Disclaimer: I suggest using Google Translator for a small portion of this chapter.
The near run-in with the red-coats and the fatigue of travel left the party on edge. To boost morale Angus, and Rupert suggested making a detour to give them all a break and experience a night of fun. Surprisingly, Dougal did not argue with the idea but left Molly wondering what his motive was. The War Chieftan was an all-work and no-play kind of guy. The shift in plans added a day to their schedule but overlooked by the promise of a warm bed, hot food, and entertainment.
When they arrived, the location was a hub of activity. It felt less like a village and more like a trading post. The street crowded, men buying and selling goods, entertainment, and boarding for weary travelers. Molly had not seen anything like it. The more she had a chance to explore, the more she warmed up to the idea of staying the night. Molly grew accustomed to sleeping under the stars, but if Molly had to listen to Jamie snoring some more, Molly was going to smother him in his sleep. She owed herself some fun.
Daylight slowly faded tonight; the atmosphere seemed to change entirely. The people rowdier, the alcohol flowing heavier, but it was the entertainment that pulled it all together. Liquid courage gave anyone the motive to show off their hidden talents, anything from music, storytelling, and magic tricks, some notably better than others, but enjoyable nonetheless. Molly had not seen Rupert or Angus in hours. The last she had seen them, they were on the hunt for ale and women. Dougal wound up chatting with men he had seemed to know, Jamie and Murtagh in and out of view, mostly enjoying the sights and sounds now and again checking in on Molly, who kept herself planted in front of the stage outside one of the multiple taverns. Eventually, the two men returned to their friend. Murtagh perched himself against the side of the stage, enjoying his drink, while listening to the music every now again, stealing glances at Molly. He could not help but let out a few good chuckles, Jamie was trying to teach her traditional Scottish dances, but despite everything Molly seemed to be good at, dancing was not her forte.
"Step to the right. No, the other. My other right." Jamie watched as Molly stumbled over her own feet. She was terrible.
"That is right!" Molly argued. Her brows furrowed in frustration, watching her feet. "Oh, never mind that is the left." She looked up at Jamie, and the two busted out into laughter.
"You're horrible at this!" Jamie needled.
"I'm-you're right." There was a good reason why she never wanted to be a dancer.
Murtagh slowly brought his mug to his mouth, pausing as he watched the two laughing. He had no idea what they were saying, but it was lovely regardless. For the first time in a long while, Jamie was allowed to be the young lad that he was. Molly seemed to be enjoying herself also. The older Scotsman did not recall ever seeing her so happy. The way the corner of her eyes crinkled and her head fell back when she laughed, or the gentle way she tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, made his heart flutter. Suddenly, Murtagh noticed an older woman approaching Jamie offering for a dance. Molly smiled warmly, stepping aside for them. Then, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his from across the crowd, and for a moment, Murtagh felt stone-cold sober. Soon her body turned towards him, closing the distance between them.
"What are you doing, sulking in the corner?" Molly asked as she approached, offering a cheeky grin.
Murtagh's dark eyes darted toward the stage as he took a sip from his cup. "Listening to music." It was only partially true, but he was not about to admit to Molly that he had been watching her. "Ye should stick to yer storytelling. I have never seen anyone with two left before." He teased. Immediately met with a light slap to his shoulder.
"Can you dance?" Molly questioned. Her arms folded across her chest with her head tilted up, waiting for Murtagh to respond.
And without skipping a beat. "Aye, I'm a great dancer." Murtagh coolly replied. Molly continued to study him. She could not decide if he was being truthful or not. He was a hard one to read when he wanted to be.
"Oh yeah, show me." Molly egged on.
"No." Murtagh shrugged. He wasn't drunk enough for that. Taking a deep breath, he went to take another drink from his mug only to find it empty. Molly looked back over to Jamie, who could not seem to get away from the woman dancing with him. But Murtagh, his focus still on the American lass until.
"That woman over there is doing palm readings." Molly pointed out before looking back over to Murtagh.
His eyes quickly diverted in the direction she mentioned. "Aye, she has been all night. Making out like a bandit from my account." Murtagh was considerably well-read, and it always amazed him how people seemed to fall for these types of scams. But at the same time, people needed hope and faith. A sense that whatever they were facing right now would somehow get better. Why ruin someone's day by telling them their belief was stupid?
"Give me your hand." Molly requested. Murtagh furrowed his brows in curiosity, but before he could respond, Molly had grabbed his hand into hers. "I want to read your palm." She smiled playfully.
Murtagh enjoyed seeing this more playful side of her. It fit her warm personality; most of the time, Molly walked around like she had a heavy burden weighing her down. "Ye know how to read palms?" The male questioned.
"No, but I had a reading once," Molly admitted. Her eyes fell to Murtagh's hand as he willingly opened his palm up on her own. Gently, she dragged her fingertips along his skin. He had big hands, strong, Callused from years of hard work, yet surprisingly soft.
"And what does yer third eye see Madame St. Claire." Murtagh teased.
"Umm." Molly started through a stifled laugher. Her eyes narrowed into a quizzical look; her free hand stroked her chin like she was in deep thought. After a short moment. "Interesting, very interesting." It was hard to keep a straight face. "I see a vast amount of wealth coming your way. This line right here is your marriage line. But it splits, you'll be married twice, your first marriage looks to be short-lived, but your second looks to be long and happy."
For a moment, he almost believed her up until the marriage bit. "Now, I no ye're fuckin with me. I'm not the marrying type."
"I don't know about that. I think you have a lot of wonderful qualities." Molly replied timidly. She heard herself say it but lacked any courage to look up at Murtagh. He had fallen silent, not unusual, but Molly feared she embarrassed him, which in turn caused her to experience the second-hand embarrassment of her own. Then, as she was ready to let go of his hand, Murtagh clasped his free hand over hers, sandwiching them together. Hesitantly she glanced up only to be met by his warm stare. His brown eyes narrowed as he prepared to say something profound but instead.
"Shit." The Scotsman grumbled under his breath. His hand dropped from Molly's as he went to wipe his mouth in frustration.
The first thing Molly thought was, what now? Frustrated, she looked to see what was going on, and there he was, Dougal, stumbling his way to the stage. He looked like a man on a mission, and naturally, she had to ask. "What is he doing?"
For the first time, Murtagh didn't have an answer for her. He didn't respond at all. The look on his face expressed that he knew what Dougal was up to but didn't approve.
Drunken laughter danced around the crowd as the stern War Chieftan stood in front of God and country. For a moment, he laughed along with the heckling until he motioned for everyone to settle down. "Good evening brothers." He started. Immediately the crowd irrupted again as it became clear he was not about to perform for them. Dougal had his hands folded in front of him as he smiled. He gave a quick side-eye to the American before clearing his throat. "Tha luchd-ionnsaigh a 'fuireach nar measg. Tha iad a 'bagairt air a dearbh dhòigh-beatha agad. Sasannach. Tha na Sasannaich den bheachd gur e seo am fearann aca. Tha iad a 'creidsinn nach eil thu airidh air an fhìor anail nad bhroilleach."
Of course, he would speak Gaelic. Molly knew three words out of what he said. English one of them, which left her wondering what the hell Dougal was saying to these people. The crowd slowly grew quiet. Molly peeked over her shoulder to get Murtagh's attention, but he too was fixated on what Dougal was saying. "Tha iad airson gun cuir thu sìos chun Rìgh aca agus faighinn cuidhteas cò sinn. Tha Highlander borb nan sùilean, nas lugha na daoine. Beathaichean aig a 'char as fheàrr. Tha cuid agaibh ... air na Outlanders sin a leigeil a-steach do na dachaighean agad. Thug thu biadh dhaibh agus thug thu blàths dhaibh. Airson dè? Mar sin is urrainn dhaibh am fearann agad a ghoid, èigneachadh do bhoireannaich fhad 's a tha iad a' crathadh an dathan ann an aghaidhean yer?"
Finally, Molly had enough. She turned on her heel, demanding Murtagh's attention. "What is he saying?" This time it was not a request.
Murtagh never took his eyes off of Dougal. Translating while trying to listen had been harder than it would seem; after a moment of recalling what Dougal said already. Murtagh, who had been standing behind Molly, moved in closer, leaned forward, whispering in her ear. "He is addressing the English. They're invaders threatening our way of life. They want our land and to bow for their King. We're no people in their eyes. We're nothin but savages. Animals. We invited them into our homes, we fed them, and in return, they stole our land, raped our women then waved their colors in our faces." It never did get any easier for him to hear Dougal give his speeches for the cause. He didn't always agree with what Dougal was doing, but he knew it was necessary. Murtagh paused for a moment to listen to what Dougal said next. "The English rule over everyone, But Highlanders are free people they can't rule us. Their time of tyranny is over. No longer can we let them beat us like a dog. We need to take back our home and our livelihood. We need to get the throne back to its rightful owner. Back to Charles Edward Stewart. He will bring us back to righteousness and rid Scotland of the English for good. If it's a bloodbath they want, it's a bloodbath they shall have. For Scotland."
Molly could feel the color draining from her face. It took everything she had to keep her jaw from dropping. "He's a Jacobite?" an obvious question to an obvious answer. She couldn't believe it. Dougal didn't seem the type, but certain aspects of his behavior towards her started to make sense now. The realization came to her like a punch in the face. Molly, now forced to face a reality that she had been ignoring up to this point. She went to open her mouth to ask Murtagh another question, but Dougal started to talk again after multiple people in the crowd questioned his motives and the truthfulness of his words.
"I've seen the violence and hatred swimming through their veins. They call us the savages, but I have never seen a Scotsman do, to another man the things the English have done. Don't believe me? Fine, perhaps you'll believe the word of someone who has experienced it firsthand."
Murtagh watched Molly with great caution. She was hanging onto every word Dougal had to say, but by her sudden rigid stance, it was easy to believe she wanted to say or do something. He couldn't allow it. The political issues happening in Scotland had been going on longer than her arrival. Whether she agreed or disagreed, she would need to learn to accept them.
Dougal held his chin up as he looked deep into the crowd. Molly studied him very carefully as he raised his hand out, motioning for someone to step forward. Her heart began to race uncontrollably as she frantically looked around and just as she feared. Her eyes landed on Jamie. His back was turned from the crowd like he was trying to hide himself, and like a scared child, he turned around. "Young Jamie here knows better than anyone." Dougal started. "Show these men, what those, red coat Lil bastards did to ye, how they almost left ye for dead."
All eyes fell on Jamie. He was hesitant at first with a look of regret as he made his way toward Dougal. Just like Murtagh predicted, Molly quickly moved forward in a vain attempt to stop her friend but met by the even quicker movement of Murtagh, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. "I don't think so, lass... mind ye own." He told her calmly, but that did not stop his American friend from struggling; however, she did not fight that much longer.
"Let go of me, I'm fine." She snapped back. Murtagh Slowly released Molly from his hold. Her lip quivered in anger, and she tried watching as long as she could, but the moment Dougal tore open the back of Jamie's shirt, she could not take it anymore. She turned towards Murtagh, pushing her way past him, storming off away from him and the situation.
Murtagh chose not to follow, or at least not right away. He stayed to comfort Jamie after his uncle's attempt to extort more money out of these people and to give Molly time to calm down. Finally, when Murtagh felt that Jamie was okay, he went to look for the young woman. Molly didn't stray far from where they were. Murtagh found her walking towards him. Her head looked up from the ground, and the two met halfway.
It was as if Murtagh knew what Molly was about to say. "Jamie is a tough lad. He'll be fine, he always is." He explained.
"Dougal has done this before?" Molly asked, folding her arms in complete disgust. She shook her head for a moment before bringing her stare back to Murtagh. "Can I ask you a question, are you one too?"
Murtagh kept his gaze on Molly while he pulled his arms across his chest. "Molly, who we are and who we have to be are two different people." He explained before taking a step forward. "Ye know that better than anyone."
It was not the answer she wanted to hear, but it was the answer he gave her. It was a difficult situation. Molly wasn't angry that they were a part of the Jacobite rebellion; she was scared. She blamed herself. It wasn't like Molly didn't know about the situation happening in Scotland, but Molly chose to ignore it. She fell through the stones and found herself lost in the romance of the time and the culture. Who wouldn't love getting rescued by a rugged Highlander? It was pure fiction. Now, she was face to face with the unforgivable reality of the situation. The history books don't lie. She turned on her heel to face Murtagh. A forlorn expression, resting across her brow. He was a man of conviction, but how could she tell him that their Bonnie Prince Charles was a fucking idiot and would lead them to their death at the battle of Culloden? It was simple; Molly couldn't.
"What is it all for?" She asked.
"This is our home, Molly. We will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. Ye ask me what it's for? For Scotland."
Molly mulled over what Murtagh had said. She couldn't argue with him, not when he was right. Scotland was his home, and it was wrong to think he would sit idly by as he watched it get ripped away from him. After what felt like forever, Molly closed the rest of the distance between them. "When we get to Inverness... I'm not leaving with you." It was a sudden and hasty decision, but knowing what she knew or the thought of something unimaginably horrible happening to Murtagh, she could not handle it.
That certainly was something he wasn't expecting. It was a low blow at that. Murtagh fell quiet. His eyes fell to the dirt until finally figuring out what to say. "Have ye told Jamie?" He asked slowly.
"No, he's going to be so heartbroken." She added.
He wasn't the only one about to mend a broken heart. The older male could feel his own heart shattering already. It wasn't Murtagh's place to argue with what she thought was best for her life. But it wasn't going to stop him from trying. "Maybe ye could find a reason to stay? I know I'll miss ye, Molly."
He couldn't make it easy on her, could he? Molly looked up at her favorite Scotsman with a weary smile. Gently, she reached up, resting her hand along his jaw. It was subtle, but Molly could feel him nudging his cheek into her hand. She would miss him most of all. And without saying a word, she let her hand drop and began walking away, but not before giving him a glance over her shoulder, leaving Murtagh like he was thunderstruck.