SIXTEEN
Throughout his time at Mint Hill, when he was not thinking of escape, Connor could not help but think of the woman, Melissa. He wondered how she was doing and why her eyes were so sad. Remembered kissing her. He’d kissed many wenches. When his lips touched hers, ’twas like a first kiss. There had been no others before her. For a moment he’d felt like a lad again, fumbling in the heather with one of the girls in his clan. But mayhap he thought of her because the only women here were old or witless.
He and Fitz changed clothes. Connor was happy to leave the ugly clothing behind. The new hose were soft, as was the shirt, though a bit large.
Connor did not want a future girl. He knew they were troublesome wenches, and while the Thorntons might be content, he did not want one for his own. He wanted to go home to his own time. Then he would take a wife, pay the price on his head, and make many babes. If the Thornton women could travel to the past and he’d traveled to the future, he must be able to go home. He could not be trapped in this time; ’twas too different, loud, and he did not like the smells. Connor yearned for his home and for Scotland.
For that was the other thing: he was not in Scotland in 2017, he was in America, a young country and far from his homeland. Why had he traveled here?
“Tracy found out your belongings are in the lockers, but the weapons were given back to the museum. They aren’t pressing charges, since you were crazy.” Fitz cackled. “She will gather our belongings and bring them with her. The woman in charge of the room goes outside to smoke a cigarette and make a phone call the same day and time every week.”
“I am beholden to her for her aid.”
Fitz looked at him. “You know, some days I actually think you did come from fourteenth-century Scotland.” He patted Connor on the shoulder. “But don’t use words like ‘beholden.’ Say ‘I appreciate the help’ or ‘no worries.’ You got it?”
He nodded and gave Fitz a sharp look when the man sneezed.
“Quiet, man. We will be heard.”
Fitz nodded, covering his face with his sleeve as he sneezed again, muffling the noise. Connor took the key from him, putting in the lock. He’d come to understand it was how one kept a door protected. Of course, a heavy wooden bar across the door worked even better, but what did he know?
The lock turned with a groan and a whine, and Connor held his breath, hoping no one had heard them. When the door swung open, he blinked and took a step back. The light was so bright, the heat from the sun like he was standing too close to the hearth, and it took him several blinks to see.
They were standing on the side of the building, and there was a tall metal fence all around that was sagging in a couple of places. Four horseless chariots waited—no, that wasn’t right. Fitz had told him they were called cars. People parked their cars here. Connor had seen them many times on the TV. He ached to drive one, to see how fast it would go, for on the TV, they went very fast indeed. He sneezed in the sunlight.
“What is that terrible stench?”
Fitz looked around and sniffed. “What? I don’t smell anything.” Then he looked at Connor again. “It’s the smell of the cars and the asphalt in the heat. You have a sensitive nose.”
Connor nodded as they made their way along the building, avoiding the cameras that Fitz said would alert the orderlies to their escape. At last they rounded the corner, made their way through a gap in the fence, and were free.
“Where is Mistress Tracy’s home?” Connor knew he must stay with Fitz; his friend had promised to take him to the museum so he could go home. He believed he must go back to the place where he first came through time. Connor did not know why he believed this, only that he did. Had one of the Thornton women told him ’twas how time traveling worked?
“Follow me. We’re going to walk for a while until we’re far enough away no one will recognize us, then we’ll have a decent meal and wait for Tracy to come. She will take us to her home and give us back our things.”
“I needs go to the museum.”
“Why do you want to go to the museum? They won’t let a known thief inside.”
“Nay, I am no thief.” He coughed. “I did take the sword and daggers, but mine were lost on the journey. I planned to return them when I acquired others. The gold is mine; I earned it, and I will not give it to those who wish to steal from me.”
Fitz held up his hands. “I understand. We must have money, even if it is almost seven hundred years old. And I thought I was a whack job,” he muttered.
Fitz walked as if he knew where he was going, looking at a piece of parchment he had taken from his pocket. No, the word was…paper. Connor had to use the right words for this time, had to fit in, become a future man. Now he knew, if he told anyone he was from Scotland in the Year of Our Lord 1334, they would send him back to another place like Mint Hill, and he would not be imprisoned again.
He would say he was from this time. He and Fitz had come up with a tale: Connor would say he was traveling from Scotland and his papers were stolen. That was all he had so far. It would have to do until he could come up with more.
He looked at Fitz. “What did you do to make your way in the world before you were here?”
They crossed over railroad tracks, and Connor wished he would see a train like he had seen on TV. He was fascinated by the big beasts that did not require horses and went very fast. Fitz almost tripped, and Connor caught his arm.
“Careful. I need you to take me to the museum.”
“I’ll get you to the museum,” Fitz said. “As to what I used to do, I was a professor. I taught math, and it was only when I started working on secret projects, trying to keep my tenure, that I became involved with the government people and things went horribly wrong. I had a good life long ago. Now there is nothing left for me.”
“But you are not so old. Surely you could teach your mathematics again.”
Fitz shook his head. “It’s been too long, and I find I no longer wish to. All I want is to be left alone with Tracy.”
“Aye, a good woman will do such things to a man.” Connor clapped him on the back. A piercing whistle sounded, and he turned. “Look, ’tis a train. How wondrous.”