Page 4 of A Time & Place for Every Laird (A Laird for All Time #2)

If Darcy was right about anything it was that Claire needed to get out of there and clear her head. Giving up on her lunch, Claire told her supervisor she was going home with a headache and left the building.

But she could not erase the image of that prison, those two long rows of cages. It was one thing to keep animals for scientific experimentation. Perhaps it was not a PETA-friendly concept, but at least it was accepted. But to keep people? That was something else entirely.

Claire tugged at the edges of her cardigan and wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection with a tremor of repulsion. While the Native American man had seemed more than a little animalistic, the other man, for all his savage appearance, had more in him than anger.

Something had to be done for them. But what?

And where had they come from? What was Dr. Fielding working on? Surveillance? Bah! There was something more than that going on. Something had potentially transported not information but two men through time.

Time travel. Claire shook her head. It was ludicrous, or at least unprecedented. The two men might have just been in costume. Exceedingly authentic costumes. Geez, she scoffed inwardly, for some reason that sounded far more unreasonable than her time travel notion.

Lost to the mad scramble of thoughts clashing with the questions in her mind, Claire robotically pulled her keys from her purse, absently unlocking the door of her Toyota Prius as she approached. The usual beep-beep and flash of her taillights passed unnoticed but the vice-like grip that wrapped around her wrist as she reached for the door handle brought her back to the present with a squeal of surprise. In a heartbeat, she was yanked to the ground, a rough hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her cry. For a moment, she froze in shock and denial. A thousand news reports of women assaulted and killed flashed through her mind, sending an icy blade of sickening fear through her gut.

Then somehow the adrenaline born of panic kicked in, and Claire began struggling against the arms that held her. She clawed at the hand covering her mouth, trying to pry it away, until her eyes … and her nose . . . caught up with her mind.

The arm and hand that held her were large, filthy, and bloody.

The smell that assailed her held the metallic tang of dried blood, perspiration, and death.

A harsh voice sounded in her ear, speaking words she couldn’t make out, but Claire recognized it immediately. It was hard to forget something that sounded like that.

Something that smelled like that.

He spoke again. The rhythm of his guttural words was familiar but she still couldn’t make them out. She tried to speak against his hand, and after a moment he reluctantly lifted it away, his body tensed to react should she dare scream. “I can’t understand you,”

she whispered shakily, wondering if her death was imminent.

“Send me back!”

came his carefully enunciated reply accompanied by a rough squeeze that nearly stole her breath. His command sounded like “Sen mae back”

and was still nearly unintelligible, but Claire got his point.

“I can’t!”

Claire choked out, quaking with fear as she launched a futile struggle against him once more. The mass of his huge body felt even larger behind her than her short glimpse of him in the cell had led her to believe. His arms were like steel bands around her, making her resistance pointless.

He twisted her about in his arms until Claire was staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Up close, he was even more terrifying. His black beard was crusted with blood and grime, as was what she could see of his face and arms and clothes. The whole of him was just as nasty as it had seemed from a distance. “Send me back home,”

he commanded fiercely once more, his hands rough on her upper arms as he gave her a little shake. Had she truly just been thinking that there might have been a softer side to this man, whoever he was? She was at his mercy and suddenly regrettably sure that there was none within him.

“I—I told you, I can’t,”

she repeated, terror evident in the high octave of her voice.

“Who can? Take me tae who can!”

he growled ferociously, sending a more violent shudder of alarm racing through Claire’s limbs, and she began to fight again, pushing against him.

“Stop fightin’ wi’ me, lass. I mean ye nae harm,”

he said, enunciating each word slowly to ensure that he was understood.

An incredulous squeak escaped her. “Oh, is that so? Where did all that blood come from then?”

“From me.”

Claire’s eyes darted over him in disbelief, finally seeing the half-healed wounds on his forearms and one on his neck. His left leg was caked in blood from the knee down. Then she raised her eyes to his vivid blue ones, held them. Of course, they were all she could see beneath his matted hair and beard, but those eyes didn’t glow with murderous intent or with cold rage. Instead, they held the same despair and desperation she had seen in the lab when he’d been caged. While desperate men could do desperate things, and logically Claire knew she should fear for her life, somehow she felt the fear ebb just as it had in the lab.

“Are you badly hurt?”

Clearly, the question startled him, much as it had her. His gaze turned to bewilderment for a brief spell before the anxiety began to return. “I want tae gae home.”

Heart pounding wildly against her ribs at his impassioned words, Claire felt her chest tighten with emotion, and tears sprang to her eyes as sympathy rushed through her. She understood that. She knew what it was like to desperately want something you could not have.

To beg and plead, curse and wail at Fate and still be denied.

Suspended by the thought, Claire stared up at him, not even flinching when the wail of sirens and alarms filled the air. He did though, his eyes darting around in alarm.

The Scotsman – if that’s what he actually was. Who knew, really? – looked wildly around, trying to identify the source of the noise, while Claire tried to come to terms with the inherent insanity of what she knew she was about to do. She could hardly believe it herself.

“We need to get you out of here,”

she said calmly, recalling his attention. “I assume that’s for you?”

While he stared at her in surprise, Claire stood and opened the back door of her car. “Get in and stay low.”

His blue eyes were easy to read. Mistrust. Doubt. Who could blame him? She was as dumbfounded by her actions as he. “Do you really have any choice?”

she asked. “It’s them or me.”

If she hadn’t known better, Claire might have thought he rolled his eyes with something akin to humor before he disappeared inside her Prius. Shutting the door, Claire opened the driver’s door and slid in. Calmly, she started the car and shifted into reverse, backing out of the parking space. Just as serenely, she put the car in drive and pressed her foot down on the gas pedal.

That was about how long it took for her to second-guess herself.

“What am I doing?”

she whispered to herself, gripping the steering wheel tightly at ten and two. Doubts and recriminations filled her mind. “Are you insane, Claire?”

Still, she drove calmly through the gates while the big Scot hid in her backseat, glad the gate was unmanned but fearful that the cameras might catch something, some movement, as she passed. Fearful? Her mind whirled. Shouldn’t she be hopeful? Hopeful that someone had seen what had happened and was on their way to save her from this savage madman? To save her from herself?

What was she thinking? The guy might be a mass murderer for all she knew, and she was actually thinking of taking him … where? To her townhouse so she might be slaughtered in the privacy and comfort of her own home?

A hysterical giggle escaped her as Claire steered her car through the streets of Spokane. At worst she would be dead by nightfall. At best she would be unemployed by the next morning. “You’re risking your life and livelihood here, Claire,”

she continued to mutter under her breath in self-recrimination. “Why? Why are you doing this? Turn around, take him back, and claim temporary insanity. Kidnapping. Something. Oh, my God, I’m such an idiot. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!”

Claire pounded on the steering wheel with those last three words.

What was she thinking? Was she thinking at all? There was a time and a place for sympathy. This was not it. That man might have a sad story that tugged at the heartstrings, but was she really going to risk her whole life just because …

“What is this conveyance?”

The garble of words from the backseat was barely intelligible.

“What?”

Claire asked, unable to work out his thick brogue, and the Scot repeated the question more succinctly, pointing at the dashboard.

“It’s a car,”

she told him.

“Car,”

he repeated, pushing himself into a sitting position until Claire could see him in the rearview mirror. He was looking around him with that odd combination of fascination and denial people get when they’re subjected to something new. A low, brushing noise told her he was running his hands over the upholstery, as if tactile sensation could prompt belief or acceptance.

“What is this world?”

he asked harshly as his eyes took in the scenery passing by the windows, the panic once again rising in his voice, but Claire had a question of her own.

“How did you get out?”

“Tell me what I want tae ken, lass!”

he barked.

“You first!”

Claire shot back, taking her eyes briefly off the road to turn and look at him. His blue eyes were as blazing hot as the pilot light on her stovetop. He was … terrifying. She should have been terrified, but whether she was doing the right thing or not, some part of her illogically believed that he wasn’t going to hurt her.

Or at least he wasn’t actively planning on it.

Taking an abrupt left, Claire pulled into a parking lot behind a small strip mall and threw the car into park even as she twisted around to face her would-be kidnapper.

“What are ye doin’, lass?”

he gaped in disbelief. Each word was clipped and carefully enunciated so that she could understand him the first time. “We hae tae flee ’fore they coordinate a pursuit!”

“I’m not going any further until you tell me what happened.”

Their eyes locked, warring for position and power. Claire couldn’t believe that she was taking such a drastic step as to challenge him so. Her insides were a mass of nerves that shook her until she felt like jelly but she couldn’t back down. Somehow she knew that showing any weakness was the very worst thing she could do with someone like him.

Apparently her instincts were correct. A moment later, his fierce frown eased and a grudging respect lit his fierce blue eyes. He fumbled against the door for a moment before finding the handle and deducing its operation. The door flung open, and he was out of the car and into the front seat before Claire could even think about taking advantage and making a quick getaway. He looked at her as if pondering her state of mind. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, over the bloodied tartan, without thought and Claire could only shudder, wondering what else this savage man might consider with such disregard.

“Well?”

His teeth were practically grinding out his annoyance. “Our jailor came in wi’ food an’ the savage …”

“The Indian?”

“Aye, if that’s what ye would call the savage warrior, though he dinnae appear to be from that nation, but I willnae argue the point. The guard got too close tae his cage and the savage caught his arm and pulled it ’twixt the bars. He broke it rather ruthlessly before taking the guard’s keys,”

he explained, missing Claire’s grimace at his unemotional retelling. “I could tell the Indian was unfamiliar wi’ them but had seen them in use often enough these past days tae know their purpose. Cannie lad.”

No argument there. “And he let you out?”

“Aye, and the animals as well,”

the Scot nodded, and Claire thought of the animals she had seen that morning. Many looked harmless, but the bear and the wildcat would have provided additional chaos in the lab. Canny lad, indeed.

“But how did you get out of the building?”

Claire persisted. “Its security is state of the art.”

He shrugged. “I dinnae ken yer terminology but ’twas simple enough tae elude the roving eye. I had a view from my cage into the outer room, which allowed me tae see the mobile portraits staged there.”

“The monitors?”

He only raised an impatient brow to indicate once again that he was not familiar with the term. “It wisnae difficult, watching the movement of the eye within our prison walls and the portraits, tae ken that they showed only what the eye could see.”

So he had some brains, Claire thought. He’d been smart enough to glean information from what he saw and extrapolate that information into usable data. Impressive. But still …

“I can’t believe you managed to get out of the building.”

“’Twas simple enough,”

he shrugged once again. Clearly the gesture was a dismissive one, and Claire got the impression that he thought she was wasting his time. Well, impatient or not, she wasn’t going any further without answers.

“There are guards everywhere in there,”

she pointed out. “How did you get past them all?”

“Past them?”

he laughed arrogantly. “Ha! They were but a wee annoyance.”

“But they had guns. Firearms.”

“Those puny guards were nae match for us.”

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Claire blinked at him in horror. “Did you kill them?”

The Scot met her gaze, his humor waning. “Nae, I dinnae. It wisnae necessary tae do so in order tae overcome their petty resistance.”

“Thank God!”

“The Indian, however …”

he added with another nonchalant shrug. “I fear he dinnae feel the same moral obligation tae the sanctity of life.”

“Oh, God!”

Claire moaned, resting her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Ye think they wouldnae hae done the same tae either of us if they had the opportunity?”

Claire rocked her head against the upper curve of the wheel. “I think they won’t hesitate when they find you now.”

“Then I shall hae tae assure that they dinnae.”

She looked up doubtfully. “Should I even ask how do you plan to do that?”

“Wi’ yer assistance.”

Rolling her eyes, Claire laughed disbelievingly. Regardless of the effort she had put forth so far in his favor, she would be a fool to continue with this madness. She had put herself at quite a risk already. “You expect me to help you?”

“Ye already hae.”

“Because I felt sorry for you,”

she told him, and the Scot bristled at the words.

“I dinnae need yer pity. I dinnae need anyone’s pity!”

“Then get out and start walking!”

she shot back.

He was scowling at her once more, but Claire could see the respect growing again in his eyes. He probably wasn’t used to women talking back to him. Given his attire, he was probably more used to damsels in distress and wilting maidens. Or … Claire raised a brow. Perhaps he was just used to clubbing them over the head and dragging them off if they misbehaved.

“I shall accept yer assistance,”

he said in magnanimous tones.

“I haven’t offered it,”

she pointed out, amazed at his arrogance. “And every bit of logic in me argues against doing so.”

“But ye will,”

he responded with astounding certainty.

Was she that easy to read? Could he see so readily that what her mind knew and what her humanity insisted on were at odds? “What makes you so certain?”

He met her gaze steadily then, and Claire could see the crinkle of the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes as if they were smiling at her. “Ye hae a soft heart.”

Claire just stared at him, wide-eyed. “That’s what you’re going with?”

she snorted, shaking her head. Cautious Claire. The one who never did anything stupid. Damn it but she was going to get the World Cup of awards for Most Momentous Mistake Ever Made after this. “What is your name? I might as well know it if I’m going to help you.”

“Hugh,”

he said, the name surrounded by the soft roll of his brogue. “Hugh Urquhart.”

Claire humphed and jerked the gearshift back into drive.

“And yers?”

he asked. “I might as well know it if ye’re going tae be my savior.”

Twisting her lips to keep from smiling, Claire looked away so that he wouldn’t see the reluctant humor. “Claire Manning.”

“My pleasure, Miss Manning,”

Hugh said with unexpected gallantry that had Claire shaking her head once again.

“Oh, it’s all mine, you know,”

she murmured a little sarcastically. “Just so we’re clear … I’ll help you and in return you promise you won’t kill me. Deal?”

“Ye hae my word,”

he said solemnly, holding out his hand, and Claire daringly slid hers into his roughened palm, intent on giving it a firm shake.

But then the strangest thing happened. His hands – dirty and bloody as they were – engulfed hers. They were strong, warm, and rough, and just the feel of them made her shiver. It was not a shiver of fear.

It was something else. Something more.

And apparently he felt it as well. His eyes widened as they both stared down at their clasped hands, his so large and dark surrounding hers.

A metallic bang and a shout sounded nearby and jolted them both. A busboy from a restaurant in the mini mall was tossing garbage into a dumpster behind the building. Hugh moved away and turned in his seat until he was facing forward, but Claire could almost see the questions bursting from his mind.

She had questions as well.

The biggest one was, which of them held more answers?

Shaking her misgivings away, she pulled back into traffic. “Oh, and it’s Mrs., not Miss. Just so you know.”