Chapter 4: A Disappointing Encounter

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander


While the cart jounced along the rutted highway, Frank had time to ruminate over his predicament, but one thing in particular stuck in his mind. His abductors had mentioned, Captain Randall. Could it possibly be? If, in fact, that was the case, what an extraordinary opportunity to meet with his illustrious progenitor. So, even though he was trussed up like a Christmas goose, he reveled in seeing history in the making. It made the hairs on his arms stand up at attention. He wished now that he had brought along a pen and a notepad.

They camped for the night, and the two men who first grabbed him, removed the wad from his mouth, untied his hands, and set down a dish of unpalatable food, and some water. The gag left a nasty taste on his tongue, and so contributed an unpleasant flavor to the already disagreeable cuisine. He hadn't a bite all day, and so, being hungry he ate it nonetheless.

When he finished eating, the terrible two came back to retrieve the remains of his dinner, and replace the shackles to his wrists. They placed a bucket in the corner, for nature calls, along with a couple of thin blankets, muttering something under their breath all the while. Finally, the taller of the two, Charlie Hicks, said, "Stand up, Mr. Highty-tighty."

Frank struggled to get to an upright position; the ropes tied around his hands and feet, making it difficult. Charlie shouted orders to his companion, Alfred. "Turn out his pockets. He may have a gold piece or two."

Frank was at their mercy. What could he do? They rummaged through all his pockets, and hooted as they found the gold. They looked puzzled at the fob with the dangling keys, and threw them aside, but when they handled the seal case, Charlie blared, "Ho, ho, what have we here?"

He held up the pewter cylinder, and opened it, sliding out the seal. Charlie's eyes widened. "JWR, hmmm …"

Worried that they would somehow damage the precious artifact, Frank snapped, "Give me that. It belongs to me. You can have the gold; I don't give a care about the coins."

"Huh," Alfred huffed. "You think you have any say about it? You can bet your breeks, we'll keep the gold, but this here seal goes to the leftenant."

Charlie rolled the cylinder in his palm. "I know I've seen this before. JWR, Jonathan Wolverton Randall. The captain won't be pleased to have some spy walk off with what's rightfully his. I would chance to say he paid a good sum for it too."

"I told you, I am not a spy."

He felt the sting from a slap across his face, and then the rag was shoved into his mouth once more. Charlie smirked at him. "Did you enjoy that? I know I did."

Hicks laughed at Frank's discomfort, and gestured to his friend. "Come along, Alfred. He needs to rest before the Cap'n has a go at him, eh?"


Despite the lack of comfortable surroundings, and a sleepless night, Frank was anticipating his first meeting with the indomitable Jonathan Randall. The cart creaked along the road, and soon the towering hulk of Fort William loomed before him.

The soldiers all dismounted beyond the gates, and goaded Frank forward. They French-walked him through the front entrance and up the stairs to Randall's headquarters. The door was open, and the infamous Black Jack was seated behind a desk against the wall on the right. His feet were arrogantly propped upon it. He stood on their arrival, his back to them, while pushing his chair away from the desk.

"To what do I owe this intrusion, I said I—"

Randall turned about, and Frank froze on the spot. He was looking at his mirror image. The Captain's mouth dropped open, but closed just as suddenly. "What the deuce? Who are you, and what are you doing with my face on your head? Gah! The impertinence of it all …"

The captain waved at the men. "Leave us."

He walked forward, and nearly pressed his nose against Frank's. "You could be my twin, however I know you are not. I should know if I had a twin."

Scrutinizing Frank up and down, he rubbed his fingers along his mouth. "This has turned out to be an exceedingly interesting day. A man is brought before me, wearing my face. I can't have that. Why, it's unacceptable."

Swaggering in a circle around Frank, he said, "Perhaps I could burn that countenance off of you, or flay bits open with my blade. You choose. Which will it be?"

Leaning his head toward Frank, he murmured in his ear. "I'm partial to the blade, myself. It's more artistic, wouldn't you agree? What? Speak up, man, I can't hear you."

Frank began coughing to alert the Captain that he was unable to speak. Black Jack whipped around and zeroed in on Frank's mouth. "Ah-ha."

He pulled Frank's bottom lip down, and caught a string of the fabric with the nails of two fingers, drawing it out. Tossing the rag over his shoulder, he brushed his hands together. "There, now, perhaps we can establish some specifics, in particular; who are you, and where did you come from?"

Being an expert in evading questions during interrogation, Frank thought it prudent to use Claire's maiden name. "It's Franklin Beechum, from Oxfordshire."

Randall jerked slightly, his eyes narrowed. "Hmn … Beechum. Coincidentally, I've heard that name recently in fact. I didn't believe the spy who spoke that name. I didn't believe it then, and I don't believe it now. We can do better than that, can't we?"

Frank stared straight at the man. "I fear that's the best I can do."

"I think not."

The captain bent over, picking up a riding crop set near his desk, and fondled it, lovingly. Holding it up for Frank to view, he said, "Have you ever seen such craftsmanship? It's a work of creative brilliance.

"Leather … I greatly admire the look and feel of leather. Would you like to feel it?" He laughed. "Of course you can't, not with your hands all bound such as they are."

He struck Frank sharply on the cheek with the crop. "How does that feel? Would you like another taste, or would you prefer to tell me who you really are?"

In shock, Frank blinked, and composing himself, retorted, "I told you. I am Franklin Beechum, and a servant of his majesty, the king."

"I don't doubt that, but it stands to reason you may be a servant of another king. You are a spy, and a traitor, sir. And I shall see you hanged."

He whipped the crop across Frank's face several times, and the poor man's eyes teared with the pain. "Tell me who you are," he shouted. "Tell me!"

Frank stoically remained silent, which infuriated Randall further. He threw the crop onto the desk, and balled up one hand, striking a blow to Frank's abdomen, then kicked his tethered feet out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor.

A guard came in unannounced. "Sir, the Watch is here. They say it's urgent that they speak with you."

"Dash it all … always spoiling my fun." He waved his hand at the guard. "Take this fellow away. He is to be locked up, and no food or water for twenty-four hours. Is that clear, private?"

"Yessir."

He walked over to Frank, and kicking him in the ribs with the toe of his boot, sneered, "I'm not through with you yet, Beechum, or whatever the hell your name is. Far from it. And when I am done, you will tell me the truth."


The guard shoved him into a dank, dark cell, and pointing a pistol at Frank with one hand, removed the ropes with the other. He backed out, never wavering from his target, and shut the barred door. "Rufus will come and clap the irons on you," he said a little too cheerfully.

Bewildered and disappointed, Frank sat in his cell, staring at the grey wall, and furiously working on a plan to escape. His encounter with his once revered ancestor was decidedly not what he expected. His esteem for the man was dashed to pieces. How could he possibly be related to that madman? It was unthinkable.

His cheeks stung, his ribs ached, and his heart was heavy. He had to get away from this place.


# # # # #

He had been gone five days now; cattle thieving no doubt. The MacLauchlans had gotten in a new herd recently, and Jamie and his lot of cattle rustlers were out and about gathering them for the MacKenzies, to put it mildly. While I didn't condone this line of work, I prayed they wouldn't get caught in flagrante delicto. Not so surprisingly, Colum was well apprised of the practice, and lent a blind eye to the venture. I noticed he did not complain when the bill of fare at Leoch included loin of beef.

I asked Jamie once while at dinner, how he could in good conscience sup on meat that was knowingly poached off the MacLauchlan's land. His flippant response was: "Meat tastes all the better when it's been stolen, aye?"

I thwacked his shoulder playfully. I wondered though if the wronged party would pay a visit to Leoch and demand that their cattle be returned or restitution made.

"But won't the MacLauchlans come looking for the missing cows?"

"Nay … we werena seen, nor heard. We were verra careful to snatch only the ones as hadna been branded yet as well." He patted his stomach. "Leastwise, we're eaten most all of them."

"Lucky for you," I spouted as my eyes rolled about.


The fifth day came and went, and my worries for Jamie's safety multiplied. I kept myself busy, cataloguing and doing inventory on my supplies of tinctures and herbs. On the sixth day, I had just finished taking account of several bottles and tins on my work station when I heard the familiar click of his boots on the stone floor outside the surgery. Looking up from the table, I saw my red-haired giant striding toward me in a most purposeful manner.

"Sassenach," he brayed. "Stars and stones, I missed ye so."

Before I could utter a word, his lips were on mine while brushing aside my previous task, scattering the glass vials and tins to the floor. They landed in a heap of broken shards and spilled contents. Incredibly, he had me bent over backwards on the table.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! What, here?"

"Aye. I'm in great need o' ye woman."

"Let's not be hasty. We do have a room upstairs, and this table is unsuitable for what you have in mind. And … it will most certainly leave splinters in my bum."

"Ah, I see the truth o' it. So, will ye come wi' me, then?"

Gesturing at the floor, I said, "Of course. I'll just clean this up first."

"Nay, I'm in a hurry to have ye, ken?"

"Well, let go of me, and allow me to get up."

Murtagh burst into the room. "Christ, I heard the stramash, and came soon as I could."

"Thank you, Murtagh, but as you can plainly see, it's only your clot-headed godson, Jamie, coming to claim his wife."

The poor man colored, murmuring, "Oh, I'll be on my way then." He sheepishly left the room, and Jamie and I continued out of the surgery and on up the staircase toward the next business at hand.


When we concluded our necessary conjugal pleasures, I took Jamie with me to clean up the mess he made.

"Really, Jamie, you couldn't wait another couple of minutes?"

"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused, but I'm no sorry for wantin' ye so. I felt as I was gonta burst wi' the need o' ye."

Clicking my tongue, I replied, "Well, I imagine you'd be no use to anyone if you burst apart on me. Now, go get the whisk broom, and I'll get a wet rag."

We swept and mopped up the broken fragments and spoiled herbs. I turned to Jamie, "You do realize that I'll have to visit Inverness, specifically, the apothecary shop to replenish all the stock you ruined."

"Ah … eye o' newt and toe o' frog, aye?"

I finished the rest of the quote:

"Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble."

Nodding my head, I clarified, "I know my Shakespeare also. But in this case, I'm sure to be in need of tincture of hartshorn, and a vial of thuja occidentalis, in addition to slips of yew."

"Weel, ye'll no be goin' there alone, witch or no. I'll be comin' wi' ye. My dirk and sword as weel."

Wouldn't have it any other way, Scotty."