Chapter One
THE MYSTERIOUS SCOTSMAN
Tired, warm and most definitely overworked, Claire mopped the sweat from her brow with a cloth before resuming the extremely tricky work of applying stitches to a rather nasty wound acquired by one of the troops taken in this morning. World War II was still very much in full swing and the hospital beds were filling up with sick men, all of them needing immediate care.
At first, Claire didn't hear her name being called, she was much too caught up in her work. Stitches were always her least favourite, while it was reasonably easy, the general administration was extremely tedious. Although, her nimble fingers allowed her to work fast and delicately, not that the groans and whines from the patient quietened any.
"Nurse Randall!" Came the irritable, shrill tone of Nancy, a small stout blonde haired girl who prodded a chubby finger into Claire's arm making her flinch and jump up to address her.
"Nancy!" Claire snapped, "Can't you see I'm busy?" Frowning, Claire glared at her with an icy irritation from being disturbed.
"Aye, I can. But Matron Constance told me to come fetch ye. As soon as you're done, you're to report to her immediately. She said it's verra important!" Nancy seemed all too delighted to deliver this news, even if her strong Glaswegian accent sometimes made her words unintelligible. She was young and relatively inexperienced and often spent most of her time getting under everyone's feet but they needed all the help they could get right now, every hospital in Britain was in chaos and in desperate need of more hands.
"All right... Tell her I'll be there soon." Claire replied quickly, hoping the girl would disappear so she could finish in peace. Thankfully, Nancy was running off in no time to report back to Matron, probably feeling very important.
The hallways were packed with nurses pushing beds or wheelchair's with sick and dying men. The wards were filled to the brim, using every space they could find and the only sounds to be heard were the desperate groans and pleas of soldiers in pain. When Claire had first taken the job, it became rather depressing seeing men die, watching them wither away in pain with not a thing to be done. Not to mention being exposed to the bloodiest wounds known to man, images that would likely never leave her mind. But as the years passed she learned to grow a thick skin and developed a knack for ordering people around and getting the work done. Probably why Matron Constance was so fond of her, that and because like her nursing chief officer, Claire was one of the few nurses not of Scottish descent.
Matron's office was on the top level of the hospital, it was a small pokey room with just a desk and a few filing cabinets. The Matron herself was rarely inside it, instead taking to the wards to order the much younger nurses around, finding work for them and making sure everyone was being of use. Today however, Matron Constance was confined to her quarters.
Claire gave two gentle knocks on the glass before the bold, booming voice of Matron sounded to call her in. Claire peeked her head around the door to see Matron on the telephone, which she happened to slam down sharply and stand up just as Claire had sat down on the worn green armchair across from her desk.
"Don't sit down!" Matron scolded in an accusing manner before storming straight past Claire and leaving the office. "Follow me!" She directed, and Claire was quick to follow the Matron's eager fast steps down the hall.
"What's the matter?" Claire asked, walking alongside Constance, forced to take huge strides to avoid falling behind.
"You'll see." Matron confided, before walking down two flights of stairs and into a cosy side room which was quite dark. It featured just one bed which was the width of the room itself and beside it, a table with a wash basin and a brown rickety chair.
It wasn't the circumstances that were unusual, or the room or even the bizarre manner in which the Matron was acting. It was the huge red headed man occupying the bed.
"He was brought in, in the early hours. Found wandering the fields and blathering nonsense, poor thing. He's acquired quite a nasty wound to his shoulder, if you want to take a look at it." Matron informed Claire quickly, shutting the door for privacy's sake.
"Yes, that's perfectly all right Matron..." Claire noted, taking a moment to look at the injury. "But why couldn't one of the other nurses do it?"
It did seem rather strange that Matron would feel the need to send to the other end of the hospital and disrupt Claire's work when any other nurse could've cleaned a shoulder wound. And just why wasn't this man in the wards with everyone else? There were plenty of other men in worse conditions.
"Well... That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Matron began in a tone that told Claire she was going to get herself wrapped up in something much bigger than she first realized.
"We couldn't find a name on him, not unusual of course but... He wasn't in a Uniform, British or otherwise. His accent from what I heard before I sedated him, is Scottish but his attire gives that away entirely. A kilt!" Matron seemed rather dumbfounded at this "I have no idea what's happened him, but he's not a soldier!"
"Do you think he's a deserter?" Claire asked, her face contorted in both fear and concern for this man, whoever he was. Her eyes fell to his sleeping form. He was covered in dirt, his face thick with it and wild, fiery hair clung to his forehead. Awake, he might seem the intimidating sort, huge and fierce, even his feet were sticking out the bottom of the bed he was so large.
"I doubt it. A Scot wandering around Scotland, delirious with fever. I don't know who he is, but I don't like it. We've to report all suspicious activity and persons and none of the nearby British troops reported a missing soldier, of this description anyway."
Usually, it was rather easy to decipher a deserter. They normally wandered aimlessly and if no identification could be found, they were to be reported and within a few hours their fate was determined and what a sorry fate it was. Besides the fact, deserters mostly fled for home and reached it unharmed, so the fact that a Scottish man had showed up with no one reporting him missing and on his own ground, well the circumstances were strange. Not to mention this man had a rather striking appearance that one wouldn't forget.
"Fair enough Matron." Claire nodded, having no reasonable explanation to add to the story herself. Sighing, she took a seat on the wooden chair. It was best to hurry and get this wound cleaned so she could resume helping out on the wards again. "This won't take long." Still, Claire was still confused as to the reasoning behind her being here, but she wasn't about to argue.
"But that's not just it!" Matron interrupted, making Claire's head fly round to stare at her.
"He was found with weapons on him. Not the usual sort, no guns or anything like that. Great big swords and what I believe to be a dirk. Why in heavens name is a man fumbling around the Scottish Wilderness with such attire, I ask you Nurse Randall?"
Matron seemed rather frantic now, as though the Scot was going to leap from the bed and run her through with a sword. While she boasted a fierce temperament, Claire knew Matron could be extremely dramatic at times.
"I have no idea, Matron." Claire replied with a level head and look that told her senior head to pull herself together. She after all was in charge of every nurse in this hospital.
"I'm sure he'll be more than happy to tell you himself once he's come around, he's burning up." Claire pressed a head to his forehead and felt the heat burn through her skin. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation, right now there's nothing to be worried about. We work with strange unusual men everyday, this is nothing new." Claire informed Matron, pressing her hands to the woman's shoulder and guiding her out of the room.
"I'll stay with him until he wakes up, and find out anything I can. Right now, he clearly needs rest."
"Yes, yes... Quite right. Thank you, Claire. I'll ask you not to make a fuss about this down in the wards, he is a rather monstrous fellow after all, I can't imagine what he's like with all those swords and quite frankly, I don't want to. But I don't like this, I don't like this one bit!" The Matron added, pressing a kerchief to her nose and leaving the room promptly, still worrying on about the situation.
Claire gave a small chuckle, before shutting the door and turning to deal with the mysterious Scotsman.
Hours were lost in the dim room, the sun had faded long ago and Claire was too caught up in her work as usual to bother worrying about the time. A dislocated shoulder, bullet wound in the neck and general bruising where all that ailed the Scotsman and she'd taken care of it quickly enough. The loss of blood was likely the cause of his fever, the wound was a relatively new one but infection was setting in already. However, it was nothing to worry about. Claire had seen the same things time and time again and treated them with precision. The only thing she had never seen before were the horrific scars. Deep, hard scars that covered his back, they looked as though they had been the result of a hard lashing, a lashing laid down with such a fury, an anger that made her shiver to imagine.
It was the scars alone that made Claire all the more wary about the mysterious man. What had he done to receive such a brutal punishment? Her mind drifted into deep thought about it, trying to come up with some conclusions in her mind and before she knew it, her head was pressed against the stranger's sleeping form and she was fast asleep.
The man thrashed and wriggled beneath her hours later, causing her to jump up from her position, startled and alarmed. Blinking frantically, realisation hit her once more and she looked to see the man wriggling and yelling quite loudly.
"Shush!" Claire scolded, moving to stop him kicking his legs, the sleepiness having left her entirely at such a rude awakening. "Will you be quiet, do you want to wake the entire hospital?" Claire hissed, holding him still for a moment until the movements of his body stopped and he simply stared at her, and she couldn't help but notice the innocence in his eyes, which she noted were a deep blue.
"Where am I?" Came the rich accent of the Scotsman at last.
"Edinburgh Hospital." Claire informed him, her arms still across his middle but fairly relaxed as she sat down again, preparing to explain. "You were found this morning and taken here. You were hurt, I've tended to all your wounds but you'll have to stay here until you get better. You're all right now." Confiding to patients that they were safe was a force of habit, it always seemed to soothe them, letting them know they were out of harms way. Men might act fierce warriors on the battlefield, but only in the hospital beds when they were weak and sore did they reveal a childlike innocence, needing to be held and comforted and as much afraid of the raging war as anyone.
However. The same could not be said for this man who did not at all seemed comforted by Claire's well rehearsed words.
"Edinburgh?!" Came his startled reply, his eyes huge like an owls as he stared at her again and she could see the fear set in.
"You're all right... You're safe here." Claire hushed, her tone gentle with a maternal touch.
"I dinna need no hospital lass... I need outta here!" He informed her urgently before making to move again, to which she moved to barricade him in. He was a huge, strong warrior-like Scotsman and she a tall, thin weakling in comparison. That did not deter her however.
"You're not going anywhere." Claire told him, to which his eyes held something of irritation with a mixture of impatience. "Lass, I dinna mean to harm you but I need to get out of here!" It wasn't anger that filled his face, perhaps the smallest hint of irritation now but Claire mostly saw the worry, the panic.
"Calm down!" Claire released her hold on him, looking the mysterious figure in the eyes she pulled her chair closer to his bed, so close that it meant he'd have to throw her off it to get out.
"No one will harm you, I promise you." She began, slowly. "But I can't let you leave until you're better. You're ill and it really wouldn't be wise for you to go now, not to mention it's..." Lifting up her wrist she glanced at her watch. "Jesus! It's twenty-past two! Nevermind you leaving, I should've left long ago." Claire commented, rather to herself than to the Scot.
"No!" The man called out at the mention of her leaving, making a grab for her hand as if to hold her here. "You canna leave me here, locked up in this prison!" His eyes looked startled again, but Claire could only give a small chuckle. The room was tiny and not unlike a jail cell, she supposed, with only a small window that had bars on.
"It's not a prison. And don't worry... I'll stay with you, until you're better at least." It wasn't as if she could go anyway, the moment she did this brute of a Scotsman would be up trying to find the easiest escape, and a huge Scottish warrior on the prowl with a vast array of weapons was all anyone needed.
There was a silence that fell between them at last. His hand felt huge in both of hers. She found herself stroking her thumb across the hard, worn fingers to gently soothe him. If she could convince him she was not the enemy, then he might just calm down and cooperate.
"Do you want to tell me your name?" She asked, smiling encouragingly at him, feeling as if she was talking to a toddler who'd just come from an operation. But, as fierce as this huge man looked, she could see he was truly soft underneath, however she would not like to try his anger.
"Jamie." The man replied warily, as if he'd just unburdened a dark secret. "Mc... McTavish. Jamie McTavish." He seemed quite confident on the last one.
"I'm Claire, it's nice to meet you." She said gently, still stroking his fingers in her hand, staring at him with a tender smile in hopes to ease his fear.
He smiled back at her then, sighing a little and allowing himself to relax. Her method was working. She really did hate sedating delirious patients, but sometimes it was the only option.
"Do you remember how you got those injuries?" Claire tried, a little bit braver this time. "You had a bullet wound in your shoulder and you dislocated it."
"Ah, so those bastards did shoot me." He seemed irritated now, moving his head to try and see the bandaged wound, before trying to wriggle his left arm which was held firm in a sling. "It was paining me a lot, though now I have to admit it doesna hurt as much."
"You'll have to keep it like that for a while." Claire told him. "Only until the bruising comes down and then I can take it off. As for the bullet wound, as long as it's kept clean you should avoid infection and it should heal properly."
"Ah..." Jamie looked at her then with a deep fascination. "So you're a healer then?"
"Yes." Claire nodded with a smile, glad that she had for the moment taken his mind off the worry and fear that plagued him earlier and he was calming down considerably.
"And my clothes?" He asked, noting the fact that he was indeed shirtless and stripped of all weaponry.
"I had to remove your shirt to bandage you up. Although, I'd be happy to replace it. Yours is destroyed in blood." Jamie nodded at this, as though it seemed a sensible solution.
"I thank ye lass." He replied.
"Your kilt and weapons and all of that are just over there." She pointed to the corner of the room where his possessions lay. Although the Matron had taken some of his large swords to examine herself, Claire thought it best to leave that detail out. "We'll wash everything and return it to you, don't worry."
"You're a verra kind lass." Jamie replied, smiling at her, she couldn't help but notice how humbled he seemed by what was just general procedure in any hospital. "Although I willna be taking up much of your time, I hope to be on the road again shortly. The men will have wondered where I've got to."
Finally, Claire thought, she was getting somewhere. Slowly but surely this Jamie was gladly revealing parts about himself without her having to ask.
"I'm sure they'll understand. Where is it you're from?"
"A good way from Edinburgh, that's for sure." His eyes widened as though astonished that he'd somehow landed here. "I'm going to a place called Castle Leoch."
"Castle Leoch?" Claire replied. "I've not heard of it."
"Yer no native to Scotland though... I'm presuming, it's just your accent..."
"No..." Claire nodded, a question she seemed to get a lot. "I'm from Oxfordshire. I've just been posted to work here for the war."
"The war?" His face screwed up in confusion. "What war would that be? How long have I been out for?"
"The second world war?" Claire replied slowly, her own facing matching his confusion but for entirely different reasons. "Jamie... er, Mr McTavish... Have you hit you head or sustained any head injuries before you came here?" Now Claire's face was masked in concern, she pulled her hand from his grasp and touched his forehead, which admittedly was still warm but nowhere near as hot as it was. Amnesia was a common ailment for soldiers during the war, she had men wake up and not know their name let alone the country's plight. Usually, it was just temporary.
"Hit my head? No... Not that I can remember." His face screwed up once more, trying to recall such an injury.
"Well that's just it, you wouldn't, would you." Claire commented more to herself than to the patient.
"Does your head hurt or...?" She tried, before pushing her fingers into his temples, moving towards the crown of his head. "Does any of this hurt?" There were no lumps or bumps to be found.
"No... No! Aye, what are ye doin?" He scrambled to push her away and struggling, confused to what it was she was doing. Claire merely sighed and sat down again.
"I think you may be suffering from temporary amnesia." She informed him, slowly and calmly so he could digest the words.
"Amnesia? What in the Lord's name is that?"
"It's where you lose some of your memory for a short time... It should come back." She hoped, but she didn't want to scare him. However, Jamie merely scoffed and laughed at her diagnosis.
"Lost my memory? My sister says I've a skull made of iron lass, the only thing I've lost is my way!"
Very well, Claire thought. If he wanted to be in denial about it, so be it. But it would mean they'd have to keep him longer, until they were absolutely sure he was safe to leave. However she thought it best not to reveal this to him now.
"This war lass, who's it against? The English?" Jamie asked, suddenly intrigued now to the events he had no clue of a moment ago.
"We're fighting against Germany, mostly." Claire told him, with a saddened sigh at the realisation of just what a tangle the world was in. This Jamie seemed to have some problem with the English, perhaps why he had gotten so worked up at first given her accent.
"Germany? Are ye sure you havena' been hit on the head?"
"All right." Claire demanded at once, realising she was going to get absolutely nowhere with this man if they carried on. "Enough talk about wars for now." She concluded with a little impatience. "Now about these injuries, can you remember how you got them? You said someone shot at you, is that correct?"
"Och aye!" Jamie replied, with a wave of his hand. "It must've been either Dougal or Rupert who shot me, accidentally of course." He informed her. "And I hurt my shoulder by falling off my horse if I can remember, silly bugger." Despite the fact he was currently laid out on a hospital bed, Claire couldn't help but notice how he brushed off the recount of his injuries with jest and good humour, how very odd indeed.
"And how is it you were roaming around the countryside? Aren't you a soldier, for the British Army?"
Claire was rather sorry she asked this.
"Soldier, for the British Army?" He seemed absolutely shocked and dumbfounded by this, his eyes huge again as though Claire had just sprouted two new heads.
"Aye and in my spare time I like to drink Scotch Whiskey with the King himself!" He thought this comment hilarious and went on to laugh rather loudly which only infuriated Claire.
"Look, I'm trying to help you." Claire spat out rather forcefully with a frown gracing her brow. "You're more ill than you realise." Otherwise, why would he be saying such things?
"Sassenach, I'm fine! I've no but a sore arm!" He told her, in an all knowing fashion.
"Sassenach?" Claire completely forgot what he had been laughing at for the moment, curious as to figure out his strange speech.
"Sassenach... Means outlander or Englishman... I didna mean anything by it." He was quick to defend, but Claire just remained silent.
Matron had told her to figure out the history behind this man. His name was Jamie McTavish, he wasn't a soldier and by the sounds of things, not overly fond of the English. He had acquired his wounds by being shot at accidentally by one of two men he claimed to know and by falling off a horse. As well as this, Claire highly suspected now more than ever that he most definitely was suffering from amnesia.
"I woke up in a ditch..." He said out of the blue, the laughter from his voice completely gone now, his wide eyes searching for hers in the dark in a desperate attempt to make him understand his situation. Her own eyes softened, glad at last that he decided to be sensible.
"I suppose none of the men could find me so they went on... I got up with an awful ache in my shoulder and I walked for miles, in fact I walked from daylight to dark, searching for a path to find my way again, ye ken. I found these stones, huge they were... On top of a hill and I stood there for a time trying to collect my bearings, seeing which way was north and that... I remember putting my hands on the largest grey stone and a strong buzzing in my ears and before I knew it, I must've passed out again and I woke up to find this large woman pawing all over me with an accent not unlike yours..." That must've been Matron when he'd first been brought in, Claire could imagine her making quite a fuss about him.
"I tried explaining to her, but she just pulled out a bloody great point and stuck it in me and everything went dark again. When I woke up next, I was in this dark room with you asleep on my leg..." He looked up to Claire again, finished with his tale. "I dinnae ken how I ended up here... Must've walked it, but I have to get back... You understand me, sassenach? It's no safe here for a man like me... Will ye help me?"
Why was it not safe here for a man like him? Who was he? There was a war going on and no one could be trusted, for all she knew he could be a German spy, but given his story and the outdated weaponry found on him, she highly doubted it. There were still so many questions spinning in her mind, so many she had to ask and understand, yet still reminding herself he was just a patient, more bizarre men came through their doors everyday spinning stranger stories. Yet despite all this, she found herself nodding, squeezing his hand in gentle reassurance.
"I'll help you." She said finally, not understanding why she said it but knowing that there was something genuine in this man, something vulnerable that she couldn't walk away from, something that made him stand out from the rest.
He seemed to calm at her promise, and in her heart she truly felt sorry for him. Here he was, alone in a strange place and she was the first person to agree to help him, whatever that entailed.
"You have to be completely honest with me if I'm to help you, Jamie." She said, addressing him by his name for the first time. He looked at her for a small moment before tugging his eyes away and nodding slowly, as though fighting some internal battle with himself.
"I've told you the truth, some of it anyway..." He admitted. "But..." Whatever he was trying to say, it wasn't coming out.
"But what?"
"I've told you enough about me for now." And that was that, she could continue to prod and poke him with questions but something in his voice told Claire it wasn't going to do any good, he had clearly decided that whatever there was to tell, was not to be told tonight and would hold until he knew her a little better, understandable she supposed.
"I promise to see you home safe." Claire said, looking him in the eye again to try and show him the truth within her words. "But for now, you must stay here and get better. Is that understood?" Her eyebrows raised with concern, she hoped he wouldn't make this difficult. If he could abide by her rules then she could keep her word and help him as best she could.
"Aye... Aye I'll stay for now. Mainly because I wouldna have a bloody clue where to begin getting out of here." A smirk touched his lips and Claire found herself laughing, despite herself.
"I'll be back in the morning... You should get some rest." She sighed, standing up and lifting the basin full of water to take with her, to empty. "Is everything all right, are you warm enough? I can give you something if you're in pain."
"No, I'm fine, sassenach." He gave her a reassuring smile, and Claire couldn't help but notice that he seemed a little contented now that they'd have a little talk.
"Oh and... " He began.
"Yes?" Claire stopped in the corner of the room to look at him through the dark, lifting his heavy, long kilt to take to the wash on her way out.
"That woman... The large one with the point, she isna going to come back, is she?" He seemed disconcerted at this.
"No." Claire chuckled, knowing Matron would be much to afraid to come in and address this man alone. "Only Matron and I know you're here... And she won't come bothering you, I'm quite sure of that."
"Very well then... Goodnight." He watched her go under the dim light of the candle before laying to fall asleep, which came easy.
Claire, at an impressive hour of the night, finally went home to get some rest herself, feeling that as she left the hospital that night, there was a change in the air. Something was coming but she didn't know what.