A Time & Place for Every Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  And, in that moment, she was afraid of him as she hadn’t been before. Afraid of what he was capable of. She eyed his bared chest warily. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “I’ve had enough of this natter,” he said brusquely, balling the shirt in his meaty fists with a twist and Claire swallowed back the lump forming in her throat with an audible gulp. “I am going tae make use of yer shower once again. Having hot water poured constantly over one’s head is far more satisfying than buckets of cold … or this conversation.”

  “Oh, okay.” Claire released the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding, but suddenly the thought of being in the same space with a naked Hugh was more than she had bargained for. “I think while you’re doing that I’ll just run out to the store and get some more groceries. You’ve emptied the fridge entirely.”

  She pulled on her cardigan, aware that Hugh had paused at the foot of the stairs. Picking up her purse, Claire fiddled nervously with her keys while Hugh studied her so gravely that she had to wonder what he was thinking. “Is—is there anything in particular you’d like?”

  “A heel of bread and crowdie are more than any simple traveler should expect from those who gi’ him shelter,” Hugh said, his brogue soft now as if he regretted his harsh words. “But perhaps some bannocks tae break our fast in the morn would be welcome.”

  Nodding stiffly, Claire exited into the garage and got into her car. Sitting there in the dark, she thought through her choices for what seemed to be the hundredth time, awash with doubts if not regrets. Doubts that she had done the right thing, that she was doing the right thing. Yet she couldn’t think of anything she would have done differently. Perhaps if she hadn’t seen him in his prison cell she might feel differently. But …

  With a self-deprecating growl, she pushed Hugh, her doubts, and her fears aside as she drove away. She would not second-guess herself again. She might come to regret it one day when she was either brutally murdered or wallowing in a prison cell, but she wouldn’t renege on her promise to help him. Ground rules were all they needed between them. Hugh needed her, not the other way around. Surely he wouldn’t risk her aid by doing something stupid.

  No, Claire thought. We can leave stupid all to me because surely today I’ve completely lost my marbles. She was helping a savage, time-traveling Scotsman escape the federal government … voluntarily. It just didn’t get any dumber than that. Though, in truth, she probably had more to fear from the Feds than from Hugh.

  Chapter 9

  Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Claire instead occupied herself by watching her rearview mirror as she drove along, wondering if she were being followed or if her nerves were making her more paranoid than she needed to be.

  She went to a nearby Safeway and slowly browsed the personal care aisles first, adding the toiletries they would need to her basket, including a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a razor and shaving cream for Hugh and wondering if he would comprehend the function and importance of them. Clearly he enjoyed the shower, so cleanliness itself wasn’t an issue, but how much emphasis had been placed on other areas of hygiene in his time?

  Recalling some mention in one of her history classes that perfume was often used to cover body odor, Claire backed up the aisle and added a second stick of deodorant to the cart.

  On the way to the grocery area, she Googled crowdie and bannocks on her smart phone and bought the closest interpretation the grocery store had of both, adding some sausage to the cart as well to accompany the buckwheat pancakes she would make as a substitution for the bannocks for breakfast. Unable to think of anything else they would need, she checked out using her debit card to pay and employed their maximum cash back option. After stowing the food in her trunk, she went back into the store, using some of the cash to buy a prepaid cellphone.

  Whether she was being clever or not, Claire wasn’t certain. Whether it was necessary or not, she wasn’t any more confident. Assumptions and spy thrillers aside, she simply had no idea just how much the government could track or discover. Of if they would even bother.

  Claire pictured Agent Jameson’s stern face and furrowed brow again. Yes, there was a man who would bother.

  Back in her car, Claire plugged the phone in to power it up and activated it. She wanted to call her parents, friends … anyone to talk about what had happened and perhaps get some advice, but Claire knew she couldn’t do so just yet. A move like that would be just as incriminating as updating her Twitter status with something like “Rescued a time-traveling Scotsman today and it turns out that it might end up being a federal offense … #CraziestThingIveEverDone.”

  Who would believe it besides Jameson?

  With a wry grin, Claire instead dialed another number by heart and waited while it rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Uncle Robert!” she said with forced cheer. “It’s Claire.”

  “Well, hey there, sweetheart!” Robert Mitchell responded happily. “I didn’t recognize the number.”

  Claire winced and improvised, “I’m on a temporary phone. Mine sort of died. Um, I was wondering if you would mind if I stayed on Bainbridge this week. I have some vacation time and I thought …”

  “We’re still down in Florida, you know,” he told her. “We’d love to see you but we weren’t planning to be back for a couple more weeks.”

  “I know,” Claire said, then paused. “I just thought I might go there alone … by myself … for a little quiet time.”

  Silence followed the request. “Don’t you think you get enough quiet time, sweetheart? You know your parents worry about you. I don’t think they’d like it if I encouraged such solitude.”

  Claire mentally groaned. Yes, she knew how everyone worried for her. They never hesitated to say so, or to try to set her up on blind dates or have one of her brothers bring over a single friend when she visited. God, she loved them all but sometimes their overprotectiveness was hard to bear.

  Robert took her silence to mean something entirely different, however. “Unless you weren’t planning on going alone?”

  Flexing her jaw indecisively, Claire decided it wouldn’t hurt anyone to let that assumption play in her favor. “Do you mind?”

  “No, no! Not at all! Not at all! I’m just glad to see you … well, you know,” he said effusively. “Would you like me to have the maid come in for you or would you rather be … well, alone alone?”

  Heat crept up Claire’s cheeks at his innuendo. “I’ll be fine alone, Uncle Robert. Thank you so much. Uh, would you please, please not say anything to Dad, though? I wouldn’t want him calling or just dropping by at an inopportune moment.”

  “My lips are sealed,” Robert promised, though Claire had few doubts that he would be telling Aunt Sue the moment they hung up. She could only hope that her hideaway would be a secret one for more than a few days.

  After offering her thanks and promising to call again soon, Claire hung up and headed back to her townhouse, stopping for a Diet Coke Big Gulp at the 7-Eleven, and sipped on it while she filled up her gas tank. Cast in the glow of a street lamp, a policeman sat in his car across the street, a radar gun in his hand as he targeted the oncoming traffic. Thoughtfully she watched him as the pump was running, thinking about how easy it would be to cross over and tell him her tale. Agent Jameson could pick up Hugh at her house without her being there to watch. Just like that, all her troubles would be gone.

  No lying to her family, no risk of imprisonment.

  No half-naked Scotsman in her house.

  And maybe that was at the root of her sudden unease. It wasn’t that Hugh was in her house. It was that he had taken off his shirt and bared that massive chest to her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of what he might make her do. It was …

  Driving the unwelcome thought away, Claire drove home and parked in the garage once again before gathering up her grocery bags and taking them inside. Half hoping for and half dreading an empty house, she found Hugh on the sofa, thumbing through a fitness magazine. T
hankfully, he was fully dressed once more, his long dark hair curling damply around his ears. His eyes followed her from amid his hairy face as she put away the food. Clearly he was expecting some words from her, but Claire was suddenly tired, drained by the emotional toll of the day’s roller coaster of emotion.

  Yes, there was much to say, much to do, but it would have to wait until she had a good night’s sleep behind her. Without a word, she gathered bedding and waved Hugh off the sofa to make him a bed there since her extra bedroom was filled with office equipment. That done, she went to her room, closing the door behind her. Her hand hesitated on the lock only briefly before she twisted it.

  It was a pointless gesture. That little lock wouldn’t stop Hugh if he wanted to come in, and Claire was certain he wouldn’t even try.

  So why bother? Claire wondered at herself. To keep her in? Changing into her pajamas and washing her face, she climbed into bed, grateful to put the day behind her, but sleep would not come. Roller coaster of emotion? More like a merry-go-round! The heartbreaking pity of the morning. The fear of Hugh grabbing her in the parking lot. The arguments and back to pity and then sympathy before he challenged her once again. Up and down, round and round, again and again.

  But oddly thrilling nonetheless. Hugh had loomed above her, scowling angrily – practically yelling at her – and yet she hadn’t been afraid. Instead she had felt … alive in those moments. Her heart had pumped wildly while adrenaline had surged through her veins. If she hadn’t known better, Claire might have thought she had enjoyed the confrontation.

  Even knowing that caution was the better part of valor, she had hardly felt any trepidation at all over having a warrior Scot in her living room.

  Until Hugh had pulled off that damned shirt.

  Of course, now she realized that he had done it only carelessly. An abrupt escape from her prying questions. Well, it had certainly shut her up, hadn’t it? She hadn’t known what to say or where to look. As it was, the image of that vast, muscled chest was burned into her mind. Hugh wasn’t just a project anymore or a benevolent mission. He was a man.

  Claire rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow against her chest, staring out at the empty expanse of bed next to her. Reaching out, she ran a hand over the cold sheet. As a military wife, she had spent many nights alone. She was used to it, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed the solitude or didn’t miss having a big warm body next to her. Claire blinked into the darkness at the thought, one she had never admitted before, even in the dark silence of her thoughts.

  Maybe that’s all it was. After all, it had been three years since she’d had close contact with an unrelated male, and she had been taken off guard by a reluctant and unexpected appreciation for Hugh’s magnificent physique … and by the shocking urge to reach out and touch him. Those feelings had been reserved for Matt. Only for him and never another.

  She had made her choices to remain alone after his death and was content with them. A little reminder that she was still a young woman who could appreciate a man’s body wasn’t so bad. It was natural, human even.

  But that little reminder left her feeling lonelier than she had in a long while.

  As the clock strained toward midnight and sleep continued to elude her, Claire flung back the covers and crept to her bedroom door. Silently, she opened it and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, peeking into the living room. Hugh’s bulky form was outlined on the couch.

  Quietly, she inched down the steps and started when a deep voice broke the silence of the night.

  “Once again ye dinnae call upon the authorities tae come tae yer aid.”

  He was watching her, Claire saw. His arms were folded behind his head and his eyes glittered in the dark room.

  “You’re awake.”

  “As I said, ye make as much noise as a startled stag,” he said lightly. “Why do ye nae just rid yerself of me, Sorcha? Why dinnae ye turn me in, as ye threatened before?”

  “Did you think I would?” she whispered.

  Her eyes, though Hugh could not see her expression, were surely filled with uncertainty. An uncertainty he had felt through the long evening as he had awaited her return. Or the arrival of the authorities. “I must confess that the thought did cross my mind.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop me from leaving?”

  “Tis nae my place tae do so,” he answered simply. There would be many moments in the days to come when his rescuer would have opportunity to rethink her decisions. Stopping her once would not change that. The decision had to be hers.

  Sorcha had said that he must trust her in that matter, and oddly enough, Hugh did. He didn’t think that she had the same faith in him, however. Her reaction after dinner when he had rashly pulled off his shirt to escape her probing questions had spoken volumes. Her silence after her return had been equally troubling.

  Pushing aside the blanket covering him, Hugh rose and walked slowly toward her. It was like approaching a young fawn one wished not to startle, for Sorcha stared at him with rounded eyes, tensed to flee. Still, she did not, once again gaining his admiration as she stood her ground, giving him time to study her.

  Even with nothing more than a shaft of moonlight upon her, Sorcha was a bonny lass of classic beauty with her high cheekbones, straight nose, and smooth jaw. Her lips were full and rosy and her skin creamy smooth as well but her most prominent feature was her eyes. They were wide and so dark that under the delicate arch of her brow they looked almost black now.

  They were eyes that expressed every drop of emotion she felt. There had been fear and panic showing in them that day. Curiosity and wonderment as well. Sorcha was brimming with questions about him that Hugh wasn’t certain how to answer. And he was curious about her too. Curious as to why she hadn’t turned him over to the authorities, why she wanted to help him. Curious why he had entrusted his future to her, when he had always been the one entrusted.

  And curious how, at such a crossroads of his life, he could be distracted for even a moment from his worries to look at Sorcha as a woman and feel such bewitching desire for her.

  His eyes drifted down her length, absorbing her shocking night apparel. She was dressed even more immodestly than she had been before. The sweater and blue blouse with the open collar and trousers she had worn earlier had been so provocative—once his worries had eased sufficiently for him to notice—that he’d been hard put to set the attraction aside. Yet focusing on her allure was far more pleasant than wallowing in his misery. Only constant conversation had kept him from fixating too intently on either one. Now Sorcha wore nothing more than a short, dark purple shift and a pair of short, baggy, plaid breeches without even a robe to cover her. Her shiny auburn hair that had been clipped at her nape earlier now hung loose about her shoulders.

  In his time, such a display in a man’s presence would be an unspoken invitation, one Hugh wanted to accept. And Sorcha was a widow to boot, after all.

  Yet even with the entirety of her well-turned ankles exposed, Hugh could sense nothing promiscuous about her nature. Nothing welcoming in her demeanor. Acting on his impulse to take her in his arms would serve only to cut short his welcome … and would likely earn him a slap to his cheek as well.

  “Are ye afraid, Sorcha?”

  “Of you?”

  “Aye.” Hugh held his breath, curious for her answer. He had no desire for her to fear him.

  “No,” she whispered finally, and Hugh breathed a soft sigh of relief, but she wasn’t finished. “Of all the rest, though? Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Justifiably so,” Hugh returned quietly, watching as she rubbed her arms as if she were suddenly chilled. He set his big hands there as well and chafed her arms lightly. He kept the contact light but her body tensed anyway, a shiver shaking her from head to toe. “Sorcha,” he whispered, waiting until she lifted her head and met his gaze. “For what ye hae done for me, Sorcha, ye will forever hae my earnest and heartfelt thanks. Ye hae nothin’ tae fear from me, lass, I promise ye.”

  “
Do you swear?”

  “Often and wi’ inspiring éclat,” he responded solemnly.

  Sorcha just shook her head, as she tended to, but Hugh saw humor lighten her eyes if only briefly before she continued, “Still, maybe we should set some ground rules.”

  “Such as?”

  She didn’t respond immediately, and Hugh could sense that she had a great many rules warring in her mind and was merely trying to prioritize them. The realization sent a shaft of humor through him, and Hugh had to stifle a smile. She was a prickly thing but a good sport nonetheless.

  “No more removing clothing in my presence,” she said finally. “And no touching.”

  “Done,” Hugh agreed immediately, dropping his hands. “I promise I willnae touch ye again wi’out yer express permission.”

  “I told you before, Hugh, I am offering … my help. Only my help.” She stepped back out of his reach. “Get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Hugh felt a reluctant grin tug at the corner of his mouth. She had certainly put him in his place, but little did she know, for so many reasons, sleep would not be gracing him this night.

  “And ye get back tae yer warm bed ’fore ye catch a chill.”

  In her room, Claire leaned against her closed door, rubbing the goose bumps that covered her arms and refusing to acknowledge that they had nothing to do with being cold.

  Chapter 10

  The day after the escape

  The sofa was empty and the blankets folded in a neat stack when Claire crept down the stairs the following morning. Hugh was nowhere to be seen, but as she descended, muffled grunts and thumps became audible, and crossing the kitchen, Claire cracked open the door to the garage. There she found Hugh beating on the punching bag she kept hanging from the rafters for her kickboxing as if he were battling an army of men. He hit it again and again, his muscular torso covered with sweat and glistening in the dim light of the overhead lamp.