Lise slithered off her horse inelegantly. She groaned as her feet collided with the ground, stretching out her back as she scanned her surroundings. Stood somewhat meekly behind Jamie was Claire. She couldn't be more conspicuous despite her attempts to fade into the background. The dirtied white dress hung above her knees, making her the sole person in the yard with visible bare skin, aside from their face. Her hair hung in a ratty mess to her shoulders, where the men had shorter hair – or if it was longer, it was restrained in plaits. She was coated with mud, and the odd smear of blood from tending to Jaime's wounds, splatter marks spread up her shins, and between her thighs there was the unmistakable purpling stain of a bruise.
Even Lise blended in better, at first glance simply looking like one of the men. On second glance, however, Lise was distinctly not of this time. Where Claire could pass her dress off as a slip, Lise wore materials that did not yet exist. Even the most idiotic idiot from the 17th century could identity her boots as military, her leggings, whilst plain black, shimmered in the light in the way only polyester can – and her coat? Well, that was strange even in her own time. Not many people wore university rowing splash jackets outside of their club, and Lise was regretting her decision now. At least it was black, she thought, as she self-consciously scratched at the back of her neck, trying to think how she might explain her way out of this. Lise moved over to Claire and muttered into her ear:
"Something tells me Imma burn as a witch in a few days."
Claire glanced over at her, and flicked her with the back of her hand to silence her. For once in her life, Lise complied. Lise's silence seemed to sit uneasily with Jamie, who hurriedly introduced them to Mrs Fitzgibbons. Claire stood, uncertain of the appropriate response and merely looked at the ground, a picture of modesty and polite hesitation. Lise met Mrs Fitzgibbon's gaze steadily, and inclined her head.
"Pleasure to meet you, mistress," Lise spoke with a cautiousness and articulation which surprised both Jaime and Claire. Lise glanced at Claire as she straightened her neck and back and saw the surprise. "Ach, would ye wipe that look off yer face, I can be polite if needs be," Lise spoke quickly, back in her usual tone and timbre. The swift change in voice seemed to amuse Mrs Fitzgibbons, and she let out a booming laugh that echoed around the courtyard.
"Come on in lassie, we'll get you cleaned up, and both of you dressed appropriately, in no time," Mrs Fitzgibbons chuckled, moving to shepherd both women inside.
Whilst Claire tended to Jamie's wound, Lise sat up in the kitchens. Women bustled around her, preparing food for the returning men, sweeping the ground with their skirts as they performed their endless dance around the kitchen. Heat blew past Lise, warming her core and her soul as it wafted warmth and the smell of food into her nose and mouth. Lise clutched a hand to her stomach as it growled loudly, as though she was attempting to squash the sound back into her gut.
"When did ye last eat?" worried Mrs Fitzgibbons as she hurried back into the kitchens, appearing behind Lise like a ghost. Lise leapt in her skin, as the woman spoke, before hastily stumbling out an answer. Mrs Fitzgibbons' disapproval was seen in the piles of bannocks that she stacked on to a plate and slid across to the young woman. A bowl of broth quickly followed. Lise wolfed it down, the first bite causing the pangs of hunger to engorge her fully.
"Oh my days," murmured Lise, "This is the best thing I've ever eaten." Lise moaned happily, closing her eyes and chewing ravenously. Mrs Fitzgibbons placed a hand on her shoulder, and smiled broadly.
"Just for that, you can call me Mrs Fitz," beamed Mrs Fitzgibbons. "Now, you eat up lass."
Both Lise and Claire went to the same room to change, and the oddities of their dress was further revealed. Lise was wearing so many layers that Claire was practically fully dressed by the time Lise was in her undergarments. Claire's corset was being tightened by Mrs Fitz when Lise tossed her bra away and into the fire.
"Fuck me, I hated that thing," She sighed in relief. "The wires always dig into my ribs – do you get that Claire?" Claire wasn't given a chance to answer before Lise continued talking – "Oh, of course, ye willnae. Sorry, forgot how different yours will be." Claire and Mrs Fitz stared at her in alarm. Lise winced and wrapped her arms around her chest, suddenly aware of her nudity as the two women stared at her. "I'll wheest." she pressed her hand to her mouth as though to demonstrate her coming silence. Mrs Fitz finished her tightening of Claire's corset, and picked up the next set of clothing. She stood in front of Lise and waited patiently. Lise glanced at Claire who laughed at her. Lise smiled at the laughter; it was the first time she'd heard Claire laugh.
"You need to wash. You're filthy!" Claire gestured at the blood on Lise's own face, at the mud that trekked down Lise's neck. Lise lifted a hand and scraped the muck off the side of her neck, leaving a pink welt where the mud had been. She looked at her fingers in surprise, then at Claire, then back at the mud built up under her nail. She hadn't realised how filthy she was as well, the notion that she had ran through the same forest, ridden the same track as Claire, suffered similar injuries hadn't occurred to Lise, and she began to laugh, somewhat hysterically. She was shaking with laughter as she picked up the cloth and began to swipe it over her skin.
The room they stood in, it would transpire, was to be Claire's room. The bed was made, with thick woollen blankets and thinner cotton sheets lain artfully on top of the mattress. Pillows fluffed and plumped, the room looked about ready to receive royalty – however its carved furniture seemed to impress Lise the most. She ran her fingers over the thick wood, tracing the curves of leaves that made their way to the surface.
Claire rounded on Lise as the door banged shut behind Mrs Fitz, as she left to go ensure the second room was prepared for a guest to inhabit it.
"How can you be so at ease here?" She demanded. "How on Earth can you be okay with all of this?" Lise's eye grew wide, and for the first time, Claire saw pure terror in their depths.
"You think I am at ease?" Lise's voice cracked. Her fingers stilled on the wood, and Claire saw Lise was trembling. "You think that I am okay. Claire, I have no idea how I am going to get out myself of this situation – your attire can be excused. You can make yourself useful, you're a fucking army nurse from the one of the World Wars. You're useful!" Tears began to form in Lise's eyes, but she bit them back angrily. Turning away from Claire, Lise swiped at her eyes and caught her breath.
"We both need to think," Claire began. "If we just get our story straight, then we'll be fine. We just need to bluff our way through the next few days until we can get back to Craigh na Dun, and get back home." Lise scoffed at Claire's words, and sank heavily on to the bed. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her face, and causing the thick curls to bounce wildly out in all directions.
"You make it sound so simple," Lise muttered under her breath as Mrs Fitz bustled back in, whipping them back into motion.
The lying was much easier for Claire than it was for Lise. Claire spun a story of an Englishwoman escaping rough treatment, having fled from Inverness towards Craigh na Dun before being attacked by Jack Randall. Suffering the humiliation of only wearing her slip, Randall had taken her for a whore, when out of nowhere this strange apparition of a woman came to her defence. And, well, Colum knew the rest from there.
When it came to Lise's excuses, they were much harder to weave. Her strange dress was put down to being from Italy, and the unusually thick layers due to her only recently landing back in her homeland. She claimed to be an orphan, her extended family having sent her back to Scotland to live with relatives, only to discover their cottage to have been burnt to the ground by the redcoats. When Colum asked for her name – the entirety of it this time – Lise faltered. A brief internal battle was fought whether to use her real name or not, but even as she was deciding, her name fell from her lips. The betrayal of her tongue rang in her ears even as she said it:
"Elizabeth Stuart."
"Like oor Bonnie Prince Charlie?" Colum asked, wry disbelief raising an eyebrow. Lise smiled demurely, cursed herself silently, and inclined her head.
"We're distant relatives. Share the name, not the privilege. My grandfather was a cousin of James Stuart," Lise smiled once more, before hurriedly clarifying. "- Duke of Cambridge, not James Stuart, the father of Bonnie Prince Charlie." Lise smiled once more - she was smiling too much – and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Colum stood abruptly, and Lise followed, rising with a gracefulness that surprised even herself.
"Well, it is a pleasure to offer our hospitality to any Stuart, but especially one as lovely as yourself," Colum greeted, offering an arm to Lise to guide her to the door. Lise took it thankfully, relief flooding her.
"The pleasure is all mine. Truly, Laird Leoch," Lise returned, inclining her head once more as she rejoined Claire outside the Laird's door. Releasing Lise's arm, Colum gestured for the two women to leave, calling after them an invitation to supper that night. The necessary affirmatives given, Claire and Lise disappeared off down the corridor, this time to Lise's room instead.