Scotland had much of the same beauty as her home in Norway. Perhaps it was a little less chilly and the rolling hills more verdant, but Astrid sensed a deep familiarity despite never having been to Scotland. From the history that she knew, much of highlander culture was intertwined and rooted with Danish or viking ancestors. She'd gotten her first whiff of it when her fencing club had stopped by a local bar and spoke to the locals. Some of their slang was derived from their Norsk language. This only interested Astrid, as she had just started her master's program in Linguistics with a focus in literature. Her thesis was being written on Tolkein's utilizing of the elven languages and how it was drawn from various Germanic, Latin, Greek, and Welsh languages.

Her time in Scotland on break was a trip her fencing team was making for competitions. Unlike many of her peers, Astrid was somewhat 'nerding out', wondering if much of Tolkein's visions of the Shire had been drawn from the highlands.

"Oh come on now, don't you want to go see Craigh na Dun?" she pestered her friend Sig.

"Isn't it just a circle of rocks? Why do you want to go see it?" Sig muttered, blinking up at Astrid plainly.

"They say that Celtic giants brought the rocks there from Africa. Doesn't that pique your interest in the slightest?" Astrid prompted.

"My interest is in preparing for our duels tomorrow, not going sniffing around some stones. It is some sort of knock off version of Stonehenge?"

"Sig you're my last hope! No one else wants to go and you're the only driver-"

"If I give you my keys will you keep quiet about your stupid stones? You know how to drive and I expect it isn't far…"

"Go by myself?" in a strange, unknown place? A grin unfolded on her face as she snatched the keys from Sig. "Well, I'm going to retire then. Need some beauty rest before the duels tomorrow," she spoke a bit louder, tucking the keys dexterously into her jacket pocket before she danced lightly out the door.

Retrieving her cell phone from her pocket, she frowned at the poor signal. Right, it should hopefully work if I map it now, right? She entered the location, keenly aware she'd have to backtrack through the scottish back roads to return to Inverness. Delightedly, Astrid popped into the sedan that they were renting while in Scotland. This one had been designated for Sig to drive, but no one would miss it since they were staying in town until morning and they needed to continue driving north for their tournament.

This would be her last chance to go see the rocks and Astrid fancied herself a bit of an adventurer. Turning the engine over, Astrid began backing out and pulled onto the cobble town road. Soon the directions led her away from Inverness and toward the darkened hills of the highlands. Night brought with it a plethora of stars, lighting her path up the hills and down the dirt road. While the road was not paved, it seemed cared for and frequently traveled by the locals. None were out this late in the eve, which made Astrid's insides tingle.

The road ended before the hill where Craigh na Dun crested. Parking the car, Astrid stepped out, drawing in a deep breath. Her eyes listed upward, unable to make out the curve of the stones from where she was. She began hiking up the overgrown hill, treading over tall grass that had been pressed down by other travelers. The night did not deter her, as many young women might consider having someone with them in case they were ambushed. She had a knife with her if needed, but suspected there'd be no reason to utilize it.

Mounting the hill, Astrid drew in a gentle breath, gazing at the stones circling the circumference. The stones were so large, she wondered how they had even gotten there. It wasn't natural for large flat stones to jut out of the ground like a jagged crown atop a green head of hair. Astrid brushed her fingers against one stone as she passed, wondering if her Danish ancestors had ever made it here and had they wondering if the old gods had made such a place. She could imagine them having a whimsical explanation for the formation.

Wind began rushing in her ears, tossing the leaves on the tree beside her. Her bright blue eyes slid around, she was high up on the hill and wind usually tore through the highlands. However, when she turned around, she thought she heard the wind rushing louder in the direction of the center stone. Was it howling off it? How was it so loud?

Astrid wandered closer, glancing up at the stone and its blank face looming ominously before her. Was it humming? She didn't stop to think, she just wanted to feel the stone to decide if it were the source of the thunderous noise, but the moment her palms kissed the stone she was knocked from off of her feet. She fell weightlessly through the darkness, almost as if she were floating in the midst of a wave. The embrace was gentle for only a moment because she was slammed back down onto the ground with a jarring force.

Wheezing, Astrid blinked and gazed up toward a pale blue sky, which replaced the night sky she had just been under. Disoriented, Astrid sat up, her head swimming and gaze unfocused as she saw a figure in a white dress run down the hill. Did she attack me? Astrid wondered, opening her mouth to speak, but found herself croaking in effort, her breath still not restored.

It took her a good minute to try and get up, astounded that she had been jarred so hard. "Jävla," she cursed, grinding her teeth as she finally wrested herself to her feet. Scrabbling in her pocket she discovered that her knife was still there. Where had that woman gone off to? The moment Astrid had begun stirring she seemed to have run off.

Her back and chest still ailed her, but Astrid managed to winge herself down the hill. A flash of white before her and she could see the figure darting ahead, trying to make their escape into the forest. "Hej! Hej!" her voice was still hoarse as she cried after them, ducking beneath branches. A few twigs snapped behind her, followed by the thundering of boots hitting dirt. Astrid lifted her head and saw the flash of bright red coats. Her brows furrowed and the man seemed to notice her as well. He lifted a musket and Astrid paused; even if they were reenactors, pointing a gun as someone was still dangerous.

The loud bang startled her and the round whistled by her, puncturing a tree, blasting bark away. Astrid's eyes widened. "Oh fuck," she cursed, using the slope in the forest to slide. The undergrowth was damp with summer's rain and she was able to use her left foot to break her path as she slid, hearing the echoes of men as they tried to chase after her. Why on earth were there wild reenactors in the forest around the stones? Movies sets didn't use bullets nor did LARPing. Whatever was going on, Astrid wasn't willing to find out what it was. She'd gotten distracted by the woman and now had the rifleman in between her and the car.

Just keep heading down to where there's more undergrowth, you may be able to hide it out, she reasoned, sliding down the hill, hooking her fingers around a tree as she passed to slow herself. She glanced back, using the tree as a shield from any musket fire. There was a momentary calm, she could hear her blood rushing in her ears, her cheeks flushed from the rush of adrenaline. She was trying to rationalize what was going on when she heard a scream.

Was that the assailant? She wondered, turning her head, glancing back up the ravine before deciding to investigate the cry. Creeping down, Astrid found she was approaching a stream. The flash of red and she espied yet another man in a historical British uniform. His hair was long and dark, pinned at the nape of his neck. She could only see him from behind as he pinned a woman against a rocky outcropping; the same white dress she had noticed earlier.

Even if she did knock me out, I shouldn't leave her, Astrid thought, creeping forward, tightly gripping her folding knife. One good chop with the hilt and she might stagger or knock the man out.

"Who are you?" the man demanded viciously.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" she spat, writhing in his grasp.

"You have the speech of a lady, but the language of a whore. Perhaps you're a whore to these-" his fingers trailed up the woman's pale leg.

Astrid raised her hand and with a sharp snap, came down over his head. The man crumpled and the Englishwoman in front of him stood with her back against the wall, quaking slightly from the exchange. However, there was a defiant and stern look in her eyes as she sneered down at him.

"Are you alright?" Astrid asked her, the woman's head cocking as she heard her accent.

"I'm trying my damndest to find out what on earth is going on."

"I'd ask the same of you. You were running away from me when I woke up. Did you knock me out last night when I went to Craigh na Dun by myself?"

The woman frowned slightly, her pretty lips curving in a most disapproving manner. "I've never seen you in my life," she paused. "You said you were knocked out at Craigh na Dun?"

"Right after I touched the middle stone," she nodded.

"The same-" she was interrupted as a man leapt down from the rocking outcropping, causing Astrid and the woman to stumble apart from one another. He was not dressed like the British man, but had a kilt on and a mad glint in his hooded eyes.

"Why're ye two just standing around? Do ye want him to wake up after all riddy. Dinnae think he'll be very bonnie with ye," the man hissed, glaring down at the man.

"Who is he? He assaulted this woman," Astrid said. "We should call the-"

"Shut yer geggie," and just as she had unceremoniously knocked out the man in the red waistcoat, this man did the same to her.

Astrid awoke with a pounding headache and the Englishwoman looking at her worried from on the back of a horse, riding with another man. She herself was seated on the saddle with someone, rain beating down on them, plastering her blonde hair to her face. They approached a cottage with multiple men, in a direction that Astrid had not been able to see as she had been unconscious.

"Ye awake Lochlan?" the man behind her grunted.

"For helvede, my head," she grumbled, touching her tender brow.

The horses trotted up to the cottage and stopped. Not another word was uttered as Astrid and the white woman were taken down and escorted into the hut. Within there were more men waiting. There was a nice reprieve from the rain, but the eyes that followed made her shudder. Who was to say that these men were any better than the one she had attacked in the woods?

An older man with a seasoned look about him prowled toward them as Astrid huddled closer to the other woman. He glared down his beard at the two of them. "Who're ye?" he asked, his voice thick with a Scottish accent. "Hm? Lochlan, ye start."

Heat came to Astrid's face. "Astrid Bjornsen."

"How did a Lochlan come to being in the Highlands?" he followed up.

"I don't know," Astrid answered honestly. By this point she was beginning to grasp that this wasn't the 21st century. Certainly reenactors had come far, but from the grime and dirt, to the authenticity of the cottage they stood in now… Astrid hadn't noticed one item from the modern world. She tried to compute the fact that she was somewhere in the past with this English woman who was just as likely as a traveler as well.

"Ye dinnae ken?"

"No, I just woke up here. I don't recall how I got here," which wasn't a lie. She had no idea how she had gotten there.

The man leered at her, as if looking for a dishonest line on her face. "Ye dinnae ken… What about yer man clothes, hm?"

Astrid glanced down at her mucked up jeans, boots, and leather jacket. Her attire could have certainly been more futuristic, but she'd always been rather taken by rustic clothing. "I don't know," she insisted. "I woke up by Craigh na Dun and wandered down into the wood. Then some soldiers began shooting at me and I ran in deeper. I found her being attacked by that British soldier and so I hit him over the head, ja?"

"So ye ken the stones."

"I know of them ja. Don't know how I got there though."

"The lass might have some head injury. Dinnae take a hard hit to knock her down," the man that had rendered her unconscious offered.

"A Lochlan without much of a memory then," the leader grumbled. "If we can, we can try and piece together what happened to ye lass. Perhaps send ye back to Norway if that be what ye want."

They believed me… I suppose I didn't really lie.

Her eyes slid over to the woman beside her, wondering what kind of story she would offer. There was a slight kindness in the eyes of the men when speaking to her, but as soon as they looked at the English woman they were suspicious and drawn. She heard them muttering Sassenach, which was a term for the English or lower landing Scottish. Gaelic was all but dead in the modern world, however Astrid had studied what texts she could before her trip to Scotland so that she could use her newly learned words with the locals. A lot of the words had ties to the Norsk language which made memorizing terms albeit easier. They referred to her as Lochlan rather than Sassenach, a distinct respect resonating from the difference as it meant Land of Lakes which referred to Norway. The Scots had already held themselves more similar to the Scandanavians, especially since many were descended from Lochlans.

"Do ye two know each other?" the man asked.

Astrid shook her head. "I just found her when she screamed."

"Yes," the woman agreed, nodding slowly.

"Lucky thon the Danish lass is made of stronger stuff than ye, Sassenach," the man quipped. "Who're ye?"

"Claire Beauchamp," she answered primly, the un-French Like pronunciation of her name making Astrid flinch slightly as a linguist.

"It appears friend, Black Jack Randall of the Sassenach dragoons had her cornered. Thought she were a whore," the first man that the two had met said.

"Perhaps we should put her to the test," another man piped, his hungry eyes looking through the thin, white dress that barely hid Claire's slender features.

"I am not a whore!" Claire seethed ferously, causing Astrid to blink. Did she not understand their situation?

"I dinnae condone rape. And even if I did, we dinnae have the time" the leader snapped, glaring at the man. "And then the Lochlan lass got Randall from behind?"

"Like the pig he is," the man shrugged. "I dinnae know the Sassenach, but I dinnae think she were a whore."

"We dinnae have time for this. We will continue this later Sassenach. For now, we need to figure out Jaime's shoulder," he turned around and peered over at one of the younger, more strapping men in the room. He had a tumble of red curls and Astrid could see that his arm was sorely dislocated. "Hold the lad still, it'll need to be put back in place."

Another young man, with a dark wash of hair and a strong jaw stood behind him. The porky man who had suggested raping Claire approached Jaime by the side. Astrid drew in a breath, knowing this was going to be painful to watch.

"Stop!" Claired shrieked, drawing their attention back toward her. "You'll break his arm doing it like that." She started toward them, standing remarkably tall for an English woman in a room filled with Scots. "You have to put his arm into the right position before applying pressure. I can do it if you will allow it," her eyes went to the leader who was twisting at his mustache.

"What do ye know of healing?" the porky man sneered.

"I'm a nurse, I have knowledge of medicine," Claire told them, frowning when they leered at her. "Not a wetnurse!"

The leader nodded his head slightly, allowing for Claire to work on the man. She took his hand, turning his dislocated arm. The pain was palpable as Jaime's face winced in pain and he gasped as she finished turning.

"That was the worst part," Claire informed him before taking his hand, gripping it tightly before she jerked his arm up.

The entire room shuddered at the noise, but not an eye strayed from the work she had just done. "It dinnae hurt anymore," Jaime remarked in amazement.

"It will soon," Claire grimaced. "It'll be tender for a week. You'll need to wear it in a sling." When no one understood what she meant she elaborated, "Perhaps a belt or some cloth to hold his arm to his chest."

"I'm not gaunnae give ye me belt," the porky man grunted.

"Do it," the leader snarled.

He frowned, but began stripping his belt off, shoving it into her hands.

"The rest of ye get prepared to ride. Logan, take the Lochlan with ye. Make certain the lass is comfortable," the leader ordered, but made no such attempt to offer Claire the same.

Astrid eyed her as she wrapped up Jaime's arm, wondering why their treatment was so different. When are we that the Scots hate an Englishwoman so much? The men began talking as they moved around, speaking in Gaelic which she could decipher through. They suspected that Claire's placement was suspicious, but would not be leaving her behind because it was the right thing to do. However, a few of them did want to just have her and be done with it, they saw no good coming of bringing Claire along.

"Ye going to stand around or get ready?" a man asked her, presumably Logan. He had been the other strapping young man, awash with long dark brown hair. He had strong features, his jaw peppered with a shadow of a beard. His skin was tanned by the sun and his figure tall and broad.

"Undskyld," she muttered her apology, wondering for how long she would be safe. A strong hand locked around her bicep, reminding her that she was still at the whim of the Scots. "What is the name of your leader? I don't recall him saying."

"Dougal Mackenzie," Logan answered, glancing down at her. "Yer a long way from home, aren't ye lass?"

"Yes, quite a bit," she grumbled as they went back out into the rain. Much of her clothes had been soiled when sliding down the hill in the forest and the cheap leather wasn't doing well as pinging the rain off of her. The lack of a hood plastered her long hair to her face. She wondered if she looked like a wet dog.

"Ye dinnae reckon to recall anything?"

"No, it's just… the memory isn't there."

"But ye ken yer name."

"Pieces are there," Astrid confirmed as Logan grasped her by her waist and hoisted her up onto the saddle. The man mounted up behind her, disconcertingly close, but there wasn't much that could be done about it. He seized the plaid he wore with him and wrapped it around the both of them. "Why were the British fighting you?"

"The Redcoats dinnae belong round these parts. Given the chance they'll take out whatever Highlanders they reckon to be unruly."

"Unless you have done something, they shouldn't be allowed to do that."

"Well, we ain't all saints, but ye might be partially correct Lachlan. Were it a choice at all they wouldn't be here."

Muskets… So it has to be at least the 18th century right? I can't recall exactly when guns were first made. "Where are we going?"

"The home of the Mackenzies, Castle Leoch," Logan informed her.

"Are you a Mackenzie?"

"Aye… Yer a curious lass."

"Du skal kravle, før du kan gå," she shrugged.

"Now I'm not dighted but-"

"Learn to walk before you run," Astrid translated. "I've forgotten my memory, so of course I'll ask a lot of questions.

Logan chuckled. "Ye haven't forgotten yer language. Ye understand us well enough too."

"I studied languages."

"Ye did? Back in Norway?"

The rest of the men were filing out including Claire. She was put on the saddle with the still lame Jaime, her demeanor polar in contrast to Astrid. Her eyes burned after her, confused and weary.

"Ja, I was good at it. Coppenhagen is where I learned, but I am from Reine which is on the coast in the shadow of Reinbringen."

"Reine? Where is Reine in Norway?"

"On a very north eastern peninsula. In the Norwegian Sea… Very far north of here," as she spoke she realized how far her tiny town was. She shivered at the thought of trying to brave the ocean that far from Scotland.

"Then ye ken the cold."

"Yes, the winters are long in Norway."

"How many languages do ye ken?"

"Norsk, my own, English, Ger-ah Prussian, Swedish, Latin, French, Italian… most of the Romance languages are very much the same, ja? Once you learn one, it is very easy to learn Spanish and Portuguese. Just as Norsk is closely related to some of Gaelic, Prussian, Swedish and so on."

"Ye have all those languages in yer head and ye dinnae remember how ye got here?" her heart fluttered at the suggestion, but Logan simply laughed. "No wonder ye forgot! Ye got too much in yer head for a lassie."

"I've got more than just languages in my head," Astrid muttered, slightly affronted that he was saying she was smarter than women should be.

"Aye? Yer a shieldsister too now? Took down the mighty captain of the dragoons being all sleekit."

Her cheeks blazed. "Perhaps I am. We Danes are strong people."

"I dinnae deny that. We share some of the same blood."

"You have a little of Dane blood. I am full Dane," she argued.

"Ye Danes are just as headstrong as we Scots. Seems they teach their women just the same."

"Women often fought besides men, especially when they came to conquer England," Astrid reminded him as the riding began once the last man was saddled.

"Aye, shieldsisters. Though I dinnae think that's case anymore."

"We still… can defend ourselves."

"Dinnae doubt that."

She knew how to use a sword, just like the ones that the Scots wore. However, she didn't know how to say that without looking suspect. Perhaps just biding her time was the wisest rather than making herself a known issue like Claire. Logan didn't seem to mind conversation with her, so she continued to entertain him, even if when she revealed things about herself she had to be careful to leave modern intricacies out. She knew her Norwegian history enough to be aware that Sweden was still trying to consume some of Norway like the greedy bastards they were and Logan seemed sympathetic. It was almost akin to the Scots' hatred of the English. (Though during Astrid's time the two countries were at peace with one another)

"Let me ken if yer cold or need something," Logan told her, offering his wineskin to her.

Astrid took a sip, the acrid wine burning the back of her throat. It didn't phase her too much, many foods in Norway were putrid and drinks strong. She settled back against Logan's strong chest and began dozing as she hadn't gotten true sleep since Craigh na Dun. The lolling of the horse's saddle reminded her of the ocean waves back in Reine. As she blinked her eyes shut, she could see the miserable and worn expression on Claire's face and the yearning to speak in private with Astrid to make sense of this all.

Morning came early and with it blinding light. She was stirred from her sleep at dawn, finding them on a path deep in the forest. Her eyes listed up toward the jutting rock edifice that loomed over them, wondering how far they had gotten.

"Dinnae think ye'd sleep so well in a saddle, Lachlan," Logan snorted behind her.

"It's like the ocean waves… Perhaps not as calm but-"

"The British use it for ambushes," Claire was saying, staring up at Cocknammon Rock.

"That is a good place for ambush," Jaime murmured, a bit worse for wear. "Dougal!" spurring his horse forward and toward their leader at the front, Logan suppressed a sigh and tailed after them. "There may be a British ambush up ahead."

"And ye ken this how?" Dougal grumbled, but his eyes went to Claire, the obvious elephant in the forest.

"I don't know if there is one ahead, but I heard it in the village," Claire sniffed tartly.

You know it from history. And you'll need better lies if you don't want them to be suspicious of you, Astrid thought lamely as Dougal was beginning to rally the men.

"Lachlan get down and hide for now," Logan ordered her.

Slipping down from the saddle she nodded, scanning the forest. Claire was unkindly dumped from the saddle she was in, landing with a thud and a huff as Jaime raced off. Logan joined him, leaving Claire and Astrid together once more.

Astrid hurried toward her and pulled her off the road and into the ferns. "Come on we need to hide."

"Hide…" Claire echoed, her eyes hardening.

"Here, take this, it'll cover you up some," she peeled off her jacket and gave it to Claire.

Claire inspected the inside of the neck where the label was. "When… When are you from?" she whispered, putting the jacket on with shaking hands.

"2014," Astrid answered. "You?"

"The 21st century?" Claire gasped. "I… 1946."

"Just after World War II?"

"Yes I was a nurse in the British Army," Claire told her, the thundering of hooves and gun fire echoing in the distance. "The future, what is it like?"

"Not exactly what you may think… but technology has certainly advanced."

"Do cars fly?"

"What? No, no. Things have just improved in some aspects… gotten more efficient… More progressive. I study at the university in Copenhagen. I was on a tournament trip with my fencing club from college when I ended up here."

"I was on my second honeymoon with my husband. We hadn't seen each other for years after the war," Claire sounded sad, as if she just remembered something. Grabbing Astrid's hand she said sternly, "We should run while we have the chance."

"Run? Run where?" Astrid hissed. "We do not know which way Craigh na Dun is and even if we did, they have horses and know the land much better than us."

"We have to try. We don't belong here. I need to get back to my husband."

"We both had our brushes with near death or assault already. I'll not chance it so soon again. The Scots don't seem that bad. They seem honorable."

"They're kind to you," Claire snapped irritably.

"I'm not English," Astrid pointed out haughtily.

"You don't want to go home?"

"I do, but we need to be more clever. Just running into the wilds is the worst thing we can do. We need to bide our time," Astrid argued.

"And wait until we're trapped in castle walls?"

Astrid gritted her teeth and sighed. "Go if you want, but I'm going to see how things play out. We are safer with the Mackenzie Clan."

"Seems the future has stripped its women of their gall," Claire snapped her hand away and gave Astrid a dirty look.

"Or it made us more intelligent," Astrid retorted just as cheekily.

Claire shot another glare before staggering into the woods, tripping over her own feet. Rubbing her eyes, Astrid pressed her forest to the tree in front of her and suppressed a sigh. Such a willful woman. Perhaps there was tact within her, but she was too emotional and raw right now.

Astrid waited patiently for the cries of battle to simmer down before the clopping of hooves drew her attention. "Sassenach! Lachlan! Ye can come out now," the voice belonged to Logan.

Climbing up from her hiding spot she dug her boots into the muddy bank and scrambled back onto the road. She dusted the dirt off of her and glanced down the road. Logan peered down from his horse, his handsome face looking her over.

"Yer coat…" he remarked, staring at her.

Astrid glanced down, noticing how her damp button down plastered itself to her athletic figure. Her nipples were perky even beneath the cloth of her sports bra. Crossing her arms she gave Logan a haughty look, only to be returned with an infuriating smirk. Of course these men thought with their cock more than their brains. Why had she thought it'd be any different with her than Claire? They just didn't make glib remarks about her.

"Tha cìochan snog aice," Angus remarked as he rode up, smiling. He had made a remark about her breasts.

"Rach thu agus a' sgaoil am leathar de bhur paithar!" Astrid snarled, raising the brows of both Angus and Logan.

Logan keeled over with laughter as Angus's face began to glow red. "Nay, I'll not be having a wummin haver at me with such a foul mouth."

"Then watch your tongue or did Logan not tell you that I speak multiple languages? I can understand Gaelic."

"And speak it well enough too," Logan snorted.

"Would have been nice to ken thon, Logan," Angus frowned.

"With Redcoats afoot that was the last thing on me mind. Astrid told me last evening that she spoke many languages. Studied them in Copenhagen."

"Where's the Sassenach?" Jaime interrupted their conversation, thundering between them.

"She went that way," Astrid jerked her thumb down the road. "I told her it wasn't the wisest choice, but she didn't listen to me."

Jaime didn't wait to hear why, continuing down the road in search of Claire.

"Ye dinnae try to stop her?" Angus demanded.

"I did, she won't have gotten far on foot. I figured she'd better learn for herself that she isn't as clever as she thought."

"Could've just knocked her out like ye did to Black Jack Randall."

"Don't have my knife anymore. Must have dropped it when Murtagh took us."

"The lass will learn," Logan shrugged. "Come on Lachlan. At least ye had right thing in mind."

Astrid went to put her foot in the stirrup, grabbing the horn of the saddle when Logan bent over and hoisted her up like a child. She flailed slightly, not expecting the unbalance as Logan righted her in front of him. He seemed a bit more comfortable being grabby than before. She wasn't certain if it was because he was more relaxed with her after their conversations or because Angus was watching and loathing that Logan got to ride with her. However, his hands snaked around her waist and he tugged her close, fingers splayed against her tummy.

"Yer an able bodied lass, aren't ye?" he teased, feeling her compact stomach against her thin shirt.

"I warned you," Astrid mustered, removing his hand and placing it on the reins of his horse.

"The Lachlan is making threats now, is she?" Angus observed, cocking a smile.

"Aye, she's a little she-wolf biding her time. Only shows her teeth when she needs," Logan snarked.

"She's a little totie," Angus countered.

"Even pups have sharp teeth," Astrid reminded him.

"Yer no pup. Totie ye might be, but yer a wummin grown," Logan observed.

"I'm fast too," Astrid informed him.

"Dinnae doubt it, madadh-allaidh beag."

Astrid stifled a huff at him, aware that Logan was teasing her. He had called her 'little wolf' in Gaelic, which she suspected would become a nickname rather quickly. She thought back to what Claire had mentioned. Didn't she want to get home? Part of her did, but another part of her, the scholar, wanted to know what it was like living in this age. Additionally, she could learn many language nuances, especially about Gaelic, that had been lost after Gaelic had been banned. As long as she was safe, Astrid saw no harm in staying until she was in a better position. She could learn so much, bring back so much knowledge… The idea of the books she could write nearly made her drool. She was no historian, but she could help many historians understand Gaelic writings.

Claire knew about the ambush. She must know more about Highlander history than me. I should ask her, so I can be careful not to alter the timeline, Astrid considered as Jaime returned with the sulking Claire astride. Like many of the men, Jaime was stained by the blood of their enemies. She had noticed that Logan was of no exception, but to Astrid, blood was just blood. She had her fair amount of injuries in her life and the men around her seemed lucid enough.

"You didn't get hurt during the fight, did you?" Astrid asked Logan thoughtfully as the group rallied and began riding again.

"Naw, though if the Sassenach dinnae warn us I might've."

"Are you grateful she did?"

"Aye, but curious too. I doubt that she heard thon in town."

Right. She was too candid about revealing information.

A loud thud beside them caused the group to skitter to a halt. Jaime had fallen from his horse as Claire shouted, getting down to see what injuries he had.

"Seems Jaime wasn't as fortunate," Astrid grimaced.