heart of the melee.  His mount reared against the press of bodies, but he held on and continued to swing, ignoring the scrape and prick of glancing blows and the trickle of blood down his neck and arm.

It was a massacre.  Their weary band stood no chance in this fool’s errand. 
They were outnumbered more than two to one.  Even at their best they would have stood no chance, but he was proud of the Scotsmen who refused to concede victory, who continued and would continue to fight to the last man.  He lashed out again and again, growling viciously when he felt a blade pierce his leg.  The Highlander turned with murder in his eyes to face the man who had done him harm, his face not the blue of his ancestors in battle but red with the blood of his foes.  The Englishman’s eyes widened and he spun about, eager to vacate the area, but the Highlander would have none of it.  Kicking his mount, he pressed forward with a fierce cry. His horse screamed and buckled beneath him, falling to its knees with a shrill cry.  The Highlander had no choice but to leap away, but he couldn’t abandon his enemy.  He chased after the fleeing coward on foot, cutting down any who stood in his path.

The ringing of swords faded
until all he could hear was the sound of his footsteps striking the ground, his harsh breathing, and the pounding of his heart.  His prey glanced over his shoulder and started to sprint in earnest from the Highlander’s pursuit.  Horns sounded, calling for the Jacobite retreat, but the Highlander ignored the call.  Before this was over, this last Sassenach would be his.

A grim smile pressed his lips into a tight line as he focused on the soldier’s back
, just an arm's length away.  He swung his sword and caught the man across one shoulder, and the soldier stumbled and fell… no, fell and slipped out of sight through a wide hole before them.

Heels
digging into the ground, the Highlander tried to turn aside before he met the edge of the abyss, but his momentum was too great and he too slipped over the edge, through the darkness and into the light beyond.

Spokane, Washington

Early May 2013

“Dr. Fielding?”

Claire knocked firmly on the office door
, only to have it give under the pressure and swing inward with a low moan of the hinges as if inviting her in.

“Dr. Fielding?” she ventured once more, sticking her head through the portal
, but found the office empty.  Claire hesitated, gripping the stack of folders she carried against her chest, and debated whether to simply leave them or come back later. Finally, with a shrug, she stepped in and went to the desk to drop the files.

As she approached, Claire
saw a small furry face appear at the door of a small pet carrier—a plastic shell with a small caged door—sitting on the corner of the desk.  A cat?  But, no.  Little hands wrapped around the bars as it looked out at her with huge blue eyes that blinked at her calmly, almost as if the creature were studying her as she approached.  “Well, aren’t you a funny-looking thing?” Claire cooed at the animal, which looked to be some sort of monkey, though it was no bigger than a kitten.  It had a long tail and long fingers, like a primate, but large, oddly shaped ears reminiscent a bat and long, shaggy fur.  Claire had never seen anything like it and had to wonder if it was perhaps some newly discovered species from Madagascar, where they identified new sorts of primates and small lemurs all the time. 

Given
that Dr. Fielding was an astrophysicist, the bigger question was what the animal was doing on his desk.  “What a funky little mammal you are,” Claire whispered, bending to get a closer look.  The little monkey leaned forward as well and waggled its fingers, much as she did.

“
Oh, how cute you are!  Smart, aren’t you?”

“Ssss ba-boo
,” the monkey-thing sounded out, reaching through the bars toward her, its little fist opened and closed as if it wanted her to give it something.

“
Do you want something to eat?” Claire asked, charmed by the bright-eyed creature.  “I wish I had …”

A high-pitched
cry broke the near silence of the room, making Claire almost jump out of her skin as the fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck as the monkey squealed in turn.  The sudden noise was followed by other muffled noises, some animalistic and some almost human.  All of them close.  Claire jerked around to door set at the far end of the lab that was standing just an inch ajar. 

Curious, she inched closer to the door and
peeked in, only to find a darkened lab space.  Shiny metal machinery reflected the meager light from the office and outlined ghostly shapes around the white room. Off to one side was another door that had also been left ajar, and from it a ray of light streaked across the floor almost to her feet, creating a path inviting the curious to take a look.  And Claire was undeniably curious about the sounds that continued to echo through the room.

Just a peek, she told herself as she slipped across the room.  Just one little
… but what she saw through the door startled her so much that Claire couldn’t help but stop and stare.  Flanking each side of the room was a long row of … well, they looked like prison cells. 

Prison cells that were mostly full of animals.

Her company, Mark-Davis Laboratories, had often been equated to a real-life version of the fictional conglomeration Global Dynamics from the Syfy television series
Eureka
.  The company’s mission was to be on the cutting edge of technology in many different areas.  Though they had their fingers in a lot of pies, as it were, Mark-Davis dealt; first and foremost, in weapons development under contract with the federal government and, for that reason, unlike pharmaceutical companies or even cosmetic companies, they didn’t have much need for animal experimentation.  In fact, in her two years with Mark-Davis, Claire had never seen an animal on company grounds before.

So, w
hat was Dr. Fielding up to, Claire wondered curiously as she pushed open the door and stepped inside for a better look at the animals in the first few cages.  For what reason could an astrophysicist possibly need animals?  And these weren’t your standard lab animals, either.  There were deer and other small forest animals as well as a kangaroo. An oddly shaggy bear slept on its side in one cage, while another cell held a fierce-looking wildcat that paced its confines restlessly. There were also several species that she didn’t recognize, like the monkey in the office.

A shudder passed through her
, prompting Claire to inch back towards the door.  Curiosity had not only killed the cat but also cut short a few careers as well.  This—whatever it was—was not something she or anyone else was meant to see.  Regretting her impulse, Claire knew she should leave and pretend she had never been there, and she meant to, but at that moment movement stirred farther down the line of cages.  A figure rose from the floor to stand at the bars.

It was a man, Claire realized
with a gasp of surprise.  Or, to be more precise, an Indian.  Not an Indian as a nationality, but a good, old, straight from the Wild West, feathers and all American Indian.

Moments ago,
Claire had thought that monkey to be the craziest thing she had ever seen, but she had been wrong.  This guy looked so authentic!  He was dressed in a leather breechcloth. His bare chest was darkly bronzed and covered with scars as well as filth and … was that the dull shine of oil or grease?  There was a primitive nobility about him but also a primal savagery that inspired instant fear.

Claire nearly
jumped out of her skin when that horrid cry sounded again.  From him.

God, it sounded like a war
cry, Claire thought.  Just like in the old westerns her dad watched on the weekends.

He
fixed his gaze on her then with eyes as black and hard as obsidian, piercing her with a shiver of fear.  He shouted at her, guttural sounds in a language Claire couldn’t understand, but his curt hand motions told her what he undoubtedly wanted. 

He wanted out.

Claire’s eyes widened as she inched back, shaking her head in automatic denial.  There was no way that she was going to be the one to release that angry man.  And it wasn’t based on prejudice against his race or anything at all like that.  No, only a madwoman would unlock the door and release someone who looked that pissed off.

He read her shaking head co
rrectly and his scowl deepened even further.  He barked at her again, motioning insistently to the door.

A faint terror took ahold of
Claire and she edged back another step toward the door.  This was all too crazy for words.  A thousand questions were crowding her mind, begging for answers.  Who?  Why?

How?

But Claire knew they were questions she couldn’t ask of anyone she met.  Her natural curiosity had gotten the better of her this time and she had stepped into something that was way bigger than a few stray animals.

Claire backed off another step
, intending to flee the room and forget what she had just seen, but then another figure appeared at the bars of a cage farther down the row and opposite the Indian.  Another man!  This man was larger than the Indian but just as grimy and mangy.  His dark hair and beard were long and matted.  His face was so dirty it was difficult to see that there was human flesh beneath.  He was dressed in a bloody, torn tan shirt and … was that a kilt?  Was he Scottish?  If he was, he was so dirtied and bloodied that it was difficult to tell.

His nostrils flared and his lip curled
… his heavy eyebrows were parted only by the vertical furrow between them when his gaze pierced hers.  There was anger this man, just as there was in the Indian, though he was perhaps even more terrifying without the restraint and nobility of the Native American.  He was wild, untamed.  Claire’s heart raced unexpectedly, pounding against her rib cage. 

Fear.  Panic?  Claire could define
what she felt, but even as her pulse quickened, the anger faded just as rapidly from his vivid blue eyes.  What remained was frustration and maybe a touch sadness and defeat.  When he spoke again, his voice was grating but soft. 

Surprisingly
, her first thought was that she’d thought they spoke English in Scotland.  Claire couldn’t comprehend his words, but neither did she ask him to repeat them.  As with the Indian, she knew what he was asking.

Inexplic
ably, her first impulse was to comply.  She even took a hesitant step forward before she realized what she was about.  “I can’t,” she whispered with a shake of her head, not even certain that he would understand her any better than she understood him.

Even if Claire
were to unlock the cells somehow, there was no way for him to escape the facility.  There were coded locks, guards, and cameras everywhere.  Thinking of the security cameras, she glanced overhead at the camera mounted above the door, aware that both men’s eyes followed hers.  Were they intelligent enough to realize that they didn’t stand a chance?

“Please.”

Claire’s eyes widened at the sound of the word.  Had she heard that right?  Was he speaking English now?  Glancing back at the Indian, she tried to determine whether he had understood as well, but that warrior’s gaze was still as dark and fiery as the depths of hell.  The bigger man was waiting more patiently but there was desperation in his eyes.  Pleading.  Claire’s heart ached.  Whoever he was—
whatever
he was—he didn’t deserve this. 

“
I don’t know …  I—I’ll try,” she said, sweeping her glance around the room once more and taking in the variety of animals and the two men caged as if they were beasts as well.  Claire didn’t know if there was anything she could do, but some latent humanitarianism in her couldn’t leave them there like that without doing something.

The murmur of voices floated in from the hallway, jolting
Claire back to the precariousness of her situation.  It wouldn’t do at all to be caught where she knew she should not have tread.  Hurriedly, she stepped back into the lab, pulling the steel door shut behind her before hastening as far away from it as she could.  With luck on her side, she made it to the main office door just as it opened.  “Oh, Dr. Fielding, Marti asked me to drop off those files you needed.  They’re on your desk.”

“Thank
you …?”

“Claire,” she supplied.

The astrophysicist nodded absently, his entire focus on the folder in his hands, leaving Claire ample opportunity to sneak by without any further questions but for those fairly bursting in her mind.