She was nervous.
The open road was stretched in front of them, her fingers tightening on the horn of the saddle. Still aching considerably, Morgan knew she wouldn't even be of much help during a fight if she wasn't injured. Still, Alistair's warning wouldn't have fallen on deaf ears and nor did he hear her objections. The four of them would ride together for Castle Campbell. While having felt as if they were barely avoiding the sniffing of the hounds in Leoch, being outside the protection of the stone walls was harrowing.
Until her encounter with Randall, even Cransmuir had felt like a cloak of invisibility. Now, they only had the hope of getting to the southernmost reaches of the highlands and to be honest, Morgan was doubtful they would reach it without trouble. Leaning back against Jamie, she kept her arm close to her. It still stung, the cuts received from the glass were jagged and not clean. Geillis had properly wrapped it up and applied the correct herbs, but it didn't change the fact that it hurt.
She yearned for a painkiller, but resolved to just bear the pain, along with her sore jaw - yet again - and her bruised back and neck. The Scottish countryside was beautiful. She had fallen in love with it long ago, how vibrantly green it was, the way the mist would cling to the grass in the morning. Even now, the trees sagged toward them, covered in thick moss, and whispering the sweet secrets of what may lay deeper into the woad.
There was a magical quality to it all. Many of the highlanders believed in faeries, but did not liken it to witchcraft. They were too separate things. Faeries had been with the land since its origin, witchcraft was what disciples of Satan wielded. While aware that the world was not quite so simple, Morgan understood the divergence in the paths. At least, she understood it well for a Sassenach.
A bark in the distance had the men look amongst each other, but a second did not follow. "Cù Sìth?" Murtagh speculated, drawing a grin from Jamie.
"Nay, unless we hear a second, then maybe," Jamie answered.
"Cù Sìth?" Morgan echoed, the only amongst the three that was uncertain of what they spoke. She had been picking up Gaelic until this point, but she had never heard that name spoken before.
"Aye, the fairy dog," Murtagh answered.
"Banrigh sìthiche," Morgan recalled, craning her head up to look at Jamie. "Sìth."
"Aye, it means fairy," he tapped her nose. "It's a large dog, the size o' a young bull. They range from shaggy green ta white. It's said that they have coiled or braided tails, sometimes with paws that are human. But ye never want ta see one."
"Hear it more like," Alistair glanced back. "They say that if ye hear it howl or bark three times, it'll drive ye mad with terror and kill ye. Cù Sìth will then escort ye to the underworld..." he paused, considering. "Although, they're also said ta take nursing wummin to fairy mounds so that the fairies can drink the milk."
"Ye worried, Campbell? Are ye nursin'?" Murtagh poked, rousing a laugh from the rest of them.
"Maybe in a couple o' months," Alistair retorted, nonplussed by the teasing. "Sounds like a shepherd though. If I ken, there's moors up by this forest."
"I reckon yer right," Murtagh agreed.
They finished their journey for the day when the sun began sinking low and daylight fled behind the trees. Unfurling bedrolls, Morgan prodded a pot of stew. They had packed away heartier food that wouldn't waste throughout the week, mostly root and tubular vegetables; carrots, turnips, onions, potatoes, and garlic. There were some apples, salted meat, and jerky in addition. It wasn't the most flavorful or wonderful food, but it did the job in keeping them energized and moving.
Morgan boiled water and brewed a chamomile tea for the group to settle down to. Murtagh turned it away, volunteering for the first watch. It was now three days into their journey and not a peep of red on the road. They were all expecting it, having talked about it prior to their departure. A chill swept across the camp, warning of the approaching winter. Snuggling closer to Jamie, Morgan let out a deep breath, hoping that their journey would soon come to a peaceful close.
"Wake up," Murtagh roused them all.
Metal glinted in front of her eyes, catching the light of the fire's embers. Jamie gripped the hilt in his hand, the group remaining low to the ground as they heard the sound of approaching hooves in twilight. The stars winked on them from above, the moon too thin to bask the forest with any sort of light.
Alistair was lying prone on the ground, his rifle propped against his arm as they all held their breath.
"One rider," the Campbell grumbled.
"Dinnae move," Jamie murmured in her ear, pressed above her, creeping forward from where their bedrolls had been lying beneath the open sky.
She didn't need to be told not to move. Morgan really didn't want to go anywhere and chance being rode down.
Straining her ears, she heard the clopping of a set of hooves, dancing against the road they had camped uphill from. Morgan couldn't see them, but the rider turned, perhaps surveying the land before halting.
"What're they doin'?" Murtagh hissed.
"I dinnae, they seem... lost," Alistair realized, pulling down his rifle. "Jamie, go forward with me to get a better look."
Jamie nodded, prowling forward, keeping low to the ground as Murtagh remained in the camp with her. The men moved stealthily down the hill, toward the cantering horse with the uncertain rider. Eventually, the silence was broken by hoarse Gaelic, their voices rising.
Morgan sat up, aware that whoever they had found was Scottish.
"Feumaidh tu a bhith a 'magadh orm," Murtagh cursed, returning his dagger to its sheathe. He stood up, giving Morgan a weary glance. "Come on lass. It's not the Redcoats."
She was now sitting, wrapping the blankets around her as she glanced on curiously, wondering who they had passed on the road. Had it been just a traveler, they would have sent them on their way. Instead, the rider was now approaching up the hill.
Jamie's voice rose, chastising the rider.
Dismounting, Morgan could see that the rider was slight. "Cha robh roghainn agam!" she recognized that voice.
"Laoghaire?" she said incredulously.
"Morgan!" the girl rushed toward her, dumping the reins of her horse on Jamie before sputtering into the camp. She thumped down beside her, throwing back her hood to reveal her golden hair. There was one addition that Morgan saw immediately; a black eye, the bottom of her eye puffy and purple.
"What happened to your face?" Morgan gasped, reaching forward to graze the teenager's wound.
"My Da decided ta give it ta me. Even though I dinnae do anything," she sent a glare in Jamie's direction.
"You rode after us by yourself?" Morgan felt dizzy thinking how a 16 year old would fare on the road. God must have been with her or else Laoghaire might have faced a similar fate as Morgan had.
Laoghaire nodded. "I couldnae stay in Cranesmuir or Leoch. I thought if I caught up ta the party, I could start fresh in Castle Campbell-"
"Do you not realize how dangerous that was!?" Morgan's voice cracked and she gripped Laoghaire tightly by the shoulders, her knuckles going white. "Your grandmother is probably worried sick!"
Jamie plopped down beside Morgan, just as dismayed as his wife.
"I dinnae get hurt. I'm fine, see?"
"Laoghaire!" Morgan reproached. "We have been worried about Redcoats tailing us for days. They could have very easily captured you and had their way."
"Na ta mention she's a liability now," Murtagh grunted. "One wummin is enough ta worry aboot."
"We cannae send her back," Alistair grimaced, flopping onto his bedroll, picking his nails with his dagger. "I dinnae how she did it, but she's here now. Sendin' her back only increases the probability that she'll be intercepted."
It was decided. They couldn't turn Laoghaire around, nor was it worth while for one of them to peel off to return all the way to Leoch. Only Murtagh could turn around, but doing that would weaken them considerably. Aside from her ability to patch them up, Morgan was dead weight and using the same horse as Jamie. Even though she was the necessary piece to add to the chess board in Castle Campbell, she couldn't help but feel utterly useless. The land, while beautiful, was foreign. If somehow she was familiar with how it looked in the future, nothing was the same.
Now she also had to worry about glancing over her shoulder every so often to make certain that Laoghaire was safe. Not that she could do anything if she wasn't. Each step toward their destination gave her time to decide what equipment she would need. It also duly reminded her that Jamie had no idea what laid in front of them. Both she and Alistair were aware of time traveling, but if Jamie were to see the equipment she had acquired and knew how to use...
I have to tell him, she realized, though the very thought terrified her. He had promised that he would stay with her, that he would protect her, but what if he thought she was a time traveling witch and wanted nothing to do with her? Within the confines of Morgan's own mind, she was her own worst enemy. Over and over again she kept replaying various scenarios where it could go wrong. The worst ranging from Jamie killing her to Jamie simply leaving her to her fate in Castle Campbell.
She didn't wish for that either. Even if there was an alliance between them, there was a fine like that both she and Alistair understood. Betray me and I'll make you pay. Only they would be in Alistair's domain, thus making it more likely to play out in his favor.
They took a break midday, deciding that traveling at night might be better. Less likely to encounter anyone and with the ability to see other riders coming, it had proven to work thus far.
Morgan bent in front of a stream, dipping her hands into the icy water to splash it on her face. A gentle sigh passed her lips and she felt her anxiety twinge. They were growing ever closer to Castle Campbell and it felt as if the most dangerous part of their journey was over. Still, she couldn't shake the heavy weight on her shoulders, the fear that in just a few days time everything would be wrong.
"Eun baeg," Jamie startled her, coming around from between the trees to see what she was up to.
Being on the road meant there was severely less time for privacy, let alone intimacy. Morgan, while she wished to, felt incredibly awkward trying to show Jamie how she felt. With three sets of eyes just wandering all the time, she couldn't help but feel that they pinned onto the couple at any given chance. Despite the fact that they were married, public displays of affection felt strange, and it wasn't even because Morgan was in the past. Personally, she was just a very private person.
"Mi escocés," she greeted, a reluctant smile unfurling across her features. For now, it seemed they might have time alone.
He took a seat beside her, stretching out his long, muscular legs before fastening his dark blue eyes to her. "How are ye farin'?"
"Nervous," Morgan admitted, twisting her fingers in the grass in front of her.
"We're nearly there," Jamie told her. "Is anything else botherin' ye?" he paused, considering her before deciding to continue, "Ye seem distant."
Morgan fidgeted with a ring and then glanced into the woods, wondering if anyone else was nearby. "I don't mean to be, it's just the situation. And what may be waiting for us up ahead."
Jamie seemed unconvinced, which only did more to fray her anxiety. "I ken bein' on the road innae easy. I wish ye'd jus' talk to me."
Morgan remained silent, trying to process through her thoughts, which felt deafening at this point. "Do you remember the night the bard sang that song... the one about the lady who came through the stones into another time?"
Jamie's brows furrowed, but he entertained the tangent. "Aye, I remember. Why?"
"What do you think of that tale? Have you heard of such a thing happening before?"
"I dinnae, I cannae say. Perhaps it's possible, the highlands are a strange, magical land," Jamie speculated unknowingly.
"What do you think of the people who travel through the stones?" she pressed.
"They're lost. I suspect that goin' back in time is probably terrifying."
Morgan let out a small breath. "Can I tell you something and you promise you won't laugh at me?"
Jamie cocked a gentle smile at her. "Aye, I promise. But I may call ye adorable after, which usually feels worse."
Morgan chuckled quietly. "Jamie... James Fraser. I'm falling in love with you, perhaps... I'm already in love with you. I don't know, I've never quite felt this way about anyone before, but-" she drew a sharp breath. "There is something I must tell you. These are the things that you shall do: Speak the truth to one another; render in your gates judgments that are true and make for peace," she quoted, voice quivering slightly. "I don't belong here. Not because I'm English but... the day that you found me, I had tumbled through the stones like the woman in that song. I was at Craigh na Dun when it happened - I followed my friend through them after she murdered her husband."
Jamie remained quiet for a minute, her heart dropping as she waited for an answer. She twisted her fingers in her skirt, wondering if she'd made a mistake and that her nightmares would come true. "Ye came through the stones?" he murmured, trying to make sense of it.
Morgan nodded slowly. "I'm a doctor, a real doctor, from the 20th century. 1963 to be exact. I didn't lie about what happened to me. The man I was seeing did beat me before I fell through the stones, but it's complicated..."
"1963," he repeated, nearly 200 years in the future. "What aboot yer family?"
"My mother is dead and my father does truly have Alzheimer's, a disease that degrades the mind. However, if we were to go to Spain, we would not find any Castellos that I know."
"What's it like? ... In the future, that is."
Morgan opened her mouth and then her brows pulled together. "Do... you believe me?"
Jamie's blank expression changed and he turned his eyes toward her. "Ye've always been honest with me and hearin' this... It's starting to fit pieces of the puzzle that I dinnae care to acknowledge before. Also might explain why ye dinnae think before ye go places. It's safer for wummin in the future, innit?"
Morgan cracked a smile. "Yes, a woman can usually travel on her own. Some places are still not safe, but... it's considerably safer than here," she took a breath, some of the worst of her fears beginning to fade. "I was afraid to tell you. I was afraid how you would react."
"Why, eun baeg?"
"Because I sound mad," Morgan retorted.
"I ken ye," he reached for her hand, grasping it in his enormous paw. "Ye are too logical, unless this is some sorta joke."
"No, it's not a joke," Morgan assured him. "And that brings me to the next topic. Alistair is also not from this time. He's from the 21st century."
Jamie looked considerably confused by this. "Alistair? But I've ken him since-"
"Since he was about 9?" Morgan deduced, watching as Jamie pursed his lips. "Alistair realized I was from the future due to my abilities. The sutures I used to patch his side up... they're not developed yet. The technique is too modern. He knew that I may be able to help his father because I have medical knowledge from the future, that people now, even doctors, do not have."
"Laird Campbell isnae his father then."
"Alistair feels that he is, but from what I understand, Laird Campbell came up with the tale that Alistair was his bastard son, whom he had discovered after finding Alistair at the Machrie Moor faerie stones. He's American."
Jamie was perturbed, but seemingly not because of her. "And ye said that ye came through the stones after followin' a friend. Did ye find them again?"
Morgan nodded. "Yes, that friend is Geillis Duncan."
"The witch?" Jamie gaped.
"Yes, that would be the one. She was the only real friend I've had my entire life, but even now I wonder if she just did it because of my intelligence and ability to learn quickly and retain information like a book. I stayed away from her because of the village's whisperings about her being a witch. I was also afraid of her because she murdered her husband, who I was fond of."
"Mo dhia," Jamie cursed, trying to wrap his head around it all. "And who did ye murder to come through the stones?" She couldn't tell if he was joking.
"No one, I just lost a gemstone from this ring," she showed him the gold ring with the empty setting. "I don't think she really needed to kill him, but she didn't know. To be honest, I didn't believe in any of this magic until I was sucked through the stones. Geillis had been training me and I entertained her because I felt bad."
"Do ye wish to go back?" Jamie asked her.
Morgan considered this question many times. Her father was still in hospice, but he had been going downhill fast. Whether or not he was still alive, she couldn't say, but to trade what she felt- "No, I do not," she answered eventually, glancing toward him. "What would I return to? I told you the truth about my family. My father doesn't remember me. People look at me as if I've got three heads. Not to mention, I also will have a lot of explaining to do about Greg Edgars being dead and my car being found at the scene of the crime-"
"Car?"
Morgan smiled, realizing her mistake. "It's a vehicle, like a horse, but much faster and it is not living-" she began explaining it to him, breaking it down into simpler terms or by the questions he followed up with. This led her around to explaining many more things she had taken for granted like electricity, tap water, plumping, aeroplanes, television, modern medicine.
"Ye cannae even do all ye could there, here," Jamie remarked after listening to what her job was like back in the future.
"No, I cannot, but I make due," Morgan agreed.
"Do ye ken what is ailing the Campbell?"
She shook her head. "I have my theories, but I told Alistair much the same - without electricity and the right machines, there is little I can do but hope. Even if I do diagnose him, I may not be able to treat him."
"And ye ken all this and still agreed ta it?" Jamie said, taken aback.
"I had to. If there was even the slightest chance of winning your freedom, I had to take it, no matter how daunting the prospects," Morgan insisted.
Jamie smiled at her, still gripping her hands between his. "This doesnae change anything," he promised her. "Well, it changes how dangerous the situation goin' into Castle Campbell, but not how I feel. I canna only imagine how terrifying admittin' this was, especially since ye tend to overthink things."
"I do not overthink things," Morgan scoffed, but stared at their hands, aware that it was true. "I thought you'd call me a witch or something and want nothing to do with me."
"Nay," Jamie tugged her forward, pulling her onto his lap so that he could wrap his arms around her, encasing her in his warmth. She relaxed, hearing the strong beat of his heart against her ear, smelling the familiar scent of fire, wood, whiskey, and a bit of sweat from their days on the road. "Even if ye were Morgan le Fay herself, I dinnae think I'd care much."
"Why?" Morgan pressed. "If I were a witch or a fairy, I think you'd ought to be wary."
"Because I'm in love with ye, eun baeg," he nuzzled down toward her, turning her chin up and kissing her sweetly. "I ken it when I married ye."
Morgan blushed at the thought, thinking back to when he had strung his mother's pearls around her neck and told her that she was precious to him. "You did?" she asked weakly. "How? Why?"
"Why?" Jamie mused. "I thought I already told ye-"
"I wouldn't mind being told again," Morgan smirked.
"Mo dhia, where do I even begin?" Jamie sighed, sitting back slightly, but still holding her. "When I first met ye, I thought ye were the most beautiful wummin' I'd ever seen. Then ye jumped up and healed me arm while ye could barely walk. Mighta been around then that I decided I liked ye... Just watchin' ye, so scared, yet resilient. Not once did ye complain, but ye did cluck at me like a mother hen when we fell off the horse. Then in Leoch, when ye were patchin' me up, ye were just so... compassionate, sweet, and gentle - I ken I couldnae stand ta see ye hurt. Not someone with a heart like yers. Ye were precious. Somethin' to be cherished.
"When ye were ta leave, I ken it wasnae me place, but I wanted ta ask ye not to. We hadnae even ken each other for a week and I was disappointed ta see ye go. I hoped that somehow ye'd return and I'd be around to see ye - to work me feelings out before then... And then ye stayed. I dinnae ken how hard it was for ye, but ye put on a good face. Most everyone thought ye were happy aboot the arrangement, though by the end of it, I canna see ye were irritated with the MacKenzie - especially when ye had ta be bothered by men visiting ye for no reason-"
"If I recall, you were amongst those men," Morgan interrupted smartly.
"Aye and ye ken that after ye snapped at me. Ye may be prone to fashing, but ye always like ta pretend that yer 'fine'. Takin' everyone else's problems and puttin' them before yer own wellbeing. Yer stronger than ye think, but ye never focus on yerself. I ken why, ye told me yerself, but I still dinnae quite understand," he tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "I love ye for who ye are, all of ye - the smart, the sweet, the kind, the selfless, or even when yer heckling me with yer worry. Yer beautiful inside and out and I'm lucky ta have such a wonderful wife."
Morgan felt a tight smile pinned to her lips as she hugged him. "You make me feel like I can be myself. I've always had to hide who I was, for fear of alienating people, but the fact that you like me the way I am - heckling you are not - means the world to me, Jamie," she told him. "I'm sorry if I seemed distant, but I was worried about what you would think when you found out about where I'm from. I was worried I'd lose you and your the first person who has ever been this way with me aside for my parents."
"Nay, never," Jamie promised her. "We'll make it through this. And then when ye heal the Campbell, we can return to Lallybroch and ye can meet Jenny."
"I'd like that," Morgan admitted, drawing a breath more easily now. "A small practice and a simple life. I feel, as long as I'm with you, I don't need much more."
"Mm," Jamie pressed his forehead to hers, his lashes swiping across her cheeks. "We should be sleepin'. Instead yer tellin' me all fanciful things aboot the future."
"It's probably almost time to go," Morgan realized, their conversation having continued much longer than anticipated.
"Shame," Jamie mumbled, caressing her cheek, drawing his finger down her neck. "We finally have a moment to ourselves and ye had ta go tellin' be aboot yer history when we coulda been doin' other things."
Morgan shivered from his touch, her neck having healed a bit since her encounter the Randall. She couldn't hold back the smile from him, giving him a playful shove before standing up. "Tumbling wouldn't have fixed anything."
"Nay, it wouldnae, but I'd feel a little less tempted if I had me wife again like our first day together," he admitted, standing up beside her, adjusting his kilt.
"Just a little longer to Castle Campbell," Morgan entreated.
"I dinnae if I canna wait that long," Jamie purred, coming up behind her, enticing her as he slid his hands against her hips, drawing her back against him, rocking slightly.
"We don't have much of a choice," Morgan sighed, enjoying the feeling of his hands against her. She wished it was against her bare skin and not in the cool forest, but they had chosen this path. He didn't relent, sliding his hand up the bodice of her dress, squeezing against her breast. "Jamie," she tried to complain, but it came out more as a moan. She wanted him just as much.
Lashes flickering, she saw something up ahead as Jamie craned down to kiss her neck. The passion was gone, replaced with a kick of adrenaline.
"Jamie!" she hissed, her voice suddenly urgent.
Jamie stopped, glancing up to look where she was. He drove them to the ground with a thump. Crawling forward, the both of them glanced over the small berm that they were lying flat against. What Morgan had noticed was a flash of red as riders passed by below. There was a convoy of British soldiers moving on the road. They didn't appear to have noticed the pair on the ridge, but that didn't mean they wouldn't run into others.
Morgan counted five riders, glancing anxiously over to her husband. Jamie had his knife in his hand, gripping it tightly as he considered what they should do. They waited for the riders to pass out of view before Jamie turned to her.
"We need ta get back ta the camp," he told her quietly.
Climbing to their feet, they skirted through the woods to where camp had been established. The others were resting, Alistair carving an animal out of a chunk of wood he had found.
"Redcoats," Jamie announced hurriedly. "They're getting ahead o' us. Couldnae tell if Randall was with them, but appears to be five."
Alistair dropped his piece of work. "Ahead o' us?" he then cursed. "We needed ta get to the crossroads before them-"
Murtagh and Jamie rounded on him at this. "The crossroads?" Murtagh inquired narrowly.
"Aye, the crossroads," Alistair answered thinly.
"What's at the crossroads?" Jamie challenged.
"We dinnae have time to argue aboot it. We need ta flank them and get ahead," Alistair was working at his horse's saddle.
"Morgan, get on the horse with Laoghaire," Jamie instructed as the blonde took her horse, dancing around uncertainly.
"Why?" Morgan asked tersely.
"I cannae fight with ye on the saddle. If somethin' happens ye and Laoghaire need ta ride the rest o' the way to the castle."
"We don't know the way!" Morgan retorted hotly, afraid to leave him behind.
"Take a left at the crossroads, the path is straight from there to get ta Castle Campbell," Alistair revealed.
Having no choice, Morgan sat in front of Laoghaire, who took the reins of her horse and gingerly guided it forward. Her stomach burned, almost paining her, as she thought about leaving the men to fight a battle in which they were at a disadvantage. Remembering what Jamie had told her once, that he could take on two Redcloaks with one arm, did nothing to settle her nerves now.
"I'm scared," Laoghaire muttered, hands quaking on the reins of the horse.
"We'll be fine," Morgan assured her, though was doubtful herself. Voicing that to the person steering the horse wouldn't be wise. "Now remember what they told us. They shouldn't have a reason to stop us."
"Not unless Captain Randall is with them and recognizes you," Laoghaire pointed out.
"We won't give them the chance," Morgan encouraged.
Cantering back on the road, they trailed behind where the Redcoats had last been. The men were in the sparse woods, which had been thinning the further they moved down the road, turning more into hills and moors than forest. Each hoof fall made both of the females err nervously, Morgan drawing her hood down as far as she could, leaving her hair down so that it might fall around her face.
Then they heard it, the first gunshot.
Laoghaire jerked her horse to a halt, the mare wickering, pawing the ground as they considered what to do. The plan had been clear, they needed to get up to the crossroads and turn left. Safety rested as Castle Campbell. The din of battle continued, Morgan only hearing Laoghaire's heavy breathing in her ear.
"Go, go now," Morgan decided. They couldn't linger on the road. If the Redcoats were distracted, they could make their bolt then and there.
Spurring the horse forward, the mare kicked off into a gallop, propelling them down the road. Morgan wasn't fond of the feeling, teeth rattling, and in between her legs groaning in protest as she listed forward on the saddle. In spite of it, Laoghaire was a good rider, pushing Morgan down, so that they could cut down the wind resistance.
With her face by the horn of the saddle, Morgan could barely see what was going on, the horse's head obscuring most of her view. Horses were rushing around, some mounted, others without riders. Between yelling in English and Gaelic, it was difficult to discern any conversation or orders that were being given.
"Hang on!" Laoghaire shouted, leaning in the saddle, forcing Morgan with her. Morgan's own feet didn't fit in the stirrups and she gasped, feeling as if she were going to slide completely off by the way Laoghaire was leaning. The horse cried, turning sharply to the left as both riders were leaned to the side.
"You there! Halt!" a soldier was yelling at them, but Laoghaire ignored him, continuing through the crossroads where the fighting was ensuing.
Morgan tried to glance back, tried to see if she could find Jamie's auburn hair amongst the fighting, but when she did look she was astonished to see more than 5 Redcoats and more than 5 Scots. He's fought in a war before, you shouldn't be so afraid.
They were being pursued, but Morgan didn't know why. Only having rode through the crossroads, they should have been left alone. There were more pressing matters than following after two female riders.
"In the name of His Majesty, you are required to halt!"
"How many?" Laoghaire asked breathlessly.
"Just one," Morgan revealed, but even if they were to try and fight him, she didn't know how a girl and a small woman would fare. Rather not take the chances and ride hard for Castle Campbell, even if that meant running the horse into the ground. Glancing back again, she saw the glint of a muzzle, the rider pointing his side arm at them. "Get down!" she wrenched in the saddle, twisting to force Laoghaire down at the slug whizzed over head.
Laoghaire screamed, losing her grip on the saddle. She had been pressing her legs hard to the sides, balancing Morgan's weight in front of her until the doctor had turned to defend her.
They fell.
Rolling in the dirt, Morgan had the wind knocked right out of her. Their horse spirited away, leaving them choking on the dust as the Redcoat came up on them. Scrambling to her feet, she ran over to Laoghaire who was wheezing on the ground just a few paces away, winded from her fall.
"Get up!" Morgan insisted, grabbing the teen beneath her arm, hoisting her to her feet.
"Not any further!"
Both females froze, turning slightly to get a look at their assailant. It wasn't Captain Randall. Shakily, the rider pulled their horse to a halt, poising the gun at them, suddenly realizing that he had been following women and not other attackers. Morgan thrust Laoghaire behind her, the girl still not having caught her breath.
"Cedric Walters," she remembered, gazing at the comely Redcoat who was beginning to lower his weapon. He had been the first person she had encountered after coming through the stones.
"Miss-" his brows pulled together, confused as he looked between them. "You're not-"
"Not men?" Laoghaire snarled, coughing again.
Walters began turning his horse, realizing that he had made a mistake. But when he turned, there were three other riders behind him. People that she did not recognize. Nor did they appear to be Redcoats.
"That's far enough Lieutenant," the first voice was English, sending a shiver down Morgan's spine, making her dread what was to come.
Laoghaire gripped her.
"Am I not mistaken when I say that your posting is further north than this?" the same person inquired.
Amongst the riders, this one was a man in a fine gilded black surcoat trimmed with gold. His gleaming brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and he had a full, well groomed beard. Sharp brown eyes pinned Lieutenant Walters.
"You are not mistaken, sir," the man replied, albeit too quickly.
"Then explain to me why you were gunning down two Scottish women more than 30 miles south of said posting?" the man continued. "Have they harmed you? Have they maimed you in any way? As far as I can see, aside from a few hairs out of place, you appear to be unscathed."
"No, sir. Our party was descended upon by a group of highlanders and I thought these two were included in that group."
"Descended upon by highlanders," the man sneered. "Or perhaps a trap was sprung on the highlanders to force them into an encounter. Tell me, as you still haven't, why are you this far south? Who gave you that order?"
"Captain Jonathan Randall, sir, of the Majesty's Own Eighth Dragoons."
"Ah, I thought as much," the man griped. "Ladies, are you alright?"
"Bruised, but unharmed aside from that," Morgan answered.
"And an English woman at that! I doubt His Majesty would have been very pleased at all to learn you had shot a citizen for no reason than running from a battle on the road," the noble man gasped, tossing another glare in Walter's direction. "Now, I am rather fond of repeating myself. Why was your party this far south?"
"I don't know."
"A Captain would not confide in his Lieutenant as why they're mobilising south past their typical reaches? As far as I know, Captain Randall has been assigned to keep the peace in the highlands-" Laoghaire snorted, "so I'm uncertain as to why he'd travel down here."
Cedric Walters had no answer for him.
"No matter, this topic shall be brought forth to His Majesty. Please come along Lieutenant, your platoon has some questions they need to answer... Those who remain, anyways... Leave behind your horse, I very well believe that these fair ladies would like to get to their destination safely."
The lieutenant grudgingly passed over the reins to Morgan before trotting toward the group of three men. He moved forward like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. Whoever the English noble was that had stopped him, they were incredibly important.
"Ladies, where are you headed? I shall send an escort with you," the man offered.
"Castle Campbell," Morgan answered, confidence returning to her rattled legs.
"Not too far of a ride from here," he acknowledged. "Sir Williams, would you mind seeing them through?"
The man he spoke to was a bit rotund, the white of his shirt straining slightly against his gut, but he wore a blue coat - a symbol that Morgan recognized. This man was a Jacobite sympathiser. She tried to piece together what was happening, recalling Alistair's insistence that they had to get to the crossroads first.
He planned this, she realized. There was no other reason for a posse of English noblemen to be galavanting across Scottish countryside. Alistair had set a trap and Randall had fallen for it. Having seized the opportunity to taunt Randall back in Cranesmuir, he had taken full advantage of finding a course of action to lure the Captain into a situation he wouldn't be able to explain himself out of. It was likely that Randall had ordered for no survivors - while Campbell men lay in wait alongside the English nobles.
Taking up riding alongside Sir Williams, Laoghaire was in the saddle behind her. This wasn't her territory. She was near an English noble, this was Morgan's court.
"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, ladies," Sir Williams greeted jovially. "Although, I wish I could have under better circumstances."
"Thank you, sir," Morgan returned evenly. "My name is Mrs. Morgan MacTavish and my companion is Miss. Laoghaire MacKenzie."
"Ah, so you are Scottish, if only by your husband," Williams realized, but was nonplussed. "What ever were you doing on the road?"
"We were traveling to Castle Campbell per request of Alistair Campbell," there was no use in lying, especially if these were allies to Alistair.
"Oh, I see now. You must have been in his presence before this nonsense broke out," he deduced. "I heard he was traveling with a Dr. MacTavish, would that happen to be your husband?"
"I'm afraid that would be me, sir. However, not by name of course. I've studied with doctors, but as you understand, I cannot take the title officially. Many of the highlanders have given me the title as a courtesy," Morgan explained.
"To earn such a title amongst highlanders, especially as such a petite, kind English woman, you must truly be skilled," Williams remarked, staring at her with a new found awe. "You must be here to assess the laird's health."
"Correct, sir."
"I pray you might have a better hand as discovering what ails him. He is a dear friend to many of us and a good link between the English and the highland Scottish. Without such a mediator, I'm afraid the highlands would be in more disarray than they already are... Perhaps because he's fallen ill, someone as dastardly as the Captain could have managed to commit such atrocious acts."
"You ken what he's done?" Laoghaire broke in, astonished.
"I've been keeping close attention to the reports, miss. Just two decades ago the state between our alliance was considerably better."
"Pardon me for pointing this out, but isn't that when the Stuarts were on the throne?" Morgan inquired.
"Yes, Mrs. MacTavish. I daresay you likely weren't alive to remember... or much of it. Forgive me, I should never guess a lady's age."
Morgan smiled at this, thankful for the common courtesy that hadn't been given to her in Leoch. "No, I do not recall much of it, truthfully, sir." She felt as if she had confirmed that he was most certainly on the side of the Jacobite cause.
"What will happen to Captain Randall and his men?" Laoghaire wondered out loud.
Williams glanced over at her, a kindly smile unfolding on his face. "The captain will face trial for crimes committed against the citizens of Scotland. From what I understand, there are a good deal of people who can attest to this, though there are likely twice that number who were wrongfully convicted and do not have voices to speak any longer. For this, he will likely face execution if the trial deems him guilty.
"His men, depending on their station, will likely receive less severe verdicts. However, I expect they will be expunged from the military with dishonorable discharges and brandings. Perhaps they shall be given the chance to go to the Colonies to start fresh, but the Crown shall not have them, even if they were simply following orders. Those that played more pivotal roles in turning a blind eye to the captain's tyranny will likely also face hanging."
"Sir, you sound as if you've been hearing of these things for a while now," Morgan entreated curiously.
"One thing to hear and another to witness. I have no reason to travel that far north in an attempt to see the hearsay, whilst putting myself in the line of fire from those who are the captain's allies. But the situation changes when it's dropped right at my feet, neatly wrapped," a chime like laugh escaped his parted lips.
"The captain has allies?" Laoghaire asked.
"He is a dog on a leash who serves a master," Williams nodded, but did not reveal who that was. "But we fear that this master has others who are just as keen to rile up the Highlands."
She recalled the name, the Duke of Sandringham, but if Williams believed there were more, she didn't even know where to begin.
Castle Campbell loomed into view between the stack of trees, an enormous hill cresting high behind it. From the look of it, the castle itself was built on a hill overlooking a town down below. The landscape descending in front of the castle had been manicured and cleaned, verdant stretches of fresh grass neatly groomed before the balcony and garden entrance.
The road winded around the back of the castle's main house, bringing them beneath an archway and upon a small courtyard. Activity bustled around them, servants milling the area restlessly, turning their heads up at the approach of the riders. Morgan chanced a glance behind her, wondering if any of the men would be returning soon. She hoped that none of them were injured.
Morgan and Laoghaire were fussed down from the mount, whisked into the castle to warm their bodies. While this wasn't quite an English manor, it was still more decadent than Leoch. The stone walls bespoke of its age, but there were carpets and tapestries, paintings and ornaments. Meaningless items decorated the halls they traversed, up a flight of stairs, and into a waiting room where they eased in front of a fire, anxious for news of the party.
Unable to sit beside Laoghaire, Morgan paced the length of the room. She should have been putting her faith in God, trusting that her Lord would deliver Jamie safely to her, but this world was too unpredictable. Good men were killed for no apparent reason at all, who was to say that wouldn't happen to her?
Night was upon them much sooner than Morgan liked. In fact, no servant had come to entreat them and Sir Williams was now missing entirely too. Not until Laoghaire was dozing off in her chair did they find themselves being escorted to respective chambers, not a peep escaping the lips of the servants.
Morgan sat on a chair nearest the hearth, staring into the dancing flames, unable to see anything but Jamie falling in battle. Her fingers slid around her rosaries, keeping them fast in her hand, as she bundled herself up in furs to try and keep the cold chill of doubt out of her heart. Even if she was willing herself not to sleep until she was given an answer, her eyes began to shut, fire still red behind her eyelids as the day's exhaustion crept up on her.
"Eun baeg."
Morgan stirred, perhaps it was just her dreaming, but she thought she had heard Jamie. Lifting her head, she found that it had been placed against a pillow, strong hands still beneath her as they set her on the bed. Only embers stirred in the fireplace, night still keeping the castle in its loving embrace. Through drowsy lids, Morgan thought she saw her husband, but could not be too certain.
"Jamie?" she breathed.
"Aye, I'm here," he promised her.
She snapped awake, unfurling the blankets around her, clumsily stumbling up before she launched herself at him. He caught her, rumbling with a laugh as she clung to him, making certain that he was truly with her and not a passing spirit come to say goodbye. Her shoulders quaked, the fear all too real as she realized with each passing hour that Jamie's existence might've already ceased.
"You're not hurt are you? Injured?" Morgan fussed, standing on the bed so that she could get a proper look at him. It was likely going to be the only time she was taller than him. Pushing aside his curls, she inspected him for wounds.
"I got out jus' fine, just a few scratches, but nothin' that needs tending," Jamie insisted, his face coming into focus as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the room. His face was dirty, blood speckling his right cheek. There was a scratch above his brow that had since dried over.
"You're certain? Last time you pretended to be fine you had a bullet through your shoulder," Morgan reminded him, just glad to have him back in her arms.
"I promise ye," he swore. "Yer safe, that's all that matters."
"It is not!" Morgan huffed, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. "What took you so long? I was worried sick!"
"I had ta cut off from the rest of the group. Even if those Sassenachs were on our side, I'm still a wanted man and Randall woulda betrayed me. He's bein' taken somewhere else now. Duke van Straubenzee is headin' the operation himself."
Morgan nodded, pressing her forehead to his, drinking in his familiar scent that was tainted by a strong stink of sweat and blood. Yet, it didn't matter. Morgan pressed her lips to his, glad to feel the familiar shape of his wide mouth and the stubble surrounding it. Still, she was terribly tired from the day's events and stress. She had told Jamie she was a time traveler and then had been worried she'd never see him again shortly after.
"Come to bed. We can talk more in the morning - just as long as you're safe and with me now."
A.NCastle Campbell is a real castle, though it has fallen to disrepair. You can find images of it via google search.