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“Put that down.” Scott stood at the door. Caitlin was in the middle of cleaning a cupboard and sorting its contents into a more efficient order. “We are going fishing. Come on! We’re going the now!”
Autumn had begun, and it was an unusually warm day.
“I’ll take you to a spot I used to go to when I lived near here. If it’s the right time of the year, ye can tickle salmon. Ever done that?”
“No. What do you mean tickle?” It was difficult to keep up with him. Scott turned around, still walking ahead. Autumn leaves from the trees which made the back border of the property, swirled around him as they fell to the ground.
“Catch ‘em, the fish, with your bare hands.”
They walked for the twenty minutes or so it took to get to the secluded place in the river where larger rocks surrounded the shallow water. The grey boulders were big enough for a person to lie on them and warm themselves. The sound of the gently swirling current was a constant comment on its own passage downstream. Caitlin stood on the grey pebbled shingle, her feet crunching into place, squinting her eyes against the glassy sheen of the sky reflected off the water. Scott placed his rifle on the bank of the river and spent time examining it, the current was slower near the edge. He pointed to the water and smiled.
“Aye! There’s one! Quiet now, as any sound will scare it away.”
He lay face down on a boulder and reached into the shallows with his right arm. Caitlin moved to stand near and observe the salmon tickling. He waved her away, so she stood back, recalling her shadow over the water would spook the fish. After some moments, his face beamed with joy. He pulled his hand out of the water and produced a wriggling fish, which he slammed on to the boulder to stun it. Scott got out his hunting knife and looked directly at her.
“So now you want me to stab it to death?” Caitlin placed her palm on her throat. “Uncle Kieran did it for me the one time we went fly-fishing.”
Scott nodded and handed her his hunting knife. After a few tentative practice strokes, Caitlin plunged the knife into the fish’s head near the gills. Scott grunted his approval. She grimaced. He spent the next two hours with his hand in the water and caught four more salmon. After he scaled and gutted them, he put them aside.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going swimming.” Scott had removed his shirt prior to cleaning the fish, and now the rest of his clothing followed. Naked, he walked into the river where the current was not so intense but the water deep enough to swim. A slow smile crept across her mouth and her eyes would not leave him. The warm sun shone off his wet skin, giving definition to his musculature.
“Come on, Cait. Don’t be shy. Swim in your knickers and bra if you must.”
Caitlin hesitated, then removed her jeans and top and waded into the chilly water, goose bumps formed on her naked thighs. Her swim ended sooner than Scott’s. He stayed in the water while Caitlin sunned herself on the warm rocks which dried her underwear and warmed her core.
She raised her head. The dark-topped mountains before her were fading purple to brown on the lower reaches. This view had greeted her every morning since her arrival. The solidity and stark beauty had become a certainty in her world. These ancient elevations would remain while the world outside tore itself apart. It comforted her. It was like opening the backdoor of the crofter’s cottage to an old friend every morning when she would take in a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, almost in a ritual. The scent of wood and clean air invigorated her. This was why Scott believed the Highlands were a place of seclusion—why he loved it so.
Caitlin laid back on the warm rock and closed her eyes. She drifted off in a relaxed dose but was now alert to the distinct scush-scush-scush sound of a human walking through shallow water. As Scott made his way to her, she caught sight of him naked, wet, and built like an Adonis. Or Michel Angelo’s David, which she had seen on a trip to Florence. The edges of Scott’s mouth began to curl.
“Nae bad for a man nearly forty, aye?”
“Do you really want an answer? And can you cover yourself? You are walking up to me, wobbling all over the place.”
His smiled developed fully. “Sorry Cait, but I find it difficult to be inhibited around ye. I have made love to you every day of my life since I was eighteen, ye ken.”
Caitlin’s face heated, and she averted her eyes. How should she process that information? She turned her head away as he lay on the boulder beside her.
“Every day?”
“Aye. Twice on Sundays,” he spoke to the back of her head. “That’s every day of my life since I was eighteen except for the past couple of months, of course.”
Caitlin did not respond. She was at a loss as to how. Maybe it was difficult for him being with her but not being with her. She turned her head back to him. He closed his eyes as the sun’s warmth dried his body, his ringlets dripping on the boulder beneath his head. It gave her a chance to have a good look at him from a physical assessment perspective. As the medical person, she was responsible for his health and wellbeing. Scott had good legs, quite muscled thighs and he ran fast when needed. He had well defined abdominal muscles; no fat; very lean all over with a nest of chest hair between his shapely pectorals. His collar bones were prominent and neck muscles thick, his arms ropey-strong. She had been in his vice-like-grip a couple of times. Yes, a very healthy specimen.
Caitlin frowned and pursed her lips. The previous weeks had shown her a man who cared for her. Caitlin swallowed. She and Scott in any circumstance would be attracted to each other, would be together. It was undeniable.
Should she let herself fall in love with him? He’s wonderful. He’s attractive. He’s from the future... Should she believe it...?
She paused.
Yes.
Scott relaxed and dozed, oblivious to her mental conversation with herself.
Should she allow herself to love him now as he says she does in the future? This was the crucial question. Caitlin found herself undecided.
Once dried and dressed, they picked up their catch of salmon and made their way back to the cottage. As usual, Scott made her stay back while he ensured the cottage was safe. The path from the river did not allow them a view of the cottage until they were almost upon it. Soon Scott ran back, his brows drawn and mouth tight.
“There are strangers, men, at the cottage!” he spoke quickly. “Stay down and dinnae move till I come back!” He paused then and added, “If I don’t come back, make your way to the Inn at Bridge of Orchy. Tell ‘em you’re a friend o’ mine. He’s my uncle, but he does nae ken it yet. No, tell him you’re my mother’s cousin. Ye look a wee bit Highland. Wish ye spoke the Gaelic though.” His accent was thick with his stress. Then he ran back toward the cottage.
Caitlin sat behind the large rock positioned at the edge of the cottage’s garden, at the start of the tall pines which formed the boundary. The sound of footsteps came from her right. With her attention on the cottage, she turned too late. A man grabbed her by the hair, his breath foul in her nostrils, the knife in his other hand went to her throat. Its cold metal against her neck, close to essential vessels. She submitted. No use getting killed. He might take her to Scott if she co-operated.
***
SCOTT SQUATTED UNDER the window out of sight of the intruders, overhearing one of the men inside the cottage.
“Looks like the occupants of this ‘wee’ crofter’s cottage plan to be here for a while.” From their conversation and the noise of their activities inside, Scott estimated there were only two men. He crept to the shed where he hid a shotgun and cartridges. The semi-automatic would be better for close quarters than the rifle, which he left in the shed. He loaded the firearm with buckshot cartridges. His intention was to talk them into leaving and carrying a large weapon might help to persuade them. But if not, he’d be ready. He slipped beneath the view of the window. The sounds coming from inside the cottage suggested rummaging and opening boxes of supplies. Maybe they wouldn’t have to surrender many. The intruders had Northern English accents and had travelled to Scotland to get away from the difficulties down south, most likely.
Securing the shotgun and loading it, he silently made his way to the side door and snuck up on the unwelcome guests, watching them unaware of him as he approached. One man had a packet of tampons in his hand.
“There must be a woman living here. Wonder where she is?” His eyebrow cocked lasciviously.
“Hello, friends. Can I help you?” Scott sauntered through the laundry area, the loaded shotgun casually slung over one arm, his hunting knife at his belt and his sgian dubh hidden in his boot as always. His entrance startled the two men who were ransacking the larder. They had gone through the house—their possessions were everywhere.
“Well, hello there,” the older of the two replied. “We needed some things and so we thought we’d take yours.” Both men had gleeful looks on their faces, like children who had come across a hidden stash of supplies. Even as they spoke to Scott, they covetously eyed everything in the cottage.
“I can spare you some.” Scott tried a generous approach, maybe these two were in a sharing mood.
As Scott spoke, the man holding Caitlin shoved her through the backdoor pushing her in front of him, restraining her by his grip on a handful of her hair. It pulled at the roots; her scalp was burning. He still held a knife to her neck, its cold blade constantly reminding her of its edge. She looked to Scott, calmly awaiting his cue. Her heart knocked against her ribs and a cool sweat formed on her brow. But Scott would handle the situation. She kept her focus on him and swallowed. He returned her gaze—a barely perceptible twitch of his eye indicated she was to follow his lead.
“Well, well, well! What a beautiful woman you have here, young man,” the older man, who was the spokesperson, directed his observations to Scott. “Want to share her with us?” He pointed at Caitlin. Scott cocked the shotgun to his shoulder.
“You will all go...now.”
“No, we won’t,” the one holding Caitlin said emphatically. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her cleavage.
Caitlin’s stomach churned.
“Pity.” Scott fired the shotgun at the older man. The impact forced his body against the wall. It slumped to the floor.
Scott’s hunting knife was in the air. It spun toward the head of the man holding Caitlin. She held her breath, immobile. The hunting knife flew past her face, the wind in its wake stirring her hair. It landed in the eye of the man restraining her.
She was free.
Scott fired the second shot, missing his nearing opponent, then leaned down to retrieve his sgian dubh from his boot. His attacker lurched toward Scott’s bent-over form. Pop-click, his switchblade flicked from its handle, and poised. Caitlin gasped as the man stabbed Scott through his shirt. Ignoring the blood, Scott fully faced his opponent. The man was quick and obviously used to close-quarter fighting. Scott blocked a blow and caught the man’s hand that held the knife. Scott overbalanced. They both went crashing onto the kitchen table. Scott landed beneath the man. The knife pointing to his face descended by the moment.
The two men in combat were closely face to face. Scott’s opponent’s expression a sneer of victory, unnerving Caitlin and melting her feet frozen to the floor. She grabbed the carving knife from the knife block as she passed the kitchen bench. She crept to stand behind the man bending over Scott. The man held the advantage. Trembling, she gripped the knife in both hands and raised it higher.
Caitlin’s first strike missed her target, the renal artery. She hit ribs and lung instead. Air hissed through his chest wall. Bone crunched. Caitlin shivered. She needed better aim. She thrust her arms down again with as much force as she could produce. Adrenalin increased her strength. The man stiffened in shock as the knife cut through flank muscle. Caitlin hit her target—over and over while Scott held him in place.
The frothy blood coming from the man’s mouth sprayed onto Scott. Scott pushed the shocked man off himself and onto the floor. He placed his foot on the man’s neck as he quietly bled out. The older man had succumbed to his chest wound. A trail of blood smeared down the wall as he fell, a deep red arrow pointing to where his body came to rest. Scott’s shoulders rose and fell from his exertion; concern etched on his face.
“Your guy dead?” Scott wiped his face on his sleeve as he pointed to the man who had restrained her, now lying on the floor.
“I think so.” Caitlin’s whole-body trembled; her breath ragged from her efforts.
“Check and know so.” His gravelly voice sounded harsh.
Pressing her lips together, Caitlin nodded and grabbed another kitchen knife, as the one she had used was still in the back of the man now on the floor under Scott’s boot. She went to her assailant and checked for a pulse. There was one present. The man was still breathing but unresponsive. Brain dead.
“Um...”
“What?” Scott’s voice was sharp. With a gurgle, the last of the life of the man under his boot ebbed away.
“With your hunting knife through his eye into his brain, this guy is brain dead. But not dead-dead.”
“Well, make him dead-dead then.”
“No, Scott. I really cannot do that.” She shook her head.
With a comment under his breath, Scott left the now corpse he had been restraining with his foot and strode over to Caitlin’s problem. Pulling his hunting knife out of the man’s eye, he leaned over further and placed it against the man’s throat.
“No, you can’t do that!”
“Caitlin, I ken ye are a nurse, but do you really want to nurse this one back to health?”
“No, of course not. But you can’t kill him!”
“Aye Caitlin, I can. He was going tae rape then kill you. So, I can kill him. Gladly!”
“Take him outside away from here then. The cottage reeks of blood and shite already.” Her stubborn determination returned as she faced him with her chin up. After a pause, Scott went outside, dragging the man’s inert body behind him.
Caitlin sat outside on the bench in the remains of the afternoon’s sunshine. She breathed in the clean air. On her tongue was the taste of blood and faeces which lingered in the air inside their home. Her mouth was dry, and she shook, not only her arms but all over—the post-adrenaline rush. She had experienced this before at work, after a code. Saving someone’s life, resuscitating a patient, has the same effect on your body as killing someone in self-defence.
Who would have thought? She steeled herself for the clean-up job that awaited her inside the cottage.
Twenty minutes later Scott returned. He was shaking and slightly pale. Blood stained his shirt.
“Is that your blood, or his?”
Scott looked at his side. “It’s mine.” He grimaced, exhausted from his exertions.
Caitlin moved close to him. Blood seeped through his shirt from a wound to his chest.
“You’ve been hurt! Let me look at it!” She lifted his shirt to reveal a knife wound five inches long. It was shallow and now only oozing slightly. “Looks like he has given you a long, but not deep nick, with his knife. It followed the line of your rib instead of going in between. Just as well, because if it had gone in and through to your lung, you would have a sucking chest wound. That involves Underwater Sealed Drainage, probably the one thing you didn’t pack in the first aid kit of yours!”
Scott gave a snort, a half-laugh and raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve heard that sort of thing from me before, haven’t you?”
He nodded silently, a half smile on his face.
Then relief surged within her. Relief that they were both okay. They had gone through a terrifying ordeal together and survived. They had each other’s back. Scott was a man she could trust with all certainty. And now, for sure, she would trust.