The image of Craigh na Dun disappearing into the background had photographed in Molly's memory. After the terrifying experience with that Randall fellow, it was probably too much to ask her new friend Murtagh to bring her back. Frankly, she didn't know what she was going to do. Those stones were her gateway back home. She didn't know; the land or anything about the culture. The young woman had limited knowledge of Scottish history, most of which was told to her by her grandmother. She was wildly out of place. The only thing that gave her some form of comfort; was knowing that technically speaking, she was home, just a different version of it.

During their travels, Murtagh kept asking Molly questions about herself like, how she ended up at the stones, which she replied verbatim what she told Captain Randall. Consistently was going to be her saving grace; if she never faltered in her story, then everyone else will believe it too. Molly continued to tell him about her Scottish father, a little bit of Boston history, which Molly knew plenty about, and what America was like, which most of what Molly described was from what little she remembered from 12th grade U.S. History. The Scotsman seemed to accept what she was telling him, though it was hard to tell. He didn't talk much and offered only a courtesy grunt now and again as a response. The American truthfully didn't care if he was listening or not. She just needed to fill the silence, so her mind wasn't focused on the panic and worry that was engulfing her.

"You never told me why you were at the stones." Molly suddenly asked. Her stare, pulling from the path in front of them. She didn't think Murtagh would say anything, but she hoped for the same courtesy she gave him. She felt the man shift in his spot uncomfortably, but he didn't respond, or at least not right away until.

"Aye…" He responded. It was as if he was trying to collect his thoughts. "If ye must know. The English had been chasing me, and my companions for miles. I had separated from the group to cause a distraction. The others got away; I wasn't so lucky." He began to tell her. The older male took a breath as he rubbed his chin, trying to recall the order of events. "Those Redcoat bastards were closing in on me when they stumbled upon you."

The American chuckled softly to herself as things started to make more sense to her. "That's why Randall didn't believe me. He probably thought I was working with you!" She explained. "Okay, but what I don't understand is why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"

"They had the place surrounded lass. I planned on staying in hiding until they were gone, but then Randall showed up. I started throwing rocks to make noise hoping they would leave ye alone, but it didn't work. I followed you down to the river while the redcoats chased after a ghost, and well, ye know the rest of it."

While Molly knew her time traveling was a freak accident, she couldn't help to admit how perfect timing it was on both their parts. So much so; that it couldn't be called a coincidence. "It's almost as if we both were where we needed to be."

"Aye, it seems so," Murtagh replied in agreement.

From that point on. Molly learned that Murtagh, along with the rest of his men, were part of a rebellion group. Turn's out things were more complicated than the American realized. Scotland was currently trying to break away from England and was at the start of a war. Given the United States history with the British, she found herself sympathizing with the Scottish; unfortunately, their story was going to have a far different outcome.

The conversation became sparse after that. The duo had run out of things to talk about; the sun was getting lower; the air chiller and heavy rain clouds were now hanging low in the sky. They were about to get caught in a rainstorm with miles still to go.

"How much longer?" Molly asked as her green eyes watched the sky. Lightening could be spotted in the distance heading straight for them. She was only sporting her thin floral dress and the yellow cardigan her grandmother made for her five years ago. This was going to be miserable.

"Don't ye worry lass. We'll get there before dark" The scruffy male's own eyes darted up to the gray sky above. As soon as he spoke, it started down pouring. The Scotsman was used to being out in the elements and didn't seem to care. Molly, however, became noticeably tense and uncomfortable. She loved rain from the comfort of her house.

"Are you going to tell me where we are going now?" She huffed, her irritability now setting it at full force.

"What crawled up your backside?"

"Murtagh! Just tell me." Molly snapped.

"Alright, alright. There's a cottage down the way. We go there when we need a place to hide. It's safe ye have nothin to worry about."

Time traveled through stones, ran into Redcoats, almost got killed, horseback riding through the Scottish Highlands with some guy who may or may not has killed someone, going to a cottage where more strange men await, and oh yeah. She still didn't have any shoes. But yes, Molly had absolutely nothing to worry about.

The Scottish Highlands were a sight to behold. If things were different, the young woman would have taken the time to appreciate it. However, in her current situation, the beauty was lost on her. Molly was tired, scared, hungry, all the above. They had been riding without a stop for hours, and no, it wasn't a minor one or two, it was an endless and dull five hours. Molly was experiencing fatigue in her legs and back from being stationary on the horse for so long. Then when it felt like there was no end in sight. There it was, the cottage Murtagh told her about earlier. It was like a beautiful mirage as it suddenly appeared at the bottom of the hill. Murtagh let out a sigh of relief when he noticed the horses tied up outside and the small flicker of light coming from the windows. A worry that had been quietly weighing on his mind.

No one greeted them once they approached. Murtagh jumped down from the steed. The male came around to help Molly down. She had never been more thankful to stand. Everything felt stiff and welcomed the movement. Her eyes studied the old cottage and wondered who awaited them inside. She didn't know what to expect or how they would react to her presence. Suddenly, Murtagh came over, without saying a word grabbed her arm, tugging the young woman behind him. Once they were inches from the door, that's when you could hear them laughing and talking inside. Her eyes watched Murtagh's hand as it pushed the door open, her heart racing. Murtagh stepped in and instantly met with a flood of excited greetings. Whatever the worry he had for his friends, they had for him. The male's demeanor changed once he realized everyone made it back alive. Molly, who was still standing behind the Scotsman, looked up towards the male who turned around, pulling her forward.

The room fell into total silence as she stood there front and center. Their stares were more of confusion. Their brows furrowed as they looked back at Murtagh, then to her and back at their friend.

"Who the fuck is this?" One finally asked, breaking up the animosity filling the room; he was a short fellow who had a remarkable resemblance to a hobbit. Molly would later learn that his name was Angus.

"Sit down ya little wee bastard." Murtagh retorted. His eye's falling onto another male, who had moved forward to get a better look at the girl who interrupted their stag party. Murtagh's posture stiffened, giving his full attention to the male who was clearly in charge of the ragtag group of misfits.

"Aye, explain ye self." The other male demanded with a scowl falling on to the American, studying her. Molly became painfully self-aware. It was like he and the rest of his men were picturing what was under her clothing. She dressed modestly or what modern society considered to be modest, yet she felt her fingers grip at her sweater.

"On with it!" Their leader barked

"Alright, ya fuckin—" Murtagh's words trailed off, knowing better to get lippy with this other male. Clearing his throat, the Scotsman began explaining his version of events. Molly's attention was falling in and out of the conversation. She stood there, shaking like a leaf wanting nothing more than to sit next to the roaring fire to warm up. Her eyes glanced around the room, and that's when she noticed him. A younger fellow with his mop of red hair. He seemed to be closer in age to her. Though, he seemed indifferent to her existence. He didn't look up at her, but continued to drink his ale and watch the fire.

"And you lass." She heard the leader ask. Molly quickly gave her attention back to him. "Are you gonna tell us how ye got here?"

"On with it." Murtagh huffed, giving the young woman a push.

"Okay, and don't push me!" Molly bit back, sending a stern look towards Murtagh. Small chuckles broke out amongst the men, which quickly stopped when they got hushed by the younger male as he exchanged a look with the leader.

"Before I start, can I at least know who I'm talking to?" Molly asked.

The male's brows furrowed as he rubbed his beard in thought. "Dougal MacKenzie, war-chief of the Clan MacKenzie."

Holy shit. That was the only thought that passed through Molly's mind. She was in over her head with all of this. "Molly Rose. St. Claire."

"You're not English, are ye lass?" Dougal interrupted before she could even get her first thought out. You could tell it was what they all were wondering.

"No, I'm not, sir." The young woman cautiously responded, testing the waters. It was as if you could see the relief washing over them with her confirmation. "I traveled from America. I was born in the colony of Massachusetts." She continued. Dougal, who had her full-attention motioned her to sit, which Molly happily did. She then rehashed the same story she had already told twice. The details were now easy to remember and more believable to her ears. Dougal listened and studied her as she explained everything that happened up to that point. Everyone seemed to be all ears except for the redheaded male who seemed disinterested in her story. But when she mentioned Jack Randall, that seemed to pique his interest. The young man quietly looked over his shoulder to Molly. For a moment, their eyes met before Molly casually looked back at Dougal. She even made sure to mention her Scottish side in hopes that they would look at her more favorably.

"And that's the way of it?" Dougal questioned after listening patiently to the American's story.

"Yes," Molly responded, unsure what was going to happen next.

"What was it ye said your name was lass?"

"Molly St. Claire…" she replied, waiting with bated breath for Dougal's response. But he didn't respond. He kept eyeing her as he leaned back casually in his seat. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. Either he was deciding on the truthfulness of what she told him or, more simply, trying to figure out if he knew that name or not. And with no warning, he motioned for Murtagh.

"Find Miss St. Claire, something for her to walk in," Dougal ordered, and Murtagh went off digging through people's belonging for what she assumed was boats.

"You'll be traveling with us now. Don't do anything stupid, and ye'll be fine."

"I didn't find any shoes for the lass, but these should be fine for now." Murtagh came strolling back with a pair of men's wool stockings, tossing them across the young woman's lap. "They're clean. "

"Thank you." Molly smiled. They would work; she was thankful for anything they were willing to offer her. Not shoes, but the socks were thick and certainly better than nothing.

"I don't get it…" Angus stood there, sipping his ale, one hand on his hip as if faced with an unsolvable equation. "I always heard the women in the America's were piggish but, you're not. You're a bonny lass, are all women as bonny as ye?"

Oh my God, was he for real? She looked up in disbelief that he would say such a thing to someone he just met. A gentle smile slipped across her lips. "Where I come from Angus, we have a saying. Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

Angus tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. "What does that mean?"

"It means you have a freakishly large forehead and shouldn't make fun of anyone."

Like a chorus, the whole room busted out into laugher even with his chubby companion Rupert chiming in. "Oh, she's a Scottish lass alright." The mood toward Molly began to shift, and Molly now thought she could survive this adventure of hers.

With the worst part of this meeting over, Molly finally posed herself in front of the fireplace she had been eyeballing since she entered the cottage. Her feet were comfortable, the warmth of the flames hugged her like a blanket, her clothes finally dry. She was feeling okay, except for the constant worry of what happens next, playing racquetball in her head. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed the person who decided to take a seat next to her. There was a tap on her shoulder. Molly turned, thinking it was going to be Murtagh, was surprised to find that it wasn't. It was a handsome redhead. His blue eyes looked over at her with a crooked grin as he offered half of the bread he was eating.

"Ye must be hungry." More of an outward thought as he observed the American lass chow down the morsel of food. His eyes drifted to the flames of the fire as he took his bite. "I've never been to America's before." He told her after a moment of silence.

"I've never been to Scotland." She replied with a cheeky grin, which elicited a light chuckle from the young male.

"Jamie MacTavish." He offered as he held his hand out.

Molly smiled, taking his hand in hers for a shake. Maybe it was her story or the fact that she wasn't English, but his attitude seemed to have changed significantly since her arrival, and she welcomed it. Murtagh, until now, in his way, seemed to be her only friend, now it looked like she was going to have two. After Jamie introduced himself, the new friends sat in silence, finishing what little they had to eat until Jamie turned to his American friend.

"Ye should get some sleep. We got a long day tomorrow." The younger male stood to his feet. He reached across the floor, grabbing a spare blanket for Molly.

"We're not staying here. Where are we going?" She asked curiously while taking the blanket that he offered to her.

"Castle Leoch"

Molly almost gave herself a full body whiplash with how fast she turned to look at Jamie. A castle? Did she hear him correctly? "I'm sorry, a Castle?"

The redheaded male gave her a strange look. "Aye, Castle Leoch." Repeating himself.

Molly suddenly found herself more anxious and nervous than she was previously. There was no way she was sleeping tonight.