Autumn 1769

RORY POV

He didn't know where he was or even when he was - all he knew was that it was autumn, and that it was still 1769. He had been badly beaten by Elton of all people - Who would have thought? At least, he thought it was Elton… Wait. What if it was Jamie? Everyone had said that Elton looked just like Jamie Fraser. Had that bastard been the one responsible for this atrocity? Why would he even do such a thing? What had Brèagha told him?

Ugh. He didn't have the energy to be angry. All of his energy was spent on not dying as the Indians dragged him along behind their horses with ropes tied around his wrists. His wrists were rubbed raw by the ropes and scabbed-over wounds were quickly opened again when the Indians jerked the ropes that held him. Ugh, 'Indians' wasn't a nice term… But these people weren't exactly being very nice to him. In fact, they were quite cruel, forcibly yanking him by his wrists if he stumbled or slowed and beating him with sticks if he still didn't move.

It was late in the day and it was already dark. Rory was tied up against a tree with another man who had been sold to the Mohawk a couple of weeks back. Rory busied himself with tying a knot into a string, but his string was slowly getting smaller and smaller. He sighed to himself and rested it in his lap. "Wha's that you're doin'?" asked his companion in a cockney accent.

"Markin' the days wi' a knot?" Rory told him, lifting up the string to show him the knots. "Each knot represents three days. I've nine here, meanin'… twenty-seven days have passed since I was sold te these bastards." He let out another sigh. "Twenty-seven days…"

"Ta what purpose ya doin' this for?" asked the man, who's name Rory didn't even know.

"Te find out how long it takes te get where we're goin'," Rory replied. "Though we keep stoppin' te trade, so I dinnae even know if it's very accurate." He paused for a moment as he ran his fingers over the knots. "I estimate that though we're walkin' slowly, we cover maybe… eight te ten miles per day. Maybe less on some days. And we're goin' north."

"North," said the man. "I'd give anythin' ta just get back home ta England."

"Aye," Rory replied. "I'd give anythin' te get back home te my wife. And I will."

"Ya think you'll survive?" the man asked him, stifling a nasty cough.

"I have te," Rory told him. "I cannae die here, no' like this. I have te get back te her."

"Lucky man," said the man. "I ain't never had no wife."

"Mine is verra beautiful," Rory told him, smiling softly. "She's like a goddess. She shines and shimmers like one. She's got the bonniest red curls, strikin' blue eyes, full lips… and breasts that fit perfectly in my hands."

"Now yer talkin'," said the man with pride, and he held out his hand to Rory. "Tom Lewis."

"Rory Mackenzie," Rory told him, shaking his hand. At least he had made a friend that he could commiserate with.


November, 1769

The Appalachian Mountains

CATRÌONA POV

It had been a few weeks since we'd left the Ridge. I wasn't quite sure of the date, but I suspected it to be somewhere around early to mid-November. So far, we had found little sign of the Mohawk other than the occasional village that they had traded with, according to Ian, but all it told us was that they were still several weeks ahead of us.

I was washing some clothes in the river when Elton came over and knelt down nearby, washing his hands in the river. He made a face at the frigid cold of the water and shook his hands off to dry. "Cold, is it?" I asked him, and he glanced briefly at me before looking back down at the river.

"Aye, a bit," he said.

"Aye, perhaps I should have boiled some water te wash our claithes in instead," I replied, looking at the redness of my hands from the cold, and I sighed gently. "I've seen ye writin' in yer journal. What are ye writin' aboot, lamb?"

"Hm?" he asked me. "Oh… Just makin' plans fer future projects. I've been wantin' te try my hand at makin' a mechanical grinder te ground our grains, and maybe a wee bit bigger of the steam-powered saw. I also wanted te try makin' a lightbulb, but I dinnae ken how. The filament of the first lightbulb invented by Thomas Edison was a carbonised uncoated cotton thread but I dinnae really recall how te carbonise cotton." I was a bit taken aback by my younger son's knowledge.

"Still, the fact that ye can even remember this is impressive on its own," I told him. "Truth te be told, I'd forgotten all aboot Thomas Edison and his lightbulb. Ye must find inventin' te be verra interestin'."

"Oh, aye," said Elton, lighting up quite a bit. "I've always loved it. I actually improved upon several tools we've used on our farm in Aberdalgie. I wanted te go te school te be an engineer, but… I was the only hearin' one in our family, and my parents needed me te speak wi' people who didnae ken sign language." The light in his eyes faded, and he glanced down at the ground.

"That must have been verra difficult," I told him. "Havin' yer whole family rely on ye because they've got a disability that ye dinnae have…" He nodded silently.

"It wasnae all bad," he said. "My mother was verra lovin', and my father always had the best jokes."

"Ye must miss them verra much," I said softly, and then I sighed gently. "Elton, dear… I dinnae want te replace yer mother. I ken tha' she holds a verra special place in yer heart. I cannae change the past, and I will never stop resentin' Tom fer takin' ye away from me… but I do hope that, some day, we might… have a relationship as mother and son." He didn't directly answer me, but he did look up at me, meeting my eyes, which he almost never did. "I do love ye, Elton, and were it my decision… had I kent ye existed… I'd have never let ye be sent away. But… as I said, I cannae change the past, so we must move forward as best as we can." He nodded gently, and I smiled at him and brushed a piece of hair out of his eyes, then leaned forward and lightly kissed his forehead. "I love ye, a leannan, and I'm verra proud of ye. Ye've done many great things, and ye'll go on te do more. I ken it well." With that said, I stood up and collected the wet clothes, carrying them with me back to the camp.

I came across Jamie next, who was sitting on a log looking down at a parchment map, which he was marking with a quill dipped in ink to show our approximate path. "Any luck figurin' out where the Mohawk are?" I asked him as I approached with an armful of wet clothes, draping them over a rope, and he let out a sigh.

"Besides the approximate area, no," he answered me. "Ye'll have heard aboot them, no doubt."

"In history books," I answered him. "Though my Scottish education didnae give me much, save fer they were kent fer aggression. There were some films, too - the movin' pictures I told ye aboot, which told a similar story. I dinnae ken how true that is, though. What I can say is it's difficult te separate fact from fiction."

"When ye dinnae have two sides of the story, aye, it is," Jamie answered me. I could feel his eyes on me as I draped his shirt over the rope, and I scoffed lightly.

"The victors of history never portray the losers in a good light," I said. "Before the rebellion, Scotland was portrayed as a rebellious fiend lookin' te cause trouble fer the English. They used Culloden as an example of that, as well. Of course, we kent the truth, but I imagine the English didnae depict portrayals of the Scots in a manner tha' would weigh heavily in our favour. Portrayals of the natives in American culture likely didnae, either."

"Hmph," said Jamie a bit neutrally. "If there were one of these… movin' pictures aboot us - aboot me… I'd be seen a fearsome brute." I paused and turned my head to look at him, finding him staring down at the map on the ground.

"That would be one side of the story," I said, and he looked up at me. "The English would certainly think so."

"Aye, and Brèagha, too," Jamie replied, meeting my eyes.

"Uncle!" came Ian's voice, and we both looked up to see him running towards us from the woods. He had been off trading with the native village nearby and must have finally returned.

"Lad," said Jamie, standing up as Ian approached us. "Did the Cherokee recognise that gift of yers?"

"'Twas the Shawnee, Uncle, and aye, they did," Ian told him. "I didnae ken there were Shawnee on this side of the mountains, but they claim te have settled there te make trade between themselves and the Cherokee more simple."

"Focus, Ian," I said, bringing his attention back to the situation at hand.

"Oh, aye! They believe it's from a Mohawk village called Shadow Lake," Ian replied, lifting up the charm around his neck.

"There's a good chance Rory's been taken there," I said to Jamie, exchanging a look with him.

"Would they be willin' te guide us there?" Jamie asked Ian.

"'Tis at least two months' ride north, they said," Ian told him.

"Did ye tell them we'd pay wi' whisky and furs?" Jamie asked him.

"Aye, I did, but they have no business there, Uncle," Ian replied. "The Shawnee, or the Cherokee, willnae accompany us, but they did give me written directions tha' could get us on the right path." Ian unfolded a piece of parchment in his hands and gave it to Jamie, who knelt down to match it up with his map and correct his.

"Aye… We can find our own way there wi' this," said Jamie.

"I can speak some Mohawk, and the Mohawk I sold Rory te could speak English," said Ian, and I grimaced a little.

"Dinnae say it like that," I told him with discomfort, and then I sighed softly. "We dinnae ken what lies ahead… It'll be dangerous, no doubt aboot tha'."

"Aye, we've lived wi' the fear of the unknown before," Jamie told me, and I glanced down at him beside me. "Not kennin' if the other was alive or dead… But wi' each passin' day, Brèagha must suffer through the verra same."

"Aye… That she must," I said neutrally, the look on my face feeling a little cold, and Jamie pursed his lips and looked back down at the map.

"Let's be on our way then," he said quietly and with a hint of shame.


"'Tis the fifteenth of November," Elton said to me, approaching me as I sat beside the fire late one night. Ian was standing guard with Rollo, while I was simply keeping warm by the fire.

"Elton, I thought ye were asleep," I said, pulling my tartan around my shoulders a bit more tightly. "The fifteenth, aye? Have ye been keepin' track?"

"As best as I can," Elton told me, showing me his journal. "I've been writin' down a log everra day." I took it and flipped through it.

29 October - Ian and Jamie fished for lunch. We're somewhere in North Carolina still.

30 October - Rollo started howling at dawn, waking everyone. Catrìona left the tent to go to the toilet.

"I see… Yer a bit too detailed there, lad," I told him, somewhat amused, and handed him the journal back. "I'm glad yer keepin' track of the days, though. It helps a wee bit."

"I'm glad," said Elton, closing the notebook and resting it on his lap. Silently, he stared down at the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. I, too, turned my attention to the flames, enjoying the much needed warmth. "Ye should go te him."

"What?" I asked, a bit surprised by this sudden remark.

"Te Jamie," Elton replied without looking at me. "Te Dad…" I had to keep from reacting in shock at this. Never had I heard Elton refer to either Jamie or me as his parents before, and this was the first time he spoke of Jamie as his father.

"O-Oh," I said. "Um… Is he unwell?"

"No," Elton told me. "At least, no' physically." I raised an eyebrow curiously at him.

"Has he said anythin' te ye?" I asked him.

"No," he replied. "I can just tell. I believe he thinks yer still angry wi' him - and te be honest… I think yer still angry with him." He turned his head to look at me, and my expression shifted.

"Oh," I said softly. "I… I'm not angry wi' him… I just…" I sighed, not quite knowing what to say. "I dinnae ken how I feel, te tell ye the truth. I'm upset at him fer always thinkin' wi' the wrong head and allowin' his anger te direct him, but… I also cannae blame him. I think I would have made the same mistake, had Lizzie come te me. I… I tried te think aboot how I would have reacted, and… I'd like te say I wouldnae have beaten Rory senseless, but… I think I would have. I wouldnae have recognised him."

"'Tis a mistake," Elton replied. "A mistake that… any of us could have made." I nodded subtly. "I dinnae think that Ian and Dad meant te be reckless."

"No, yer right. They didnae," I told him. "But I'm findin' it hard not te think aboot how Brèagha and Rory feel. Rory, if he's still alive, must be frightened out of his mind, and Brèagha's wi' child, worrit aboot Rory and havin' te carry his child alone." I sighed softly. "When I was pregnant wi' Archie… there was a time when yer father and I were separated, and I didnae ken if he was alive or dead. I put on a brave face, but… I couldnae quell the fear tha' he was hurt or dead, and I'd be left all alone wi' his bairn. I was a new mother, and I was alone. I had yer uncle, but… nothin' was the same. Brèagha's in a new world tha's still unfamiliar te her, wi' strange people she's kent fer only a short time."

"'Tis a valid point," Elton replied, and I nodded gently.

"It's hard te explain fully how it feels," I told him. "Someday, when ye have children of yer own… Ye'll understand it better. Ye never stop worryin'." I turned to look at my son, raising one hand to stroke his hair. He stiffened a little, but then softened into my hand, allowing me to cup his cheek in my palm and brush his cheek with my thumb. "I always worry aboot ye, too. I worry that we'll never find the bond tha' we were deprived of."

"I… I think we will," said Elton, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "In time."

"Aye… In time," I replied, smiling softly at him. "Yer a good lad, Elton. I'll go and check on yer father." I stood up, bent down to kiss the top of his head, and then made my way to Jamie's tent. I did share the tent with him, though I often found myself falling asleep by the fire, if I even slept. I was so worried about my pregnant daughters that I could scarcely sleep. I pushed the flap of the tent open and found him sitting up silently staring at the ground with a lit lantern beside him. He looked up at me when I entered the tent, and then I closed the flap behind me, sitting down on the ground beside him.

"I thought I heard ye speakin' wi' Elton," Jamie told me. "Didnae hear what ye were sayin', but… I recognised yer voices."

"Aye, I was," I told him. "He called ye 'Dad'."

"Did he?" Jamie asked me, a somewhat hopeful look in his eyes, and I nodded. "Does he… think of himself as our son?"

"He kens he is," I told him. "He's verra wise, and observant. Jamie, I… I'm sorry if ye thought I was upset wi' ye. I mean, I was upset, but… not wi' you."

"Who else?" he asked me, looking away from me with shame on his face.

"Everraone," I told him. "The world… Stephen Bonnet. But not you." I sighed softly, shifting so I sat beside him. "I didnae ken I'd ever keep a secret from ye… I used te have secrets I shared wi' my mother, and they died with her. Then Cailean knew my secrets, and then no one… Not until you. But then we had children, and they grew up, and suddenly, they came te me te confide in me and… 'twas like I was a young lass again, sharin' secrets wi' my mother. Any secrets we share are our secrets and no one else's." I sighed again. "I'm sorry I didnae tell ye it was Stephen Bonnet… Had I, perhaps it would have saved Rory. Blessed Bride, I never thought I'd keep such an important secret from ye…"

"Until our bairns," Jamie told me, smiling softly, and I nodded.

"When I promised ye that there would be no secrets between us, there was no one else in my life tha' could come before ye. I dinnae ken if I can keep tha' promise anymore," I told him.

"I understand," he told me. "Archie and I have shared secrets over the years. But… I dinnae ken if I can be a proper father te our daughters." I gave him an incredulous look.

"What are ye talkin' aboot?" I asked him.

"Never have I been there fer them as their father," he told me. "I should have been, but I made foolish decisions and pushed them away. Brèagha despises me fer it, she's all but told me."

"But yer still her father, Jamie," I told him, looking up at him. "Ye'll always be her father, and she will always love ye. As a daughter myself, ye will always be her first love. She's just… She's just hurt right now. She'll heal, and she'll forgive ye."

"She told me her father would never say such horrible things te her," Jamie told me. "Ye werenae there fer it, but she did… I figured she thought any man, includin' Cailean who was like a father te her all these years, would be a better man than me. And I thought… I thought ye were… mebbe startin' te think the same." His cheeks were red with shame, and I was taken aback. God, this poor man, who I had been subconsciously pushing away yet again. The man I loved, my soulmate, thought that I had fallen out of love with him.

"Oh, ye foolish man," I said, sitting up on my knees and grabbing him by the shoulders. "Come here." I pulled him into my arms and hugged him tightly, which he hesitantly returned, and then I pulled back to grab his face and press my lips firmly against his. "I love you, Jamie Fraser. I always will. There will never be a better man in this world than you. But what ye must ken is that Brèagha didnae mean a single word of what she said te ye. Trust me, she doesnae want ye te go te Hell."

"I heard her," Jamie told me, pulling away a little. "If I cannae bring Rory back te her, she'll never forgive me." I couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"And I heard ye both. Of all our children, Brèagha is the most like ye. She's as hotheaded as ye are, as spirited as ye… says things in anger that she doesnae mean, same as ye. Remember when ye called me a 'foul-mouthed bitch'?" He chuckled a little at that memory. "And ye didnae mean that, either."

"I never meant a word of what I said te her… She's no whoore, and I cannae believe I would dare imply that aboot my own daughter," Jamie told me, burying his face in his hands. "What sort of father implies that his daughter is a whoore?"

"Many," I told him with a soft sigh. "And there are verra many who mean it, but a good father doesnae. You, on the other hand, are a wonderful father, Jamie, and all of yer children love ye fer it." He smiled slightly at me, then I bent forward and kissed him again. "Come here, my love," I whispered to him softly, kissing him again. "Come te me." He pulled me up onto his lap, pushing my tartan off of my shoulders. We both pulled at my skirts to get them out of the way, and then Jamie's hands went to his pants to free himself from their grasp. I pulled at my shirt, unbuttoning the woollen shirt and throwing it off, leaving me in just my shift and skirts. We made no effort to get naked; I pulled his shirt off of his head and he untied the laces of my shift and pulled it down to free my breasts. It had been weeks since we had last made love, finding it hard when all of our children were sleeping so close to us, but now, we were alone. Well, relatively alone. He groaned softly as I grinded my hips against his and I pulled back a little, giggling. "Shh," I told him. He chuckled a little, squeezing my buttocks in his hands, then went back to kissing me. I then lifted my hips so that I could slide down right on top of him and had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

"Shh," he shushed me, teasing me, and I gave him a fierce look as I started to ride him. I bent forward, biting into his shoulder to muffle my moans, and he let out a soft hiss as I did so. "My love… Oh, my love…" He buried his face in my neck, tugging on my hair a little and grabbing my bum with his other hand. Because it had been so long and we were both in desperate need of each other, we finished together, melting into one another as we caught our breath. After a moment, I pulled back and pressed my forehead to his, kissing him again and again.

"Never again forget how much I love ye," I whispered to him, kissing him again. "Never."

"Never," he whispered back to me.


JAMIE POV

Jamie subtly shook Elton awake, and when the lad lifted his head, he seemed a little confused by who was waking him. "Elton," Jamie whispered, and Elton yawned and stretched his arms.

"Hmm?" he said as he stretched.

"Have ye ever been huntin' before?" Jamie asked him, and Elton's eyes opened and adjusted to the dark.

"What?" Elton murmured sleepily.

"Come wi' me, lad. We'll go and catch our breakfast," Jamie said to him. Elton seemed a little confused, but nonetheless, he followed Jamie out into the woods. "Ye never answered me, lad. Have ye ever been huntin' before?" Jamie asked him again.

"No' huntin', no," Elton replied. "I've killed chickens and pigs and the like, but no' with a gun."

"Would ye like te learn?" Jamie asked him, turning back to look at him with a soft smile on his face.

"Um… Sure," said Elton, still waking up.

"Here," said Jamie, handing him the gun, and Elton eyed it curiously.

"I… I've never shot anythin' before," Elton confessed to him.

"And I'd never built a house before settlin' the Ridge," Jamie told him. "There's a first fer everrathin', isnae there?"

"Aye," Elton said, smiling subtly. "Everrathin' needs a prototype."

"Aye, a prototype," said Jamie, not quite understanding what he said. As morning began to break, Jamie and Elton hiked up the mountain in search of a deer to sustain them for a few days. "So, lad… I'd like te ken aboot yer parents. What were they like?"

"I think today, ye'd call them 'deaf and dumb'," Elton told him. "It isnae a kind term, though. They can communicate, but only through sign language."

"And wha's that, exactly?"

"Speakin' wi' yer hands," Elton told him, and then he seemed to flap his hands around in the air. "Let me try that again. 'I'." He closed his fist against his chest. "Am." He dragged his hand down his face. "E-l-t-o-n." He spelled out all of the letters of his name with some sort of sign. "Everra letter has a sign, but there's also words tha' signify certain things, like… 'Tuesday'." He held his left hand out and touched the right side of his hand with his pointer finger. "Or 'sorry'." He closed his hand in a fist and rubbed it in a circle on his chest.

"I see," said Jamie. "So ye can speak this language wi' yer hands?" Elton nodded. "Interestin'. What did yer parents do, besides speakin' this language?"

"My dad owned a shop," Elton told him. "We grew produce and sold it in the summer, and any meat we butchered we sold as well. Chickens, cows, pigs… My sisters made pies and bread and cookies, and I mostly tended the till."

"Hm. Yer mother says ye like engineerin'. I can tell yer a verra smart lad already, and a fine inventor. I've never seen the likes of what ye can do in a man," Jamie told him, and Elton chuckled lightly.

"Well, I've the advantage of bein' from the future," Elton told him.

"Aye, so ye do," said Jamie. For a little while, the two men walked in silence, save for the crunching of the autumn leaves beneath their feet. The sun rose, and by the time the sun was up over the horizon, Jamie had finally spotted their meal. "There, lad. See tha' buck?" Elton followed Jamie's hand to a large deer that Jamie had seen between the trees, and Elton's eyes widened a little.

"It's big," he said. "Wi' big antlers."

"Aye. He'll feed us fer days," Jamie told him with a smile. "Kneel down, now, and raise yer gun." Elton seemed a little taken aback, but he knelt down and allowed Jamie to guide the weapon. "Yer a smart lad wi' an understandin' fer precision. Think ye can take aim?"

"I… I think so," Elton replied. Jamie watched as he moved the gun a little, then Jamie adjusted his shoulders and his hands on the weapon.

"There ye are, lad. Now, when yer ready, ye can fire," Jamie told him, and almost immediately, Elton fired the weapon, startling Jamie a little. "Christ, lad!"

"Ye said when I was ready!" Elton defended himself.

"Aye, and perhaps when I am ready," Jamie replied, teasing him a little, and then he looked up to see if the deer had been shot - it had, but it was still alive and moaning in pain.

"Did I do all right?" Elton asked his father, and Jamie smiled and patted his shoulder.

"We'll work on yer aim, lad," he replied. "Come, let's clean it and bring it back te camp."


RORY POV

Tom Lewis died a few days before, and the Indians just left him - no burial, no words, nothing. They just left him in the woods to rot. Rory supposed he couldn't blame them. They weren't Christian and had a different sort of belief system, but Rory thought they would at least bury the man in a shallow grave. Instead, they cut him loose and laid him to rot, an unnamed set of bones in the forest.

When the Indians had stopped to water the horses, Rory was let loose so he could get water for himself as well. Behind them was a thicket of rhododendron bushes, which would be very easy to hide in, if he so chose. But they were quite far - could he make it there without being seen by the Indians? Could he make it without being caught? If they caught him, would they kill him? It was worth a shot… If they would likely kill him whenever they arrived at wherever the hell they were taking him, then it was worth trying to make a run for it. He waited until they were nowhere near him, and then he slipped off as quietly as he could. After a minute, he heard a shout, and then he ran, sliding down the side of the valley and slipping right into the rhododendron thicket. He heard the sounds of shouts and gunshots, but he just kept running, feeling the branches of the bushes and the thorns of the vines on the ground scratching and tearing at his skin and clothes. Suddenly, he tripped and fell down into a small sinkhole, which had been concealed by moss and vines. It was dark, and it was unlikely that the Indians would find him there, so he tucked himself against the wall and remained silent.

He waited for several hours before emerging again. It was dark and the sun was slowly sinking beneath the sky, but it was silent. All he heard were crickets and other creatures of the forest, which meant that the Indians had given up on him and left. Thank God, he thought to himself as he climbed out of the sinkhole, and then he tried to make his way back out of the rhododendron thicket, but he had no idea where in the thicket he was. Because it was dark, and every part of the thicket looked the same as any other, he had no idea which way to turn, so he picked a direction and started to walk.

To keep his mind busy, he tried to determine what the date was. It was cold, and he knew it had been September when he was taken. Perhaps it was late October? Early November? He'd lost his rope some time ago, when the Indians found it and took it, so he was completely turned around with the date. He debated this for what felt like hours as he walked through the thicket, but never came to a conclusive date.

When the sun rose again the next day, Rory continued on, finally being able to see at least somewhat through the thicket. He shortly emerged from the rhododendrons and into the forest again, and he let out a heavy sigh of relief. Thank God he was out of that labyrinth! But where to, now? He had no sense of direction, nor did he know how to read the sun like Elton could, so he could only guess what direction he could go. He did know that the sun set in the west and rose in the east, but by the time he emerged from the rhododendrons, it was noon, so the sun was at its highest point. He found a creek where he could get water, and found bushes with berries that made his stomach lurch and made unholy fluids come out of him.

He rested for a few hours, then when he looked up at the sky, he saw where the sun was starting to set - that would be west, and he needed to move east so he could orient himself and find his way back to North Carolina and Brèagha. He began to head east, but when the sun went down, it was difficult to tell if he was still going east, so he hunkered down for the night and would continue his journey in the morning, when he could see the sun again.

The following morning, he awoke to the sun dawning over the horizon, so he got up, got water, and started moving east. It didn't take long for him to hear the fierce sound of buzzing and he thought that perhaps he was near a beehive - that meant honey! Honey was a trustworthy food source, other than those horrible berries, so he followed the sound of the buzzing, which got louder and louder as he approached a hill. The bees must have been on top of the hill, so he tiredly climbed the hill - and froze when he realised that it was not bees he was hearing.

There before him was a circle of standing stones, and the buzzing was emanating from the tallest stone in the circle. Weren't these only in the Celtic nations? Huh, he supposed stone circles weren't only a Celtic invention, just more heavily associated with the Celtic nations. He gasped quietly as he realised that this wasn't just an ordinary stone circle - this was a portal back to the future, to safety! What he could do was go through this portal and find his way back to civilisation, maybe make his way back to New Jersey and recover for a bit with Stephanie, and when he was ready, he could go back to Scotland and make another journey across the Atlantic. Would it be easier to just take this stone circle back? Probably, but at least he knew the way from the stone circles in Scotland. He could travel through Pobull Fhinn, then make his way back to Barra and have Cailean book his passage back to America. From there, he could follow his initial path back to Fraser's Ridge, and then he would be reunited with his love once more! Oh, it was a perfect plan!

Feeling a new surge of energy, Rory climbed the hill with excitement and ran to the center stone, a smile on his face as he approached it. "I'm comin', my love. I'm comin' to ye!" he said, and he raised his hands up before him to touch the tallest stone… but they never made contact.

Rory was grabbed violently from behind and attacked with a fist, and when he came to again, he felt ropes being tied back around his wrists. When he opened his swollen eyes, he could make out the familiar form of the Indians he had run from a couple of days before. Damn it, he thought to himself as he became their prisoner once more.


CATRÌONA POV

I wiped the sweat off of my forehead, but could do nothing about the sweat that was overwhelming me underneath my shirt. It was cold outside, so there was no plausible reason for me to be sweating buckets, save for one thing - menopause. The big change that a woman would often begin to endure around my age, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. No, I couldn't be going through menopause yet, I was too young! I was… Shit. I was forty-eight. I would turn fifty in less than two years. Blessed Bride, was I really already forty-wight years old?

In my youth, I didn't often think I would reach the age of forty-eight. I should have died at fifteen along with my family, but I had escaped. I probably should have died many more times during the rebellion between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two, but I had narrowly escaped death many times then, as well. I definitely should have died at some point during my adventures with Jamie, which occurred between the ages of twenty-two and thirty, and if that wouldn't kill me, then the war with England after Glasgow was bombed should have been what did me in, which was between the ages of thirty and forty-five. I had no will to live then, and yet, I was too damn stubborn to die. I suppose that was a good thing, because if I had died, I'd have never been reunited with Jamie and my children.

"Are ye all right, Mam?" It was Elton. I was actually a bit taken aback by him calling me 'Mam', and I turned to look at him with a slightly perplexed expression.

"Um… Yes, darlin', I… I'm fine," I told him, giving him a small smile and trying not to frighten him off. "I'm just… a little warm."

"Is it the change? My mother was goin' through that, as well, when I left. She was always warm even when it was right cold out," Elton replied, surprising me again with his rather overt statement.

"Um… Well, I sure hope not," I said with an awkward chuckle. "I'm still a wee bit young fer that, dinnae ye think?"

"Yer fifty, arenae ye? Isnae that when women go through the change?" he asked me rather brashly.

"Forty-eight, actually," I corrected him. "I willnae be fifty fer quite few months yet, and… everra woman is different. Some start feelin' symptoms early and might feel them fer a few years before menopause kicks in, while others will go through it wi' little te no symptoms."

"I see," said Elton a bit awkwardly. "Sorry if I've upset ye."

"Not at all, lamb," I told him, giving him a smile. "Elton… ye can tell me te pish off if ye like, but… I'm curious te ken if ye've ever been…"

"Tested fer autism?" he asked me, almost as if he could read my mind. "I've seen tha' look from many teachers over the years. Usually, tha's what they ask."

"Ah," I said, glancing away from him. For a moment, he didn't say anything as he looked down at the ground.

"I didnae speak much when I was wee," he said after a minute. "Tha' was no surprise, though. I was raised by a deaf family. I could speak sign language fine, but I didnae speak physically. Then when I went te school, I still didnae speak, and I didnae make too many friends. My teachers advised my parents te get me tested, so… they did. Turns out I didnae start walkin' until I was nearly three, and the tests came back tha' I had 'verra severe autism'. That diagnosis changed when I started speakin' shortly after, and now it just says I have 'mild autism'."

"I see," I replied a bit softly. "And are ye happy wi' that diagnosis?"

"It gives me an answer as te why I am the way I am," he answered me confidently, as if he'd given it a lot of thought. "Sometimes, I… wish I was normal. It can be hard, ye ken."

"Aye, I can imagine so," I replied, gently touching his shoulder. "But it doesnae define ye. Ye are special in yer own right, and bein' autistic is just one of those things that makes ye who ye are." He glanced up at me and I smiled at him. "Yer a verra smart lad. Ye can do calculations in yer head that even I struggle wi' on paper, and I went te medical school and graduated top of my class."

"I dinnae think tha's what defines someone as 'smart'," Elton replied. "Doin' math and buildin' things is just what I'm good at. Yer good at healin' people, Dad's good at leadin', Brèagha's good at paintin'… Those are all things that I cannae do."

"Tha's a great way of lookin' at it," I said to him proudly. "I suppose 'smart' is just a word tha' was created te separate those who could afford an education from those who couldnae. I imagine those who can do calculations cannae tend te a farm. We've each got our own important skills, and it takes a community te thrive, doesnae it?"

"Aye, we cannae be good at everrathin'," said Elton, nodding subtly. "How long do ye think it'll be before we reach the village?"

"Could be weeks, even months," I said with a soft sigh. "I'm so worrit aboot yer sisters. Verra soon, they'll be havin' bairns of their own, and they need their mother. Havin' a bairn is such a frightenin' time fer a lass."

"At least they have each other, aye?" Elton asked me, and I scoffed a little.

"I dinnae think they're too thrilled aboot tha'," I told him. "Well, Maevis might be… but I dinnae think Brèagha is all right wi' havin' a sister. I just… I just hope it's temporary, tha' whatever it is between them will mend.

"I'm sure it will, Mam," Elton replied, and I smiled a little. If the bond between Elton and I could be mended, I imagine the bond between Maevis and Brèagha could someday be mended, as well. Suddenly, we heard barking, and we both turned to see Rollo running towards the camp carrying some sort of stick.

"What's that ye've got, Rollo?" Ian asked as his dog approached him, and he took the stick from Rollo.

"Christ, lad," said Jamie with slight alarm, and Elton and I exchanged a look before getting up to join them.

"What is it?" I asked as Ian showed me the stick, and I realised it wasn't a stick - it was a bone. "Blessed Bride… Tha's human."

"Christ!" Ian shouted, dropping the bone, and I bent down to look at it.

"It looks like a femur," I said, and then I looked up at Ian. "Ian, can Rollo lead us te where he found this?"

"Show me, Rollo," Ian ordered his dog, and Rollo ran off as if he understood Ian perfectly. "Rollo! Wait!" Jamie, Elton and I all followed Ian and Rollo until Rollo stopped beside something and bent down, picking up another bone. Ian gasped when he saw it, and I came up on his side to see a decomposed body lying on the ground. I bent down beside the body to examine it. "I've seen this man before… when I sold Rory te the Mohawk," Ian said suddenly. "That waistcoat, and two missin' fingers. He was wi' them."

"He's been dead fer at least a month," I said. "We need te search the area, hope that we dinnae find Rory anywhere aboot here."

"Someone will be missin' him, I imagine," said Elton, standing beside Jamie and observing the body, and I sighed softly.

"One thing is certain," I said, looking down at the skeletal corpse of the man. "He was someone's child."


RORY POV

It was getting colder and colder. Weeks had definitely passed since his escape - perhaps almost a month, but he couldn't tell for sure. Everything looked the same, and when it started to snow, the white blanket made it even harder to tell where he was. He was probably somewhere by New Jersey at this point - at least he could somewhat recognise New Jersey if that's where they were. If he escaped and he found a settlement, he could navigate his way to the shore and catch a ship back to North Carolina. Princeton was pretty far north, and he knew Princeton like the back of his hand. It was relatively unchanged, as many of the homes even four hundred years from now will still exist.

But the hope of escaping seemed to diminish day by day. He was fatigued, sore, and his wrists were definitely infected. He was losing circulation in his toes and fingers and knew that if he didn't get proper warmth and shelter soon, he would probably lose a couple of them within a few days. But as it turned out, he didn't have to wait a few days. Suddenly, the sound of voices could be heard through the woods and he could see smoke rising above the trees. The Indians dragged him down a hill and Rory realised that they had finally arrived at the village where they lived.

All around him, people stopped what they were doing and looked at him with curiosity and surprise. Had any of these people ever seen a white man before? Someone said something in their language, and then it was followed by girlish giggles. As they approached the largest hut, Rory was thrown down onto his knees. Standing before him was a man who looked as if he was their chief, and the Indian who had been dragging him around for months said something in their language. The chief replied, and Rory was grabbed yet again and the Indian men seemed to form a gauntlet of some type. There were two rows of Indian men with sticks, clubs, and other weapons, and Rory's hands were suddenly freed.

"What's goin' on?" Rory asked the Indians.

"You run," said one of them in English, and Rory's eyes widened.

"Through that?" he asked, referring to the gauntlet, and the Indian who spoke to him shoved him into it. Realising that they were forcing him to run the gauntlet, Rory tried his best to power through, but having been unexpectedly shoved into it, he stumbled and failed to recover, tripping and taking beatings from everyone that he passed. It didn't help that he was horribly weak and fatigued from the journey. Had he been well rested and well fed, perhaps he would have fared better, but unfortunately, he failed to pass through, and the Indians crowded around him and beat him with their weapons while loudly whooping and hollering.

The chief said something loudly in his language, and the Indians stopped and stepped away. The chief looked down at Rory with a look of disgust. Did this mean they were going to kill him now? "You will be our prisoner now," said the chief in English, and Rory was too tired and too sore to react. The Indians who had brought him here grabbed him, and then they began to drag him to who the hell knew where now.