None of the characters are my own. They are bases on those created by Diana Gabaldon.
I run as quickly as I can up the last rise of Craigh na Dun. I stop at the top, turn and look back. I cannot see but I can hear Jamie's voice as he fights the soldiers. There must be several soldiers for all the sounds I hear. The soldier that is chasing me has stopped and turned back. He is going back to help the others. Jamie, my warrior, is fearless. He knows he will die today. It does not matter to him if he dies on the battlefield of Culloden or protecting the bairn and I as we return to the Stones and my time. He has always said he would protect me, with his body if need be. I know him to be a man of his word.
I hear the noise I have come to dread. I hate the deafening roar. The roar of the Stones. Telling me they are alive and ready to eat me. To rip me to shreds. Tears stream down my face. I look down at my hand. The "J" is still freshly carved in the flesh at the base of my thumb. The Mount of Venus Mrs. Graham had called it. She said it meant my husband would never stray far from my bed. Jamie certainly never had. He has loved me from almost the minute he saw me until this moment, the day he dies. My home here is dead he had said and he had pushed me toward the Stones. I press my hand into a fist. My fingers digging into the mark he made. I feel nothing not even the pain I know should be there. I open my hand. It is covered in my blood. I raise my hand and scream the name of my own hearts blood as I place my hand on the Stone. "Jamie!" The only sound I hear now is that of my heart breaking.
I open my eyes. It is raining, lightly, like tears. Must be in Scotland I tell myself and smile sadly. I must have been out for quite a while; the sun is low. I immediately place my hand on my stomach, protectively. The baby. I slowly manage to find my feet and stand. Still a little wobbly. I am hungry. My stomach growls to remind me. I cannot remember the last time I ate. I push my wet hair from my face and look up at the Stone that is responsible for my insides feeling such sorrow. They are responsible for taking me from Jamie. They are quiet now. I have completed my journey so they no longer talk to me. I see the outline of a bloody hand print on the Stone. I shake my head to clear the cobwebs, turn and walk down the hill to the road. Only there is no road at the bottom of the hill, at least not the paved one I am expecting.
The cottage is still there. Right where it was when I left it. It looks the same. As I approach, I see three dead British soldiers...one with his sword still in his hand. I stand in one place and turn in a circle. I take in all 360 degrees of my environment. Everything is just as I had left it except my husband and the horse we rode in on are gone. I scream Jamie's name out loud. Loudly, and then listen. Nothing. Not even birds calling back. I turn a full circle again to get my barrings. I hike up my skirts and start to run. Back the way Jamie and I rode in...back to Culloden. Maybe I am not too late.
It is too dark to see now. I do not know my way well enough to not need to see the road. The dirt road. I am also exhausted. I don't think I can walk much further. I need food. I had caught rain water a couple of times while I walked, ran and trotted in my effort to reach my destination but I would need to find food tomorrow. I need to keep up my strength for baby, for me and for Jamie when I find him. I turn and walk a dozen or so steps from the path into the brush along the road, crawl under a bush and almost instantly fall asleep.
I awake to birds chirping. Jamie had always said to listen to the birds. They will tell you of danger close by. I listen. I hear running water and follow the sound. I find a small stream another dozen paces from the road. I lie on my stomach and place my lips to the water and take two healthy drinks then make myself stop. I will get sick and throw it up if I drink too much, too fast. I find a few late berries and a couple of edible mushrooms to eat then take another drink from the stream and start walking again.
What was managed in less than two hour on horseback, takes me three days on foot. The smell is what first hits me. There are bodies as far as the eye can see. Three days of ripe, rotting flesh. What I thought was fog, I realize is smoke as I approach. Fog does not sting the eyes. The air is heavy with this smoke. I see mounds. The mounds are on fire. Some of the piles have large flames licking the air; twelve feet high. Others are smoldering. They are producing the smoke. It seems like the entire bog is burning. The smell of the air makes me nauseous; the stink of death. I realize it is dead bodies that make up the piles. "of Scots. Dead Highlanders. They are burning the Scottish Highlander bodies," I say out loud as comprehension sets in. I am in a state complete shock. Numb. Somewhere they are burning my Jamie and Murtagh and Angus and Willie. They are burning my Frasers, as well as MacKenzies, McDonalds, McMahons, Camerons and more. People I know. People I love. The British soldiers are moving them into piles and burning them. They are sorting the piles by clans, by the plaids the men and boys are wearing. I know some day there will be stones to mark where each Clan's pyre has been. The future has shown me that. Tears flowed down my smoke covered face.
A slaughter. Just as I knew it would be. History records this bloody battle correctly. History has it right. I wander the field, trying to be careful of where I place each step. I check every Scot I can find. None are alive. I walk miles working a grid pattern to make sure I miss no one. No Jamie. No Murtagh. If I found one, I'd find the other I knew. Dusk is fast approaching. I will have to find someplace to sleep and hopefully something to eat soon.
I see a church and there are British soldiers in front of it. Looks like a camp. As hungry as I am I want nothing to do with them. I keep my distance and eventually find the road and head north. I will go back to Lallybroch. Jamie's home. Without my Jamie. Jenny and Ian will know what to do. I walk like I am going to the gallows. No life to my step. My head down and tears falling.
It is almost dark. I don't want to stop. I just want to keep going. One foot in front of the other. That much closer to my husband's home. The only home I have ever really had. I hear a wagon but I don't look up. The man speaks to me. Asks me if I am well? I look up. He has a kind face. It is a wagon full of hay. He asks me if I would like to ride with him for awhile. He is headed north. I nod my head and climb up on the seat beside him. He reaches under the seat and hands me his leather bag with ale and fishes a stale roll from a brown sac. He breaks it in half and hands half to me. Then thinks twice and reaches back into the bag, handing me an apple as well.
"Thank you," I say. "Best meal I have had in days. My name is Claire. Claire Fraser," and I smile a very weak smile.
Buried beneath the hay, his eyes open. Beautiful blue eyes like the sea his wife has always told him. "Claire. My healer. You have found me. I ken ya would," he whispers. He closes his eyes and listens. Her words are like music to his ears.
