Page 8 of A Time & Place for Every Laird (A Laird for All Time #2)

Claire closed the door and leaned back against it, releasing a trembling breath as the burning fear that anger had pushed to the side rekindled within her. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and banged it softly against the door with a thud. What was she thinking? She’d just been given an out from prosecution and she hadn’t taken it. All she’d had to do was point up the stairs and Hugh Urquhart and all his troubles, all of his cantankerous attitude, would have been swept out of her door. But her dislike of the agent had overridden her more manageable irritation with the lab’s stolen property and she hadn’t been able to do it. She hadn’t wanted to give Phil Jameson the satisfaction of finding what he was looking for.

It had been the right choice, but eventually Claire knew she would end up paying the price. This wasn’t like freeing a dog destined to be put down from the pound. Evidently, this was a federal offense. She could go to prison. Or worse.

But what if she didn’t help Hugh? What would happen to him? His fate could be much worse than hers potentially was. He might be a massive, arrogant, ignorant bully but he was still a human being. Sighing, she opened her eyes to find the big Scot contemplating her solemnly from across the room. There were questions in his eyes that she didn’t have the answers to.

“Ye dinnae tell them …”

“Yeah, yeah,”

she scoffed. “I’ve heard I have a soft heart.”

“Sorcha …”

“We’ll need to get out of here before they come back,”

Claire cut him off, pushing away from the door. Her mind was already spinning, thinking of what they could do. Where they could go. Clearly, Jameson hadn’t believed her at all. Either that or he was naturally suspicious. Either way, she knew he’d be back, and next time a search of her townhouse wasn’t something she would have an option about.

She rushed up the stairs into her bedroom and to the closet, pulling down her biggest suitcase. Then she rejected it for a smaller version. “We can’t take much. They’ll know we’re on the run for sure.”

“Sorcha …”

“Cash! Damn, we’ll need cash. The Feds can track you anywhere now with a credit card. I have some, but it won’t last for long.”

Claire went to her dresser and opened the top drawer. She pulled a small box out from under her socks, grabbing some underwear and bras as well and throwing them into the bag before slamming that drawer shut and opening the small box to count the cash inside. “I can’t go to my parents. If those guys notice I’m gone and connect the dots, that will be the first place they look. We need somewhere unconnected.”

“Sorcha.”

Hugh’s huge paw covered her hand and Claire looked up at him with wide eyes. She was panting, blood pumping with renewed fear and adrenaline.

“What?”

“This isnae yer fight.”

“Really?”

She raised a mocking brow, finding solace from the fear in the comforting arms of sarcasm. “You think you can go out there into the great wide open by yourself and come out a winner here? Do you have any idea what they will do to you if they catch you?”

Hugh just shrugged as if it were of little matter. “More of what they’ve already done, I would wager.”

“Wrong!”

Claire shot back, infuriated by his nonchalant attitude. “If you go out there and more people find out what happened and where you’re from, they won’t be able to stick you back in that hole and pretend nothing’s wrong! They’re going to come after you with guns blazing, and after that—if you aren’t dead by then—they’re going to drag you back to the lab and make a science experiment out of you. They’ll slice and dice you without mercy because you aren’t a person to them. You’re a thing to them. A mistake. And they’ll have to cover it up. After that it’ll get really bad.”

“Are ye always so optimistic?”

“Always,”

she snapped. “Can’t you tell from my charming, upbeat personality?”

“Sorcha, look at me.”

“My name isn’t Sorcha!”

she screeched.

Hugh only raised a brow and took her hands in his. He looked down at her, forcing her to meet his compelling gaze. “Ye’re frightened. I ken that. I hae nae wish tae burden you wi’ my presence or the consequences of my escape.”

“Which I’m already an accessory to,”

she added, but Hugh only shook his head and brushed a tear Claire hadn’t even noticed away from her cheek. As if his touch held a magical balm, Claire’s panic ebbed and her breath slowed, though her heart was still racing. “Forget it. There’s no backing out now. I just need to figure out what to do about you.”

“Yer a brave lass to be sure,”

he said softly, “but this isnae yer burden tae bear. This is my war tae be fought … and won.”

Unconsciously, Claire tilted her head against his hand, feeling the rough texture of his palm against her cheek. The warmth of his skin against hers. He was alive. So very alive. She wanted him to stay that way. Call it pity. Call it a humanitarian effort to right a moral wrong. Claire knew that she couldn’t just let Hugh Urquhart walk out that door and face the unknown dangers that awaited him in her time. The logical side of her knew he wouldn’t last a minute out there. The dangers of this time were almost as bad as what awaited at the lab for a man so out of his element.

Out of his time.

Finally, Claire awed over what science had done. Dr. Fielding had somehow created a time machine. The ramifications were huge. There was no telling how the ability to travel through time and space might change the world as she knew it. It was a power that might be used for the benefit of all mankind. However, given the history of that selfsame mankind, Claire knew that it was more likely to be used for less than benevolent reasons. Business and national governments didn’t normally have great track records when it came to altruism.

Releasing a deep breath, Claire smiled tightly up at Hugh. Her voice calmed. “I must say you’re taking all of this incredibly well. Far better than I am.”

“’Tis a surprise tae ye, while I’ve had time tae get used tae it,”

he said. “I hae been in that prison for weeks, mayhap months, wi’ time aplenty tae consider the horror of what awaited me. I ken that it is a wee bit worse than I imagined, but I can make my own way now. I can make my own way now.”

Claire shook her head. “No, Hugh. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me … for now, anyway.”

Still Hugh did not relent. “It isnae a burden for a lady tae bear.”

Claire’s brows shot up. How utterly primeval he was! “Are you saying that I shouldn’t help you because I’m a woman or that you think I can’t at all because I’m a woman?”

Looking puzzled, Hugh grimaced at her tone. “The art of strategy and combat is historically a man’s domain.”

There wasn’t much of a feminist in Claire, but his words were enough to rouse what little there was. “Well, I think now I have to save you just to prove you wrong. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you wouldn't last a day out there on your own.”

Hugh visibly stiffened, and Claire was quick to put a Band-Aid on his male pride by adding, “No, that is not a challenge. It is a simple truth and one you’ll just have to accept. You have no money, no mode of transportation … no clothes! You could walk through the NSA’s front door without even knowing it. You need help, and I’m willing to give it to you.”

“I dinnae need yer charity,”

he ground out stiffly, prompting a wave of impatience to wash over Claire, keying her up all over again.

What was it about him that was so irritating? Was it the masculine refusal to acknowledge that he was lacking in some way or the implication that, as a woman, she was? “Really?”

she drawled with a touch of mockery. “’Cause from here it looks like you could. I’m just saying.”

The Scot drew away, crossing his arms over his thick chest as he glared down at her.

Claire would have none of his He-Man BS though. She shook out her hands as if the motion could wave off her growing frustration with his archaic ways. “I know, I know! You Tarzan. Me Jane. Well, welcome to the twenty-first century, pal. To America! Land of equal rights for everyone, the ACLU, ERA and Rosie the Riveter!”

Hugh blinked. “Yer a most bewildering woman.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ then?”

“Aye tae what?”

he asked. “I dinnae ken a word ye just said.”

A surprised huff of what might have been laughter escaped Claire and finally, the tension truly deflated. “How about my friendship then, Hugh? Instead of charity? Could you use some of that?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and Claire held her breath until Hugh’s shoulders dropped a notch. “Friendship is always welcome.”

Claire grinned inwardly at his gracious acceptance as she turned back to her packing. “That I will take for a ‘yes.’”

Hugh responded with a snort but his blue eyes held a hint of bewilderment. “Why are ye helping me, lass? Is it for naught but the pity ye expressed before? Am I truly so pathetic?”

“No, it’s not that,”

Claire answered without turning away from the suitcase. Pathetic, she scoffed inwardly. Hugh might inspire many things but pity wasn’t truly one of them, so then why was she doing all this? Benevolence? Sympathy for a kindred soul? “I don’t know, really. I guess at this point I would just have to call it a random act of kindness.”

The momentary silence behind her told Claire that Hugh was either wondering at her response or doubting its veracity, but when he spoke, his gruff voice held a hint of softness and even warmth that it had been absent before. “Whatever yer reasons, tis gratifying tae know wi’ all that has changed, that human decency has nae entirely disappeared from the earth as I had feared.”

Claire jumped at the heat of his hand as it surrounded hers and stared up at him wide-eyed as he lifted it, pressing a gallant kiss against the back of her fingers. “Ye hae my gratitude, Sorcha.”

Her mouth opened and closed of its own accord, but no words emerged. Jerking her hand away, she turned back to the packing, resisting the urge to rub away the unexpected and unwelcome tingling his lips had left behind. “So, we need a plan,”

she said briskly, pushing aside the awkward moment. “I’d ask you if you had any ideas, but …”

“I’d be nae help,”

he finished wryly. “I am forced by circumstance to gi’ my fate over to ye …”

“A woman,”

she interjected.

“Aye, a woman,”

he relented, drawing out the concession. “But only because I ken nothing of this time and this America of yers. Bluidy hell, such ignorance goes against my nature.”

Claire paused and looked at him skeptically. How could he even say such a thing? Look at him, she thought. He’d come to her dirty, mangy, and unkempt. His hair looked as if he hadn’t cut it in a year, and given the length of his beard, he hadn’t shaved in almost as long. Of course, appearances weren’t everything, Claire acknowledged, but how much could a man from the Highlands of Scotland in the eighteenth century really know?

Pushing the thought aside, Claire resumed packing, but her mind was already plotting her strategy for escape. Where to go, she wondered again, more calmly this time. It did need to be somewhere unexpected, somewhere unrelated to her. If even a portion of what was portrayed on TV was true, the Feds were pretty handy at tracking people. They could probably figure out each purchase and call she’d made during the past week with just a few strokes of the keyboard.

So, she’d need more cash and a prepaid cell phone if she planned on calling anyone for help. Which took her back again to what to do and where to go. Barring Scotland, was there someplace Hugh might like? Some place to remind him of home?

Claire paused, remembering a college friend of hers who was from Iceland once telling her that Seattle had a huge population of Icelanders. They had settled there because the terrain and climate were similar to theirs. Mentally Claire drew a longitudinal line around the Earth, thinking that Seattle lined up pretty evenly with Scotland and that the pictures of Scotland she had seen over the years were comparable if not exact. Perhaps Hugh would find it comforting as well.

Unfortunately, she had grown up outside Seattle, and as she had thought before, her parents’ house would probably be the first place they would look. Then other family and friends. So she couldn’t take Hugh to her brothers’. But …

“My Uncle Robert owns a nice place out on Bainbridge Island … it’s an island in Puget Sound,”

she started to clarify, then shook her head. “Never mind. Point being, it should be a good place to hide out. I’ve got an open invitation to visit anytime, and this seems like a good one.”

“A family member might be the first person contacted by those searching for us,”

Hugh said, employing her own logic against her.

“Yes, but Uncle Robert isn’t really my ‘uncle,’”

Claire said using her fingers to make air quotes around the word. “He and Aunt Sue are my godparents. Lifelong friends. Maybe too close, but I happen to know that the house isn’t titled under Uncle Robert’s name but rather some big umbrella corporation of his. I heard him talking about it to Dad years ago. Anyway, it’s secluded and fairly disconnected from anyone I can be linked to. I would think it would take them a while to find us there, so it might be our best shot.”

“They will nae doubt question my presence.”

“I’m hoping they won’t be there,”

she said. “They are retired and travel a lot.”

“I shall concede tae yer greater knowledge of the possibilities.”

“Why, thank you!”

Claire cast an amused glance at him over her shoulder as she went into the bathroom to retrieve some toiletries. “It’ll be getting there without being noticed that’s going to be tricky.”

“Getting there?”

Hugh asked, his voice carrying easily between the rooms. “Is this Seattle not local?”

“No, it’s a couple hundred miles from here.”

A pause. “How are we tae travel there?”

“We’ll drive there. It’s only about four and a half hours away,”

Claire told him as she toyed with her toothbrush thoughtfully before dropping it back in the holder. Missing toothbrushes and toothpaste would be an easy giveaway that she had packed up and gone. It would be easy enough to buy another along the way. And one for Hugh as well.

Lifting her head, Claire realized that Hugh had fallen silent, and for a moment she worried that he had snuck away while her back was turned, determined to make his own way after all. Rushing to the doorway, she breathed a sigh of relief to find him where she had left him. However, there was an expression on his face she couldn’t quite make out under the beard. “What is it?”

“That car,”

the word rolled roughly in his deep brogue, “’tis a wicked fast thing.”

The implication registered and Claire smiled sympathetically. “Don’t like it much, do you?”

“I’ve never experienced anything moving so quickly,”

he justified.

She had been in quite a hurry before, Claire reasoned. Of course, she had been panicked and scared … not that she wasn’t now. “I’d like to tell you that I could take it slower, but if we ever want to get there, we’ll probably have to go even faster.”

Hugh’s throat worked visibly beneath his heavy beard.

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it,”

she offered kindly.

A strangled sound escaped him and Claire bit back another grin.