Getting some stress out of my system by writing this. I've always wondered what would've been different had Claire managed to get through the stones at the end of "Both Sides Now." I'm not afraid to change history, both story canon, and actual history, so keep that in mind when reading. Feel free to give me song prompts, character appearance prompts, scenario prompts, and the like. I have a general direction I'm going in but am happy to wander around. Thanks for the reviews. Cheers!
I hadn't been in the Scottish Highlands but a few weeks before I managed to find trouble. Granted, I was in Scotland because of trouble so the additional burden of chaos was not exactly surprising. Especially since I have a bad habit of sticking my nose into business it shouldn't otherwise be in. That's why I went through the police academy, and that's why I rose up through the ranks to be one of the youngest female breachers in the Charleston SWAT team. When some of the other teams were low on members I also acted as a counter-sniper or grenadier, depending on what they needed. Basically, I liked explosive, to bust down doors, shoot things, and weapons. I was always happiest when physically exhausted from a hard day's work or a hard day's training. Never content to sit still or be idle, my family had basically begged me to join the force to keep me occupied. And I loved my work. Ten years on the force, and seven of those in SWAT, and only a half dozen vacations taken that lasted longer than three or four days taken during that time.
It was because of my work, and my penchant for burying myself in it, that I'd come to the Highlands of Scotland. I was on an ordered sabbatical. Though I'd lost team members before in my years on the force, the most recent hostage crisis I'd come through really had taken its toll on my nerves. I was loathed to admit the wisdom of the doctors when they had advised my superiors that I should have some time off. This, of course, came after I'd sent my mate Alejandro to the hospital during a grappling session. It had been an accident, Alejandro had even vouched for me, but to have it happen so soon after the incident, well they'd basically packed my bags for me. I wasn't to return until I'd gotten the anger and angst out of my system and so I'd figured a trek through the Highlands—something my husband and I had always wanted to do—was just the thing. Lots of isolation, so little chance of me getting pissed off unnecessarily, lots of bad weather to keep me distracted, and lots of beauty to instill a sense of awe in my calloused soul. I only wished Iain could've been with me. A few months before cancer finally took him two years ago, he'd made me promise to do this trip. "See my homeland," he'd told me, though the poor bastard had been far more American than me: I was first generation, both my parents as Finnish as they come.
I'd been in the process of seeing his homeland, not too far out from my recent stay in Inverness when I'd come across the standing stones called Craigh Na Dun. A folk tale lover, I'd explored the local library and had heard tales of magic and disappearances from a few of the local eccentrics. I hadn't thought much more about it, though, aside from wanting to see the stones on my trek. And so off I went and soon enough found myself standing in front of the largest stone staring at it in curiosity. I had an odd sensation standing there, as if I were being watched by people long dead, and I thought I heard voices, cries even, coming from the rocks themselves. But it'd been when my whole body felt to be vibrating, strange energy emitting from the ground through my hiking boots into my bones, that I'd reached out and placed my hands against the standing stone.
The screams were what brought me out of my daze. Using the standing stone as ballast, I stood and peered around to the other side. A trio of soldiers dressed in the outfits of a bygone era was in the process of dragging a screaming woman away. Not bothering to ponder why in the hell they were dressed the way they were or what the hell they were doing, I reacted to the screams. Reaching down, I dug out two loose stones from the ground by my feet. I knew I wouldn't have much by way of time once I released my weapons, so I pivoted around the stone and threw the rocks at the same time I barreled forward. The first stone caught one guard in the back of the head while the other hit the second guard in the knee. They served their purpose, however. Stunned, both guards let go of the woman and we passed each other: her stumbling towards the stone and me tackling the third guard to the ground.
He had a hard time getting a firm grip of me, considering I still had my pack on my back, but he was strong and he rolled me off him soon after I landed a few punches to his gut. Encumbered by the pack, I couldn't get to my feet fast enough. It seemed the other guards did not have the same trouble, however, and an explosion of pain on the back of my head had me falling back to the ground. I flailed around, my fingers digging into the rich soil by my head, as I tried to push myself back up. Two sets of strong hands seized my shoulders and aided in my efforts, though not with the intention of letting me go once I was standing.
"Where's other bitch run off to?" I shook my head, the world swirling in colors. I looked over my shoulder to see that the woman had, in fact, completely disappeared. "Davy, go check the other side of the hill." One guard let go of my arm and moved back towards the stones. I began to tense, ready for another round of fighting, but the head guard pulled out a flintlock pistol and pointed it at my head. "Now you, you big bitch, will come with us, nice and easy now."
I grit my teeth but allowed the guard to lead me to a wagon in a flatter area not far off from the stones. I was used to being called such insults. I wasn't overly tall at five foot ten inches, but I was built sturdy and had to keep in top shape to maintain my position as SWAT breacher. Far from a swooning waif, I could hold my own against most men who decided to take a swing at me. I was at a disadvantage here, however, in that they were armed, I was caught off guard with my pack, and I also didn't know where, or when, the hell I was.
Once we reached the wagon, the guard removed my pack and threw it in the back of the wagon before he tied my hands together and motioned me to join my pack. Davy, the guard I'd landed the rock to the head, came back empty-handed soon after.
"Well," the head guard glared at me then looked to the sky, "they'll be expecting us at Fort William soon enough and there's no telling if more rebels are lurking out there connected to her." He pointed his gun at me one more time before he tucked it away again. "We move out."
As the wagon rolled along and I listened to the snippets of conversation the guards carried on, I ran through my working knowledge of the stones, Scottish history, and the likelihood of my having gone insane. I had never been known for taking flights of fancy, even as a child, but perhaps the stress of work had finally gotten to me. A particularly jarring rut had me bouncing quite uncomfortably and I threw the idea of imagining all this out. My head still hurt and my wrists were starting to smart against the rough rope. No, I was really sitting in the back of this wagon being led to some fort.
The guard who had been walking behind the wagon, seemingly satisfied that I wasn't about to run away, moved to walk alongside the other two in the front. I studied his sword carefully and pictured the flintlock the other guard had had. I knew weapons and military history so based off the weaponry these men had I had to—somehow—be in 18th century. However it had happened, and there was no denying that it had happened, I'd managed to travel through time and the woman I'd haphazardly freed had also traveled through time since they'd not found her screeching down the hill on the other side of the stones.
As the day wore on I wracked my brain for everything I knew about 18th century Scotland. There was the Jacobite Rebellion and...the wagon bounced again and this time threw me against the back of it, nearly toppling over the edge. I mumbled a curse to the road, driver, and horse, as I righted myself. Then my thoughted turned to whether I should try to escape. Having accosted British soldiers, and now traveling to their garrison, I did not have a high chance of survival once we reached our destination. However, being alone in this time and place, I had equally little chances of survival if I escaped. There was the chance though, that if I could get back to the stones that I could travel back to my time.
Mind made up, I looked over my shoulder through the wagon. All three guards were towards the front and all three guards were complete imbeciles to think I wouldn't have a knife in my boot. I made quick work of getting the dagger out and cutting through the ropes. The day was wearing out and dusk was starting to settle and by now we were starting to weave closer to a river. It sat at the bottom of a steep hill, I could spy it on occasion as we veered this way and that on the road. If I could manage to time it right, I just might be able to roll to the bottom with minimal injuries.
I stared at my pack. I had to take it. It would allow me to survive on my own for some time, hopefully just enough to get back to the stones. It would weigh me down, and it could lead me to get caught—or shot—but I had higher chances of survival with it. I looked back through the wagon towards the front. There was another curve coming up. I would do it then. I slipped the pack onto my front and as quietly as possible snapped it together across my back. I'd rather protect my front in the coming roll. The guards were happily talking about their recent escapades with whores, none the wiser. The wagon hit a rut, the curve came close, I grit my teeth, and threw myself out the back.
At first, I didn't hear anything other than the sound of my body rolling over grass, rocks, more grass, a shrub, and more rocks. The world spun nauseatingly into one giant mass of colors and even when I felt icy water envelop my body, signaling I'd hit the river, I felt like I was still spinning. Over the din of water rushing over rocks, I heard the guards shouting and soon after the zip and whine of bullets coming my direction. I stood, fell on my face, then stood again. The river wasn't very deep here but towards the middle, the rapids were stronger and it was deeper. I checked to see which way it flowed and, finding it going in the opposite direction the guards had been traveling, I awkwardly waded through it until I felt the current tug. I rolled onto my back, feet facing forward, and let the current take me. I looked back up the hill and saw, to my relief, that the river was faster than the men, even when they were jogging. It wouldn't last for long, no doubt, but for now, it was enough.
I let the river take me until it came to a bend where a copse of trees offered me some cover. I swam towards the shore until my feet found purchase on the rocks. The wet pack had me face planting on the river's edge and I quickly unsheathed my boot knife again. My hands were too cold to handle the snaps now. I sliced through straps. Hearing the soldiers coming closer, though not yet in sight, I threw off the back from my front, quickly reshouldered it, then crawled through the undergrowth into the tree line.
I paused but a moment to catch my breath and breathe hot air on my hands, before I stood and hurried through the trees. I wasn't sure if I was traveling towards the stones or not at this point. All I cared about was getting away from the three stooges. I could still hear them calling to each other but their voices were getting more and more distant the further I scrambled through the trees. It was then that I came across another ravine without warning. A positive to my subsequent tumble down it was that it put even more distance between myself and the guards. A negative was smashing into a rock at the bottom. My head hadn't quite stopped spinning from the first tumble down and now it was spinning from the crash.
As I lay, catching my breath and waiting for the world to stop spinning, I thought through my position. My body prone on the ground between the boulder and the hill, if I managed to pull some foliage over myself, I could evade detection for a time. If I took off my coat, a bright blue rain jacket, my black sweater underneath would help me blend in. My hiking pants were green and boots brown. The only other thing I had to worry about was my hair. Platinum blonde hair didn't hide well in a forest. Taking off my pack, I opened the top and fished out my black beanie. Quickly, I stuffed my hair into it before zipping the pack and reshouldering it. I grabbed some of the soil nearby and smeared it over my face. Being "glow in the dark" white did not often have advantages. This all done, I leaned up and grabbed some fallen branches, cut off some fern leaves, and built up a makeshift wall that covered my position. I made sure to have a clear exit to my left and right, though I pulled some more branches close by to offer cover if the guards managed to get down the hill without my knowledge.
Here under the tree canopy, it was much darker. The chances of the guards attempting to continue their search without the aid of reinforcements or lights for much longer were slim. I decided to wait for a half hour before trying to find my way back to the stones. In that half hour, however, I'd have to worry about hypothermia. Thankfully I packed all my clothes in weather-proof bags, so I knew I'd find dry clothes. The question was whether I wanted to risk getting undressed while waiting to escape. After another moment I decided against it and settled for pulling out a honey-based energy packet and quietly sucking it down while I listened to the Highland night.
It was only after darkness was a solid thing draped over the forest and I hadn't heard a human sound in all the time I'd been hidden, that I decided to change. Shivering and already numb in my fingers and toes, it was a hell of a time getting new clothing on—the hardest part getting the old clothing off—but once everything was settled, I pulled my pack onto my shoulders and dug my way out of my hideaway. I didn't dare use my headlamp just yet, at least not until I was out from the forest and could see in all directions. I made "friends" with a few trees and boulders with my face and legs before I managed to get out from the confines of the forest and back onto the open plains area.
It was an overcast night but without light pollution in any direction, I found that I could see well enough without my headlamp. I just needed to decide on a direction. I moved further out from the forest so I could take in more of the countryside, in as much detail as the night would allow. It was as I was studying the lay of the land, figuring out which direction I'd come and should go, that I heard the hoofbeats. Since it wasn't coming from the direction of the guards, I figured it wasn't another attack from them. But I wasn't guaranteed an ally coming from any other direction either. I turned to hurry back into the forest just as the hoofbeats came alongside me.
"Claire!" A man's voice called out just moments before I heard the thud of his dismount behind me.
I didn't stop. I began to run but another horse pulled in front of me, baring my way, just seconds before I felt a pair of strong hands grip my arm and jerk me around. I used the momentum of the pull to aid in my punch. It caught him across the jaw and stunned him enough for me to pull my arm free. I kicked him in the shin before turning and moving back towards the forest. My face hit the ground seconds later, the body of a third rider lying atop me the cause of my fall.
The man I hit spoke in a language I didn't know, most likely Gaelic, and the man atop me, in the process of extracting himself and hauling me to my feet, replied in the same language. The man I hit came closer and grabbed my shoulders, giving me a shake. He growled a question at me in the same language and I shook my head. I could make out enough of his features to tell that he was young, younger than myself, and had it been another time and place I'd have found him handsome.
"Where is Claire?" He finally spoke in heavily accented English. "Where is my wife?"
I tried to shake myself free. Though we stood around the same height, he had more strength than me. He was also at the advantage of not falling down two hills, swimming in a freezing river, and being confused as hell as to where he was or when he was.
"I don't know where your wife is." At the sound of my voice, his grip lessened only marginally. "I helped a woman escape three British soldiers earlier today, by the stones."
He let go then, "She got away?"
"Yes," I rolled my shoulders, "but when the soldiers tried to find her again, she was gone."
"Gone?" He parroted back.
"Yes. They looked for her but decided not to waste more time when they couldn't find her." I looked away from his scowling face to see that he had three companions. The smallest, it seemed, had been the one to tackle me. The other two were holding the loose horses and watching our interlude with wary eyes. One spoke low in Gaelic then, to which the man grunted a reply. He seemed to notice me in my full just then, his eyes traveling up and down my body. After another comment from his companion, he grabbed my arm and pulled me towards him.
"Why should I believe you, English? You could have been the one to sell her to the soldiers."
I rolled my eyes and jerked my arm free, "You fucking serious? I look like hell warmed over right now and you think that's because I happily sold your wife to some soldiers? Look, I don't know all the details my Highland friend, but all I can tell you is the truth as I know it. I heard some screams, I attacked the soldiers, your wife got free, your wife disappeared, I was taken, I broke free, and now I'm on the lam. And I'm not English. I'm American."
"Jamie," the tackler got back on his horse, "we should go now."
Jamie, the man interrogating me, frowned but nodded. He grabbed the reins of his horse and pulled it close. He pointed to my pack, "Give that to Murtagh." I looked between the other companions then passed the pack up to the one who moved his horse closer. "Dinnae try anything, Sassenach." Jamie motioned for me to mount his horse then pulled himself up behind me. "I have more reasons to slit your throat than keep you alive."
"Duly noted."
We rode away from the forest then, back in the direction they'd been traveling from. As romantic as it may seem in movies and books to share a horse with a well-built Highlander, being of similar build left very little room and I knew that we were both uncomfortable as hell. I was thankful that the horse wasn't one of the Highland ponies I'd seen a few days before. If that woman had been his wife, I could understand his manhandling and anger. But it also made me wonder, why had she been trying to get the stones without him? Was he a wife beater? I looked over my shoulder at him and after a quick study, I mentally shook my head. He didn't seem the type. That still didn't solve the mystery of why his wife had been at the stones and he absent.
"I know you don't believe me," I interrupted our tense silence and spoke over my shoulder in a low voice, for some reason feeling that only Jamie should hear what I had to say, "but just as I traveled through the stones, I think your wife did." Jamie didn't say anything, so I continued. "I was born in 1985 in the suburbs outside Charleston, Virginia. I was on vacation in the Highlands of Scotland in the 21st century when I came across Craigh Na Dun." I paused and still Jamie said nothing, but I felt his body was tense and knew he was listening. "When I was in Inverness, I'd heard legends of those stones having magical powers and that over the years many people had disappeared near them. When I visited them myself I felt strange energy and after I touched the main stone I heard the screams of your wife and saw the soldiers."
Jamie spoke then, "You expect me to believe this tale, Sassenach?"
"My name is Irja Jarvinen, not whatever insulting term you're calling me."
"What sort of an English name is that?" Jamie seemed to ask the question despite himself.
I sighed, "It isn't English. It's Finnish. And I don't expect you to do much of anything you aren't already intending upon doing. Believe me or not, I've told you the truth." I looked at him over my shoulder again. "Once you find that your wife isn't near the stones, what do you intend upon doing with me?"
"How do you know I willnae find her?" His arms tightened around me. "Did you make certain no one would find her?"
"My job is to protect others, often putting my life in harm's way to make sure they are safe. That is exactly why I'm here now, riding this blasted horse with you, and your wife is not currently a prisoner of the very guards I saved her from. I never even spoke to your wife before she disappeared. As I attacked the guards, she rushed by me, and by the time they had me on my feet and secured she was gone. So no, I did not harm her."
Jamie grunted but didn't say anything more. Although I didn't want to, I began to feel fatigue gnaw at my body and the heat traveling from Jamie's body into my own was not helping matters any. More than once I had to shake myself to keep from relaxing against him. I was spared further discomfort, for the time being, when one of the unnamed companions called out something and we came to a stop.
"Now we'll see if you tell the truth, Sassenach," Jamie spoke close to my ear just moments before he dismounted and dragged me off the horse with him.
I didn't bother reminding him of my name. I was unceremoniously tossed to the largest of the unnamed companions while Jamie, Murtagh, and my former tackler disappeared up the hill that held the stones. It goaded me, being so close to the stones and yet being unable to touch them. I trusted that my new companion would be happy to land a couple of blows before I got far so I remained as I was.
"Not that I care much for the wench," my captor spoke when the others still had yet to return, "but it will do ye well to speak truly on her whereabouts."
I thought for a moment before I answered, "I swear by all that is holy that I speak the truth when I say I don't know where she went after I attacked the men trying to take her. I agree when you say it would do me well to speak the truth. While I'm no shrinking weakling, it would only take one of you with a well-placed slice to end me." I looked down and studied his sword. "In fact, if you're planning on killing me I'd like it to be sooner rather than later."
Jamie appeared by us before the man could reply. He again grabbed hold of my shoulders and gave a violent shake.
"What have you done with Claire? I saw signs of a struggle and some torn bits of cloth like the dress she had been wearing but no other sign of her." The other man stepped away and let Jamie continue to manhandle me. "Please, tell me the truth." He seemed to have lost some of his fight as his voice took on a more pleading note.
I reached out and placed my hands lightly on his forearms as I leaned my head closer so only he could hear, "If you look through my pack you will find items that cannot possibly be from this century or be the result of witchcraft." I added the latter as I figured that accusation would soon enough be coming. "I am sorry that she is gone but just as certain as I am standing here displaced in time so she traveled to another."
Jamie glared at me for a tense moment before he barked something to the others in his native tongue. Murtagh gave him my pack then he began his way up the hill and pulled me alongside him.
"If you speak the truth, then you should be able to travel back through the stones." He gripped my arm tighter. "You should be able to take me to Claire."
I tripped but his grip on my arm kept me upright, "I'm no expert on these things. I can't guarantee a thing." We came to a stop just shy of the main stone. I began to feel that strange energy again. "Let me go alone. If it does work then you'll be stuck as much as I am now."
He was to have no reason. With a growling curse in his native tongue, he pushed us forward until our hands were on the stone. The same dizzying blackness that had thrown me to the ground earlier that day smacked me again. Only this time I had Jamie's hand in mine.