17 April, 1746
Culloden Moor, Inverness, Scotland
JAMIE POV
It was nothing but silence. Dead, quiet silence. Occasionally, a moan would be heard somewhere off in the distance, but soon, it died down as the man it belonged to took his final breath.
Cannon fire. Clumps of dirt flinging everywhere, flying all about. A whinny of horses as they tried to run in fright, but were forced to stay. Men shouted all around, running to and fro as cannon blasts littered the land, leaving craters bigger than Jamie could possibly imagine.
It was dark. The sky was clearer than Jamie had ever seen it. The stars glittered in the night sky, peaceful, inviting… He didn't know what time it was, only that he had been lying there for hours. The battle had been fought in the morning and it lasted less than an hour, and still, Jamie laid on a pile of men who were already dead. Lucky bastards, he thought to himself. When will my time come?
"This is nothing but a diversion!" came the voice of Lord George Murray through the destruction and the shouts. "Cumberland wants te rattle our nerves! If we stand fast and force him te come te us across the moor, then we will have them, sir!" Another explosion, and Lord Murray, O'Sullivan and Charles ducked as a cannon blast blew the grass and mud to Kingdom Come nearby. "The time is now!"
Now. Now would be a great time to die. It would be soon, or at least he hoped. He could no longer feel his feet as they were numb with cold. Part of his kilt felt wet and warm - blood, still pouring from the wound on his upper thigh. Would he bleed out? Why hadn't he bled out already? It should have happened by now. It should have happened…
Fear no more the heat o' the sun…
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone…
Home. Catrìona. Archie. Jenny. Ian. Young Jamie. Maggie. Kitty. Murtagh. Cailean. Lallybroch . Home art gone. What else did Jamie have to live for? Why was he still alive?
He dodged another cannon, losing his footing and crashing down onto his stomach. "Jamie!" It was Cailean. He dove down onto the ground beside Jamie and quickly checked him for wounds. "Are ye hurt?"
"No," Jamie answered him.
"Have ye done it? Is she safe?" Cailean asked him, his concern for his sister heavy in his gaze. Jamie nodded.
"Aye… Both of them," he told him.
She'd left behind her tartan, which had been draped over her shoulders like an arisaid. Jamie picked it up and brought it to his lips once she'd passed through, then laid it at the foot of the stone in memory of his beloved. She was gone from him, four hundred years into the future in another man's arms. He wondered briefly if she'd made it, and if she had, how she was… but that made no sense. She was born four hundred years in the future, so she wasn't even born yet.
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o' the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.
He realised then that the heavy weight of a body was lying on top of him - another body on the pile of dead. Using what little strength he had, he pushed it off, a golden button on the sleeve of the red coat flashing in the moonlight.
Clashing swords, a flash of red. Black Jack Randall's vicious face was at the other end of Jamie's blade.
Randall. He slowly turned his head to look into the dead, lifeless eyes of Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall. I've given ye the death ye deserved, Jamie thought to himself. Now when is it my turn? He hardly remembered killing Randall, but he knew that he was responsible for it. Hell, he hardly remembered the battle itself. He didn't need to remember it… What he needed was to die.
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak;
The sceptre, learning, psychic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Lord… I beg ye te please take me. Bring me home. I'm ready te walk into yer arms…
No, my child, you are not.
A gentle rustling could be heard to his left and another movement of his head revealed a hare nibbling away at the grass. It shook its head, obviously discontent. Jamie couldn't blame it - he probably wouldn't want to eat grass seasoned with blood, either.
Another groan sounded in the distance, drawing Jamie's heavy, tired eyes up. What the hell… A figure dressed in white - or silver, like the moonlight - appeared in the distance. She walked among the dead, seemingly floating over them, as if she were part of them. Was this the spirit meant to take him into the light? The closer she drew to him, the clearer she became… Hair, as red as the glowing sun at sunset. His mother? Has she come to claim her son? To guide him to the golden gates? She stood by his side, her face unclear, the moon forming a holy nimbus behind her head. "Mam…" he muttered weakly as she bent down to his level, her pale face becoming clear. Her silver eyes reflected the moonlight - Catrìona. She gave him a soft smile, slowly reaching one hand out… To caress his face? No… No, she was… feeling his neck…
"Are ye alive?" she whispered, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.
"Jamie," came a man's voice. "Are ye alive, man?" He left out a soft sound in response, afraid to open his eyes. He recognised that voice - Rupert Mackenzie. Catrìona wasn't here after all… No, she was four hundred years in the future. "Ist , man! There's redcoats still aboot and they're killin' the wounded where they lie! Can ye stand?"
"No…" he moaned weakly. "Leave me be… Leave me be…" All Jamie wanted was to die. After he killed Dougal, couldn't Rupert at least give him that? Cut his throat or stab him in the heart?
"I'm no' gonna leave ye te die in the mud, even if ye are a pig-headed loon who cannae hold his whisky," Rupert told him, pushing Randall's lifeless body off of him and lifting Jamie up. Rupert dragged him off of the moor under the cover of darkness, another man soon joining him to keep watch.
"In the barn, it's a safe place. They dinnae ken we're there," Jamie heard Kincaid say. Kincaid? He'd sent the Lallybroch men home, what the hell was Kincaid still doing here?
"M… Murtagh…" Jamie muttered weakly. "And… C… Cailean…"
"We dinnae ken where they are, my Laird. We couldnae find them," Kincaid told him as the two men whisked Jamie away. The two men got Jamie into a barn a good distance away from the battlefield after a long, agonising journey. Slowly, with Kincaid's help, Rupert lowered Jamie onto a bed of hay.
"Tha's it, man. Here, have this," Rupert told him, holding a bladder to his lips and allowing Jamie to drink. The water was cool and tasted of Earth, but it felt good on his parched throat.
"So what do we do, then?" asked a voice from somewhere in the barn. "Do we run?"
"I'm not runnin'," said another. How many men were in here?
"Barely a man in here can stand," said a third.
"Aye, if ye can go, Killick, then go. Dinnae linger on our account," the second said to the first.
"No, I'll bide," said the man called Killick. "Fer one thing, the English are still thick as lice out there."
"Aye, even those that fled yesterday willnae get far," Rupert told him.
"I heard the English troops passin' by quick-march," said a younger voice. "It willnae be hard fer them te hunt down our bedraggled lot." Good, Jamie thought to himself. Soon, the English would find them, and soon, he would finally be dead.
"Jamie," he heard Kincaid's whispered tone beside him. "Where's yer wife? Surely, she didnae stay."
"She's gone," Jamie told him, and then he began to cry. "She's gone…"
19 April, 1746
Two days, the men hid out in that barn, and for those same two days, Jamie continued to live. Why? What for? Catrìona and Archie, his only reasons for living, were gone. Jenny and Ian were safe. With Lallybroch being transferred to Young Jamie, they would be safe and wouldn't be thrown out of their home. Thanks to Catrìona encouraging them to plant potatoes, they wouldn't starve. They might struggle to make ends meet financially, but they wouldn't starve.
Suddenly, voices began to speak outside and the door to the barn slammed open, startling the men inside. In the doorframe, an English officer in a bright red coat looked around maliciously at the bedraggled Jacobite men who had been hiding out in that barn. "Private, check the back. Make sure there is no additional exit for these traitors to escape from," he ordered one of his men. Rupert stood in the center of the room as some of the other men drifted off to the sides, and the English officer stared him down. "I am Lord Melton."
"Rupert Mackenzie, sir, of Leoch," Rupert answered him. "And others late of the forces of His Majesty, King James."
"So I surmised," answered Lord Melton. "I have been ordered by His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland, to execute any man found to have engaged in the recent treasonous rebellion. Does any man here claim innocence of treason?" Thank Christ. There were a couple of chuckles throughout the barn.
"No, My Lord. Traitors all," said Rupert with amusement. "Shall we be hanged, then?"
"You will be shot, like soldiers," answered Lord Melton.
"Thank you, My Lord," said Rupert. Take me now… Take me out now and shoot me, get this torment over with…
"You have an hour in which to prepare yourselves," Lord Melton told them. "If any of you wishes writing materials to compose a letter, perhaps, then the clerk of my company will attend you." With that said, he turned and left.
"No… please…" Jamie uttered quietly. Shoot me now. Please, just shoot me now.
Within the hour, the executions began. First, they took the men who could walk and stand, save for Rupert and Kincaid, who opted to serve as supports for the men and hear their final wishes. "You two," said one of the English sergeants, pointing towards two young lads who could still stand.
"Please, I beg ye not te judge them by the same standard ye apply te the rest of the men. They're just lads," Rupert said to the sergeant, hoping to spare the two young lads. "They cannae be held responsible fer their actions."
"His Grace has specifically directed that there be no exceptions made on account of age," said the sergeant. "I'm sorry." Billy the Butcher, murdering children…
The two young lads began to whimper, and Rupert approached the two of them and placed a steady hand on each of their shoulders. "Hey, hey, steady now, lads… It'll be over, soon. Chins up, aye?" he said to them. Their lips stopped quivering and they nodded, then each stood and approached the clerk, who took down their names: Giles McMartin and Frederick MacBean. The two lads were taken out, and even Jamie flinched a little when the gunshots that ended their lives cracked.
"Does any man wish to be next?" came the voice of Lord Melton.
"Aye," said Rupert, nodding to Kincaid, who also stood.
"Me as well," said Kincaid, who then looked down to Jamie. "Guess we'll take leave of ye, Jamie… See ye soon, my Laird." Kincaid went to the clerk to give their names while Rupert approached Jamie, kneeling down beside him.
"I'm glad yer awake," he said. "I didnae want te say farewell while ye snored and farted in yer sleep."
"Ye… always snored louder… than any man I ever heard," Jamie told him weakly, and Rupert chuckled.
"Och, folk always blamed me fer it, but it was really Angus who snored," he replied. "It'll be good te see him again…"
"It'll… be good te… see the two of ye together again," Jamie replied.
"Aye, it will," Rupert told him. "I'm no' sayin' I forgive ye fer Dougal, but I'll no' go te my grave hatin' ye fer it. The Lord will judge us both, and I trust in His mercy. Farewell, Jamie." He lightly tapped Jamie's shoulder, then stood and joined Kincaid as the pair of them left the barn. Within a minute or so, the firing squad fired, signalling the end of their lives. The sergeant returned and took a lap around the barn, then approached Lord Melton, who entered behind him.
"The ambulatory wounded have all been executed, My Lord. We'll have to carry the rest out," said the sergeant.
"Have the Corporal of the Guard select stretcher bearers," Lord Melton told him.
"Yes, sir. Are they to be shot lying down?" asked the sergeant.
"Prop them up, certainly," said Lord Melton. "No man in the King's custody should be shot lying down, not even traitors."
"Yes, My Lord," said the sergeant, and then he was gone. Lord Melton walked further into the barn, making sure to speak loudly enough for all the men to hear him.
"You men who are unable to walk shall be carried outside to face your sentence. Is there any man who wishes to go first?" he announced to the barn, and Jamie coughed as he tried to raise his voice.
"Aye… Aye!" he said, drawing Lord Melton's attention. "Aye, get this over with…"
"And your name, sir?" asked Lord Melton, gesturing to the clerk to take down Jamie's name.
"James… Alexander… Malcom Mackenzie… Fraser…" Jamie muttered for what he believed to be the last time. "Of… Broch Tuarach…"
"Fraser?" asked Lord Melton as the clerk scribbled down Jamie's name. "Stop that, now," Melton ordered the clerk. "Are you the Jacobite known as 'Red Jamie'?" At this, Jamie let out a quiet chuckle.
"I've been… called that by enemies," he answered.
"God's blood," said Melton. "Does any other man wish to go?" What? Jamie did, why was this imbecile asking someone else?
"Aye, me," Jamie said again. "I want te die…"
"Listen to me," said Melton as the sergeant came in to fetch another man. "Does the name 'John Grey' mean anything to you? Grey. John William Grey. Do you know that name?" Of course he knew that name, but Jamie wasn't going to answer him. Perhaps if he pissed off the man enough, he'd shoot him where he lie.
"Look," Jamie uttered. "Either shoot me… or go away…"
"Near Corrieyairack, a boy of about sixteen or so," Melton tried again, but Jamie just gave a frustrated groan.
"I just want te be shot!" he cried.
"John William Grey, you encountered him in the woods," said Melton again, and Jamie let out a heavy sigh.
"Aye… Aye, I ken the lad. He… he tried te… kill me while I was takin' a pish…" Jamie replied, giving up arguing. He just didn't have the energy. "I… broke his arm… I recall…"
"John Grey is my brother," Melton told him. "He told me of his meeting with you, that you spared his life and he made you a promise. Is that true?"
"Aye, he… he promised te kill me… But I… dinnae mind if ye do it fer him…" Jamie told him.
"He said he owed you a debt of honour," said Melton as the sergeant approached him again.
"My Lord?" asked the sergeant, probably, like Jamie, wondering why the hell this traitor was still alive.
"This is a deuce of a situation, Wallace," Melton told him. "This Jacobite scum is 'Red Jamie'."
"The one on the broadsheets?" asked the sergeant called Wallace. "We searched the fields fer him and the Black Fowlis, but didnae find them. The Red Witch cannae be found, either."
"Yes, the very same," said Melton. "His Grace would be more than pleased to hear of such an illustrious prisoner, however. They have not yet found Charles Stuart, but a few well-known Jacobites should appease the crowds at Tower Hill." Fine, execute me there, I dinnae care. Just kill me, fer Christ's sake…
"Shall I send a message to His Grace?" asked Wallace.
"No," said Melton bitterly. "No, this filthy wretch spared my youngest brother's life, thus incurring a bloody great debt of honour upon my family."
"I see," answered Wallace, eyeing Jamie curiously. "So you can't give him to His Grace after all."
"I can't even shoot the bastard," said Melton, earning a frustrated groan from Jamie. "Not without discrediting my brother's sworn word."
"I… willnae tell if ye dinnae," Jamie told him.
"Perhaps we could shoot him under an alias," said Wallace quietly. I like that idea. No, instead, this imbecile shook his head.
"No. It will be dark in three hours. Continue with the executions and then find a small wagon and have it filled with hay. Pick a driver, someone discreet, by which I mean willing to accept a bribe, and have them here before it gets dark," Melton told him.
"Yes, My Lord. And what of the prisoner?" Wallace asked him.
"What about him? He's too weak to crawl, let alone run. He's not going anywhere," Melton told him.
"I want te be shot," Jamie spat at him weakly.
"I doubt he'll live through the journey, but at least his death won't be on my hands, or on my family. Send him to this… Broch Tuarach," Melton told Wallace.
"Yes, My Lord," said Wallace, and then he was gone.
"Damn it… Damn ye all… I want te be dead… Do ye no' get that?" Jamie demanded as Melton, too, abandoned him on his bed of hay. Three days, Jamie lay dying in a goddamn rattling wagon, begging the Lord to just take him already. All he wanted was to die, why couldn't anyone just let him? He had nothing to live for, no family to have. Lallybroch wasn't even his anymore, it was his nephew's. At least if he died on this journey, he could be buried at home among his family rather than in a mass unmarked grave on Culloden Moor…
"Jamie!" He woke suddenly to a loud voice and a tapping on his cheek, and he stirred just a little, letting out a groan. "Oh, Jamie!"
"Jamie, can ye hear me? Can ye speak?" said a man's voice. Ian? Jamie took a deep, wheezing breath before letting it out slowly.
"Am… Am I dead?" he asked the two voices weakly.
"No, a leannan ," said the voice of his sister, Jenny. "Ye've come home… Te Lallybroch."
"Lallybroch…" he muttered quietly.
"Thank Christ ye've come home, brother," Jenny told him, cradling his cheek in her palm. "We'll get him inside, on the table so I can see te him." Jamie was removed from the wagon and jolted around as he was brought inside, then laid out on the dining room table flat on his back. Jenny examined the wound on his leg, dousing it with alcohol. It hurt, but Jamie was too weak to react. "I wish Catrìona was here, she'd ken what te do… Where is she, anyway? Catrìona?"
"Gone," Jamie answered, his heart shattering all over again as he was forced to think of his beloved yet again. Of her soft red curls that he'd never run his fingers through again. Of her silver Fowlis eyes that he'd never lose himself in again. Of her soft, plump lips that he'd never kiss again… "She's gone…"