1743
I found myself slumped against the same stone I must have fainted at, though everything seemed different. Quiet. Birds flew overhead, but there were no planes, only fluffy clouds dotting the deep indigo, spotted with thousands upon thousands of stars. One couldn't see such stars unless there were no electricity for miles. Wait, hadn't it been completely cloudy? The moon had ascended over the horizon of the wild Highlands. I made my way down the treacherous path back to the car, but found only trees and grass as I groped around in the dark. The sound of thunder was enough to have me running, back toward Inverness, back toward Frank. Only minutes later did I find that it was not thunder, but hooves upon hardened ground that startled me. Upon a large beast was a Highlander in full regalia, a sight to behold. He had graying hair and a moustache over a ruddy, weathered face. Behind him, several younger men, swords drawn, eyes and bodies weary. I cut in front of them and the horse reared, just as frightened of me as I was it. The leading man called after me words I could not decipher as adrenaline filled my veins and I sprinted into the thick trees, away from the men. I ran and ran, slipping in mud and over loose rocks until I became trapped at a rock wall, towering several feet above my reach. Water leaking from the stones made them slippery and too dangerous to climb, so I slumped against it, lungs aching, examining the small cuts forming on my arms and exposed legs from bramble and thorns. My dress, once white, now beige and stained with mud and grass. I could no longer hear hooves or yelling men, but I knew they were not far behind. I relaxed slightly, resting my racing heart before setting off in search of civilization. After several minutes, the quiet bustle of the night forest ceased, followed by a shuffle in the distance and a branch snapping. One of the men on horseback must've found me. I muttered obscenities under my breath as I realized there was nowhere to hide. I grapsed at the cold slick rocks in desperation, but to no avail. Through the bushes came a strikingly familiar man dressed in historical british army uniform. His long brown hair tied back, exposing the all too familiar jawline and small, deep set eyes of my husband.
"Frank, you bloody bastard!" I yelled, lashing out. Frank seemed amused if anything. He advanced toward me in a slick manner, like a snake cornering a cowardly mouse. Trapped against the rocks, I leaned as far away from him as possible, not meeting his gaze.
He looked me over, holding my chin up to examine my features in the weak moonlight. "Whoever Frank is, he's certainly an unlucky man to have wronged you, Madam…" He trailed off, leaving my name in question. "Perhaps some coin and a feather bed at the fort will make you forget all about him."
I pushed him away, mouth agape. "Do not take me for a whore!" This angered him, slamming me against the rocks by my throat hard enough for my vision to go red. The stars behind him blurred as he rasped into my ear.
"We'll see about that. A sensible lady doesn't go for a jaunt in the woods in but her shift." The soldier brushed his free hand up my thigh, under my thin dress. I lurched away from him, struggling with all my might as he unmercilessly degraded me. I thrashed harder, making his advances as difficult as possible until he pulled out a small dagger, placing it first on my thigh, right over a major blood vessel. I would bleed out in but minutes. He then dragged the tip of it up, deep enough to cause scarring but not enough to maim, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake as he sliced up the dress, before then resting it on my throat. I stilled; this man knew how to kill. "Now, whore. Are you ready to behave for your coin, or must I force you?" I gritted my teeth in response, clenching my thighs together as best I could. The solider then grabbed me by my hair, dragging me down to my knees. I sobbed, but no sound came out. A single tear escaped, but I refused to let this sick bastard take pleasure in it. As he pulled my head up to look at him, a hulking figure tackled him from above, allowing me to slip from his reach and hide in the thick brush surrounding the area. The assailant was the hulking grayed man from the road. His group was not far behind, one spotting me. Too defeated to resist, the red haired lad scooped me up and skirted around where the solider and highlanders fought. Several horses waited patiently, scuffing at the earth and occasionally snorting. My saviour, or captor, tossed me easily over one before mounting smoothly himself. Though lean and tall, he was all hard sinew and muscle, lithe and strong. He had a mop of red curls atop his head, strong jaw and thin nose, and clear green eyes. He waited, ignoring my demands to know who he was and where he was taking me, as the clashes of swords died down. One by one, Highland men came forth from the trees, speaking in what I now recognized as Gaelic. They seemed vigilant but light spirited. I wondered if any of these men even knew English, but persisted in my pursuit of knowledge.
"Excuse me, who are you? I demand to know where you are taking me!" I called to the leading man. He barely gave a grunt as my rider finally responded.
"Dinnae worry, for now. You're safe from Black Jack now. As for who he is, he's the War Chieftain for clan MacKenzie, Dougal. He's takin' ye back to Castle Leoch tae see the MacKenzie."
"And you are?" I retorted.
"Jamie McTavish, Mistress." I nodded slowly, taking in the smelly men surrounding me. Each dirty, rugged face becoming harder to decipher as I fell into a deep sleep as a stranger guided me away from Inverness on horseback.
Dawn was near as I awoke to being lifted from the saddle, my thighs chapped, the long cut made from the soldier called Black Jack ached with what I hoped wasn't going to be an infection. We had stopped at a small dilapidated hut that had a steady stream of smoke spouting from a small chimney. Many of the men must have been inside already, as Jamie was the only one left outside. The Scot examined my sliced dress and dried blood before sweeping me off my feet and bringing me inside before I could even catch my breath. Before setting me down, he pulled off his kilt to lay me down on. Unlike him, it did not reek. It smelled of must, sweat, and earth. Seeing his face for the first time in some light, Jamie McTavish was a sight to behold. His fine facial features were complemented by the firelight in the tiny hut. He moved to examine my cut, and I flinched away from his touch.
"Allow me, Sassenach. I wilnae hurt you on purpose. Ye'll be safe wi' me." I breathed slowly, nodding to him. The gash began mid thigh, running inward and up over the hipbone, crossing over the previously unmarred surface of my flat stomach, under and around the outside of the breast before tracing over the collarbone. It would be quite the scar, but would not require stitches. The other men had turned away, uncomfortable with my bared flesh. "I cannae express how sorry I am, Sassenach." Jamie's eyes seemed filled with rage. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he winced. I lifted my hand to see blood blossom on his filthy tunic.
"What happened to you?" I exclaimed, pushing his shirt off his shoulder to get a better look. The flesh around the gash was angry and red, oozing thin blood. Moving around him, I saw what looked to be a massive patch of scar tissue on his back. Peering down his shirt in the dim light, I saw the carnage that was his back. Once as beautiful as the rest of him I imagined as I pulled the shirt off as gently as I could, murmuring apologies as he flinched when I brushed against the old wounds. It looked like he'd been grotesquely flayed, large crevices where flesh had been stripped, now white and pink marbled scars. I didn't want to linger on the cause of such destruction, but my mind couldn't help but wander.
Jamie McTavish gave me a sly grin, minced with pain. "Tis but a scratch, Mistress…"
"Beauchamp, Claire Beauchamp. And no, this must be looked after, or you'll die from infection." I glanced at the men gawking behind us, trying their best to avert their gazes from my exposed flesh. "I need clean bandages and something sterile to clean this wound, alcohol, perhaps." They hesitated but a moment before I put on my stern nurse face, which got them moving.
"Are ye a healer, Mistress Beauchamp?" The leader, Dougal, enquired. He was the only man to not have moved at my orders. The other men brought me scraps of linen, but all too filthy to be used. I received a flask of whiskey from Jamie himself as I ordered another man to boil rags.
"Of sorts, sir. I'm no physician but I'm all too familiar with battle wounds. Looks like some sort of knife slashed right through, maybe a few days ago. Whatever it was, it obviously hasn't been cared after one bit." I gave Jamie a condescending look which he casually shrugged off. The rags had been boiled to my satisfaction as I soaked one in whiskey, pouring some directly on the wound itself to cleanse it. Jamie winced and stiffened at the pain, but I continued on, pressing the rag into the gash, finding puss and old blood in the crevice. It already looked better after being cleaned, but there was nothing else I could do further until I had access to medicines.
"What's a healer doin' running 'round the woods in nothing but her shift in the middle o' the night?" Dougal stood, filling the small hut with his presence.
I had been hoping to avoid the unavoidable in this conversation. Not knowing where I was going or whether these men would kill me, I had to make my story believable. I had the feeling that this was not the twentieth century, but if not, when? I hadn't heard a single car engine, not a single plane overhead, and these men were dressed as Highlanders. Thinking back to Frank's research, it hit me. Black Jack, Jonathan Randall, Commander of a fort here in Scotland during the uprising. This had to be the mid eighteenth century. I summoned all my knowledge of the time before answering the War Chief. "I was travelling through, offering my services when I was attacked by bandits. My assistant was killed or taken, as were all my belongings and wealth."
"And yer clothes off yer back as well, lass?" Another man, whose name I did not know, retorted.
Offended, I whirled to face the man, but before I could speak, Jamie piped up in my defense. "Have some respect fer the lass, Murtagh. We found her runnin' then cornered by Black Jack himself. Need I remind ye of wha' he does te folk?" I assumed he meant his back, which was confirmed by the sudden silence of all the men, even Dougal. I mouthed a thank you to Jamie, who nodded in return.
After a moment, Dougal looked up and met my gaze. His steely eyes pierced through mine. "The sassenach must be presented to Colum. If ye believe her, vouch for her then, young Jamie. She'll be needin' it." I shuddered before setting myself back down on a stool by the fire next to Jamie. He put his hand on my shoulder, the weight reassuring. "Now rest up, the lot of ye. We'll ride again come dusk, an' make it back to Leoch by dawn."
