2 January, 1770

River Run, North Carolina

CAOIMHE POV

"So ye say it wi' a bit more of an emphasis on '-us', sort of like 'a-yus', but it really depends on where yer from, I suppose," Caoimhe was explaining to Maevis, who had recently asked her cousin to teach her Gaelic. According to Maevis, she had once been fluent in Gaelic, but after spending years not speaking the language, she lost most of it, and now was the only of the Fraser children who did not speak it fluently.

"Perhaps ye should teach her te say it like a Scot and no' like an Irishman," Archie teased her as he walked past her down the steps of the porch, and Caoimhe rolled her eyes at him. "'Tis agus, not 'a-yus'."

"Everraone says it differently in Barra, ye gabbot," Caoimhe said to him, and he chuckled lightly in response. Archie had been recovering well from being shot in the arm, although because the bullet shattered his radial head and tore a tendon - she couldn't remember the name of it precisely, but it connected to his bicep muscle - he still had to keep his arm in a sling until it healed properly. It had only been about three weeks since the duel, and ever since, all had been quiet in the Fraser house, for once. Jocasta, for the most part, had backed off of the girls concerning marriage, and Archie and Clara had settled happily into their lives as newlyweds, with the exception of a honeymoon - perhaps it would come later. Now that Christmas and Hogmanay had come and gone, however, it was time for Archie to check on the Ridge, and Caoimhe would accompany him. "Ye'll have te keep practicin' while I'm gone. Perhaps ye can wi' Brèagha?" Maevis scoffed lightly.

"She's barely spoken to me since the duel," Maevis told her. "I think she likes that I can't speak Gaelic. It's one thing she has above me."

"I'd say I'm sure that isnae true, but… I imagine it is," said Caoimhe with a sigh, standing up and turning to look at Archie. "Oi! Watch yer arm!"

"Why? Will it do a trick?" Archie asked her as he loaded up bags of flour onto the wagon, and Caoimhe huffed.

"It'll take longer te heal if ye dinnae rest it," she told him.

"I've been restin' it constantly since I was shot. Mama would say I need te start movin' it eventually," Archie told her.

"She didnae let Uncle Jamie do much when he broke his leg," Caoimhe reminded him.

"Aye, his leg. This is an arm, I dinnae need te support my weight on it," said Archie, and then he paused and gave his cousin a look. "Well, usually." She scoffed at him, then took the bag of flour that he had been carrying and put it in the wagon.

"Just dinnae do somethin' foolish, or ye might not have an arm," she said to him. Their attention was drawn by the sound of a horse's hooves approaching, and Caoimhe looked up to see none other than Allan McCullough sitting in the seat beside Mr. Abernathy, and in the wagon was everything Mr. Abernathy owned, including his three daughters.

"Ah, Mr. Abernathy!" said Archie, approaching the wagon as Mr. Abernathy hopped down from the wagon to greet Archie with a handshake. "Are ye ready fer the journey?"

"Aye. 'Tis five days ye said, aye?" Mr. Abernathy asked him.

"A wee bit longer, this time of year, I'm afraid," Archie told him. "We're lookin' at aboot a week." Archie then turned to the three Abernathy girls in the wagon, who were all children. "Have ye bonny wee lassies ever slept beneath the stars?"

"No, sir," said the eldest, who Caoimhe estimated to be around ten or eleven years old.

"Ah, I dinnae believe I've introduced ye te my daughters," said Mr. Abernathy. "My eldest, Maggie, named fer her bonny mother. My middle lass, Bonnie, and my youngest, Alice." Bonnie looked to be around maybe seven or eight, and the youngest, Alice, was perhaps a year or two older than Ginnie. "I did have another. Patricia. She'd hae been sixteen this year. Died of a flux some years ago."

"I'm sorry te hear," Archie said to him sympathetically.

"Aye, I'll be sad te leave her, and my Maggie. They're both burrit here in Cross Creek. But she'll be glad I'm leadin' our bairns te a better life," said Mr. Abernathy with a small smile. "She died bearin' wee Alice. I'd swear it, though, ye'd never ken she's gone, if ye kent her. Wee Alice is just like her in everra way."

"Aye, are ye now, weeun?" Caoimhe asked young Alice, waving at her. Alice shyly waved back at her.

"I must thank ye, Mr. McCullough, fer loanin' us yer wagon," said Mr. Abernathy gratefully to Mr. McCullough. The wagon was covered, unlike the Frasers' wagon, and it would provide shelter for the three young girls.

"I'm glad te help see ye and yer lassies safely te yer new home," said Mr. McCullough kindly, glancing briefly at Caoimhe.

"Will ye be joinin' us, Mr. McCullough?" Caoimhe asked him.

"Och, no. 'Tis just my wagon that will be accompanyin' Mr. Abernathy," said Mr. McCullough, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

"We'll be sure te return it te ye when we return next month," said Archie with a kind smile.

"Mr. Abernathy," came Clara's voice, and Archie turned to greet his wife as she came down the stairs carrying a basket full of food. "From Mrs. Cameron. She wants to be sure the girls have a good meal to eat."

"And none fer her niece and nephew?" Archie asked in a teasing tone, and Clara chuckled softly.

"There's enough for everyone here, but she mentioned the girls specifically," Clara told him with amusement, handing the basket to Mr. Abernathy.

"I'm verra grateful fer this, as I am te ye all. I dinnae ken where we would be without yer kindness," he said to them.

"We may no' be blood, but we're kin through bein' Scottish alone," Archie told him with a kind smile, and then he turned back to his wife. "Are ye sure ye dinnae want te come wi' us? I'll miss ye terribly, my love."

"I'm sure," Clara told him, smiling gently. "Someone should keep an eye on your sisters while you and Caoimhe are away."

"If ye say so," Archie told her, sighing slightly and taking him into his arms. "Christ, how I'll miss ye…"

"I'll miss you, too," Clara told him, embracing her husband.

"Er… Miss Fowlis," said Mr. McCullough, and Caoimhe turned to look at him. "I shall miss yer company while ye are away."

"Ye havenae seen me much these last few weeks. I cannae imagine I've been much company," Caoimhe told him without emotion, and his cheeks turned pink.

"Ah… Aye, that is… true," he said to her. "May I… May I write te ye?"

"Write te me?" Caoimhe asked, a little taken aback. "If ye like, I suppose. I cannae stop ye. Though we'll be back in aboot four weeks," she told him. "We're goin' only te check on the Ridge and our tenants."

"Of course," said Mr. McCullough. "This time of year, I imagine the post would… take more time than it's worth."

"Aye, perhaps," Caoimhe told him a little awkwardly. "We shall return shortly. Ye dinnae need te waste yer time. By the time a letter arrives, we'll likely already be on our way back here."

"Of course," said Mr. McCullough, nodding a bit awkwardly. "I suppose I should return te my shop. May I call on ye when ye've returned?"

"If ye'd like," Caoimhe replied, glancing back at Maevis, who was sitting on the porch with her hand resting on her belly. "Though my aunt might no' want visitors, fer the sake of my cousins."

"Of course," said Mr. McCullough, nodding subtly. "I shall see you soon, Miss Fowlis."

"Goodbye, Mr. McCullough," said Caoimhe, curtsying to him slightly.

"Och, puir lad," said Archie once Mr. McCullough was out of earshot, and Caoimhe raised a brow at him. "The lad gives ye his heart and ye toss it on the ground and stomp on it."

"I didnae ask him te give me his heart," Caoimhe said, and then she let out a small huff. "Best we go, if we're te beat the comin' snow." Caoimhe climbed up onto the wagon while Archie and Clara bid each other goodbye one final time, and once Archie was on the wagon, he glanced briefly at his cousin before clicking his tongue, urging the horses on.


Winter 1770

Shadow Lake Village, New York

RORY POV

Father Ferigault was returned to the hut rather violently some days after his ear had been forcibly cut off, and the poor man fell to his knees. As soon as the door of the hut was closed, Rory crawled closer to Father Ferigault and gave him some water from the water bucket. "Tha's it…" Rory muttered softly. "What'd they do te ye this time?"

"Removed… my toes…" muttered Father Ferigault softly, and Rory looked at the man's feet and paled at the sight of the bloody stumps on his feet where his toes used to be.

"Christ," Rory muttered. "Suppose I'd… better clean those…" Rory left the Father with the cup of water while he went to tend the man's toes, but he brushed him off.

"No use… They have… given me until morning to change my mind… about baptising my child," said Father Ferigault, and Rory had to force himself to not roll his eyes at this fool. He was throwing his life away because of 'principle' and God. Would Father Ferigault's God really want him to suffer and die for his cause. Knowing history, Rory realised that the Christian God probably did want men to do that for him.

"And if ye don't?" Rory asked him, trying to shake himself from his thoughts. For a moment, the Father didn't say anything, simply breathed heavily.

"Then they will bind me and put my feet in flames until the pain consumes me and my body fails," said Father Ferigault rather nonchalantly, and Rory's eyes widened. "I have seen this punishment inflicted on another poor soul. He lingered for three days before finally dying."

"Fucking hell," muttered Rory, turning to face the man with irritation in his eyes. "Have ye lost yer damn mind? These people will kill ye. Ye have everra chance te be wi' yer true love and yer child, and yet here ye are, diggin' yer heels in the sand so ye dinnae move! They don't know anything about the rituals of the church or the vows ye took or why ye stick te them like they're yer personal rule book. All they want te see is fer you te pour some water on the baby's head and say a few words in Latin. That is all ye need te do te get what will truly make ye happy!"

"I cannot!" exclaimed Father Ferigault.

"And why not?" Rory demanded of him. "If that was all I had te do te get back with my wife, I'd have done it two hundred times by now!"

"Please…" muttered Father Ferigault, and Rory huffed.

"Fer God's sake - or rather, your sake - just… say the Lord's Prayer or somethin', or a Hail Mary and be done with it. They'll never know the difference," Rory said to him firmly.

"But I will," Father Ferigault snapped back at him. "I know, my son, that you are trying to help, but this… this is the Lord's punishment for my great and foul sins."

"'Great and foul sins'? Ye fell in love. Yer human, for God's sake. If your so-called 'benevolent God' loved ye as ye say he does, then he'd accept that ye went down the wrong path initially and will love ye the same fer turnin' back!" Rory snapped back. "Just say a damn prayer and be done with it!"

"I will not mock the sacrament, even to save my own life," Father Ferigault told him with a tone of finality.

"Yer an idiot," Rory growled back at him. "A damn fool who's blindly followin' somethin' ye cannae even see. Yer leavin' behind a bonny woman who loves ye and leavin' her alone te raise yer child. If ye dinnae just bless the child wi' a wee prayer, she will grow up without a father. Would ye like that instead?"

"I cannot," muttered Father Ferigault, and Rory then sighed, sitting back against the wall of the hut.

"I've been an idiot, too," he said softly. "I pursued a friend who I've come te see as my sister across time and space just te see her safe, and… and then I fell in love wi' her sister. She is the most beautiful woman ye'd ever set eyes on… She's a talented artist, she has a heart of gold… She might be a wee bit misguided at times, but she spent so much of her life alone, provin' that she's even stronger than she kens. I should have waited… I should have given her time, but I was a fool and I wanted her, badly. And now, here I am, havin' been beaten by the man who I assume was her father. All this, te go after a friend… I'd have never met the love of my life if I hadnae, aye, but… Sometimes, I regret tha' decision, even though somethin' good came of it." He sighed again, pulling his knees to his chest. "I lost my father when I was young, in a most… brutal way. My mother sent me away fer my safety, and my sister, and we had no idea what had happened te her… I ken now it was fer the best, but I felt… abandoned, and unwanted. She felt tha' way, too. Her name is Brèagha, and she truly is the most beautiful woman in the world… I should have never left her."

"So you do, indeed, understand the agony I am in," said Father Ferigault, and Rory huffed crudely.

"I most certainly do not," he said. "As I've said, ye have the chance of a lifetime, and yer blowin' it over a big man in the sky all but flipping the damn bird at ye." He shook his head a little, then sat up and crawled to the corner of the hut, pulling back a blanket and showing his handiwork to the Father. For a few days, he had been digging whenever the Mohawk took Father Ferigault away to torment him, and finally, the hole was nearly big enough for them to fit through. "Look here. I've been diggin' while ye've been gone. If ye help me, we can escape."

"Escape?" Father Ferigault asked him with wide eyes.

"Aye, escape," Rory repeated. "There's a spot on the south side of the hut where we can escape without bein' noticed. We can get out of this hell hole."

"Rory, my son, you do not understand-"

"I understand fine what yer thinkin', but what I cannae understand is why ye would want te stay, knowin' what's te happen te ye," Rory spat at him, interrupting him. "We'll find ye a priest so ye can confess yer sin and let God absolve ye, or we can find Johiehon and take her and the baby with us. Ye can have yer family. Isnae there somethin' in the Bible aboot God bein' faithful and leadin' ye out of temptation?"

"1 Corinthians 10:13," said Father Ferigault. "'No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.'"

"Aye, see?" Rory asked him.

"But I am no ordinary man. I am a vessel for God's word. I am held to the highest of standards," Father Ferigault said to him, and Rory scoffed.

"It sounds te me like yer tryin' te convince yerself of that and no' me," he said to the man. "Fine, I dinnae care what ye choose. But ye have te admit, anythin' is better than stayin' here and dyin' a horrible death, isnae it?"

"My son…" Father Ferigault said tiredly.

"Ye've a chance te live a good life," Rory told him. "Ye can teach the word of God te yer child, te any children ye bear in the future. Ye can spread out and do more of God's work, but ye cannae do it if yer life ends here. At the verra least, will ye try, man?" For a moment, Father Ferigault sat in silence before a sigh emanated from his form.

"Very well," he said. "I will help you."

"Good," said Rory. "I'm verra nearly te the other side." All throughout the night, Rory and Father Ferigault worked tirelessly at the hole, reaching the other side at some point just before dawn. Rory's eyes widened when he realised that he could start to see the sun rising through the cracks of the hut, and then he let out a frustrated huff when he saw how much still needed to be done. "Damn it."

"With another hour's work, it will serve," said Father Ferigault, continuing work on the hole.

"We don't have another hour, and that hole isn't big enough for a cat, let alone a man," Rory replied with frustration.

"Then you will simply have to complete the work when I am gone," said the Father calmly, and Rory's head shot up at the man.

"Excuse me?" he asked him with surprise. "What are ye talking about?"

"I'm staying," said Father Ferigault calmly, and Rory scoffed.

"Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he exclaimed with exasperation.

"You need not blaspheme," Father Ferigault scolded him softly.

"Aye, there is a need," Rory told him irritably. "If yer still determined te stay here and be tortured out of some… misplaced sense of loyalty to a God who clearly isnae going te help ye, then aye, there is a need te blaspheme!" Father Ferigault didn't answer him. "Oi! Did ye not hear a word I said?"

"I heard every word," said Father Ferigault, now a bit more firmly. "I understand your feelings on love and it's concomitant idiocy very well, however, I do not share those feelings, Rory, and I must do that which my conscience dictates." Rory scoffed at him.

"Then yer a bigger bloody fool than I thought possible," Rory said to him.

"That… is most assuredly the case," Father Ferigault replied, and then he continued working on the hole. Outside, there was suddenly the sound of shouting and whooping, and both Father Ferigault and Rory's heads shot up to look at the door. "They are coming for me. Quickly, we must hide our work." The two men rapidly covered their hole with one of the blankets they were given when the door swung open, and one of the English-speaking Mohawk men stepped into the hut.

"Have you decided?" he asked Father Ferigault with a wicked look on his face.

"I have," said Father Ferigault, looking up at the Mohawk man. "I cannot baptise the child." The expression on the Mohawk man's face changed and he let out a loud growl, and then he aggressively reached for Father Ferigault and grabbed him, dragging him out of the hut.

"God be with ye, my friend!" Rory called after him, watching the Mohawk drag the Father out of the hut. It was no use… The man was too stubborn to believe he was blindly following a being that clearly didn't give two shits about him if he was going to let him die. That was the one thing Rory never understood about the Christian God. In his talks with Maevis, he'd learned that the Celtic pagan gods and goddesses were generally more benevolent, and that if the people hosted ceremonies or gave sacrifices to their gods, then the gods would forgive them. The Christian God, on the other hand, seemed to allow people to suffer in His name - at least, that's what His followers seemed to believe. Surely, a God who was said to be so benevolent and so loving could not be happy with his so-called children dying in such atrocious ways in his name? Perhaps it was a power thing… Lord knew, monarchs were perfectly content with men dying for them.


January 1770

CATRÌONA POV

We had come across a village earlier that morning, but we were unsure if these natives were friends or foes. If they were the Mohawk, then Ian would be speaking for us to them, but even he couldn't be entirely sure these natives were the right ones. With my bow cocked in case I needed to protect myself, I stepped away from behind the tree where I had hidden as I observed the village, then made my way down the hill back to where we had set up camp.

"Any sigh of him, Mam?" Elton asked me when I returned, and I shook my head.

"No," I said softly, glancing up when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye.

"Aye, then. They ken we're here," Elton said to me, turning his attention back to me. "I think we should go into the village soon."

"Ian, do ye think this is the right village?" I asked my nephew, who had also noticed the natives that had found us.

"I dinnae ken," he answered, standing up from the log he was sitting on.

"The only way te find out is te speak te them," Jamie chimed in, also standing up, but Ian stopped him.

"No, Uncle. Let me. I ken a few words in Mohawk," said Ian, and he made his way towards the natives, who had emerged and had their own bows and guns ready to shoot.

"Blessed Bride, he makes me fucking nervous when he does this," I uttered to my husband and my son as we watched Ian approach them and speak to them.

"Aye, I ken," said Jamie, also a bit nervously. "Jenny would have my head if she kent I allowed him te do this."

"Better him than us," Elton chimed in, and we both looked at him. "I meant because he's verra interested in the natives. He understands their culture better than we three combined."

"Aye, that he does," I said with a sigh. We watched in silence for several moments as the natives seemed to point off in some direction, and then Ian returned to our group.

"They'll accept some tobacco and whisky in exchange fer leadin' us te Shadow Lake," Ian said to us.

"This isnae it?" I asked, and then I let out a soft groan. "How far is it, then?"

"Another day's walk, they said. Maybe two," Ian replied.

"So close, and yet, so far," I said, and then I sighed. "Verra well. Best we be off them. I'm anxious te return te our daughters preferably before they have their bairns."


RORY POV

It was horrible. The screams of agony belonging to Father Alexandre Ferigault were echoing throughout the village and reverberating in Rory's ears. Since most of the Mohawk were at the village center basically burning Father Ferigault at the stake like a witch, Rory had continued working on the hole until it was finally big enough for him to crawl through and escape. He had to contain himself, as there were still guards nearby that he didn't want to alert, so he crept off as quietly as he could until he was out of the village. As he ran off in the direction he believed he had come in, the screams of Father Ferigault stopped him in his tracks, and he let out a huff.

"Don't go soft now," he said to himself, pausing behind a tree to catch his breath. "He wanted this. Ye tried te talk sense into him, but he wouldnae listen. He wanted this… There's nothin' ye can do, so dinnae be an idiot. Ye've a wife te return te." He tried to continue on his way, but another set of agonising screams caused him to grunt in frustration. "No! Don't be an idiot! Be smart. Be smart fer once in yer stupid, idiotic life! Be smart…"

It was impossible. Though he was annoyed by Father Ferigault, the man's agonising screams brought him back to a dark time. In the days following the nuclear bombing of Glasgow, the blast could be felt as far south as northern Wales, where he had been at the time with his mother and sister. He could remember hearing the agonising screams of those who had been burnt by the heat of the blast and he could remember the horrible, awful smell of burnt skin that made him vomit in the halls of the hospital that his mother and her friend had gone to help in right after the blast. There were so many wounded, so many dead and dying… These screams of agony haunted him throughout his childhood and now, hearing them again, he simply could not stand aside like the helpless child he once was. That was not who he was. The man was in desperate need of help, and Rory was the only one who could help him.

"Ah, fucking hell," Rory muttered to himself, and then he turned back and ran towards the village. When he'd arrived, no one had noticed him, as they were all standing around the grand fire, where Father Ferigault, naked against the cold, stood on burning embers crying out in pain. He was reminded of a painting he'd learned about in one of his art history courses, of Joan of Arc as she burned at the stake. She had been burnt because she fought for what she believed in… and Rory supposed that Father Ferigault was now facing the same fate. Dying for what he believed in… Rory had nearly died for the love of his dearest friend, Maevis Fowlis, and as a result, found a love that he could hold dear to his heart in Maevis's sister, Brèagha. Would he be wrong to save Father Ferigault from this horrible fate?

One look at Johiehon told him that it most certainly was not. That woman stood, cradling the child who was half of her and half of the man who was burning to death, with tears in her eyes as she looked on at the man who had her heart… and suddenly, she was Brèagha. Brèagha's bonny red curls, cascading down her shoulders like a veil… Were it Rory burning, and Brèagha looking on, would Father Ferigault stand by and do nothing? Would any man stand by and do nothing? If he somehow rescued the Father… perhaps this horrible act will have convinced him to just appease the Mohawk so that he might be with his child? It was decided. He had no choice. He had to act, and now.

Nearby, there was a barrel with an open top. It must have been half-filled, as someone filled a cup from it and had to reach down into the barrel. Rory could lift that barrel… He could lift that, dump it on the flames and put them out, saving Father Ferigault. It was perfect! But he had to act fast. There was a gap in the crowd surrounding the fire, and most of the surrounding people in that area were women, who were unlikely to stop him. He had to work quickly. He bolted from behind the hut he stood behind and ran for the barrel, shoving away a child as he grabbed the barrel and shoved through the crowd, taking the barrel and dumping it over the flames. All around him, women screamed and men howled and shouted, and when Rory turned around, he realised he had made a terrible mistake:

The barrel was not filled with water. It was filled with alcohol. Alcohol was flammable.

Rory watched in horror as the flames erupted, burning the body of Father Ferigault in a much more horrifying way. Rory had just killed this man with his own damn stupidity. He hadn't thought about how that barrel could be filled with anything other than water… And now, a man was dead because of him. Instead of watching the English burn as many Scots as they could… he was watching himself burn the man he had called a fool. Johiehon let out a horrified scream and collapsed to her knees, and Rory looked on as several people tried to give her comfort. Nobody moved, not even Rory, as they watched her set her child down and rip herself free from the hands of those who attempted to hold her back, and then she ran to the flames, climbed up onto the pyre and embraced the burning body of the Father, catching fire herself and choosing to die with him.

"No…" Rory muttered softly. "No!" He was grabbed from behind by two strong men and dragged through the village, away from the horrifying sight before them. Because of Rory, that child would not only grow up without a father - as he had - but now without a mother as well. He was thrown back into the hut, and it was now more carefully guarded as Rory lay on the cold, hard, frozen ground. Back in the idiot hut once again… And then, he began to cry. He did not cry because he had failed to flee.


CATRÌONA POV

We arrived in the village of Shadow Lake within a couple of days, as we had been delayed by weather yet again. The Mohawk who assisted us joined the people for what I assumed was a celebration of some type. People were gathered around the remnants of a great fire, although the flames had died, and the ashes continued to smoke ever so slightly.

"You must be very good friend," said the chief of the village, who spoke in somewhat broken English, but was still understandable. "This man you seek, you brought him drink?"

"Actually, we brought the whisky te trade wi' ye," Jamie was saying to the chief while showing Brèagha's drawing of Rory to the chief, Ian at his side.

"Hmm. I hope you have not travelled far," said the chief with some discomfort, and Jamie raised an eyebrow.

"Aye? So he's here, then?" Jamie asked him again.

"We hope te trade wi' ye fer him," Ian chimed in, and then he said something in Mohawk, which we of course didn't understand, and then they stepped aside to speak. Jamie nodded to a few other man before joining Elton and I as we showed our wares to the Mohawk people, which was mostly women and children.

"I carved this myself," Elton was saying to a child who was showing interest in his carvings. "'Tis a wee hoorsie. Do ye ken what a hoorsie is?"

"You talk funny," said one of the children who was looking at the toy, catching Elton off guard, and other children laughed.

"Um… Aye, 'tis because I come from another land," he said. "Te me, you talk funny."

"Akosatens!" said one child, showing the carved horse to his mother, who started searching for something to trade for the carved horse. One woman approached me and gently touched my scarf, all but telling me she wanted to see it.

"Oh, ye want te see this?" I said, taking off the beautiful patterned scarf that Brèagha had knitted, dyed in various shades of indigo, and embroidered for me, and as I went to place it around her neck, she gasped in horror, her eyes wide, and she recoiled away from me. In fact, everyone recoiled away from me, and I raised an eyebrow curiously at them all.

"Erm… 'Tis all right. It's… just a scarf my daughter knitted fer me," I said right as Ian joined our small group.

"No, no. 'Tis the stone ye wear, Auntie," said Ian, referring to the opalite necklace around my neck that Archie had given me.

"The necklace?" Jamie asked.

"What they're sayin'," Ian said, and he repeated the Mohawk words the people around us were uttering. "It means 'cursed stone'. And they're even more frightened by yer red hair, Auntie."

"We all have red hair! Except fer you!" I exclaimed with annoyance.

"Aye, but Uncle Jamie and Cousin Elton dinnae have that stone," said Ian, referring to the stone as the chief approached us from behind Ian.

"You must go. We will not trade with you," said the chief rather firmly to our small clan, and my stomach dropped, as them basically kicking us out of their village meant that we would be leaving Rory behind - if he was still here.

"Please… The man, we cannae leave without him," I said with desperation, thinking only of my daughters in that moment. Maevis would never forgive herself, and Brèagha's heart would be broken beyond mending.

"We will not trade with you," said the chief firmly again. "Do not make me say it again. You must leave."

"But-" I began, but Jamie stopped me.

"Catrìona. We must go," he said with a soft warning tone. Silently, I followed my husband, my son and my nephew out of the village, looking over my shoulder at the frightened and hateful faces watching us from behind.


"We have te go back," I said sharply after several hours. Night had befallen us, so we camped outside of the village. We weren't alone, of course - every so often, we heard a twig crack or the snow crunch, indicating that we were being watched.

"There's a story there," Elton chimed in as he bit into a piece of squirrel that we had cooked. "'Tis verra strange of them te be afraid of a stone."

"A cursed stone," Ian corrected him.

"I ken a story," I said, setting my food down on my lap. "One where I went into Wentworth Prison alone, set loose probably a hundred prisoners, fought off wolves and returned te rescue my husband all while havin' just given birth te twins scarcely twenty-four hours before."

"This village isnae Wentworth, Catrìona. Ye cannae fool these men wi' yer… frail womanhood as ye could the redcoats," Jamie told me, and I scoffed.

"I am not leavin' here without Rory," I said sharply. "Nothin' would ever be all right fer our daughters again. What of Rory's child? 'Tis bad enough Maevis must be forced te raise her rapist's child, but te live wi' believin' that she was the reason this happened? She'll never forgive herself. We cannae just leave without him."

"Yer not goin' in there, Catrìona. Especially not alone," Jamie snapped at me, and I glared at him. Elton jumped at the sound of a branch cracking behind him, but when he turned, there was nothing there.

"Er… Are we sure it's safe te stay here?" he asked as he looked back at us.

"I dinnae ken what this stone means te the Mohawk," I said, ignoring his statement as I looked down at the stone Archie had given me. He'd found it in a skull and said he was greeted by the spirit of an Indian man who had been scalped. The skull alone should have been a bad omen to begin with, but I suppose Archie had never been all that superstitious - at least, not for the time that I'd known him. I couldn't forget that I'd missed out on fifteen years of his life. "I'll no' return te our daughters with nothin'. I willnae." There was more rustling, which caused Elton to jump again.

"Does anyone else hear that?" he asked, and suddenly, we were all surrounded by villagers who emerged from the woods. Ian's dog started barking viciously as Ian himself jumped up and Jamie shoved him, Elton and I behind him.

"Uncle!" Ian called.

"I said there was somethin'!" shouted Elton as Jamie and I armed ourselves - me with my bow and him with his rifle.

"Who are ye? What are ye doin' here?" I demanded angrily, all but showing my teeth at these invaders. A woman stepped through the men that surrounded us with a firm look on her face.

"We are here for the stone," she said firmly. "Give it to us. We will not harm you." I scoffed at her.

"Somehow, I dinnae believe that," I said, and I felt Jamie elbow me lightly.

"Catrìona," he whispered, basically begging me not to provoke them.

"We'll consider givin' it te ye… if ye help us get our son back," I said sharply to the woman.

"He isnae our son," I heard Jamie snap behind me, but I ignored him.

"Well?" I asked her, and she seemed mildly amused by this.

"Very bold, considering we could take the stone from you by force if we wanted," she said to me.

"Ye couldnae even steal a hair from me head if ye so desired," I snapped back at her. "Not all of ye would be walkin' away whole."

"We could return later, if you like," said the woman.

"Wait!" Elton shouted with terror, pushing past Jamie with his hands up in the air, and the woman stared at him curiously. "Er… What's yer name?" She raised a brow at him.

"Wahkatiiosta," she answered him.

"Well, W-… Wahkatii…osta," Elton continued. "Why's this wee rock sae important te ye?"

"Elton, get back," I snapped quietly at him, but he didn't listen. Wahkatiiosta's face scrunched up in curiosity, and she glanced briefly at the man beside her before answering.

"Many years ago, before I was born, a man came to us," she began to explain. "He would not tell us from whence he came. He spoke instead of from 'when' he came." My eyes widened a little. The skull Archie had found had had silver fillings, judging by how Archie had described the skull. Those fillings certainly wouldn't have been done in this century. "His name was Tawineoenawira… 'Otter Tooth'. He talked of war, warning us of our future… How we must lift our tomahawks, 'kill the white man, or the white man will kill you', he said."

"Sounds familiar," I muttered softly to Jamie, thinking of my own actions in the '45. Kill the English before the English kill you.

"One day, he painted himself, and danced a war dance. Many followed him," Wahkatiiosta continued. "They returned with white scalps. The village was angry, afraid his actions would bring soldiers seeking revenge."

"I imagine so," I replied. "Scalpin' men doesnae generally make them verra happy."

"My grandfather, the chief at that time, said that Otter Tooth must leave, for he would bring destruction. Otter Tooth hid in the forest," she said to us. "He spoke of anger. He was desperate to know why they would not listen. The village began to believe he was possessed by an evil spirit.

"Kind of like the witches at Salem," Elton chimed in, only earning confused looks from those around him, save for me, who knew what he was talking about. "What? Did ye not hear? In Massachusetts Colony, 1692, there was a case of mass hysteria caused by these lassies…"

"Elton, not now, lamb," I said, cutting him off. "So what does this have te do with the stone?"

"Banishing would no longer be enough to keep him from the village," said Wahkatiiosta. "They painted his face black for death, but in the morning, he was gone. The men chased him for days."

"Did they ever find him?" Ian asked her, his guard now lowered.

"Finally, they caught him. He faced them, and he talked. Even after one of the men struck him, he talked through the blood, spitting out words of warning. When he lay dead, his words went on ringing in the warriors' ears. 'You will be forgotten. The Nations of the Iroquois will be no more. No one will tell your stories. Everything you are will be lost'," she said, and then she paused for a moment.

"I ken the story," I said. "A similar thing happened te us in Scotland. Our people killed, or sent away… Their way of life, their stories, their culture, long forgotten aboot in exchange fer what our oppressors wanted te be kent aboot us." I lowered my bow, stepping forward out of Jamie's reach, then gently touched the stone on my neck. "But what does this have te do with the stone?"

"The men turned toward home, but his voice followed them," Wahkatiiosta continued. "They cut off his head, so he would talk no more, but they still heard his voice. Tehwahsewke, our chief, was a young warrior then. He took the head and buried it far, far away."

"This stone… was buried wi' the skull," I said, looking down at it as I held it in my palm. "The skull belonged te Otter Tooth…"

"It is said that the one who possesses the stone has the power to see how my people's story will end and that Otter Tooth's ghost walks with whoever carries it," said Wahkatiiosta, and I looked up at her. "Has he appeared to you?"

"Not me… Te my son," I said, and I heard a sharp intake of breath from Jamie behind me. "My son found this when… he was caught in a storm. He said he… found it wi' a skull and… believed he saw the man whom it belonged te."

"Archie found it?" Jamie demanded from behind me. "Why did ye not tell me this?"

"Because I didnae deem it important enough fer ye te ken," I said to him. "People die wi' personal belongin's all the time. I thought… I thought he was a lost traveller or somethin', or maybe… a man who took ill and died in the woods." I turned my attention back to Wahkatiiosta, the stone now in my hands. "Some say tha' ghosts only exist when there's somethin' te be remembered, a story worth tellin', or… or a message worth relayin'."

"Do you believe this story?" Wahkatiiosta asked me.

"I… I do," I said, knowing that whatever story Otter Tooth told what must have been his ancient ancestors, it was based on the truth, on the horrors that awaited his people centuries from now. "And what aboot you?"

"Yes," she said. "I believe he came to warn my people and the stone will enable us to see what is coming."

"If ye help us rescue the man we came te bring back home wi' us… then I swear I will help ye preserve the memory of the man who fough fer yer future," I told her, and she looked at me with interest.

"You want to help?" Wahkatiiosta asked me.

"We may look different. We may have lived differently, been raised differently… but our stories will end the same. Two cultures, their truths lost te those who have the power te rewrite history and rewritten te paint us as the malcontent villains. Aye, we will help ye," I said to her. "So help us, and this stone will be yers."


As we crept through the village, which had fallen silent under the cloak of night, we listened to where Rory's hut was located. Ian and Jamie would help fend off whatever attack came upon us while Elton and I would go to the hut and rescue Rory. There were two guards, but two guards were nothing compared to what I could fend off. I ultimately decided not to resort to extreme violence and simply tossed a stone to attract their attention closer to us, and when they approached, I had grabbed each of them by the hair and bashed their skulls in together, knocking them both unconscious.

"Christ!" Elton muttered, his hands burying in his hair.

"Either them or us, lamb," I told him as I made my way to the hut.

"Mam, wait," Elton said, stopping me. "Do ye think it wise te have told them this… Otter Tooth… was telling the truth?"

"Elton, not now," I said to him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back to look at him.

"What if this changes history?" he asked me, and I huffed.

"Elton, if Culloden taught me anythin', it's that history cannae be changed," I replied. "History had a chance te be changed once and it didnae. I doubt this wee stone will actually have the ability te change the future."

"If ye say so. I just dinnae think it wise te disrupt things here by givin' them that stone," Elton told me, and I scoffed.

"So we just let Rory die here? Let yer sisters blame themselves fer his death?" I asked him. "Elton, not te be crude, but ye were a child durin' the war. Hell, so was I durin' the second rebellion, but I still fought in it. This isnae yer area of expertise."

"I'm just sayin' that I dinnae agree wi' meddlin' with history," Elton said as I broke the lock over the door of the hut, which really wasn't all that secure.

"Should have thought of that before ye came through the stones," I told him, turning back to look at him. "I stepped on a wee butterfly in Paris and became a canonised Catholic Saint. Anything can happen when ye travel through time."

"Perhaps ye were meant te do that," Elton observed as I pushed in the door, and a lump on the floor was startled and backed into the corner of the hut.

"Rory!" I called quietly, holding out a hand to show him that I wouldn't hurt him. He certainly looked nothing like the young lad I had said goodbye to at the airport when I sent my own daughter away, but there was something alarming about him - he looked just like his father, like Don Tanner. Don and I weren't close, but my heart broke for Maidie and her bairns when I'd learned of his death. Seeing Rory, Don Tanner's son, fully grown before my very eyes… it was like seeing Don alive again. "Rory… it's me. Do ye not recall? Auntie Cat, ye used te call me…"

"C… Catrìona?" he asked softly. "Catrìona Fowlis? Maevis's mum?"

"Aye, the verra same," I said, smiling softly down at him, and then his gaze switched to Elton. At first, he seemed afraid, but then his expression relaxed.

"Elton…" he muttered quietly. "Oh, thank Christ… I thought ye were…"

"My father? Aye, I've been told we look alike," Elton said, approaching him and kneeling down to help Rory stand, but the poor lad looked as if he'd been beaten.

"Blessed Bride," I muttered, taking his face in my hands as it inspecting it in the firelight. "What have they done te ye?"

"Nothin' I didnae deserve," Rory said a bit coldly. "How many have ye brought with ye?"

"Myself, Elton, Jamie is here as well and so is our nephew, Ian… and a few Mohawk friends," I answered him as I rushed to at least get a healing salve on his worst wounds, which I carried on my person at all times.

"That's all?" Rory asked a bit incredulously.

"Well, what were ye expectin'? The 55th Highland Division?" I demanded from him. The 55th Highland Division was active mostly in the war with England after we had won the second rebellion and were known for basically being Scotland's S.W.A.T. team. Suddenly, there was the sound of gunshots outside, and my grip tightened on Rory's clothes. Now that I had him in my grip, I would not be letting him go. He was coming home to my daughters whether I was dead or alive. "We have te go. Quickly!" The three of us ran out of the hut and straight into chaos, narrowly avoiding being clubbed by a Mohawk man.

"To the river!" shouted someone, and I assumed that was meant for our side of this battle.

"Quickly! Go, lads, go!" I shouted, ready to protect them like mother hen as I pulled out my bow and fired at incoming attackers.

"Christ!" one of the lads shouted as a gunshot went off over our heads, and I let out a cry as I felt the bullet scrape the side of my arm. However, it wasn't enough to stop me from fighting back. I whacked someone with my bow and used it to choke them into unconsciousness - not enough to kill. I threw the man's unconscious body at another attacker and punched a third, then ran in the direction I thought it saw the lads run in. However, that was the wrong decision, as I was clearly surrounded on all sides and backed up against a hut by warriors with weapons.

"Catrìona!" I heard Jamie call into the night, and then I noticed him, Ian, Elton and Rory all being dragged to where I could see them, weapons to their heads.

"Enough of this!" shouted a voice, and I realised it was Wahkatiiosta. "Do not hurt them. It was we who brought them here!" The chief said something in Mohawk to her, to which she responded, and then he barked another order in Mohawk. We were all stripped of our weapons and brought to the same hut, where we had rescued Rory from, and the four of us found ourselves joining Rory as prisoners of the Mohawk.

"Welcome te the idiot hut," Rory said rather dishearteningly. "We'll all die here now."


At dawn, all of us, save for Rory, were pulled from the hut and forced on our knees before the chief, and beside us were the Mohawk who had agreed to help us rescue Rory. Wonderful. Now we would all die here and our daughters would be forced to have and raise their children without any of us now. I was responsible for the deaths of my husband, my son, my nephew and my son-in-law because of my damned stubborn temper and desperation to see my daughters safe and happy… Was it not the least I could do, considering all they had lost because of me?

"You are fierce woman," said the chief to me directly before he addressed the rest of the village. "There have been stories of the Red Thunder having fallen from the sky and striking fear in men." I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this. Was he talking about me?

"I… beg yer pardon… I dinnae ken what yer on aboot," I said to him, a neutral expression on my face.

"You are mere mortal. Not a Thunder," he said to me, and then he walked away, leaving me confused by this interaction. The chief then faced us all again, now addressing the whole tribe and our two groups as opposed to just me. "I banished these people, and you brought them back against the wishes of the council, causing violence and destruction." Ah, he was talking to his people who helped us. "You are Mohawk. You will never be so again. You will leave the village and never return." There was no violence, only peace and acceptance. The Mohawk who helped us were ordered to stand up, collect their things and leave under the supervision of some of their warriors. The chief then turned his attention to us. "You outsiders… are not the reason for this strife. The pain and disharmony caused by Otter Tooth has always been with us. There will be no more trouble, only peace amongst my people. Take the stone. Leave the village. Never return."

"We are… verra grateful," said Jamie to the chief, but we hadn't gotten what we came here for.

"Wait," I said firmly, immediately standing up. "We came all this way fer my daughter's husband. We cannae leave without him."

"Catrìona," Jamie snapped at me, and then in Gaelic, said: "We will think of something else!"

"Cha tèid mi. Chan eil fhathast," I said to him, and then I looked at the chief and repeated what I'd said in English. "I won't go. Not yet. Surely, ye have daughters of yer own. Mine is wi' child - his child. I cannae leave without him."

"Catrìona," Jamie said again.

"There has been no fair trade. Dogface will stay in the village," said the chief.

"His name is Rory," I snapped back at him. "Then take me instead!"

"Catrìona!" Jamie shouted.

"I can be of use te ye. I'm a healer. I've knowledge that can save lives. The Tuscarora ken of me, they call me the White Raven," I begged him.

"No!" Jamie exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders. "Enough of this, Catrìona! Ye cannae stay!"

"I will if it means Rory will be home safe wi' Brèagha!" I snapped back at him, trying to pull myself free from his arms.

"Take me!" Jamie ordered the chief.

"No!" I shouted loudly.

"I'm able-bodied. Strong," Jamie continued as if I hadn't spoken, simply covering my mouth with his hand, so I bit him.

"Yer in yer forties! Ye willnae be of use te them fer long, whereas I can! Way beyond when I've outlived my physical use," I defended.

"Stop this! There has te be another way," Elton snapped at both of us, coming in between us. "Maevis and Brèagha need ye both. Ye cannae stay."

"There isnae another way, lad," Jamie said to him. "I must do this, fer my daughter." We hadn't even noticed Ian leaving our sides and speaking to the council.

"Why dinnae I stay, then?" Elton asked him.

"No, I'll not lose ye again," I said, grabbing him and pulling into my arms. "Yer te go back, protect yer sisters. I can find a way te escape."

"Absolutely not," Jamie growled, pulling Elton aside so he could speak to me. "You, Ian and Elton will take Rory back te Brèagha. As soon as can be managed, I'll escape and come home."

"They'll kill ye, as soon as yer no longer of use te them!" I snapped back at him. "At least wi' me, I can be of use fer longer!"

"Perhaps we shouldnae loudly discuss plans of escapin' when yer bargainin' te trade prisoners," Elton said to us both. "Aye, Ian?" Ian didn't respond. "Ian?"

"Lad," said Jamie, and we looked up to see Ian nod subtly to the council and return to our group, a firm, determined look on his face.

"They accept," Ian said to us.

"Good, I'll collect my medical bag from the horses," I said, turning to move, but Ian grabbed my wrist to stop me.

"No, Auntie," he said. "Not you."

"What?" I demanded from him as he turned to look at Jamie next.

"I'll be stayin'," he said.

"Ian, what are ye doin'?" Jamie demanded from him as a couple of Mohawk men brought Rory to us, untying his hands and then moving to stand near Ian.

"It's all right, Uncle," Ian said to him. "Yer free te go and take Rory wi' ye."

"Ian, what do ye mean?" I asked him again as he turned to look at Rory, holding out a hand for Rory to shake, which he was hesitant about.

"I'm sorry fer what we've done te ye," Ian said to him, but before Rory could grasp his hand, Jamie pulled him towards him and embraced his nephew.

"Brave and canny move," he whispered. "As soon as ye can, escape, or I'll come fer ye-"

"No, Uncle," Ian said to him firmly, pushing away from him. "I mean it. I'm stayin'."

"And… live yer life wi' the Mohawk?" Jamie asked him, disbelief written all over his face.

"I gave them my word," Ian told him, a hint of pride and nervousness in his voice. "I gave them my word, dinnae make me break it. Ye gave Maevis and Brèagha yers."

"Aye… I did," Jamie said softly, and I could see the hint of a tear forcing its way into his eye.

"How… How can I part wi' ye?" Jamie asked him softly. "Ye've been like… a son te me."

"Ye have more te make up fer it," said Ian, referring to Archie, Elton and Rory, and he smiled slightly at his uncle. "It'll be hard fer us both, Uncle, but ye must promise that ye'll leave and no' come back fer me. I've chosen this."

"What'll we say te Brèagha and Maevis?" Elton chimed in. "They'll blame themselves, they'll think they've killed ye…"

"So ye'll tell them I've chosen this," Ian told him, and then he turned his attention back to Jamie. "I'm sorry te say ye'll have te tell my Ma fer me."

"Och, an impossible task," said Jamie with a soft, but sad chuckle.

"Oh, lamb," I said as I embraced my nephew for what would likely be the last time. "Ye've always been so brave, fer one so young."

"As I'm told ye once were, Auntie," said Ian, pulling back from the embrace and smiling at me. "Ye must promise ye'll keep an eye on my cousins."

"I'll certainly do my best," I said to him, and then I removed Brèagha's scarf from my neck and placed it around his. "Keep this close te ye, te remind ye of us."

"I will, Auntie," said Ian, adjusting it on his neck, and then he turned to look at Jamie. "Ye once said that ye wished me te become a man of worth, Uncle."

"Aye… Ye dinnae ken how worthy ye are," Jamie said to him, and then it was his turn to embrace Ian firmly. "Cuimhnich…" Remember.

"I willnae forget," said Ian, and then he stood back and nodded to us all, a firm look of pride glowing in his eyes. With that final motion, he turned on his heel and turned to face the council, Rollo joining him at his side. "I'm ready."


While Elton and Jamie engaged in some last minute trading for supplies for our return trip, I sat with Rory in our camp and tended to his wounds. He hissed a little when I touched a cut on his face with alcohol, but then relaxed into it as the stinging went away. "Ye've been roughed up fairly well," I said to him after several moments, covering the wound with a honey salve.

"Happens when yer useless te the Mohawk," he said to me without emotion.

"Ye had some use te them. Yer alive, arenae ye?" I asked him next, setting down my supplies and letting out a small sigh. "Christ… I havenae seen ye since ye were just a wee lad. Ye've grown so much… Ye look just like yer father." Rory glanced up at me briefly before his eyes fell to the ground again.

"Is that why my mother willnae look me in the eye?" he asked me quietly, and then it was my turn to sigh.

"It was hard fer me te… sometimes look at Maevis fer the same reason," I told him. "She might look like me, but… she has her father's eyes."

"I wouldnae know. Last I saw those eyes up close, they were filled wi' fury and hatred," he said a bit bitterly.

"Had I kent aboot it, I'd have made damn sure we rescued ye sooner," I said to him. "We didnae even ken until a young lass who travelled wi' Maevis saw Brèagha's sketch of ye."

"Hmph," said Rory quietly, his gaze still fixed to the ground.

"I'll go and get some plantain leaves fer those wounds," I said, standing up and going towards the trees. Plantains were still growing this time of year, although they were generally dried and much smaller. Still, they had potent healing abilities, so would grind them up into a paste with some yarrow powder and oil and apply it to wounds both to stop bleeding and to initiate healing. I stood up when I saw Jamie and Elton heading back towards the camp, deep in conversation.

"I never had the chance te meet my aunt," Elton was saying to his father. "We just went straight te Barra. It was Maevis who met her. From what I hear, she willnae be too thrilled her son's gone off wi' the Mohawk?" Jamie chuckled slightly in response.

"She kens her son," Jamie told him. "She willnae be happy, but she'll understand. She kens his restless nature and need fer adventure."

"Same as his uncle," I chimed in, standing up, and when Jamie saw me, he gave me a small, sad smile.

"Aye," he said. "I suppose so."

"You fucking bastard!" came an angry shout, and I nearly threw my mortar and pestle, which I had been using to crush plantain leaves, as Rory threw himself at Jamie and started blitz attacking him.

"Rory, stop that!" I shouted as Elton quickly got out of the way.

"No, leave him!" Jamie said once he'd gathered his bearings. "This is between us." He looked at Rory then, who was a bleeding fury, and nodded subtly to him. "Go on… Suppose I owe ye."

"Happy te oblige," said Rory, making a lunge for Jamie and punching him hard across the face.

"Oh, fer fuck's sake!" I shouted at them.

"Months! Months, I was tortured, starved, beaten! All thanks te you and yer carelessness, ye absolute brute!" Rory was shouting at Jamie between attacks.

"Hey, stop that!" Elton shouted, finding his moment and forcing himself in between the two of them, one hand on each of their chests. "This willnae solve anythin'!"

"Easy fer you te say. Ye didnae have yer arse beaten and sold into slavery!" Rory shouted at Elton, making another lunge for Jamie, but Elton stopped him by digging his heels into the ground.

"Rory, enough!" he exclaimed, shoving him away, and Rory let out a cackle.

"The damned clueless coward, stoppin' a fight," he said, and Elton narrowed his eyes at him.

"I'll let tha' slide fer now," Elton told him.

"Where is she?" Rory demanded, now rearing on me. "Brèagha, where is she?"

"She's safe," I told her. "She and Maevis are wi' Jamie's aunt in North Carolina, along wi' our aulder son and my niece, Cailean's daughter."

"Archie, ye mean?" Rory asked me. "And Caoimhe? Aye, she told me all about them." He paused for a moment, standing with his back towards Elton and Jamie. "Did she send you fer me, then?"

"Aye," said Jamie, and the sound of his voice alone seemed to trigger this anger in Rory again.

"When I met ye on the Ridge," said Rory, rearing on him again, and Elton moved to stand in between them again. "…I thought that maybe the reason ye beat me was because she said some… terrible things and turned ye against me. I didnae ken why she'd have done such a thing, but I couldnae fathom why her father would treat me so brutally, so… inhumanely!"

"No. No, she didnae," Jamie said to him. "That was my own notion. A terrible mistake had been made. I didnae ken who ye were."

"Oh, thank God fer that!" Rory exclaimed. "Havin' me beaten nearly te death and sold into slavery seemed a trifle extreme, at least fer her, but I suppose not fer you!"

"It was a misunderstandin', Rory," Elton interjected, and then I chimed in.

"The young lass who came wi' Maevis identified ye as… as Maevis's rapist," I said to Rory, and his head whipped around to look at me, his eyes wide with shock. "We didnae see ye. I'd have recognised ye straight away, if I had, but I wasnae there."

"She… Maevis was… She was raped?" Rory asked me, and I nodded gently. "By… By who?"

"A man named Stephen Bonnet," I answered him honestly, and the look on his face changed. It went from one of pained shock to desperate anger, and he turned around and kicked a stone without even flinching.

"Bonnet!" he shouted with a loud growl, and I raised a brow at him.

"Ye ken the name?" I asked him.

"Aye, I ken the name," Rory spat back at me, turning around. "He was the captain of the ship that Brèagha, Elton and I came here on."

"Wait, the captain did that te her?" Elton demanded, evidently not having known who Stephen Bonnet was.

"When did this happen?" Rory demanded from me.

"I believe it was… the first of July," I said, remembering what day Maevis had mentioned arriving in Wilmington.

"The first of July… I marrit Brèagha that day," Rory said softly. "I'll never forget that day, she… she looked so beautiful there wi' the sea breeze in her hair. And when I had her, she… she was like a goddess."

"Dinnae speak te me of my daughter that way!" Jamie snapped at him, obviously not wanting to hear the man who impregnated his daughter talk about the day it was done.

"She is my wife! I will speak of her however way I want!" Rory snapped back at him.

"Enough, both of ye," I said loudly.

"Ye never had permission te go off and marry my daughter! She is naive and doesnae ken the world!" Jamie shouted at Rory, pushing Elton out of his way.

"Then perhaps ye should have been there fer her te protect her from the world ye claim is so bad!" Rory snapped back at him.

"I was there! As often as I could be! You shouldnae have taken advantage of a naive lass!" Jamie shouted at him, and Rory answered with another firm punch across Jamie's jaw, which he recovered from quickly. "That is the last unanswered blow!"

"Perhaps Brèagha was naive because you taught her te be afraid of the world! If she has no protection against it, that is yer fault! But I can assure ye, she has everra weapon against it that she can carry! Ye dinnae ken her!" Rory shouted at him, and then he rounded on me next. "Neither of ye do."

"I beg yer pardon?" I asked him. "What part do I play in this?"

"She was just a girl when ye left. A girl who needed her mother, and then ye left her again!" Rory snapped at me, and I scoffed at him.

"Mind yer mouth. Ye dinnae ken anythin'," I said to him with a firm, warning tone.

"No? I do ken that when ye came back, ye were there with her fer two weeks before ye left again, and ye didnae send fer her fer years."

"Because she wouldnae have been capable te live as we did while we were building' our home," Jamie snapped at him. "We had no home, no coin te our name! I would be damned if I allowed my daughter te see even a moment of a life like that!"

"Aye, Brèagha was privileged te never have te ken that life. She was born at the castle and lived there until we had a home fer her te live in. She wouldnae have thrived livin' rough," I said to Rory, who scoffed.

"Then clearly, ye dinnae ken yer daughter," he said to us rather calmly.

"I ken my daughter better than you," I told him sharply. "She is my daughter."

"No, ye dinnae ken her. Ye've only kent her fer a collective six years, if even that! She is twenty-three years auld!"

"And ye've kent her fer all of six months," Jamie growled at him.

"But I've kent Maevis fer all her life, includin' the years that ye both missed," Rory snapped at us, and then it was my turn to scoff.

"Are ye sayin' I was wrong fer sendin' her away fer her safety? Richard Randall would have killed her if I hadnae," I said to him firmly, crossing my arms across my chest.

"I'm no' sayin' that," he said to me somewhat coldly.

"What does this have te do wi' Brèagha?" I asked him next.

"What does it have te do wi' her? I'll tell ye what," Rory told me. "Ye've mistaken yer daughters. Both of them. I was the one who watched Maevis slowly forget herself, and you, because there wasnae a single word from ye in all the time ye were apart."

"So long as Randall lived, it wasnae safe te try. I asked Tom te make damn sure I didnae ken where she was, even though I kent it meant I would never see her again!" I snapped back at him.

"And Brèagha. She was just a child, younger than Maevis. She didnae understand why her mother left her, and then when ye came back, she was thrilled te have her mother back, te learn tha' her mother was alive. But then ye left again!" Rory continued.

"Rory, I ken what it is te grow up without my parents-"

"No, no ye don't!" he shouted, interrupting me. "Yer parents were killed when ye were fifteen! They didnae abandon ye, they were taken from ye, and ye were auld enough te understand that! But not Brèagha… and not Maevis… And though I was aulder, I couldnae understand why I was bein' abandoned by my mother, and I can assure ye, they didnae, either!" I stood in silence for a moment as I stared at him.

"What is the point of this?" I asked him. "Why are ye deflectin' blame fer this catastrophe on me?"

"I'm not blamin' ye fer my bein' nearly killed," he told me. "But I am blamin' ye fer grossly underestimatin' yer daughters. They are not weak."

"I never thought they were," I said to him sharply.

"Ye think Brèagha is, at the verra least. Ye think I took advantage of her. No, I listened te her. I ken what it feels like te be sent away 'fer my safety'. You just brushed her feelin's aside and said she would be safer if she was left behind," Rory said to me.

"If you were a parent… ye'd understand why I've done what I had te do," I told him calmly. "And as a matter of fact, ye will be. Brèagha's pregnant." At this, Rory's face changed again, and his jaw dropped. He didn't say anything, but instead sat down on the stone he had kicked earlier and stared down at the ground.

"Are… Are ye sure?" he asked me quietly.

"When we left them at Jamie's aunt, they were already showin'," I said, carelessly forgetting to choose my words carefully, and Rory's head shot up.

"Maevis, too?" he asked me quietly. "Bonnet's?" I sighed softly, then nodded. "No… No, this… this wasnae supposed te happen. I-I… I pulled out…"

"I can assure ye from both experience and education that 'pullin' out' doesnae always work," I told him, crossing my arms across my chest. He didn't say anything for several moments, so Elton came over and knelt down next to him.

"Rory?" he asked him softly.

"I never wanted children," he said quietly, sniffling a little. "After watching what happened at Glasgow… Seein' all the children who were displaced, taken from their homes, their families… Sent away 'for their safety'… I never wanted to bring a child into a world that could do that."

"But this is a different world, Rory," I said to him softly, taking a step towards him.

"And ye think this world is better than the one we left behind?" Rory spat at me fiercely. "Maevis was raped and she will get no retribution fer it, and ye think Brèagha is weak because she was sheltered. It's perfectly acceptable fer a man te be sold into slavery fer the rest of his life! It's illegal te treat others who dinnae look like us as animals because they dinnae have white skin! Are ye tellin' me this world is better?"

"I didnae say that at all, Rory. I ken firsthand how much of a shithole this world is, but I also ken how much of a shithole that our world was at one time," I told him firmly. Rory only shook his head, then buried his face in his hands and let out a sobbed.

"I killed a man," he muttered softly. "A man who… had a child… I thought I was savin' him, but I… I didnae throw water on him, I threw alcohol. And it made the flames stronger, higher… The mother walked into the flames and died with him. I killed that poor child's parents!"

"Rory," I said, kneeling down in front of him. Before me, Rory was no longer the grown man that we had rescued from the Mohawk village, but instead, the young child who had just learned his father was killed in Glasgow. He was the child who had just learned that all of his friends were dead, his home was gone, every memory that he had made growing up in Glasgow had been obliterated, turned into nothing… "Oh, lamb… 'Tis all right, a leannan," I said, sitting up and pulling him into my arms to comfort him.

"I c-cannae… bring a child… into this…" he sobbed into my shoulder.

"Then ye have a choice te make," I told him, pulling back from the embrace to look at him. "My daughter, fer reasons that I dinnae ken because I have never seen the two of ye together… loves ye, so much so that she sent us away te fetch ye back te her. She did so willingly, kennin' she might be raisin' yer child all by herself, possibly without us. So ye have a choice te make, and ye must make it now. Ye can either go, or ye can get yer shit together and come back te North Carolina with us te raise yer child."

"No," Rory muttered softly, shaking his head. "She cannae raise the child here. This world… it'll eat her and the child alive."

"It might, but there was a time when I thought the same, too," I told him. "After Culloden… when I was pregnant wi' Brèagha, and I had te traverse the entire country in the hopes tha' my family of this time would take me in. I'm grateful that they did, and no matter what ye choose, Brèagha will have us… but it makes it much easier when ye have someone who loves ye by yer side."

"But… But there's a way back," Rory said softly. "Near here, there's… another stone circle. I can take her te our time - her and the child."

"Rory, she cannae go," I told him a bit firmly. "Maybe early on, if she can even travel because we dinnae ken that either, but not now. By the time we return, she'll have already given birth. She's due in early March. Tha's scarcely two months from now."

"What day is it?" Rory asked with surprise, his eyes a little wide.

"The sixth of January, 1770," Elton chimed in.

"He's been keepin' a steady record of the date," I told Rory. "Either way… she has te stay."

"But he doesnae," Jamie said from behind me, a callous tone in his voice, and Rory looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"We're handfast. She's my wife. And now she's carryin' my child," Rory said to him sharply.

"A moment ago, ye said ye couldnae bring a child into this world," Jamie told him harshly. "Ye cost me a lad that I love. My daughter doesnae need a coward."

"Jamie," I said, but he continued on as if I hadn't spoken.

"I would rather she hate me fer the rest of my life than fer her heart te be broken by this… sorry excuse fer a man," Jamie said crudely, and I let out a small huff.

"It'll be two months' time, easily, before we can return te North Carolina. We have te journey east, and maybe find a ship the can take us te Wilmington, but we will be at their mercy, as this time of year, ships dinnae travel as often," I told him. "Fer now, ye'll come wi' us. Ye'll have plenty of time te make up yer mind, so take it, because this is our daughter, so ye'd better be sure," I said to him a bit firmly. "I ken I wasnae there fer her when she needed me… and Jamie kens that, too. If ye think we felt nothin' in all the days we spent apart from any of our children… ye would be wrong. The pain is… indescribable. But we are here now. So the question is… will you be there fer yer child?"

He didn't answer me right away. After that, he fell silent, and no word passed between himself or Jamie for the rest of the night. We put up our shelters, which were given to us by the Mohawk through trade, and hunkered down for the night. "Yer wounded," Jamie said to me softly, referring to the bloody scrape on my shoulder, and I let out a sigh.

"I'll deal wi' it later," I told him.


8 January, 1770

River Run, North Carolina

MAEVIS POV

Maevis sat on a bench with her hand resting on her belly, smiling as she watched Ginnie and Lizzie playing together in the snow down below the porch. Maevis had taught them how to build snowmen, and they were both so excited by the thought of building little men out of snow that they started building a small army. Lizzie's own childlike amusement reminded Maevis that this girl was only fourteen, maybe fifteen now, and that she had had her childhood stripped from her at such a young age. She was almost sold to basically be a sex slave to some strange man in Scotland. When Maevis was fourteen, she was too afraid to even start dating because of sex. She couldn't imagine how scared Lizzie had been.

"Bird!" said Ginnie, pointing at one of the little snowmen.

"Is that his name?" Lizzie asked her, and Ginnie then pointed to another.

"Bird!" she cried out, and Lizzie giggled.

"They cannae all be 'Bird', wee lamb!" she said to Ginnie as Ginnie dubbed another snowman 'Bird'. Maevis chuckled gently, shaking her head a little, then glanced up when she heard the sound of snow crunching and saw Geordie appear, rubbing his hands together and concealing something in his coat.

"Good day te ye, Geordie!" Lizzie said excitedly to Geordie, who nodded to her.

"G-Good day to you, M-Miss Lizzie," said Geordie as he climbed the stairs of the porch to join Maevis.

"You look cold," Maevis teased him lightly, and Geordie scoffed a little.

"'Tis colder th-than any day I've ever known," he said, shivering a little. "I've g-gotten you something."

"What?" Maevis asked him, and her eyes widened as she watched him pull a small black kitten out from inside of his coat, smiling as he handed it to her. "Oh, my God! He's so cute! Where did you find him?" she demanded as the little kitten crawled onto her belly, making itself at home there beneath her blanket and purring gently.

"I found th-the poor thing," Geordie told her. "Some aw-awful boys t-trying to… b-beat him with sticks and… p-push him into the river. A common occ-curence around here. B-black cats… aren't exactly favoured."

"Oh, I know. People can be so cruel," said Maevis as she cradled the little kitten in her arms. Happy to be warm and safe, the little kitten purred contently, and Maevis pet him down his back.

"I th-thought you… would understand him. G-give him a good home," Geordie said to Maevis, who smiled at him. "Y-you seem to… be m-more accepting than most."

"That's because I'm not close-minded. I know black cats aren't bad luck," she told him.

"Y-you see the good in all," said Geordie, smiling as he watched Maevis cuddle the little kitten. He quietly stomped his foot on the porch, startling the kitten a little. His attention was drawn away when another young boy, this time the son of another man in Cross Creek who sent his younger sons to help Jocasta, ran over to Geordie with news.

"Geordie, did ye hear?" asked the young boy, who might have been eleven or twelve. "They got the pirate! That Stephen Bonnet!"

"Stephen Bonnet?" Maevis asked, her head shooting up, and both of them looked up at her. The young boy's cheeks turned red.

"Oh, I'm sae sorry, Miss. I shouldnae be speakin' so crudely in front of the delicate," he said shyly.

"M-Miss Maevis isn't delicate," Geordie told him, taking note of the strange look on Maevis's face that wasn't there before Stephen Bonnet was mentioned.

"Where is he?" Maevis asked them both. "Stephen Bonnet, where is he?"

"Wilmington, Miss. He'll be hangit soon," said the young boy, bowing slightly to her before running off again.

"M-Miss Maevis?" Geordie asked, noticing that Maevis seemed a little faint, but she brushed him off.

"I'm fine," she said, waving him away. "I'm fine, I… I just need to speak to my future brother-in-law." She stood up, the kitten chirping slightly in her arms. "Um… Thank you for the kitten, Geordie. I'll take good care of him. I think I'll call him 'Juniper'. He seems like a little Juniper. And he's got the cutest little white spot on his chest."

"Oh, aye. A f-fine name," Geordie said. "Miss M-Maevis, are you sure…"

"I'm fine, Geordie. Thank you," Maevis said to him, and then she went inside quickly, hoping to run into Lord John. If Stephen Bonnet was in Wilmington, locked safely away behind bars, Maevis wanted to speak to him. She needed to know why this was done to her, and she needed closure for what had happened. She certainly couldn't ask Jocasta to accompany her, nor would she ask Brèagha or Lizzie, and she couldn't ask Archie or Caoimhe considering they weren't even there, so she would have to count on Lord John. But would he think she was crazy? Well, only one way to find out.