Absolute terror rooted her to the spot in front of the procurator fiscal's house, unable to think, unable to breathe as the man that hunted her husband loomed above her. Only the kicking up of the dirt as he dismounted, crimson coat gleaming in the gray light of day, shook her enough that she took a step back. Her head turned, looking around a nervous town, apprehensively eying the British.
"A proper greeting, Miss. le Fay. I am an officer of His Majesty, you will acknowledge me as such," Randall told her, squaring up before her, his eyes roaming from her face and to her scarf. "Hm, I thought you might have an unsavory profession. It would explain away your prior injuries."
Morgan drew her scarf in self consciously, finding her voice. "I'm married. I've slept with no man other than my own husband," she replied, voice cracking, throat dry and parched, tongue tacky.
"Married?" Randall arched a brow as if he did not believe her. "I don't recall you mentioning that when we first became acquainted."
"It was a rather recent endeavor," she admitted, hoping that mentioning her marriage would be enough for her to slip away. It wouldn't be that easy.
"Ah, well, you can explain it to me further," Randall unfurled a nasty smile.
She felt cold, gripping her basket, glancing around for someone to run up and save her. This was no fairytale and she wouldn't be so fortunate. Escorted by the men with Captain Randall, she was brought to the local inn where familiar faces - faces from church - gazed on anxiously.
Please. Someone please send word to Leoch, she prayed, her basket being put up on the bar as she was marched up the stairs and into the large receiving area and room. Randall dismissed the other men, posting them at the door so that she was alone with him. In her nightmares she had envisioned their reunion, always where Randall was forcing her to kiss him. Now, he stood just opposite the table from her as she attempted to put as much distance as she could between them.
"I should congratulate you. I assume you married one of the filthy highlanders you were working with on the afternoon we met," Randall deduced, still believing that she had a hand in fooling them to lower their guard enough to be susceptible to attack. "What should I call you now, certainly not le Fay, as that is not your real name."
"Mrs. MacTavish," Morgan answered through clenched teeth, pressing her knees together to keep them from rattling.
"MacTavish," Randall chewed on that name. "Where have I heard that before?"
"M-my husband is related to the MacKenzies... Perhaps you recognize it because there are other MacTavishes in the area," she suggested, trying to bolster conversation between them to stall, to keep him away from her.
Randall leaned against the table. "Maybe," he clucked, splaying his fingers. "Are you aware that you are wanted for suspected treason to the Crown, Mrs. MacTavish?"
"N-no," she stammered.
"Hm," he observed, coming around the table to approach her.
Morgan stumbled, catching her leg on an end table. She wasn't quick or coordinated enough, falling back onto the table as he was upon her. Captain Randall grapped her plait like it was a rope, tearing her to her feet. She cried in pain, knocking a candle from the table she had tripped over.
"Lie to me again," he dared, hazel eyes reflected with the light of a nearby flame, which danced madly in his irises. He brought his free hand up as Morgan struggled, holding her head where he pulled at her braid. Tears had already fought their way from her eyes as she barely kept her footing. Randall pressed a dirty, rough thumb to her mouth, forcing her lower lip down.
Choking on a sob, she turned her head away, trying to get from him. She scrambled in resistance, Randall hissing in frustration at her hysteria. Gripping her braid, he whipped her down to the floor where she tumbled hard. Pain lanced up her hip, tracing down to her toes, her hands barely coming out in time to prevent her from smacking her head against the hardwood.
Randall prowled forward like a jaguar, circling its prey, before he grabbed her by the collar of her dress, wrenching her up from the floor. Morgan was small, it took him little effort to lift her clean off her feet, pressing her back against the long table. The sharp end dug into her black, causing her to contort at an unnatural angle.
"Let us begin again, Mrs. MacTavish," he entreated sweetly, one hand cupping her face from beneath her jaw, forcing her to hold her gaze with his. "Tell me, what were you doing on the road just three months ago, when my men came across you?"
"I-I was running from my ex-fiance. He was in Inverness and had beat me after I confronted him for being with another woman-" Morgan confessed, trying to find purchase on something. Her toes scraped at the ground, fingers plied for the table, perhaps if she could find something. "I stumbled upon the MacKenzie Clan after. They took me in and helped heal my injuries."
"You would have me believe that the MacKenzie Clan took an English woman in?" Randall didn't wait for an answer, considering her with another intrusive glance. "I suppose you're rather helpless looking. It's not as if someone your size could manage much," he smirked in the face of her inability to fight back. "Have you enjoyed living amongst these savages? You must yearn to return to proper civilization, for the touch of a gentle man-"
"You're no gentleman," Morgan retorted through her teeth.
"The fairy has teeth," Randall mused, pressing her harder against the table. She squirmed, the edge digging into her spine, causing her to spasm. "I was kind to you the first time we met, I could return you to England if that is what you prefer."
"Kind?" she whispered. "You undressed me without my permission and observed my naked body-" her remembering made her stomach roil. "I wish to be returned to my husband. If I'm not mistaken, I'm a citizen of Scotland, and you have no business in handling me like this. Once the MacKenzie finds out-"
"Shh, hush now," he growled, pressing his fingers to her mouth again. They smelled of gunpowder and copper - the familiar tang of blood unwashed from his hands. "You're just hysteric from the trauma incurred here. A poor young English woman, forced to serve the MacKenzies, subdued into an unwilling marriage where she was raped-"
"No! That's not what happened-"
"It would be irresponsible of me to leave you here, especially due to their brainwashing."
Morgan writhed like a rabbit in the talons of an eagle.
"And in your grief and confusion, you were rather taken with the captain's kindness, for seeing through the deceit and lies, for helping you," he moved a hand, drawing up her skirts, trailing up her stockings with grubby hands. The only hands that she wished to touch her was Jamie's and she was terrified that no one in Leoch even knew what was going on. "But do not worry your pretty head, my little raven, I'll not tell them if you don't."
Tugging the scarf around her throat, he revealed the kiss marks that had spotted her neck as if she were a dalmation. Touching a tender spot, he grinned as she cried out, scrunching her eyes shut in hopelessness. She didn't want to make a noise or to make him think she was enjoying it, because in her mind, she was being gripped by the devil himself. Fear smothered her, making her believe that if she even opened her eyes, Lucifer might stand before her in Randall's red coat.
"Hm? A saint?" he thumbed the golden necklace that was high around her throat. "An archangel... Tell me, did your husband buy you this?"
Morgan didn't wish to speak, too overwhelmed and terrified by this point.
"No, I recall you having this and a set of rosary beads. You're Catholic - rather rare for an English woman. Tell me, how does God view women who are promiscuous? Will your saint turn away from you after today? Was he even here to begin with?"
He pressed to her again, Morgan could feel him against her leg, aroused from her misery and fear. Again, he moved up her skirt, savoring her quivering lips and unwillingness to look at him. Think. Think! Randall inclined toward her and Morgan did the only thing she could, she spat in his eyes.
Randall hissed, releasing her for just a fleeting second. Morgan twisted, slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground on her knees. She scrambled, ducking beneath the table and trying to make her way for the door. Maybe if she could just open it and scream, someone would come from downstairs to help her. On hands and knees, she crawled like a child, trying to get up and reach for the door handle.
"You little whore-" Randall grasped her ankle, pulling her back underneath the table and toward him.
Morgan screamed, digging her fingernails into the wood, drawing lines in the flooring as she was dragged. She grabbed the leg of the table, refusing to let go until her sweaty, clammy fingers betrayed her. Randall had her back in his clutches, picking her up by the throat as he curled a lip at her.
"It would seem we're at an impasse. Perhaps your ex-fiance was a bit wiser than I had realized before," he backhanded her, Morgan crying out from the pain that boggled her mind. She blinked away the stars, trying to catch her breath futilely against Randall's tightening grip around her throat, his nails digging into the tender flesh on her neck. "I did not wish to spoil this lovely face of yours, but you're more willful than I had anticipated."
He threw her as if she were little more than a ragdoll, sending her crashing onto the table, platters and glasses shattering on the floor when she sent them flying. Her body ached, trembling as she tried to sit up, feeling the crunch of glass beneath her elbow. It didn't feel real, raising her arm to see the shiny reflection of her face in the fragments stuck into her forearm. Liquid rubies blossomed, beginning to drip down her elbow, as she stared, entransed by it all.
And then he was upon her.
Dragging her through the glass litter, Morgan was too light headed from her fall and being choked to do much more than whimper. "Now that you're thoroughly subdued, allow me to ease your pain-" he shoved up her skirts, revealing her legs, her bleeding knees, which stung against the cold air. He fumbled at the belt around his waist, just about to unbutton his pants when there was shouting outside the room.
Randall snarled, keeping a grip on his prize, but he hadn't the moment to take her. The door flung open and Dougal MacKenzie stood there, barrel chest heaving and eyes wide with fury.
Looking between them, he saw Morgan, bleeding and on the cusp of fainting with her skirts hiked up and Randall having positioned himself auspiciously.
"What're ye doin'?!" Dougal demanded, fingers tight against his sword hilt.
"Questioning a subject of the Crown," Randall replied silkily, releasing Morgan and taking a step back.
"I dinnae ken that ye questioned a wummin between her legs," Dougal countered, wrath rapt on his face. "And a kin of the MacKenzie. She be a citizen of Scotland and ye overstep yer bounds."
"I, as a Captain of His Majesty, have the ability to question who I choose; Scottish or English."
"The questioning is done," the cool tone of Alistair Campbell sailed in behind Dougal. "A report shall be sent to yer commander for the attempted rape of Mrs. MacTavish."
Randall's countenance betrayed his confusion. "And who are you? I do not believe we've had the luxury of meeting before."
"Alistair Campbell. And ye'd do best to stay on yer leash, English dog. I dinnae think the Duke of Sandringham will be ta pleased if yer barkin' was betrayed to more influential folks like Duke van Straubenzee. He may na care for it, but I ken a handful of people who might," he threatened, holding the captain's gaze.
Dougal came forward, helping Morgan down from the table, holding up her bleeding arm. "Hush now, lass. Yer fine," he insisted, but didn't sound too convinced of it himself.
"Campbell," Randall considered carefully. "You're not from around these parts."
"Nay, jus' visiting. Rather disturbed by the state of the highlands, ta be frank."
Captain Randall grimaced, but took his leave.
"Lass, he dinnae manage to-" Dougal was unable to complete the sentence. Even if he had been dubious of her intentions while being in Leoch, only pity filled his eyes now. For a moment, she thought he might even care for her by the way he was unable to ask if she'd been raped.
Morgan shook her head, legs quaking like jell-O, unable to find purchase on their own.
"He did give her a severe beatin'," Alistair observed. "We shoulda gotten here sooner."
"I'm glad you got here at all," Morgan whispered. A minute later and Randall might have succeeded in undoing his trousers.
God... Raphael... Thank you.
"Can ye walk?" Dougal asked.
Morgan tried again, but her legs wouldn't work, her vision dancing and her breath blowing from out of her. "Nay, she cannae," Alistair realized, offering to pick her up, but Dougal growled at him. She belonged to the MacKenzie Clan, not the Campbells. Scooping her up, he carried Morgan like a small child out of the room which was in absolute disarray.
Safe. She was safe.
Her head lolled against Dougal's arm. She wanted to go back to Leoch and to Jamie. His warm arms encircling her, protecting her from the worst in the world.
"Mo chù!" Geillis gasped. "Come, I'll help clean her up before ye return to Leoch. Her arm is-"
"Her husband will hae a fit. I've got four men watchin' him to keep him from comin' down here to kill Captain Randall. I dinnae if they can hold him much longer,," Dougal said, brushing past Geillis.
"She needs ta be wrapped up. She's ta small to lose as much blood as us," Alistair insisted. "I'll return ta Leoch and calm Jamie. As long as he kens she's safe, it'll take the edge off his fury."
Dougal pursed his lips, but nodded, drawing after Geillis across town. Back within her home, they trundled up the stairs and Morgan was laid down on a lounging chair. Dougal paced by the door, glancing out the window from time to time to see if the Redcoats would return. However, it seemed that Alistair's threats had abated their confidence for the time being.
Geillis rolled up Morgan's sleeve, which was now soaked in her blood. Removing the shards of glasses, one by one, Morgan strained against the lounge, her skin sallow and pale. Working as swiftly as she could, Geillis cleaned the injury, applied a poultice, and bound it as tight as she could to staunch the bleeding. Addressing her friend's other wounds including cleaning Morgan's skinned knees, the gouges in her neck where the skin was now bruising, and the few scratches on her face from when she'd fallen into the glass and servingware.
"Debí haberte detenido antes," Geillis whispered, her fair face contorting with guilt. Her Spanish was rough, but Morgan knew that she blamed herself for not having stopped Morgan from running into the British in time.
"Another basket of herbs and I think we can call it even," Morgan joked weakly.
Geillis gave her a hard look, taken aback by Morgan's humor. The woman she had known before wasn't prone to making jests in the midst of trauma. She had changed. "Sí ... Tenga en cuenta que ahora pueden venir a buscarlo en el camino."
Morgan had thought as much. Alistair had threatened to turn Randall in. It was entirely possible that Randall would try and kill Alistair before he made it back to Castle Campbell or escaped the sect of highlands that Randall provisioned. While she was glad that he'd knocked Randall down a peg, she also worried that Jamie would be in much more danger traveling from Leoch to Campbell.
"I know. Alistair must know that too," she whispered.
The door in front of Dougal opened and Morgan hoped and feared that it would be Jamie. Instead, it was his godfather. Murtagh's eyes went straight to Morgan, his shoulders sagging in relief as he saw that she was awake and alert.
"Ye almost done? Jamie is gaunnae tear Leoch apart if ye dinnae get back soon for him to make certain yer alright," Murtagh inquired.
"I think I'm suitably patched up," Morgan answered, grasping Geillis' hand with her uninjured arm, squeezing. "Just flesh wounds. I will recover." But it wasn't just that. Her heart was heavy, closing her eyes brought Randall's visage before her, confronting her as he roamed her legs and mouth.
"A moment. I hear Mrs. MacTavish is ta be on the road and she'll be needin' some more supplies," Geillis objected, taking her hand away to begin filling a second basket. "She'll be needin' ta treat her injuries on the road."
The men waited a few minutes, rather impatiently, but they waited. Morgan swung her legs around, placing her feet on the ground, pushing slightly to see if she could bear her own weight. Her cheeks were hot as she thought about it. How small and weak she was, how even when she put her full effort into escaping, a man was barely jarred by her strength.
Cradling her bandaged arm, Morgan finally stood up, swaying slightly from the blood loss. Dougal reached to steady her, but she stepped away. She would walk to Leoch on her own. Jamie was going to be in enough distress and the last thing she wanted was to be coddled further like a child in front of everyone. She was a doctor, not a girl. Accepting the second basket from Geillis, she gave her friend a long look. She knew it had been Geillis that had rushed to Leoch to find Dougal. Her eyes spoke the words for her: thank you.
Turning away, she was escorted by Dougal and Murtagh, back out into the town that was still reeling from the Redcoat occupation. Some, that had seen her capture, gave her long stares, catching their eyes on the bloodied sleeve she wore; a testament to her encounter.
The familiar castle stood against a thin mist, obscuring the occupants within the tiltyard. Only after entering, could Morgan make out those that were milling around, including a throng of men that surrounded her husband. Rupert, Angus, and Alistair were amongst them, making an attempt to keep him subdued.
"What if she's been captured by the Redcoats again? I wouldnae put it past Black Jack Randall to abduct her the moment we let our guard down," Jamie hissed, unable to keep his voice down as Alistair loomed in front of him.
"He wouldnae dare. Not after I had a word wit' him," Alistair did not balk, of comparable height to Jamie.
"It shoulda been me. I'm her husband-"
"And yer wanted by Black Jack. Ye woulda jus' gotten captured and then what good would ya be ta her?" Rupert pointed out sharply.
"Ay, here they come," Angus broke up the two, pushing between Alistair and Jamie.
Jamie whipped past them, forcibly shouldering Alistair so that he might get a clean look at Morgan as she walked in slowly. She was trying to be strong, to prove that she wasn't as hurt as she felt. But the moment she saw Jamie's expression, she felt her heart ripped from her chest. The lines of agony were discernible, his brows forced together as he started at a trot and broke into a gallop, just in front of her in three strides.
Overwhelmed, Morgan choked on tears, her breath catching as Jamie bent down to grab her. "Eun baeg," he soothed, holding her in his arms, his warmth encompassing her. Pulling away from the embrace, he gazed at her, his face flushed as he gently grazed over a fresh scratch on her cheek. "I shoulda been there."
"I'm safe," she managed between her tears, emotions having washed over her like a tsunami. "I'm safe," she repeated again, trying to convince herself that it was over.
"He tried ta-" Jamie, like Dougal, couldn't bring the cursed word to his lips.
Morgan whimpered, trying to force the events out of her head, but they were there, lancing behind her closed eyes, rattling her even more. No one else in the courtyard mattered, even if they were watching on worriedly. The Redcoats had not dared to bother them in Cranesmuir up until this point, given the proximity to the MacKenzie.
"The Surgery-" Morgan finally managed, wishing to get away from the attention and eyes.
Jamie nodded, picking her up.
"Yer wife, she's been taken for questioning by the Redcoats."
The words had stolen his breath away as he had been in the stables, acquiring the necessary equipment for the long ride they had ahead of them to get to Castle Campbell. Murtagh had agreed to come with them, having little reason to linger around the MacKenzies. His hands had fallen from the horse's tact, aware that the Redcoats would not have taken Morgan unless Randall was with them.
Never had he known the terror and fury that he felt now. His stomach roiled like a cauldron over a hot fire and he knew there was only one thing he could do. Find her.
But Angus, Murtagh, and Rupert appeared.
"Dougal and Alistair have gone for her," Murtagh entreated. "You cannae go. Ye'll be arrested on the spot."
"I'm her husband! I should be the first one there to-"
"What good are ye if yer in shackles?" Angus snapped, but his face was just as flushed, eyes darting between the others. Even if Jamie had married Morgan, Angus still seemed enthralled by the small woman. "Dougal will return her."
So they waited in the courtyard, Jamie cornered by the others, pacing like a caged tiger. He was unable to still his hammering heart, the blood rushing in his ears, and the fear he felt, not knowing what was happening to Morgan as he stood there. He was helpless, reminding himself that he'd promised her just yesterday that he would protect her. Now, he was caged, a coward who couldn't even face her captor because he was worried about being captured. Why make that promise if he couldn't keep it?
Alistair arrived first, but without Morgan, setting Jamie's already anguished mind into another fit. Now he had to go find her.
"Dinnae fash, Dougal's got her," Alistair informed them all.
"Why hasn't she returned?" Jamie demanded.
"The doctor was injured. Mrs. Duncan is tending to her wounds before she's ta be returned here," Alistair answered evenly.
Jamie's blood went cold and he licked his parched lips. Injured? She was so small, hurting her wasn't much of a feat. Randall need only to push her and she might break upon falling. He could envision her terrified blue eyes stretched wide, just like when they had first met. She needed him and he needed to be certain she wasn't hurt too badly.
"Murtagh-"
"I'll go, jus' ta make certain Dougal dinnae need another hand," Murtagh nodded, stepping away and heading in the direction that Alistair had just come from.
"I assure ye that she's jus' a bit bloodied, but nothing severe. He might've tossed her around a bit, but we stopped him before he could rape her," Alistair explained, not easing Jamie's doubt. They could be lying or saying anything to keep him here in Leoch. What if it was worse than they were letting on?
Then she returned. From beside Murtagh and Dougal, Morgan walked on her own, nursing an arm toward her chest. Her fair, freckled cheeks were scratched, strands of hair loose from her braid, dark marks against her throat. Pushing past the others, he snared her, clinging to her form, afraid that he was just imagining her visage, that this person was nothing more than a spectre and she was dead. No, he could smell the lingering herbs on her mixed with the scent of her blood. Morgan broke down.
Taking her away from the prying, pity-filled eyes, Jamie brought her to where she requested; the Surgery. He set her quivering form down on the cot in the corner of the room, kneeling before her as he drank her in. Her eyes were red and puffy, still brimming with tears as she couldn't bear to look at him. Was she upset that he hadn't come?
Jamie's hand gently touched her face, tipping her chin up to see where she had been choked. Nail impressions in her soft, milky skin were fresh and glinted with coagulated blood. A few, superficial scratches were on her face, against her cheek and on her brow. The most notable injury was the sleeve that was crusted with dried blood, her arm wrapped up in linen.
"Eun baeg," he wanted to know what had happened from her lips. The confirmation of others wouldn't settle him as much as hearing it himself.
Morgan glanced toward him, those keen blue eyes watery and red. "Jamie," she sniffled, unable to utter much more through a hoarse throat. Gears were turning, she opened her mouth to speak, but was unable to find words. Her face contorted, frustration sinking into her brows as angry tears formed at the corners of her eyes.
"Shh, shh," he hushed, wiping away her tears before they had the chance to roll down her cheeks. "Dinnae fash-" he stood up, about to turn to put a kettle on the fire when he felt a gentle tug. Turning, he saw that Morgan had snagged his tartan in her hand, fingers trembling. "I'm jus' gaunnae make a pot o' tea. Ye sound like ye could use it."
Morgan, understanding, slowly released the plaid and settled back onto the cot. Jamie wasn't familiar with where all the supplies were, but he was capable of putting water on the fire. Behind him, his wife laid down, overwhelmed by the turn of events. He, himself, was weary from stress. Her eyes burned into him as she laid toward him, curling her knees up beneath her skirt, toward her chest.
The kettle whistled, Jamie removing it, thumbing through the drawers until he found a little jar filled with loose tea. He'd come down there before when his stomach had been upset. Morgan had brewed him a tea with ginger and lemongrass. He tried to repeat what he had watched her do, his fingers too large for the dainty scoops and steeper. While aromatic, he wasn't too certain that he'd done it right. Pouring a cup, he brought it over to Morgan, who sat up and accepted it.
The marks on her neck were darkening to his dismay.
Morgan made a face, quickly trying to hide it, but Jamie caught it nonetheless as he sat beside her.
"Not too good?" he assumed.
"No, it's fine," she croaked. "What did you put in it?"
"If I hear ye say 'it's fine' one more time," he snarked, but relented, shoulders easing. "Lil' bit o' the black tea, some ginger, lemongrass..."
"Black tea?" Morgan arched a brow at him. "Oh, Jamie..." she smiled into the cup, still drinking it.
His brows furrowed and he got up, pouring a cup for himself, tasting the concoction he'd drafted. The black tea was bitter, in need of milk, honey, and/or sugar. The combination with the sharp bite of lemongrass and spice of ginger was abysmal. He spat it out.
"Dinnae drink that," he told her, trying to take the cup from her.
Morgan snatched it away, grinning at him. "You made it for me, best not to waste it. Camellia sinensis is expensive. Colum gave me that tea."
"It's terrible," Jamie protested. "How did ye make it last time?"
"Just ginger, lemongrass, chamomile, and a little lemon juice. A tea doesn't necessarily require actual tea leaves," she informed him, shivering as she forced down another sip. "Maybe you're right. I think I'm done with this."
Jamie took the cup back and began again.
"Jamie, it's alright. I don't need any tea," Morgan protested.
He didn't listen, making another attempt at brewing a better pot. Returning to her side, he took a good look at her. She seemed to have calmed down considerably, but his heart still ached looking at the state of her. Just yesterday she had been a beautiful, blushing bride and today she had been beaten in Cranesmuir.
"Why were ye in town by yerself?" he asked her gently, brushing her fingers with his.
"I went to get more herbs from Mrs. Duncan... For the trip tomorrow," Morgan answered dolefully.
"Ye coulda bothered Murtagh ta go wit ye," Jamie reminded her, but was aware it was too late to speculate and reprimand her for doing nothing wrong. She should have been allowed to make a run to town without worrying.
"I wasn't thinking," Morgan admitted.
"Ye werenae thinking?" Jamie chuckled quietly. "I never thought I'd hear ye say that."
Morgan interlaced her fingers with his, staring down at their hands. "I'm sorry. I was too comfortable. I should have considered that the English might make a trip to Cranesmuir, I just thought that maybe they wouldn't because of how close it is to Leoch. We only had one more day here-" she spoke quickly, the words tumbling from her mouth as her voice hitched, becoming small and high.
"Dinnae apologize. Dinnae apologize," Jamie repeated, pulling her toward him, resting her beneath his arm. She quivered slightly, sniffling as she fought back tears again. "I thought I'd never see ye again. That... that bastard would take ye away. And I was stuck here, unable to help ye."
"You couldn't come. I don't think he realizes that we're married. If you had showed up, he would have taken us both," Morgan reminded him. "Why... Do you think I'm upset with you?"
Jamie pursed his lips, still feeling as if he'd failed her. It should have been him throwing the door open, beating Randall into the floor, and taking her away. "I shoulda been there."
"Jamie, I'm just glad that you're safe and that I escaped. Gi- Mrs. Duncan must have come to get Dougal. I was leaving her house right when I encountered the party of English," Morgan said, sitting up to gaze up intently at him. "I'm shaken up and a little bruised, but he didn't manage to do much more."
"How long were ye wit him?"
Morgan considered. He knew that she was clever enough to piece the situation together. "Twenty minutes or so," she reasoned, shuddering as she thought back to it.
"He may not of gotten the chance ta rape ye, but that doesnae mean he dinnae do other things."
Morgan's growing resolve was brittle and he'd snapped it with that comment. She snatched her eyes away from him, threatening to cry again. "Would you not care for me if he did? If I'd been sullied by another man?" Panic rose in her chest and she began to hyperventilate.
Jamie floundered, trying to take a moment to understand what to do. She was traumatized and he's said the wrong thing. "No," he insisted firmly. "I jus' worry for ye. When we first met, ye were terrified when we found ye and Randall had just molested ye. If he did more, then I need to ken. I want to help ye."
She sagged back against him and closed her eyes. The kettle was screaming, but he didn't get up to remove it. "He didn't accomplish much more than last time," she admitted. "Aside from hurting me. It's just his words... I was scared that he was going to take me despite the fact I'm technically a Scottish citizen. He was saying terrible things - how I was brainwashed and that it was his duty to return me back to England," a breath whooshed out of her mouth. "I really thought that it was going to happen and that I'd be alone again... Well, not entirely alone. I knew he wasn't going to leave me in peace."
Being alone, save for the captor she feared. Jamie knew she was afraid of returning to being ogled and ostracized. Going back to England where she only had her withering father would put her right back to before they met. Only with Captain Randall, she wouldn't even have her peace. Part of him doubted that Black Jack would have returned her to England and just kept her as a pretty prize for himself.
"The pot," Morgan groaned.
Jamie had been ignoring it, but left her to remove it and make a second attempt at the tea.
"I'm worried," Morgan revealed to him. "That we'll be attacked on the road while traveling with Alistair."
"Why?"
"He left Captain Randall with some choice words about reporting him to his commander and another noble family that could circumvent his connections with the Duke of Sandringham... though, I'm not quite certain who that is."
"The Duke of Sandringham is a bit o' a strange fellow. Difficult ta tell where his allegiances lay as he talks quite o' bit and is never straight with what he has to say. Most people think him a fool, maybe by his voice or personality, but if he's working with Black Jack, I'm startin' to think that maybe he's more clever."
Morgan nodded, soaking in the information as she was offered a second cup of tea. Blowing over the top, she took a sip and smiled up at him. "Much better this time."
Jamie preened at the compliment and moved beside her again. "If Alistair threatened him, then aye, there's a good chance he'll try to see that Alistair doesnae make it home." The thought was unsettling. They could have moved across the countryside without much delay or worry, but now that Alistair had put a target on his back...
"He'll have to travel separately," Morgan decided.
"Whit? That's too dangerous-"
"A single rider can move quicker. Without us, he can cut the journey down. I'm afraid I don't know much about riding a horse, so I'm going to slow the party down considerably. If he rides ahead, we can carve our own path down there without being worried about being captured along with him."
"But that puts him in danger too if he does get captured," Jamie pointed out.
"That's not our problem. And I'd wager that Alistair knows a few, less traveled paths back to Castle Campbell."
Jamie didn't like the idea one bit. Alistair was their connection to the Campbell Clan and the entire reason they were risking the journey down there. If he was captured or killed, then they would be going in vain. "I dinnae think he'll agree to the plan."
Morgan remained silent, thinking quietly as she stared blankly at the fireplace across from them.
"Ye cannae sit a horse ta well?" Jamie broke the silence eventually, watching as she blinked a few times apprehensively.
"Er, no. I'm afraid the time I rode with you was my first time on a horse," she admitted to his astonishment.
"Why dinnae ask me ta show ye? Ye did come and visit me in the paddock a few times," Jamie asked.
"I didn't like it last time, rubbed my legs absolutely raw," she grumbled.
"Ye can ride with me again if ye'd like. Putting ye on yer own horse might not be a good idea," Jamie remarked, imagining her trying to steer a horse, if her feet even reached the stirrups. A pony might be a better idea given her size, but the only pony that Leoch had belonged to Hamish. "Will be a little tight, but I dinnae think ye'll mind as much."
"We're married now," Morgan reminded him, a blush spreading across her nose and the top of her cheekbones. "But you were very kind to me, even then."
"Ye kept me from dyin'," Jamie grinned. "But I will admit that most of the time, I was focusin' on yer arse up against me and yer legs when they were tanned. Ye were the bonniest lass I'd ever seen and I had ye right in me grasp."
Morgan grumbled something unintelligible beneath her breath.
"And then the chance to marry ye came up... I wanted ta right at the beginning, but ye were always so proper," he considered for a moment. "And opinionated."
"I can't help how I am," Morgan sniffed, slightly indignant.
"I dinnae say being opinionated was bad," he poked, leaning against her, wrapping his arms around her slender form. "I like how smart ye are. I ken if I'm ever ailing, ye can fix me."
"Within reason," she reminded him duly, but there was that lovely, gentle smile on her face. "That doesn't give you leave to get yourself hurt. I'd prefer my husband stayed in one piece."
"No promises," Jamie retorted. "I've always had ill luck, but when I'm with you, eun baeg, I ken it all paid off. I cannae imagine what I woulda done if Dougal dinnae return with ye."
"Probably rode after me like an idiot," Morgan speculated.
"Probably," he rested his cheek against her soft hair. "I woulda rode right into Fort Williams if I had ta."
"Pray we never see that day."
"I pray I see ye everday," Jamie told her, bending done to press his lips to her temple. "I pray that we get to Castle Campbell safe. I pray that ye can heal the laird. I pray that we canna have children and not worry aboot a reward on me head. I pray... that ye are always safe and not to see ye upset."
Morgan turned up to look at him, her lip quivering, but not because she was still upset from the day's endeavors. He realized his words had moved her as she encircled his neck and pressed into him. "I pray for the same, Jamie. I pray for the same."
Character Info: Since it hasn't been pointed out before, only mentioned that she's small, Morgan is only 4'11" and 95lbs soaking wet. Which is why any time she attempts to put up a fight or resist someone, it's in vain. It also goes more in hand with Jamie calling her 'little' given how much tinier she is than him and most people. Now you may be able to envision why he was so afraid to break her. ;)
For those that are interested, this story is also crossposted on AO3, which also has links to images and inspirations in some of the chapters.