Disclaimer: I do not own Outlander - All Characters and rights belong to their respective creator Diana Gabaldon. I just tweaked them.

I open my eyes. I am on the ground, in what I think is wet grass. My head hurts and my hand instinctively goes to my forehead. My eyes are unfocused, everything I see is a blur. I cannot seem to make anything I look at come into focus. But then, I am flat on my back, looking straight up into the rain. What is there to focus on, I ask myself? Someone must have hit me over the head. When I remove my hand from my forehead, it has blood on it. It is raining, not heavily, more of a gentle mist and it washes the blood off quickly. My shoulder hurts and when I place my hand on it, I see stars the pain is so bad. I must have hurt it when I fell. There are rocks on the ground as well; figures I'd fall on a rock. I think I have at least badly bruised it, might have even knocked my shoulder out of joint. Wonderful. Who's going to fix that for me? I slowly sit up, holding my one arm tight against my body with my other hand and look around. Stones. I am in the middle of a circle of stones. At the foot of a really large one in the center of the circle. It has a split down the middle of it.

Suddenly I remember where I am, what I was doing and leap to my feet. I wobble because the sudden movement makes me dizzy. I lean against the really large stone to steady myself. I have closed my eyes tightly because of the pain from moving my shoulder so suddenly. I realize I have no weapon; no sword or dirk. I look down and they are both on the ground close by. I look up again. Where is my horse? It was shot right out from under me. It should be here lying on the ground. Murtagh. Where is my godfather? He was trying to help my up onto the back of his mount. That's the last thing I can remember. Where are my Uncle Dougal, Rupert, Angus and the rest? And the British soldiers? I hear no Gaelic war cries. No pistol fire or swords striking in battle. The only sound I hear is the patter of rain on the tree leaves. Where the bloody hell is everyone? I turn in a circle and find nothing but emptiness and quiet. Damn, that makes my head spin. I have to lean against the stone for a second time and it takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to focus once again. I have to stop doing that, sudden movements are not good for my head.

"Murtagh!" I shout. "Dougal. Rupert. Anyone. Does anybody hear me?" Nothing. No answer. Then I hear a roar and splashing coming from down the hill. I find and start down a dirt path toward the only noise I hear. I stop and pick up my sword and dirk as I leave. I always ken being able to see in the dark would be a help someday. Jenny used to laugh and call me a cat because I could see a mouse move in the dark in the kitchen at Lallybroch. She'd always ask me to stay up and catch them because I was better mouser than the cat she had; I told her to stop feeding the damn creature cream and maybe it would get hungry enough to work for it's food. I can still hear her laugh and it makes me smile.

At the bottom of the hill there is a path. It is a funny sort of path. It is a large square with a short fence around it and some white lines drawn on the surface of the path. At the far end of the path there are two openings, where there is no fence or gate. I walk toward and though the farther of the two openings. I hear another roar and turn left and follow the sound. Down a small slope and around a bend and I find the trail I am on ends. I can either turn left or right onto a new path. I start walking, staying in the center of the path as I travel. The rain is still coming down and feels good, like home to me. I have been in France for almost two years, working as a mercenary and the thing I missed the most, besides Jenny, were the rains of Scotland. My home, my heart and my blood was and is Scotland. A beautiful land, like no other. I had missed Lallybroch verra much. I guess I was walking home. If that was Craigh na Dun then I was at least a weeks walk from Jenny. Maybe I could trade for a horse or a cotter would give me a ride on the back of his wagon. It's funny I think to myself. All this rain yet the path never muddies.

I do not know how long I have been walking only that I am deep in thought and do not hear the roar until I see the lights. From behind. It is too late for me to run. I turn to face my destiny and find I am blinded by the light as it hits me in the eyes. Those are some verra bright lanterns and lots of them. I must be dead. That is it. I am dead and at Our Father's Heavenly Gates. I hope my mother, father and Willie are there to greet me. Willie. I have not thought of him for years... Suddenly the blinding light makes a noise "Beep Beep". I put my hand up to my eyes and try to shield the light and I see a shape walking towards me.

"Are you alright sir? Are you hurt? Do you need help?" The shape speaks to me...

"Am I dead?" I ask the shape. "Have you come to take me to Our Heavenly Father?"

He walks toward me. The shape transforms into a face. A very kind face. A very concerned face. He extends his hand out toward me and says "Let me help you, young man. You are quite wet from all this rain and you are walking in the middle of the road. You are going to be hit if you are not careful. Let me give you a lift to where ever you need to go."

When the shape extends its hand, I realize it is a man. The hand does not hold a weapon. It is offering peace and help. I am not dead but clearly I am somewhere I have never been before. The man is dressed strangely. But then the French way of dress has a leg up on this man. The Frenchmen, well let's just say I would never be caught dead in all that silk, ribbons & lace, woman's hose & shoes and wigs. Never.

The man has me by the arm and starts to guide me toward the light.

"Ooch." I say and grab my shoulder. I drop my sword and dirk from my free hand when I do and they clatter when they hit the path. My weapons should not 'clatter' when they hit dirt, only when they hit something hard like rock or another sword.

"You're hurt." he says. "Come with me. My niece is a nurse. She will fix you up. Let me help you to the car." He bends down to pick up my weapons, but I am faster and beat him to them. The sudden movement makes me light headed again and I immediately drop them again and start to wobble. I lean on the man in an effort to keep my feet. I realize that I am almost a foot taller that this man. I allow him pick up my sword and dirk and we walk toward and then passed the lights, on the edge of the path. There is a very small carriage behind the lights and it is making the rumbling noise. I see no horses in front of it nor did we pass any at the back where the lights are. The man grabs something on the side of the carriage and the door swings open. I do not need steps to climb up and into it as the carriage is very short. I can easily rest my elbows on the top of it. It must be specially made for the little man. He steps passed me and around the front of the coach and he opens what looks like a large traveling trunk strapped there. He unstraps, opens the lid, places my weapons it, closes and re-buckles it. He walks back to me and says...

"Yes. Yes, I see it is going to be a bit of a squeeze for you, won't it. Let me adjust the seat for you then." He does something and the carriage bench moves backwards. "Try getting in now." With the man's help, I am 'in' to his satisfaction and he closes the door. It thumps me in the arm but it is not the hurt shoulder's arm thank god. I am facing the back of the carriage. I hate riding facing the back. It always makes me dizzy and I end up vomiting. Well at least I can not see verra well. I am bent over; the only view I have is my feet. I cannot straighten enough to even look out the back glass because my head hits the top of the carriage, which is cloth not wood. Strange, verra strange.

The man walks around the back of the carriage and climbs in and sits down on the other side of me. The lights don't seem to bother his eyes and he does not seem concerned facing back either. I do not see how we are going to move. There are no horses and no drivers. So here we sit. There is a wheel mounted in front of the man. I have not a clue what that does but he places his right hand on the wheel, like he thinks he will need to steady himself when the carriage moves. I have no such wheel in front of me. This is a custom made carriage right enough; I have never seen another one like it and doubt there is another one like it anywhere. This small man has very peculiar taste, I think to myself. Where are the seats for the other passengers, I wonder or is his niece the only other person to travel with him? And why, now that I think of it, does he think I need the services of a wet nurse? I am not a bairn that needs to suckle for food. I need a surgeon or a healer to help me or at the very least Angus could put my shoulder right.

The funny little man puts his hand on a knob on the wood that the wheel is mounted to and these sticks wipe across the outside of glass window. The sudden movement startles me and I jump and the back of my head hits the roof. I look up. I can see out of the window. The sticks removed the water. It is raining hard so the water comes back and I can not see again and the sticks come back from the other direction and push the water away again. I stare at the window. The two little sticks move back and forth and wipe the water away over and over again. I push my head as far forward as I can, smashing it against the glass and try and look up outside the window to see the poor lad on the top of the carriage that has that thankless task. I see no one. I then poke the cloth roof and I do not feel anyone kneeling up there. I cannot take my eyes of the sticks. Back and forth, back and forth the little sticks move. I never once see the man's hand. All so this man, Lambert, seated next to me, can see clearly out the window at where we have been. I click my tongue.

Friend Lambert then grabs the short branch with a knob on the top that sits in between us. In between our carriage seats, which now that I notice, are also verra strange. We each have our own seat. It is not a bench. I must say, as I wiggle my arse a little in an effort to straighten myself from my hunched position, they are quite comfortable. Verra soft and covered in a nice leather.

He turns to me and says "My name is Quentin Beauchamp by the way. My friends call me Lambert. My niece calls me Uncle Lamb. You may call me Lambert, my friend" and he holds out his hand to shake mine.

"James McTavish. I reply. You may call me Jamie," I state and add "my friend." and I shake his hand.

My friend Lambert pushes the stick forward and our carriage moves backwards. Toward the way the lights are. In the direction we are faced. Where there are no horses and no drivers and some poor sod on the roof is keeping the glass clear. I turn and stare at Lambert. Hard. I reach a finger out and poke him to make sure he is real.

Lambert turns and says "Yes? You wish to ask me something Jamie?"

"Are ya a fairy or a wizard then Lambert? Ya can tell me which ya are. I can keep a secret. I will na tell anyone." The man just laughs at me and tells me I am funny. That his niece is going to certainly like me and he stomps his foot and pushes the stick forward and the carriage roars and moves faster. He would turn the wheel and stomp the floor and move the stick every now and again. We would stop and start and turn left and turn right. Finally the path widens. And damned if there are not more carriages like Lambert's. Not a single horse pulling any of them. No one driving them. No one else had someone sitting on the roof keeping the window clear either. Lambert must be very wealthy indeed. My mouth opened and I just stared out the glass window. We enter a town. Lights are everywhere. I have never seen anything like it. It has dwellings and shops and more people than I have ever seen, except maybe Paris.

"Where are you headed Jamie?" Lambert asked after a couple of minutes of quiet.

"Home." I said. "Lallybroch".

"I have never heard of the town," my new friend says. "Though I only just arrived at Inverness a couple of weeks ago so I am not sure of all the small villages and such. Claire, that's my niece, she might know of it. She lived here since the war ended, for over a year now, and works at the hospital. She sees patients from all over the area. We'll ask her when we get home. Not to worry. We will see you safely back to Lallybroch, is it?"

"Yes, Lallybroch," I repeat. "It's not a town or a village. It is my family's home. My family's estate. This is Inverness?"

"Yes, Claire lives in Inverness. I am here visiting and doing some research." Lambert comments. "Oh, an old estate. I would love to see it. How old is it? I mean when was it built? Are you part of the original family? How lovely. Well, when we get back to the apartment, you can use the telephone to call them and let them know you are fine. So they don't worry. You'll stay and have supper and spend the night with us, unless you'd rather I drop you off at a hotel in town somewhere. I don't mean to presumptuous."

"I thank you kindly for the hospitality." I answer and breathe a sigh of relief. I am worn out and need someone to look at this shoulder. I hope this niece of his is as good as he thinks she is. "I will gladly come to your home, if it would be no problem for you or your niece to have me rest the night. Do you need to 'telephone' her and let her ken?"

My friend Lambert smiles, laughs and stops the horseless, driver less carriage and fingers something on the wood the wheel is mounted on and pulls a very tiny key from it. The roaring stops. Lambert opens his own carriage door and climbs out, shutting the door behind him. I sit and wait. There is a sudden knock on the window by my head. My heart jumps to my throat and I turn my head and see Lambert bending down motioning me to come. I must look confused enough that he opens the carriage door for me.

"Where are the footmen?" I ask. "Do you always open your own door?" and I start to unfold myself from the inside of the very small carriage. When I am finally standing, my good arm holding my bad one, I twist my back and my neck to work out all the kinks; 'snap and pop' my bones make as sounds as they unfold. I hope they have a larger carriage to take me home in. I don't think I can get back into this one.

Lambert laughs again, walks around to the front of the carriage and collects my sword and dirk. He hands them to me and walks toward a building. I lean over the glass and see the two sticks laying down in at the bottom of the glass. I never did see the poor lad stuck with that task. He must be soaked to the skin. I look up and let the rain wash over my face. I don't see a single star.

"Jamie, this way Jamie," Lambert says as he motions for me to come, holding a nearby door open. "We are on the third floor. Hope you don't mind stairs. It's a walk up. Flat 3B. I walk over and hold the door and allow Lambert in first and close the door behind me. I hear it latch. I follow my friend up two 'flights' of stairs and he stops in front of a door with a 3 and a B on it.

He has another verra tiny key and places it in the lock and as he opens the door he says "Claire, sweetheart, it's me, Uncle Lamb. Sorry I'm so late. You know how I loose track of the time. I have brought company home with me. I hope you are decent." He moves out of the way and allows me entrance.

This man is truly wealthy. This room is lavish...and I start to scan it, take it all in...when...

"We best move to the kitchen. Claire will not take kindly to our wetting the carpet. Come, follow me," and he again motions me with his hand. The "kitchen" is just a small

area and no fireplace. You can not cook without a fire. How can you have a kitchen and not cook. Lambert must be a wizard. Or this Claire is a witch, perhaps.

"Sit. Sit. You must be soaked. Take your shoes off and your coat. Let me get you a towel to dry yourself off with." Lambert says and disappears.

I am bent over, noticing the rather large puddle I am making on the floor as I am removing my second boot when I notice a pair of bare feet in front of my own, toes pointed at mine. I start to travel up the toes to a very bare pair of ankles. Their skin is the most beautiful pale white I have ever seen. Like opals... I am disappointed when my eyes come to a white dress that covers the rest of what I can only imagine are a very fine pair of calves. My eyes continue up the funny white dress with a piece of matching fabric for a belt, a mans coat collar, no bodice, no laces and rest on this face of … of … of an angel is the only word I can find. An angel with this amazing curly nest of brown hair that surrounds a face that has the same beautiful opal skin. And her eyes. Her eyes are like honey. Not not honey, amber. No not honey or amber, whiskey. That's it whiskey. I look into them and...

I shake my head to clear my mind...she is saying something. The angel is talking to me. She is talking to me and getting rather annoyed that I am not responding. She has folded her arms across that beautiful bosom and now she is tapping the floor with her foot impatiently.

"Excuse me," I start. "I did not hear what you asked or said. My mind was pleasantly diverted. Would you repeat yourself, please." And I look directly into her eyes and we lock for a moment. The angel starts to swoon, looses her balance as her knees give and has to place her hand on the table next to us to steady herself. I smile. Give her my best Jamie the Charming, usually reserved for a lass' mother; I hold nothing back for this woman. I like her. A lot. She's not the first one I've made swoon but I think I want her to be the last. I suddenly just really want to touch her.

"What?" my angel says to me suddenly confused.

I set my boots under the chair I am sitting on and stand up. That always bring even the tough ones to their knees. My angel is no different. She just about collapses and I, already anticipating this reaction, am there to catch her. She is in my arms. Right where I want her. She looks up at me and I look down at her and she starts to raise her head and turn so that I can kiss her. I have every intention of doing so and move my head lower and start to turn my head...when in walks friend Lambert and my angel jumps out of my arms and backs up until she is leaning against a half box and she can steady herself. Her face turns red and looks at the floor.

"I see you have found my friend, Niece. Claire, this is Jamie MacTavish. Jamie, this is my niece Claire Beauchamp." Lambert introduces us not realizing what he almost walked in on. "She's the nurse I was telling you all about, Jamie. I found him on the road, quite literally, near Craigh na Dun, Claire. He was walking in the middle of the road in the pouring rain. He's hurt his shoulder and I told him you could probably fix him up nicely." He turns and hands me a towel. "Claire can you help him with his coat and shirt and take a look at his shoulder while I get out of these wet clothes? I told him he could share supper and stay the night. He lives on some Estate called...what is the name again Jamie?" Lambert asks.

"Lallybroch," I say never taking my eyes off Claire.

"Yes, yes that's it. Lallybroch. Ever heard of it Claire?" He asks, and without waiting for an answer, he turns and leaves the room. "He needs to use the telephone to call his family and let them know he's alright. You'll show him where it is, please Claire." and a door closes.

"What's the old saying 'When one door closes, another opens'?" Claire asks and looks up into my eyes again. "Lamb says you are hurt. Want to show me?" She does not move towards me. She has a firm grip on whatever it is she is leaning against.