Deja Vu

Chapter 1: History Repeats Itself

Déjà Vu

By Lady of Spain

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. . . . .

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Here I was, once more dumped on the opposite side of Craigh na Dun, while he went calmly to get himself bloody well killed on that notorious field. Stubborn, foolishScotsman.

Honor ... I was so blasted sick to death about Jamie's sense of honor. What use was your honor, if you were six feet under?

I scrambled to my feet and waited impatiently for the time to pass; long enough for him to ride off to his death. He knew the battle of Culloden was doomed to failure from the start. Why wouldn't he listen to me, or if not to me, at least think of the future of our child? He would exist without a father to guide him.

***

It was particularly disorienting to return through the stones this time around. My head was reeling, and I felt nauseated and dizzy. Then the crack of a musket rang in my ear. Were there skirmishers this far from the main battle? Trying to avoid the stragglers, I moved along, coming to a small stream. Oh, bloody hell, it was like a déjà vu, for there, filling his canteen at its bank, was that miserable excuse for a man, Captain Black Jack Randall.

The brute looked up at my approach, and smirked at me. Instinctively, I retreated a step, turning to escape, when he grabbed the back of my bodice. He gave me a shove, pinning me against a tree, his face mere inches from mine. "Get your filthy hands off me, you bastard," I screamed.

Clicking his tongue in a mocking fashion, the beast remarked, "Tut-tut. Such a sharp tongue. Strewth, it is not becoming to an English lady. I conclude then, that you must certainly are English, but not entirely a lady. So, you are either servicing his majesty's troops, since you're out here all alone, or more credibly, working as an infiltrator for the Scots."

What on earth was he doing here? And why was he uttering such rubbish? Could he never let it go? We'd been over this numerous times. Nonetheless, I had to think fast, so I clawed at his chest, and when he backed away somewhat, I kicked him hard in the leg, and ran for all I was worth.

As I sprinted away from the blackheart, the rain began to descend in a torrent, soaking me to the skin. Blasted Scotch weather!

I kept out of sight of the skirmishers, not wanting to stop a bullet myself. Finally, I heard a din of voices with the distinct taint of the Scottish burr. It was emanating from a cabin, just over the next rise, and even from this distance, it seemed familiar.

There was an argument going on inside as to what was to be done to one of the men. Apparently, the inference was the man in question had dislocated his arm. Closer now, I was startled to distinguish Dougal's voice, and doubly so when Murtagh jumped from the bushes, shouting, "Why are ye here, traipsin' 'bout in the dark, and in this bluidy wet?" Before I could say a syllable. He gripped my arm, declaring, "Ye'll come along wi' me lass."

I followed the squirrely little curmudgeon into the cottage and to my astonishment, the sight of several of my acquaintances met my eyes, and moreover, Dougal, Angus and Rupert. But even more amazing, I now spotted who the men were arguing over. Sitting there on a rough wooden bench before the fire was none other than my clot-headed husband, Jamie. He looked to be in pain, with one hand across his chest, bracing his right shoulder. I sighed in disgust—not again! But wait, weren't they all supposed to be at the battle? This scenario made not a bit of sense.

Angus strode forward, and I suddenly realized what he was about to do. "No, wait. You'll bloody well break his arm. Stand aside, Angus; I'll do it."

Looking as if thunderstruck, Angus halted in his tracks, and asked, "How is it ye know my name?"

What a stupid question. "Oh, for heaven's sake, just stand aside. I'll do the honors."

As I crouched down beside Jamie, I scolded, "How on earth did you manage to dislocate that shoulder again? I swear, you'd think once was enough for a lifetime. You've got to be more careful. Really, Jamie ..."

Those beautiful topaz eyes widened. "What's that ye said?"

"Never mind that now." I glanced behind me at the Scottish mob standing there, slack-jawed. Dougal had his eyebrows raised. He looked to Angus, and then to Rupert, not saying a word.

Shaking my head at the lot of them, I turned away, attending to the grueling task of setting Jamie's shoulder back into its socket. And once more, I had to procure something to support the arm. The belt holding up Angus' breeks filled the bill.

Angus balked when I suggested his belt could be put to compassionate use. Looking to their leader, I appealed, "Dougal, tell him to give me the bloody belt, will you please?"

"Give it to the lass," he deadpanned.

***

With the leather strip securely about Jamie's neck, I was hoiked abruptly to my feet by Rupert, and turned to face the war chief. Dougal's eyes shot daggers at me, as he spouted, "Now, I suppose ye'd like to tell us what ye're doin' here, and how ye're privy to our names?"

Was this some sort of joke? If it was, I was not laughing. It suddenly occurred to me that this cabin, this whole scenario seemed familiar. Oh, no! Had I traveled back too far? It was the only explanation for all the odd conversations. Quickly, I fabricated a plausible tale: "Well, I came upon this cabin, and could hear the discussion from where I stood. I hazarded a guess that you must be Dougal, and took a chance that beltless here might be Angus."

"And who might I be speakin' to?"

I nodded, smiling, and put out my hand. "Claire Beechum from Inverness."

Dougal, scoffed, and declined to shake it. "And I say, ye're a long ways off from Inverness, Lass." Pointing his index finger at me, he roared, "I think maybe ye're a Sassenach spy, roamin''bout."

"What? No, I've just lost my bearings."

He waved his hand in the air. "Lost, ye say? With nay a horse, nor escort. Och ... Ye believe me to be a fool, do ye?"

I sputtered, "I never said that. I..."

Dougal interrupted, "For now, we'll take ye to Leoch, and have Collum solve this riddle. We've nay time to puzzle it out ourselves."

Bloody hell, the almighty, Laird, Collum MacKenzie. It dawned on me that I would be reliving my recent life over again. The thought was disconcerting. Bad as it was the first time, it would be infinitely worse now that I was cognizant of what was to come. As Jamie would say, "Ifrinn!"

My main concern was my bond with Jamie. Would our love emerge as before? That remained to be seen.