Light barely penetrated the curtains of their bridal suite, dampened more by the cornflower blue drapes on the posts. Waking up beside Jamie, she realized she was more than a little bit sore from their love making the day prior. Stretching, from the tips of her toes to fingers, Morgan turned her head up to gaze at her husband, who was already awake.
"Why didn't you wake me? What time is it?" Morgan asked him, rubbing an eye, propping herself up so that she could peep between the drapes toward the window.
Jamie dragged her back down, away from the light of day, and into his arms once again. Tapping her nose playfully, he smiled at her. "Wake ye? Ye were so bonnie, I couldna do that," he informed her as if it were obvious.
"You didn't let me sleep away half the day, did you?" she questioned worriedly.
"Nay, ye still woke up early," Jamie admitted, chasing her doubts away with a mischievous smile.
"Good, because if we're going to be leaving for Castle Campbell, I'll need to pack away supplies for the road. You did never tell me when we would be going," Morgan said, rubbing her hand along his chest, trailing up to his shoulder, noticing a knot where her fingers dug in.
"I still hae to discuss that with Colum," Jamie admitted.
"Sit up," she ordered.
He cocked a brow at her, but did as he was bid. Morgan, facing his back, began to work at the tense muscle. "Och, that's tender ye ken?"
"I know, just relax," she replied, thinking about what he said as she massaged his shoulder. "Do you think Alistair brought it up to him?"
"I dinnae, hopefully soon... I'd rather not hae to tempt me uncle's fury," Jamie said, moaning as she dug into the knot. "Eun baeg."
"You're all tied up from working the paddocks," Morgan grunted, putting effort into working his muscles. "Tell me next time and I'll give you a massage before you're so stiff."
Jamie turned, catching her as she knelt behind him, pressing his lips to her navel. "Ye could massage more than me shoulders," he suggested.
Morgan smiled tentatively, but the ache between her thighs told her it might not be too pleasant. "You wore me out yesterday, I'm going to need a day to recover. Perhaps this evening?"
Jamie seemed a bit disappointed, but relented after planting another kiss on her abdomen. "Mm, I could agree ta that," he released her so that she could scamper up from the bed, a jolt of pain lining the path up her leg as she stepped on the cool stones of the floor. "Ye alright?"
Morgan forced a smile. "I'm fine," she rasped, licking her lips.
"Ye ken, the more ye say yer fine, I'm beginning to doubt it," Jamie remarked, brows pulling together. "I did a number on ye, dinnae I?"
Bracing her legs she nodded dolefully. "At least no one can claim our marriage wasn't official."
"Rupert said if ye coulda walk, I dinnae do a good job."
"I can walk. Doing a good job is not measured by how much you break your wife on the first night," Morgan retorted evenly, picking up her discarded chemise. Slipping it over her head, she turned to look at him, holding herself up as she leaned against the post of the bed. "I wouldn't trade yesterday for anything."
Jamie sat up, muscles contorting as he grabbed the edge of her slip and tugged her closer. "Yer gaunnae abandon me now?"
"We really should show some face," Morgan insisted. "And I'll not be going anywhere but around the castle," she reminded him, pressing her lips to the top of his red curls. "We both need to wash as well. We smell like sex."
"I dinnae mind," he chuckled.
"Others might-"
"Most o' Leoch smells like the stables. I dinnae think they'll notice," Jamie pointed out.
Morgan cracked a smile at him, but glanced in the basket that had been left by Mrs. Fitz, who no doubt had prepared the room for them. Folded neatly was a change of clothes for the both of them, which Morgan graciously adorned, slightly achy as she reached back to tighten the strings of her corset.
Jamie came up behind her, finessing the strings away. "Maybe we should get ye some dresses like yer weddin' gown," he speculated, careful not to pull too tight.
Morgan was running the brush through her hair, untangling the bits that had gotten fussed up by their romping. "These are fine, I don't want to stick out compared to everyone else," she remarked absentmindedly.
"Ye already do," he spun her around, one of her hands flying out to his chest to stop herself from stumbling. "Be it in these poofy, ridiculous dresses or a more flatterin' one, ye are much too bonnie to go unnoticed."
Morgan set her jaw, her blushing face rousing a smile from him. "I'll wear whatever is popular."
"These dresses are meant fer wummin tryin' ta hide their true build," Jamie pointed out as she slipped her hoops on.
"They're actually meant to display the beauty of the dress and the embroidery. They're more dramatic and pronounced amongst noble or wealthy families. The fashion is simply emulated by other facets of society," Morgan corrected, though it didn't help her case much.
"If it's fer the fancy people, then why does it matter if ye keep to their fashion or not?"
Morgan did not have a counter for that, opening her mouth to speak, but snapping it shut. They were surrounded by exquisite finery, wallpaper, and furniture. Perhaps he didn't see them as fancy, but that also showed the privilege that Jamie had grown up with. Or maybe he was just comparing his own life to France, which was exorbitant by twice. Either way, she was still under the scrutiny of a laird and preferred not to dress in a manner that might get her called a pagan.
"If ye dinnae mind, then I'll not pester ye. I like ye better with nothin' on anyways," Jamie poked, grinning at her expense.
Finishing getting ready, Morgan glanced at him as he folded the Fraser tartan to put it away. Her heartstrings tugged at that, wishing that he could have worn it over the MacKenzie plaid, but didn't speak on it. If God was with her, then it would be reality soon. Morgan tied her hair up in a plait before standing on the tips of her toes to peck Jamie on the cheek. Her mother always did it to her father before she went anywhere and she did not see why not to do the same with her own husband.
"Ay," he grasped her hips. "A proper one."
Morgan giggled in his embrace as he bent down and kissed her on the lips. "Best of luck today. I pray Colum doesn't give you an earful," she mused.
"Keep prayin'," Jamie groaned, but let her slip from his grasp, reluctantly. "I dinnae ken where we'll be stayin' tonight."
"We can always use the chambers I've been allowed. Since it's no longer improper you visit me there," she pointed out lightly, placing a palm to the door handle, not quite wishing to leave his side either. Still, there were things to be done and they could further celebrate their union once they arrived at Castle Campbell.
Morgan stepped out into the hallways, drawing in a deep breath, cocking her head and setting pace for the Surgery. Noon had yet to hit, allowing her slip through the corridors. The celebration that had occurred in their honor had done a number on the residents, most still asleep and shirking in their duties. However, a few servants were milling about, offering Morgan a congratulations on her marriage and becoming Mrs. Fraser - or MacTavish, it depended on who she crossed.
Mrs. Fraser; the title sounded so strange and yet it reminded her of Jamie. Most things around her reminded her of him. Down in her Surgery she wished she had him sitting around, making jokes as she worked. Funny how their marriage had created such a strong bond. Perhaps it was due to their entire day spent together that Morgan was reluctant to be on her own again, casually daydreaming of her husband.
The door clicked shut and Morgan reached forward reflexively for her scalpel (or what she considered her scalpel, which was a very sharp, small knife). Turning, she held it at her side before realizing it was just Laoghaire. Sighing, color rushed back into her white knuckles, sliding it back onto the table.
"So," the girl plied, not having noticed that Morgan had picked up the knife. "How was it?"
Cracking a smile, her cheeks burned just at the thought of the ravenous love making the both of them had taken part in. Truthfully, she never imagined that she, herself, could be so devious. "Amazing," she told Laoghaire honestly.
Laoghaire dumped herself on the cot, golden hair swaying as she let out a long, wistful breath. "He's so dreamy. I canna see he couldnae get enough of ye," she eyed the marks on Morgan's neck that she had forgotten to cover.
Immediately, she tugged up the scarf she had on, but it was too late, Laoghaire had already taken note. "I suppose," she managed through a strained voice, again thinking back to it.
"Ye wouldnae believe how bawdy the feast was. Dougal says ye have Jamie wrapped right round yer finger and that he ought not to be so attached to ye," Laoghaire filled in. "Says a man shouldnae be so keen to be with his wife."
"Was Jamie supposed to go down to the feast?" Morgan asked, a bit puzzled with the wedding reception.
"Nay, not if he dinnae want to," Laoghaire suddenly became cheeky, "And I canna see he why he dinnae want to... What're ye up to? I dinnae think ye'd come outta yer room."
"Well," Morgan began, not quite as shy about admitting her own ailing. "I'm quite a bit sore. Plus, I figured there might be people who got a little 'braw' last night." The latter half was a lie. Given that she didn't know if Alistair had spoken to Colum, telling Laoghaire that they'd be leaving soon might not be a good idea. She was beginning to trust the girl, but she was still young and might unintentionally let word slip.
"What was it like?" Laoghaire asked her earnestly.
"Uh," Morgan faltered, clearing her throat as she tried to figure out how to explain it.
"I'm jus' teasin," Laoghaire relented. "But I canna imagine that Jamie was a nice sight."
"Mm," Morgan hummed in agreement, amused by the girl's inquisitiveness, but aside from admitting her enjoyment, she doubted she could tell anyone what had happened. Given that she was supposed to be a 'good Catholic woman', the amount of lust she had been experiencing the duration of her wedding day was embarrassing upon looking back. Still, was it bad that she was thinking of what the evening might hold?
The door banged up, Morgan glaring at the stairwell. Angus and Rupert trolloped down like little children on Christmas morning. Given her status as Mrs. Fraser, she had hoped there would be little need of babysitters, especially since the extended MacKenzie family had since departed after the Gathering.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Fraser," Rupert declared excitedly, giving her a mocking bow.
Morgan gave them both a look. Even if Angus was a bit depressed that he hadn't been the one in the room with her last night, the two older men seemed pleased that Jamie had done her well.
"I'm surprised yer walkin'," Angus remarked. "Ye ken lass, if he's nae doin' his duties as a husband..."
"I assure you, Jamie did a better job than either of you would have managed," Morgan insisted sternly, drawing rather impressed stares from the both of them with her brashness. No one would tell her otherwise. Besotted already? she thought to herself, but the words he'd shared with her, the kindness in his eyes... For once, Morgan didn't feel so lonely and she knew, deep down, that feeling would be gone forever.
Now to set her mind to the next task; Jamie's freedom. Dangling like a carrot before a horse, she knew that resolving this situation would lend for ease in their life. The Battle of Culloden was a distant thought, but it loomed like a mountain miles away. Her journey had not yet taken her there, but a small bit of her hoped that Geillis might be able to free Scotland on her own. It would prevent Morgan from having to steer Jamie away while he kin were murdered in the moor, their blood providing sustenance for the grass and heather.
"Och, ye hear her? Gettin' married made the Sassenach right brazen," Rupert retorted.
"I'm Scottish now, officially," Morgan reminded them.
"Yer married to a Scot," Rupert corrected. "Yer still a Sassenach."
"If the Crown comes looking for me, I'm Scottish," she snipped. "Whether or not I was born here."
"Aye, yer safe from Black Jack Randall. At least until he catches wind that yer married to Jamie. He's been trailing the lad like a hunting hound," Angus grimaced.
"Does he have a fixation with all Scottish that cross his path?" Morgan asked, perturbed by the captain's persistence.
"Nay, jus' the ones who get away," Angus informed her.
Morgan shivered at the thought, recalling his rough fingers against her mouth, the forced kiss on her lips. What else would he have done? What if she hadn't ran? What if she never came across the highlanders in the middle of their skirmish?
There are no 'what if's, deal in absolutes, Morgan chastised herself. God truly had saved her. There was no other explanation for it. He had put her through trials, tested her, reminded her that the world was dangerous and she had to keep her head on a swivel. But He had given her the chance to grow in Leoch and to make new friendships and placed Jamie in her path.
Now, He had provided her with the answer to their problems. Morgan just had to be strong and resilient.
"But we di' come to get ye for the MacKenzie," Rupert spoke up.
Was this for the journey to Castle Campbell? Either way, there was no denying the laird's call, especially since they had hosted her wedding. Setting down the herbs she was bundling, Morgan nodded, removed her smock, and trailed after the two men. She tossed one glance back at Laoghaire, as if to tell the girl that she'd speak to her later.
Through the halls and up the stairs, there was a clamour within Colum's office. The three of them halted, even Angus and Rupert a bit paled by the shouting Gaelic. Throwing a tentative smile toward Morgan, they opened the door and ushered her in. Within was pandemonium.
Alistair stood opposite of Colum, his large hands splayed on the desk in front of him. Papers were scattered, some still floating down in the air like leaves from a tree. Colum's face was caught mid spasm, his chest heaving, cheeks a blotchy crimson against his pasty complexion. Wild eyes whirled toward her and Morgan pinned her back to the doors, wishing she could fumble the door and leave.
Colum's fury did not leave as he smoothed some of his hair. "Doctor Fraser!" he snicked, Morgan snapping up straight. "It seems someone is in more dire of a need fer yer skill than me."
Alistair did not balk, his hard emerald gaze pinning the laird. Standing up, he straightened his tartan and turned his head to gaze intently at her.
There was no Dougal or Jamie.
"Congratulations, Dr. Fraser," Alistair's voice was as cool as his expression, a chill grasping Morgan. There was a danger in him, similar to what she had seen in Randall. She wanted Jamie there, but knew that there was no turning away.
"Thank you," Morgan managed through a strangled voice.
"Come," Colum demanded.
Morgan willed her legs forward, tottering toward them like a marionette. Finally, she stood at the edge of the desk, which separated the two highlanders. "Who is in need of my assistance?" she inquired weakly.
"Mr. Campbell has come to me asking for me to lend ye to him. It would seem his father, the laird of the Campbell Clan, is quite ill," Colum elaborated, keeping his eyes searing on Alistair's tall form. "Ye would think the best doctors from Edinburgh or Glasgow woulda been enough."
"What is ailing your father, Mr. Campbell?" Morgan asked, hoping that maybe she could find out if it would be possible to heal the laird.
Alistair settled back on his haunches, crossing his arms as he considered them. Was this illness so grave that sharing it would be dangerous? "He's in a deep slumber induced by the shakes he gets."
The shakes? "And you cannot rouse him?"
"Nay, not even pricking his finger will wake him."
A coma, Morgan deduced. "These 'shakes' that he gets. Can you describe to me what happens?"
"He stiffens up, cannae speak, cannae move. Sometimes he jerks in his arms and legs. The staff is trained to help him down so that he dinnae fall and hurt himself. Typically, he ken when they're aboot to come on."
Seizures. "And what happened with the last one that was different from the others?"
"He had three fits in one day. The third he dinnae wake from."
Morgan was beginning to suspect that the laird Campbell was epileptic. From the description that Alistair gave her, he was describing Myoclonic seizures. If his father was aware of when they were about to happen and staff were trained, there was little doubt this was a frequent enough situation that the entire castle knew how to handle it.
"Doctor?"
"I think I may know what ails your father... But, that does not mean I know how to heal him. How long has he been in a deep sleep?"
"Four months."
Morgan's heart dropped. "And has he had fits while in this state?"
"Very infrequently, but we keep a healer with him at all times."
Whether or not the Campbell had permanent head trauma, Morgan could not say. She had nothing here that could help her see the state of his brain. This was looking rather drear. The man could be in a vegetative state, thus rendering any assistance would be impossible. Even worse, she wouldn't be able to tell. She and Jamie could sit beside the man's side praying for the day he woke up and was cognisant enough that Morgan could actually run some tests on him to see how affected he... If he woke up.
"Yer quiet," Alistair observed the lines of her face as Morgan stood there, quietly panning through the wealth of knowledge she had at her disposal, trying to discern what could be done.
Drawing in a breath, Morgan contemplated what to reveal. There were too many uncertainties at this point, even with Alistair explaining what was wrong with his father, that didn't reveal the rest of his history. For all she knew, there were more underlying issues that had exacerbated his epilepsy.
Finally, "I am processing the information you have given me."
"And ye ken an answer?"
"Medicine is not that easy," Morgan answered thinly, drawing herself up.
"Do ye think ye can heal him?" Colum intruded abruptly.
Morgan glanced at him, aware that he wouldn't be fond of losing her. Truthfully, her days were numbered there with Jamie being an outlaw. If they thought for a moment that she wouldn't follow him- "It is one thing to talk of a man in this state. I must assess him in person," she placated.
Colum did not like this answer by the contortion of his face. "Laird Campbell is Sleepin' Beauty. Ye dinnae when or if he can wake up."
"Whether there is something I can do, I do not know. Again, speaking of a patient is one matter, but I have to go through my own tests. There are various measures in which I need to take to try and even come to a diagnosis. Banking entirely on the premise of personal accounts, save you, not even from the patient, does not make a case I can deduce from a distance," glancing between the both of them. "People lie."
Alistair flared at her accusation. "I dinnae-"
"I'm not accusing you of lying, but you likely do not know of everything that ails your father. He may have covered some of it up to save you from the worst of his disease. All I can say decisively is that I must see the Campbell in person to begin any sort of treatment," Morgan interrupted, refusing to balk when she was the most knowledgeable person in the room on the subject matter. The confidence she possessed was not for herself, but for the torch she had picked up since becoming a doctor. Logic ruled here. Not her dolefulness.
Colum sank into his chair, sagging against it in defeat. "Then it cannae be helped," he admitted. "Leaving yer father to die... me own kin..."
She understood now. Had she told Colum there was no hope, he wouldn't have sent her on the premise of a foolish errand and possibly getting Jamie caught on the road. However, since she had insisted on going to see the laird, he had no choice... no an obligation to make certain that Morgan got there. The Campbells were his kin. Were this another clan as far south as the Campbells, he might have laughed in their face.
Alistair knew his hand. Morgan only needed play into it.
Turning her head, she leveled her chin, pinning a thin glare to him. The small moment of rage, or whatever it had been, was gone. Instead, he stood there, poised like a raven, feathers preened and a mask on his face. Jamie had mentioned he was dangerous and Morgan understood why now. She had unwittingly been manipulated, only realizing it the moment it had happened.
Alistair caught her eyes, a slight twitch in the corners of his wide mouth... a mouth similar to Jamie's.
"If ye are to take Doctor Fraser, ye take her husband into yer charge too," Colum pointed out, arranging the mess of papers on his desk.
"I ken this when I laid the request before ye," Alistair stirred and spoke eloquently now. "I shall see them both safely to Castle Campbell where the doctor will assess and treat me father if possible."
"Very well. After, ye'll return them safely to Leoch?"
"Situation willing," Alistair nodded.
Colum grimaced, glancing over at Morgan. "Mr. Campbell wishes to leave in the mornin'. Perhaps not the honeymoon either ye were lookin' forward too."
"I didn't think our marriage came with the luxury of a honeymoon," Morgan's voice softed as she offered the man a smile. Despite the fact that he had held her prisoner there, he had made it a rather lofty cage, just like the gilded ones that held his exotic birds. Eun baeg.
Colum chuckled at her joke. "I gift ye this one."
"How thoughtful of you," she drawled. The lines of his face were weary and he looked older than when she had first met him. His own disease was bearing down hard on him. She knew he didn't have long on this earth anymore and any goodbyes offered might be the last time they met. Dougal would become laird after and Morgan wasn't too certain if she wished to be in MacKenzie land after that. Laoghaire had mentioned to her that Jamie could be in line for the laird title if he wanted it, though he had not sworn fealty on the night of the Gathering.
Returning might be impossible if Colum was dead or dying.
"If we are to travel tomorrow, I must prepare my belongings and tell my husband," Morgan entreated, curtsying low.
Colum nodded, dismissing her with a wave.
Morgan departed from the office, her mind rushing with the information she had garnered from the severe conversation. When Jamie had told her about helping Alistair Campbell, she hadn't thought twice about it. Now, having seen the shadow inside the Campbell, she was worried that they were leaving the dark forest and walking into a den of lions.
"Morgan!"
Before she had the chance to turn in the hall, she was sequestered into a small supply room. Letting out a yelp of protest, she balled her fists, ready to throw a punch at the person that had forced her in. Alistair loomed above her, not changing the situation.
"I only need ta speak ta ye in private," Alistair insisted, trying to ease her fists down.
Morgan had made an effort at taking a boxer's stance. "No! I'm a married woman now. We should not-" the gentleman demeanor shifted, Alistair grabbing her by her jaw. "Let me go!"
"Eun baeg," he purred. "That's what he calls you isn't it? I see why. Yer jus' like the little birds that Colum keeps."
Morgan wrenched her jaw away from him, backing into a stack of brooms. Hearing it from his lips felt wrong. "What?" she snarled.
"Ye've got talons now. But dinnae mistake me. I truly need yer bonnie head to help me father."
Morgan's lip curled at him, her eyes scanning his face. Cocking her head, she considered it. "Why wouldn't you take the position as laird? You're certainly old enough," she considered out loud. "Not unless his death would cause issues for you." Not knowing who else was in line for the inheritance was an issue. Yet... "Or there are other people who can challenge your inheritance with him not conscious."
Alistair glared at her.
Morgan gave him a snide smile. "Ah. I see now. Do you even care about your father or just becoming laird?"
"I do care for him, but ye'd do well ta not ask too many questions. I'd hate fer yer new husband to fall on ill luck again and fer ye to never leave Campbell. I am in need of a wife meself."
Morgan's temper flared, taking a step toward him, though she was hopelessly matched. "I would never help you if you hurt Jamie," she promised.
"But if you're a doctor, you swore the Hippocratic Oath, no?"
Morgan's face fell, hearing the accent drop from Alistair's voice. "You're not Scottish-"
"And you're really a doctor," Alistair smiled wolfishly. "It wasn't too difficult to discern from your abilities and sutures. I've been stitched up in the same manner before. My father has epilepsy, perhaps more ails him, but I do not know what it is. You can only learn so much from dry medical books... As you put it kindly, people lie."
Morgan's stomach twisted as if a knife had been plunged into her belly. She thought she was beginning to understand Alistair, but this new revelation had shaken her. His accent wasn't English either. If she had to place it, he was American. "Then if you know so much, you'd know that I don't have the proper equipment here. I don't-"
"I can handle that," Alistair sneered. "I just need a real doctor who knows how to work them."
"But without electricity-"
"I can only assure you will gain access to items that will work without electricity. As for machines that can monitor his brain activity, that, I do not have."
"You're from the future then. Did you come through the stones?"
"Machrie Moor standing stones," Alistair sniffed.
"When?"
"2000."
Morgan swooned at hearing that. "You were even further in the future than me. I was in 1963."
"I've been here for some time now. I tumbled through those stones as a child. Laird Campbell found me and took me beneath his wing. As far as anyone knew, I was a bastard whose mother had died, leaving me an orphan. My own lay to being laird has always been challenged due to my legitimacy, even if the Campbells are on the cusp of the Highlands," he explained grudgingly.
"How do you have things from the future then? Did you draft them up?" Unless he was a genius too, there was no reason to believe that a child would somehow have known how to craft such items.
Alistair snorted. "Nothing quite that exciting. I have been going between the stones to get things to help my father. But..." he trailed off. "Short of abducting a doctor, I'm afraid I have never really known what he needs."
Even if Alistair frightened her, he wanted to save his father to secure the Campbell Clan into his possession. Drawing a breath, she processed this information and set her eyes back to him. "Then, I will do what I can, but you know then that nothing is assured at this point. He may not wake up," Morgan reminded him.
"You'll make sure he wakes up," Alistair smiled thinly.
Exasperated, she curled her fingers in the fabric of her skirt. "You must know about the Battle of Culloden too then."
Alistair's tart expression fell and his eyes narrowed. "No? I was only 9 when I fell through the stones. I may have made journeys back but-"
"You never thought to check history?" she asked incredulously. Blinking a few times, she revealed to him, "The Highlanders are going to support the Jacobites, fight to try and overthrow the Crown, and lose... miserably. I don't know if the Campbells will partake, but Scotland will lose what little freedom it is still clinging to now. Tartans will be outlawed as will speaking Gaelic."
Alistair shifted his weight between feet. "When?"
"Under three years from now."
Considering her, Alistair pressed a hand to his breast. "Dinnae mistake me," he took the Scottish side back. "I prefer me life the way it is now. This Jacobite uprising threatens the life I hold dear, just as the health of me father. But fer now, let us work one subject at a time. I'll see what is going on in regards to this... uprising. These Redcoats are rather gettin' on me nerves."
Morgan released a small breath. "If that's all you'd wish to approach me with, I should begin preparing for our journey." She stepped around him to exit the closet.
"Do you love him?" Alistair asked her at the door, again with his American accent.
Morgan glanced back over her shoulder. "I don't know what it is yet, but I care deeply for him. I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain gaining his clemency and freeing us of Captain Randall."
Alistair smirked at her. "I am a man o' me word. I do still owe ye for stitchin' me up."
"Your assistance on the evening before the Gathering settled that debt," Morgan reminded him. "Just begin figuring out how to clear Jamie's name."
Leaving him behind, she quickened her pace down the hall, glad that no one was around to see her coming out of the supply closet. This complicated things severely. While anxious to see what medical items Alistair could have for her from the 21th century, she knew it still wouldn't be the full spread of equipment that she required. Doubts pressed in her breast about Alistair's character, the flat American tone he had startled her with.
Alistair needed her. That much she was certain of and she could use it for leverage against him if he so much as looked at Jamie wrong. She reached into her pocket, thumbing her rosaries, wondering how everything had played out this way. He had said he had traveled from different stones... That meant that it was likely there might be other time travelers hiding in the world, trying to change the course of history.
Rather than going back down to her Surgery, Morgan left Leoch, heading down into Cranesmuir. With her hood up, she banged on the door of the house she had found Geillis in. Despite the fact that her old friend had murdered her husband, she needed her knowledge.
An older man wearing a white wig, which was out of order and frizzy, lumbered to the door, his jowls quivering. "Who're ye, I dinnae ken yer face."
"Mrs. MacTavish... Castle Leoch's healer. Would it be possible for me to see your wife? I'm in need of herbs," Morgan entreated, heart thumping from the swift walk down there.
"Ah, a customer... Right this way," he let her through the threshold and guided her upstairs where Morgan had her first reunion with Geillis. Knocking gently, the procurator fiscal's voice changed, simpering, "My love? We have a customer here. A Mrs. MacTavish?"
The door cracked open, Geillis' cat green eyes peering out. She opened it fully, swiping a hand delicately along her husband's back. "Oh, Mrs. MacTavish. Ye ken she was jus' married yesterday."
"Congratulations," Mr. Duncan said dreamily.
Morgan's brows furrowed, wondering if he was well as he spoke.
"I'll see to the customer. Go and rest," Geillis chimed sweetly, her husband not needing to be asked again. Stepping into the attic, the door shut behind her. Once the stairs finished creaking, Geillis cocked a curious eyebrow. "I dinnae think I'd see ye again. How was yer first man? That Jamie-" she grinned devilishly.
"I didn't come here to talk about my experience in bed," Morgan told her.
The smile dropped off her face. "I suppose not. Why're ye here?"
"I found another time traveler," Morgan breathed.
Geillis's naturally sly expression slipped right off of her face, jaw slackening. "Here?"
"Yes, though he didn't travel through Craigh na Dun. Some other stones in Machrie Moor."
"That's south of Glasgow on the Isle of Arran. Who?"
"Alistair Campbell. He's next in line to become the laird of the Campbell Clan-" Morgan began to fill Geillis in on the events that had transpired, including how she had to heal the man in a coma to earn Alistair's trust and assistance. "From what I can tell, he has a lot of connections to English nobility. Enough pull with the Crown that he can promise Jamie clemency."
"And he might have enough pull to help us," Geillis fitted the puzzle piece together. "But I thought ye dinnae want anything to do with this."
"I have to now," Morgan admitted warily. "When Culloden comes, Jamie might insist on going."
"I ken he's a handsome man, but ye were forced into marrying him. Do ye really care for him or are ye doing this because of yer kind heart?"
"No, I care for him. He... is the first person since that's accepted me for what I am."
"How can he fully accept ye when he doesn't know yer from the future?" Geillis pointed out.
Morgan pursed her lips. "I-" but there was no logical answer, "-will tell him when the time is right."
"Or jus' kill em," she grinned.
Morgan scowled. "I'm not a black widow like you and if you'd think I had some sort of hope against a man who's nearly two meters tall- No! I will not even think about it."
"Yer besotted," Geillis snickered behind her hand. "Ye ken, I never took ye for the type to be in love. Maybe it jus' runs in yer family. Yer parents married after kennin' each other for jus' two weeks."
Morgan had thought much the same, wiping the smile off her face, trying to remind herself that Geillis couldn't be entirely trusted. "I wanted to let you know, because we will be leaving tomorrow. If you could buy any additional time - stall if you must - bye the more time Alistair has to work his fingers in the politics..."
"He's going to need yer help. Dinnae think yer gaunnae go to Castle Campbell and jus' be a doctor. This Alistair was clever enough to ken ye were from the future. He mus' ken yer a quick learner."
"Politics? Gill, can you see me floundering around in politics?"
Geillis took a step forward, Morgan not flinching for the first time. She picked up the end of Morgan's braid, thumbing the edge of it. "Ye were a girl when ye came here. Since I've seen ye, each time I see that yer more a woman," she reached up and tapped Morgan's forehead. "Yer a bloody genius, yer tellin' me that politics are harder than bein' a doctor?"
"It's logic and memorization versus manipulation and gilded words," Morgan huffed, frustrated.
"And posturin'. Ye managed to hold yer own here by manipulating. Ye lied Morgan. Ye lied to survive. Lie to keep yer new husband safe. There's nothing dishonorable in lying to save countless lives."
Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath. Geillis was along the right track. God had not given her the ability to learn quickly and the more she thought about her circumstance, she wondered if the Lord truly wanted Scotland to be saved. Geillis couldn't do it on her own and now that Morgan had crossed paths with another time traveler, she was wondering what piece on the chess board they each were. Maybe Morgan was the Bishop and Alistair the queen.
"Ye'll be needing supplies for yer journey," Geillis interrupted her thoughts, beginning to pack a basket for her.
"I don't have any coin with me," Morgan admitted.
Geillis rolled her eyes. "I dinnae care. It's jus' plants. I can go collect more."
Geillis glided around the room, carefully selecting items that would be useful for Morgan on their trip. She hoped that she wouldn't have the need to use any of them, but better to be prepared for a storm that didn't come. Standing at the door leading down the stairs, Geillis placed both her hands on her shoulders, gazing intently at Morgan.
"Ye ken what to do. Try to send me letters, but I understand if it'll rouse too much suspicion," Geillis entreated, squeezing hard. "Be safe..." she tipped her head, picking at the scarf around Morgan's neck, a wicked smile unfurling on her face. "Are ye certain ye dinnae wish to stay longer and tell me how yer night was?"
Morgan's cheeks burned and she tugged the scarf back up, unable to make eye contact with her. "I should be going. There's a lot to do before tomorrow." Drawing her cloak close, she began to hurry down the stairs, shadowed by the blonde who saw her to the door. Neck still craned to look at Geillis, she said, "I hope we do meet again."
About to step through the threshold, Geillis' eyes widened and she reached forward, trying to snag Morgan's cloak. "Thig air ais a-steach!"
Words grating on her ears, Morgan turned, uncertain what it meant despite the desperation in Geillis' voice.
"Ah, Miss. le Fay, it would seem I've caught you without your Gawain," the English voice entreated.
Morgan felt violently ill as she stepped out into the road where a party of Redcloaks were collected. Their mounted leader was sneering down his horse, raking his eyes up and down her; Randall.
A.N. We're returning back to the plot at hand! I did warn you all that it's going to serve away from Canon into AU territory.
I wonder what's waiting in Castle Campbell ;) That is, if Morgan can get away from Randall.