18 March, 1767

Kingston, Jamaica

CAOIMHE POV

Already for a few days, Caoimhe had been in Jamaica and had been taken under the wing of Governor Grey, who had gladly stepped into his position as the Governor of the colony of Jamaica. That particular night, he was having a small dinner with government officials and military captains, and invited Caoimhe along to join him for dinner. She was intrigued, but she wasn't overly fond of the fact that she had to dress more formally than she ever had. One of the servants, a woman with darker skin than Caoimhe had ever seen (she was almost shocked when she saw dark-skinned people for the first time, having only heard of them in books) brought in a formal dress, then was followed by a white English girl who was also a servant.

"Thank you, Hepzibah, I'll take it from here. Go, you filthy ape," said the servant girl to the darker-skinned woman, who was a slave.

"Yes, Miss Judith," said Hepzibah, and then she left.

"Ye should be kinder. Ye serve people, same as she does," Caoimhe told her.

"I serve you, the darkies serve everyone, including the white servants," said Judith, helping Caoimhe into the nice dress. "This dress looks so lovely on you, Miss Fowlis. I'll bet you've never worn something so nice in your life."

"As a matter of fact, I have," Caoimhe said to her a bit firmly, glaring at Judith in the mirror. "Though it's none of yer business, I am the daughter of a Laird - tha's a Scottish term fer a Lord. I'll thank ye te mind yer business in the future and not assume things aboot me. I can dress myself, thanks, Judith. Will ye send Hepzibah back in? She does hair verra nicely." Judith froze, her eyes wide in her reflection, and then she narrowed her eyes and huffed quietly.

"Yes, Miss Fowlis," she spat at Caoimhe, curtsying to her before leaving the room. Caoimhe smiled to herself - be a bitch, you get a bitch in return. When Hepzibah returned, Caoimhe explained that she wanted her to do her hair, which Hepzibah did obediently.

"How long have ye been here, Hepzibah?" Caoimhe asked her.

"Since I was a child, Miss Fowlis," replied Hepzibah with a subtle foreign accent that must have come from Africa.

"Poor lass," Caoimhe told her. "I couldnae imagine bein' ripped away from my home or my family as a child. Ye came from Africa, aye? Where in Africa?"

"I am of the Oron people. I was taken from my tribe and sold to white men," Hepzibah told her. "You do not sound like Master Grey or other white women like Miss Judith."

"They come from England, I'm from Scotland," Caoimhe replied. "I sort of… snuck away from home te come here wi' my aunt and uncle."

"Does your Mama know where you are at least, Miss Fowlis?" Hepzibah asked me, and for a moment, Caoimhe was silent.

"She's dead, Hepzibah. Has been fer ten years now," she replied quietly.

"Oh, I am sorry, honey," said Hepzibah as she finished with Caoimhe's hair.

"Thank ye, Hepzibah," Caoimhe told her, smiling softly at the middle-aged woman's reflection. "Ye did a beautiful job wi' my hair. Thank ye verra much." Hepzibah gave her a soft smile.

"You're safe with Master Grey. He's a kind man, much kinder than any other man who's come through here," Hepzibah told her, and then she curtsied to Caoimhe and left. Caoimhe let out a soft sigh once she was alone again. How could anyone condone the ownership of another person, even if they were as kind as Governor Grey was said to be? He did seem uncommonly kind, from what little Caoimhe had seen of him, but how kind could someone who owned other people be? He had been quite busy since he arrived in Jamaica and took over as Governor, leaving Caoimhe to freely wander the house and explore Kingston accompanied by a servant.

When Caoimhe went downstairs to greet Governor Grey, he looked fairly handsome, and he accepted her hand and politely kissed it. "You look very beautiful, Miss Fowlis. I never had the pleasure of meeting your mother, but I imagine she was as beautiful as you are," he said to her, and Caoimhe's cheeks turned pink.

"Yer verra kind, Governor Grey, and no' so bad lookin' yerself," she told him. "Yer wife is verra lucky."

"Ah, yes, Isobel," said Governor Grey, a strange look on his face, and then he offered her his arm. "Will you accompany me as I greet my guests?"

"Of course," Caoimhe replied, accepting his arm. He led her to the entrance hall, where soon, guests were announced by another slave owned by the Governor of Jamaica.

"Mr. and Mrs. Amos Ainsley and their children, Mr. Henry Ainsley and Miss Clara Ainsley," the man announced, and a family of four approached Governor Grey and Caoimhe, bowing or curtsying to them. Mrs. Ainsley was darker skinned, but not as dark as the slaves that populated the island, and her skin seemed to be a bit… redder, for lack of a better word. Her son had pale skin like his father, but her daughter had a more tanned complexion like her.

"A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Ainsley. I assume your journey from North Carolina has been pleasant?" Governor Grey asked Mr. Ainsley.

"Most certainly," said Mr. Ainsley. "It was the first time my Leah has ever been on a ship. Needless to say, she was anxious, but I assured her many times that we were perfectly safe. You know how the savages are about leaving land."

"As a matter of fact, I do not. This is my first time in the New World," Governor Grey told him, slightly uncomfortably.

"Savages? Ye mean the Indians?" Caoimhe chimed in, seemingly surprising Mr. Ainsley, who hadn't expected her to speak.

"Mr. Ainsley, allow me to introduce my guest, Miss Caoimhe Fowlis," said Grey, gesturing to Caoimhe, and Mr. Ainsley eyed her curiously.

"A Scot," said Mr. Ainsley with some disgust. "Under what circumstances have led you to… have a Scot in your company?"

"Miss Fowlis was on the ship tending to the sick men that I came here on," Grey told him. "She is a very talented young woman."

"Hmph," said Mr. Ainsley, eyeing Caoimhe curiously. "My brother was killed at Prestonpans by a Scot. Had you lot not rebelled, perhaps I would still have my brother."

"Mr. Ainsley, I have many fine rums to sample. Would you care for a taste?" Grey asked him, trying to change the subject, and Mr. Ainsley's face lit up.

"Governor, you know me well. Come, my dear. Henry, Clara, come along," Mr. Ainsley said to his children, following Grey out of the room. Later on in the evening after dinner, the ladies went to sit in the parlour while the men went to the smoking room, and many of the ladies were fascinated by Mrs. Ainsley's heritage.

"You're a savage, are you? You seem so civilised for a savage," said Mrs. Thompson, the wife of an army captain.

"Which group of savages do you come from, Mrs. Ainsley?" asked Mrs. Frederick, the wife of a local plantation owner.

"Cherokee," said Mrs. Ainsley as kindly as she could muster.

"They're gawkin' at yer mother like she's a curiosity," Caoimhe whispered to young Clara Ainsley, who must have been around sixteen.

"I imagine she's used to it," Clara replied in an English accent, watching the women question her mother incessantly.

"It doesnae annoy ye?" Caoimhe asked her, and Clara sighed softly.

"It does a bit, especially when they gawk at me," Clara replied, looking at Caoimhe. "I imagine you've noticed I look more like my mother than my brother does."

"So? I look like mine as well," Caoimhe told her, and Clara's face softened and she looked back at her mother.

"You're white, and I imagine your mother was as well. White, fair hair, blue eyes… My mother and I do not exactly have ideal features," Clara told her quietly.

"It's a shame tha's what people care aboot," Caoimhe told her. "Where I come from, we dinnae care so much aboot looks. Or at least, my father doesnae, and therefore I dinnae either."

"Then you're a rare breed," Clara replied, and then she looked at Caoimhe again. "You're from Scotland. Have you ever been to England?"

"No, just Scotland. And France, and now Jamaica," Caoimhe replied. "Yer from North Carolina?" Clara nodded.

"Father came to the New World before the Uprising. He wanted to work in trading. He met my mother and then we were all born. My brother, Henry, has gone to England with Father, but this is the first time I've left the Colonies. Father wanted to come and try to forge a connection with the new Governor of Jamaica," Clara told her.

"I'd like te see the Colonies. Maybe I can convince my aunt and uncle te let us go te the Colonies before we go back te Scotland," Caoimhe told her, giving her a soft smile, and then she sighed softly. "I wonder if they ever found each other again…"


7 March, 1767

The Indies

IAN POV

"Let go of me, ye bastards!" Ian shouted at the men as they covered his head with a burlap sack, dragged him from the ship's hold and threw him onto a smaller boat, and he was about to turn around and kick the bastard, but he heard the click of a gun and froze.

" Você vai ficar em silêncio, garoto, " the man with the gun snapped at him in Portuguese. In his time on the ship, Ian hadn't picked up much Portuguese, but he did know a couple of unkind words.

" Filho da puta ," he growled at the man, calling him a son of a bitch, and the second man chuckled menacingly.

"If you are not careful, garoto , we will feed you to alligators," the second man growled at him. " Começa a remar, Alfonso. " They began to row down a river of some type for what felt like an hour before they arrived at what Ian assumed to be was a dock, and the two men grabbed him and dragged him along the ground, then threw him down into a cellar, where he landed on his stomach.

"Christ," Ian muttered sorely as the door to the cellar was slammed behind him. He felt a hand grab him and he shouted, blindly throwing a punch into the darkness.

"Whoa, easy now!" said a voice in the darkness. "It's all right! It's all right! Hey!"

"Who's there? Who is tha'?" Ian called back.

"My name's Henry," said the voice. "We're all boys like you."

"What?" Ian asked the darkness. "Where are ye?"

"About five feet in front of you," the voice called Henry told him. "What's your name?"

"Ian," Ian replied. "Ian Murray. Where are we?"

"Jamaica, I think," said Henry. "That's where Robbie was from, and he'd not been on a ship, he said. They took me in Baruda."

"Baruda?" asked Ian, and the sound of another voice surprised him.

"No, that was not Robbie, that was Abeeku. Robbie is gone," said the other voice.

"Does this Abeeku ken where we are?" Ian asked the second voice.

"He doesn't speak English," said a third voice. "He was here when I arrived, there were six of us then."

"Who's that?" Ian asked him.

"Name's Tommy, and that's Roderigo," said the third voice, naming the second voice as well.

"Roderigo Perez y Moreno," said the second voice. "I come from New Spain."

"I was on a small boat on the coast of Georgia," Tommy told him.

"What about you? Where'd those Portuguese bastards get you?" Henry asked him.

"Scotland," Ian told them. "What do ye mean there were six of ye?"

"There were six of us - myself, Roderigo, Robbie, Abeeku, and two others," Tommy told him. "One by one, they were taken to see the Bakra."

"The who?" asked Ian.

"The Bakra," Henry replied. "We don't know much about him, but we do know that all those that were brought to him never came back."

"What's a 'Bakra'?" Ian asked.

"White person," said a fourth voice - that must have been Abeeku.

"A white person?" Ian asked with surprise. Sometime later, the men came back for Ian and grabbed him, put the sack over his head again and dragged him to a new place. He felt something solid and hard beneath his feet, then felt himself being dragged up a set of stairs. A door was opened and Ian was shoved into a large room, falling onto his stomach while the door slammed behind him. He groaned softly, then picked up his head and gasped at the sight he saw before him.

There, standing naked in a bath of blood, was a woman with grey in her fair hair. She wrapped herself in a robe of some type, then turned to face Ian, who was terrified by this frightening woman. "Hello, laddie," she said to him maliciously with a Scottish accent, and Ian's eyes widened.

"You… Are ye the Bakra?" Ian asked her, and she smiled.

"Have a seat," she said to him, gesturing to the bed. Hesitantly, but too afraid to hesitate, he made his way to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Oh, what a face! Yer thinkin' I bathe in the blood of virgins like Elizabeth Bathory?" She chuckled menacingly. "Oh, dinnae worry. 'Tis only goat's blood. The protein and iron keeps my skin young. Tea?" Ian didn't answer her and she brought him a cup anyway, handing it to him with a curiously frightening look on his face. "Drink it." She stood back and watched him, and slowly, Ian took a sip from the drink. "So, I am told yer Scottish. So am I, as I'm sure ye hear."

"So ye… yer the Bakra," Ian said to him.

"I am, but ye can call me Geillis," said the Bakra, giving him a frightening smile and taking the cup from him. "Ye must be starvin'. Come, have a seat at my table." Ian stood slowly, and the Bakra placed her hands on his shoulders and sat him down at the small table, then presented him with a tray of food. "Plum cake and puddin', garnished wi' real Scottish heather. Reminds me of home." She sat down across from him and watched him eat rather hungrily.

"What do ye do wi' the lads from the pit?" Ian asked him. "They said there were others, and they didnae come back."

"Eat first, ask questions later," said the Bakra, gesturing to his plate. "Here, more tea." She poured him a cup of tea, then pushed a bowl of sugar cubes closer to him. "'Tis better wi' sugar." Ian nodded, then added a couple of sugar cubes to the tea before taking a sip. "My men tell me ye were on Selkie Island and were holdin' my treasure box when they found ye." Ian didn't directly look at her while he ate. "That box contained three sapphires, and now there are only two. My men dinnae have it, they would never betray me. Did ye take it?"

"Yer jewels? No, I didnae have time te open it before yer ruffians grabbed me. I did drop it, though, and its contents spilled," Ian replied to her. "The cake is verra dry."

"I saw the coins were missin'," she said to him. "Are ye sure ye didnae take my jewel, lad?"

"I already told ye. No," Ian said to her with mild agitation, suddenly feeling very strange. He glanced down at his breeks, finding that they had grown tighter. "What was in tha' tea?"

"A lot of good fer ye," said the Bakra with a strange smile. "Can ye think of what might've happened te my jewel?"

"My uncle, maybe. He was the only one who kent where the treasure was," Ian replied, and then he looked up at her with wide eyes.

"Ye didnae mean te share that wi' me, did ye?" she asked him. "'Tis part of what's in the tea yer drinkin'. A witch doctor makes it fer me - and a few other things as well. It forces ye te tell the truth no matter what… among other things."

"Other things? What other things?" Ian asked her a bit nervously, finding his breeks to grow more and more uncomfortable by the moment. The Bakra only smiled at him.

"Who's yer uncle?" she asked him.

"James Fraser of Broch Tuarach," said Ian uncontrollably, completely distracted by what was happening down below, and he heard a soft intake of breath from the Bakra.

"Is he really?" she asked him. "What does he want wi' my treasure?"

"Te pay a debt," Ian replied. "He mostly needed the coins, but the jewels would help immensely."

"My men tell me someone was shoutin' fer ye from the hill when they took ye. Would that have been yer uncle Jamie Fraser?" the Bakra asked him.

"Aye, and my cousin, Archie, and my auntie. He'll be comin' fer me, ye ken," Ian said to her. "What is in that tea?"

"I'm countin' on it, lad," said the Bakra, and then she stood, moving to the other side of the table to stand above him. Ian awkwardly glanced up at him, finding her gaze on the bulge forming in his breeks.

"What… What do ye do wi'… the other lads?" he asked her meekly, and she gently touched his face, dragging her finger along his cheekbone and tucking a fair tendril of hair behind his ear.

"Oh, I have my way wi' them," she told him rather nonchalantly, and Ian's eyes widened. "Virgins have such power inside. And after tha'… I've no use fer them, have I? Come ." Ian was absolutely terrified now, but due to the influence of the tea she had given him, Ian found himself obeying her every command, as if he were under some sort of spell. He sat down on the bed, having lost full control of his body, but his mind was still reeling.

"I'm no' a virgin," he said to her in a last ditch effort to stop her.

"Lie down," she told him, and he obeyed her as she dropped her robe and crawled on top of him. "Not a virgin, aye? Good, ye'll ken what te do then."


19 March, 1767

Kingston, Jamaica

CATRÌONA POV

"Ah, Jamaica. The jewel of the Caribbean," I said as Jamie and I stood on the ship while it came into port.

"After months at sea, a bustlin' port cannae be a more welcome sight," Jamie chimed in, his arm around my shoulders. "Hopefully, Ian is close and Captain Leonard isnae."

"Bailey was tellin' Archie tha' they dinnae pull into the same port as the Royal Navy. This is a merchant port. There's a naval one nearby," I told him.

"Good," Jamie told him as the ship approached the dock.

"Christ, what is that horrible smell?" I asked, feeling the urge to gag. I covered my mouth and nose with my hand and searched for the source, seeing dark smoke off in the distance. "What is tha'?"

"That's where they burn the bodies," said the voice of a sailor named Turner next to us, and both Jamie and I turned our heads to look at him. "First time to the Indies, I take it. Lots of ships from Africa come through here bringing slaves through the slave trade. Lots die in transit, but the way they pack them tight like animals, they don't know it till they've arrived. They burn the bodies of the dead there."

"Christ," I heard Jamie mutter, looking back at the column of smoke. There must have been so many bodies being burned to produce that much smoke with this strong of an odour. Suddenly, Jamaica was no longer the jewel of the Caribbean in my eyes, and I developed a sense of unease - I couldn't wait to get as far away from this island as I could.

"Cannae wait te go back home te Scotland," I said. "Things like this dinnae happen there."

"They have," Jamie replied neutrally, staring at the column of smoke. "At Culloden. Hundreds of dead were burned. The smell of it… still haunts me te this day."

"I smelled somethin' similar at Bloody Bush, when the hospital was bombed," I told him, crossing my arms and resting them on my growing belly. "How could mankind allow such atrocities?"

"Hmm," Jamie replied, still seeing flashbacks of Culloden behind his blue eyes. "I cannae answer tha'."

"When we get off, we should wear hats. Hide our hair as best as we can," I said. "See if I can bum a bonnet off of Marsali, maybe. It's the one curse of havin' red hair. We look nice, but can be spotted anywhere."

"Aye, no' a bad idea. I imagine the Porpoise is already here," Jamie told me, watching Archie's own red hair make its way down the gangplank to speak with a man on the dock. We both saw him nod, and then not long after, he made his way back up to the ship, then approached us.

"Fergus!" he called, drawing Fergus's attention over. "The harbourmaster says the Porpoise is definitely here. Mama said the new Governor of Jamaica was on it, and he's here, which means the Porpoise is here." Fergus joined us after a moment. "Fergus, once the casks are stowed, have Baxley take the ship out of harbour te the wee cove we saw. Cannae risk bein' moored here if Captain Leonard decides te make an appearance."

"Yes, Archie," Fergus replied. "Maybe the Porpoise has come and gone already?"

"She lost so many men. There's no chance Leonard has had the time te refit, find crew and provision his ship," I told him. "Jamaica was but two days from Saint-Domingue, but I dinnae think Captain Leonard kent tha'. He didnae seem te have the experience. I jumped ship on the ninth of March and found ye both again on the seventeenth. Tha's eight days. That would have gotten him several days ahead of us."

"Leonard or no', we need te find Ian and slip away before he kens we're even here," Jamie said with a bit of bitterness.

"Perhaps I can take some of the crew and go search the town. I'd like te find Caoimhe as well, but I imagine findin' Caoimhe means findin' Leonard. Perhaps ye should stay here-" I started, but he cut me off straight away.

" No. I will not part wi' ye. I willnae lose ye again, Catrìona," he snapped at me fiercely, meeting my eye firmly and grasping my hand tightly. "We'll search the town together."

"All right, calm down," I said to him, covering his hand with my other one and prying my hand loose. "Fine, we'll no' be separated, but I dinnae want ye gettin' arrested, Jamie. After all we've been through, I dinnae think I can stand te see it."

"Then I'll not get arrested," he replied, taking my hand again and bringing to his lips to kiss it. "Come lass, let us get off this ship. Grab yer things." We collected what little we wanted to take from the ship, as well as a hat for Jamie and a cap for me to cover my hair, and made our way off of the ship onto the docks. The smell of burning flesh still filled the air, so I held onto Jamie tightly and brought a handkerchief to my face to cover my mouth and nose.

"God, tha' smell is awful," I uttered, holding onto Jamie's arm tightly.

"Aye, I could vomit at the verra thought of what's causin' it," he told me.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir?" said a voice behind us, and we both turned, Jamie's arm darting around my side and pulling me closer to him - it wasn't Leonard, nor even a redcoat. "Have ye just recently disembarked from the Artemis ?"

"And ye are?" I demanded from him, protectively pushing against Jamie's chest to push him behind me. I wasn't the one at risk of meeting the hangman's noose - he was.

"Oh, my apologies, Mistress. The name's Kenneth MacIver, the Artemis is my employer's vessel," the man, Mr. MacIver, said to us.

"Ah, it's all right, mo nighean ," Jamie said, freeing himself from my hand and stepping forward to shake Mr. MacIver's. "James Fraser, yer employer's cousin, supercargo of the Artemis . This is my wife, Catrìona Fraser. We've brought ye French wine and brandy."

"Jared's cousin? My, my, I wasnae expectin' a shipment until the summer! A pleasure te meet ye both. This is quite fortuitous timin', I must say. I'm expected te bring four casks of wine te the new governor's residence. He'll be havin' a grand ball tonight. He's had many gatherin's already, just had one last night, but this one is supposed te be the grandest," Mr. MacIver said to us. "Oh, but ye'd be welcome te join us! My wife, Nancy, would be delighted te host Jared's kinsman!"

"I thank ye fer the invitation, but we've a rather… pressin' matter te attend te," Jamie said to Mr. MacIver, who's face changed to one of concern.

"Oh, I see. Well, might I be of service, Mr. Fraser?" Mr. MacIver asked.

"Perhaps. Do ye ken where we might be able te find lodgin' fer myself, my wife, my sons and my daughter?" Jamie asked him. "I'll be glad te appraise ye of our search along the way." We were led to an inn by Mr. MacIver, and all the while, I walked beside Jamie while he told Mr. MacIver about Ian, and about Caoimhe as well having been on the Porpoise without me.

"A frightenin' tale, te be sure," Mr. MacIver said once Jamie had finished. "I do hope ye find yer nephew. As fer yer niece, Mrs. Fraser, ye said she was a fair-haired Scottish lass?"

"Aye," I replied.

"The Governor had a fair-haired Scottish lass in his company last night with him. You see, I was invited to his dinner last night along wi' me wife and I believe the Governor introduced her as Miss Fowlis," Mr. MacIver said to me, and I tightly grasped Jamie's arm and looked up at him.

"It's her. It has te be her. We need te go te the ball and find her," I said to him.

"Catrìona, I've said already we've more pressin' matters," Jamie told me, but I scoffed furiously.

"Yer nephew is lost, and so is my niece. At the verra least, we can fetch my niece back who you insisted we allow te stay on the ship," I snapped at him, and he let out a sigh.

"Mr. MacIver, do ye ken anyone at the ball tonight that may ken of a Portuguese ship called the Bruja ?" Jamie asked him. "Or do you ken if she's been moored here?"

"The Bruja ? Oh, aye, I ken. I took a hogsheads of Vinho do Porto from her a week ago. She departed the next day," Mr. MacIver told him, and Jamie let out a soft huff.

"Aye, of course," he said. "Where did she go? Would ye ken?"

"Likely te Portugal or even Africa. She transports slaves as well as wine and the like," said Mr. MacIver, and I could see Jamie's eyes turn as wide as saucers.

"Slaves? Did she… Did she sell any?" Jamie asked him, both a hopeful and a fearful tone in his voice.

"We were told tha' if our nephew survived, they might… attempt te sell him as a slave here," I said to Mr. MacIver, putting a voice to Jamie's fears.

"Hmm. I dinnae ken, Mistress, I am sorry te say. Ye'll be wantin' te make inquiries at the slave market," Mr. MacIver told me, and I nodded, grasping Jamie's hand and giving it a firm, comforting squeeze. "Ye'll find fair lodgin's here, now. I'll send some of my men te fetch yer belongin's from the Artemis. "

"Thank ye verra much, Mr. MacIver," I said to him, and he bid us good day and left while we went inside to secure rooms. "I dinnae feel comfortable wi' the idea of goin' te a slave market," I told Jamie once we were inside.

"I can go alone, but ye must stay here," Jamie replied, a bit of firmness in his voice.

"No. I'll be goin' wi' ye no matter where ye go," I told him, and then I sighed softly. "Perhaps we could learn more at the ball tonight? Christ, where would I even find a dress?"

"We cannae go te a ball," Jamie told me, and I paused, then narrowed my eyes at him.

"We're goin' te the ball te fetch my niece whether ye like it or no'," I said to him rather sharply.

"Ye said so yerself. We need te lie low te risk arrest. Wherever Caoimhe is, Leonard likely isnae too far behind," Jamie replied, equally firmly.

"Then ye dinnae have te come, but I'm goin' whether ye like it or not. I am gettin' my niece back," I said to him, and Jamie let out a sigh.

"We'll find a way," he told me, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms across his chest. "Perhaps I should lie low… If we're te show our faces at a public ball, I need te show little of my face elsewhere."

"I would agree," I told him as I sat on the bed, my hand unconsciously resting on my belly. He glanced up at me, then smiled softly and approached me, sitting down next to me and touching my belly.

"Nothin' ever can be easy fer us, can it?" he asked me quietly. "Seems fate keeps wantin' te pull us apart the moment we're drawn back together again."

"So far, everra time I've been pregnant, we've been pulled apart," I told him. "Or mostly. Whenever I've carried the bairn te term. Perhaps it's a sign that this weeun will be born healthy." Jamie took my hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss it.

"We'll no' be pulled apart again. I'll make damn sure of it," he said. "Even if I must kill Leonard wi' my bare hands. I promised ye I'd be here wi' ye through everrathin' wi' this bairn, and I will be."

"Good. Suppose tha' means ye need te stay hidden," I told him, and he sighed softly.

"Suppose so," Jamie replied. "Go te the slave market wi' Archie, ask around aboot Ian. I'll… I'll stay behind."

"Like a good lad," I told him, chuckling at my own joke, and then I leaned forward to kiss him. "I'll be sure te bring ye back a wee present."

"Verra funny," he told me, playfully smacking my arse when I stood back up.


Kingston Slave Market, Jamaica

"Be glad I bought ye tha' parasol, Mistress Fraser. Ye dinnae want people te think ye arenae respectable," said Lesley, another of Jamie's men, to me from behind, and I lightly scoffed.

"Only thing I'm glad of is havin' a wee bit of shade. I burn like a newborn bairn's arse on Midsummer," I told him, holding onto Archie's arm carefully. My one arm was still sore, so Archie held the parasol over my head for me while I kept that arm tucked close. "I really dinnae care if these people think I'm respectable or no'."

"Can it, Lesley, or ye can walk aboot wi' a parasol and wee bonnet," Archie told him.

"Christ," I muttered when we arrived in the slave market. It was terrifying to see - there were naked men, women and children from Africa who were chained together and put on display like animals in a zoo. Women were being poked and prodded and having their breasts squeezed, men were told to demonstrate acrobatics for potential patrons, some men were even being felt up, their sellers rubbing their cocks to display their versatility. It made me sick, on top of the scent of burning, rotting flesh still thick in the air.

"This is horrible," Archie muttered quietly, a look of shock on his face. "How could people do this te other men? Who gives a damn what colour their skin is? They're still men."

"I wish I could say it ends soon. A whole war will be fought over slavery in aboot a hundred years' time," I muttered quietly to Archie, hoping Lesley couldn't hear me.

"Men can be so cruel," Archie said to me, and suddenly, Jamie's scars on his back came to mind, inflected upon him by one of the cruelest men I could bring to mind. By comparison to what men have done to enslaved men and women… Suddenly, what Black Jack Randall did didn't seem so bad in comparison.

"Ye there! Man!" I heard Hayes call, and Archie and I turned to see Hayes speaking to a seller.

"Good day to you, sir! Might I interest you in one of my fine authentic African Negroes?" said the seller to Hayes, hoping to make a sale, but Hayes just uncomfortably shook his head.

"No, sir. I've come te inquire aboot a fair-skinned lad bein' sold recently, perhaps of aboot… fifteen years of age?" Hayes asked the man, who's face scrunched up in horror.

"Heavens, no! What sort of man do you take me for? I only sell savages!" the seller told him, referring to the African men and women who stood on a stage behind him. Hayes averted his eyes, his cheeks turning pink at their nudity.

"I see," said Hayes.

"Well, have ye heard of any white lads bein' sold in these parts?" I demanded from the seller with frustration.

"No, ma'am. White slaves don't sell well in these parts. They're men, you see, while these apes are-"

"Also men, thank ye verra much," I said to him, interrupting him, and then I dragged Archie on past that seller and his stock. "'What kind of man do ye take me fer', he says. A true savage himself, tha's what I take him fer."

"Good day, gentlemen! Come!" called another rather charismatic slave seller rather loudly, drawing in a crowd. "I have some of the finest Gold Coast Negroes!"

"Excuse me," I said, pushing through the crowd to get to the front, Archie trailing behind me. "I beg yer pardon, sir."

"Ah, good day to you, my lady, sir. Might I interest you in a fine Gold Coast Negro?" the seller asked us.

"No, not lookin' te own another man," I said rather firmly, catching him off guard. "Look, we're lookin' fer possible… human cargo that would have been brought in on a Portuguese ship called the Bruja . They kidnapped my nephew who may have been here within a month or so, a Scottish lad. Fair-haired, aboot fifteen years auld. Would ye have seen him?"

"I do indeed know of the Bruja , Madam, but she only trades in negroes, not white boys. Her negroes aren't as seasoned as mine and yet, here mine sit: you would think the Governor would have more sense than to buy low-quality goods," said the seller with a rather snooty tone, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ye mean te say the Governor bought the slaves off the Bruja ?" I asked him, and the seller scoffed.

"Indeed he did, the English fool," said the seller.

"Are ye no' English yerself?" Archie asked him.

" Welsh , I will thank you very much. The name is David Pritchard, a Welsh name, if I've ever heard one," the man called Pritchard told us.

"My name is more Welsh than tha'," I told him. "Thank ye, Mr. Pritchard, ye've been a big help."

"But wait! Do you not want to buy a fine Golden Coast Negro?" Mr. Pritchard asked me, and I scoffed.

"From a Welshman? God, no," I said sarcastically, walking away from him.

"Mama," Archie called, catching up with me. "So the slaves will ken what's become of Ian, aye? Perhaps we should take up Mr. MacIver's offer anyway."

"We'll have te find ye and yer father some powdered wigs," I told him, pushing a loose tendril of red hair out of my son's eyes.

"Why me? I'm no' on trial here," Archie told me, and I was about to reply when we were interrupted by an auctioneer, shouting loudly to be heard over the roar of the crowd and other sellers.

"Shall we start the bidding at ten pounds sterling? Ten pounds!" shouted the auctioneer, stopping us in our tracks. Right beside him was a tall African man with an injured leg, but he seemed strong and firm. From what I could see, the poor man had a festering infection on his upper thigh, which needed tending to.

"You ask too much, sir. The man can't work!" shouted a man in the crowd.

"Come, now, look at this rare specimen ladies and gentlemen!" said the auctioneer, drawing attention to the poor man's cock, and my eyes widened in horror at the humiliation this poor man was facing. I took a quick glance at one of the naked women behind him, and then suddenly, it was like I could see the face of Alexa MacLeod. She came from a long line of Scots, likely descending from someone who was taken from their homeland in Africa, and to think of someone treating a woman as great, strong and fierce as Alexa MacLeod such as this made me want to throw up in my mouth. "Young, virile, as you can see!" the auctioneer continued. "And look how tall! Over six feet!"

"But he can hardly walk!"

"No good!"

"No good for field work, that is true, but for breeding , however…" said the auctioneer.

"Can you give assurance of his virility?" asked a man in the crowd. "Mrs. Abernathy had one three year past, big as a mule, and not a foal dropped on his account!"

"They're treatin' them worse than horses," Archie muttered beside me.

"Assurances, sir. Assurance!" shouted someone else in the crowd.

"Well, well… I'll give you a demonstration!" said the auctioneer, grabbing the man's cock and starting to rub it, and I gasped softly in horror. "See for yourselves! See how it grows!"

"Tha's enough !" I shouted, shoving through the crowd and pulling myself up onto the stage, punching the auctioneer as hard as I could and shoving him away from the poor man, and someone grabbed me from behind. "Get yer hands off of me!"

"Let go of my mother, damn ye!" I heard Archie shout, and he leapt up onto the stage and grabbed the man that had grabbed me, shoving him off of the stage as the crowd parted. "Stay away from her! Have ye no respect fer an expectant mother?"

"An expectant mother with a grown son? Seems like she's got great fertility!" said someone from the crowd, and Archie turned on him next.

"Say another word aboot my mother and I'll throttle ye hard enough ye'll have te swallow yer bollocks te get them back into place!" Archie growled furiously at him.

"Order! Order!" shouted the auctioneer, having stood back up, and he had one hand covering his bleeding nose that I had broken while Archie pulled me off of the stage.

"No!" I exclaimed. "Archie, do somethin'! Help him!"

"Hayes! Lesley! Take my mother back te the inn," Archie ordered Hayes and Lesley, who started to lead me back through the crowd. I would have resisted normally, but I wanted out of that slave market and as far away from it as I could possibly get, so I had no protest as Hayes and Lesley brought me back to the inn, where Jamie would comfort me while I cried into his shoulder.

"God, it was horrible what they were doin' te those men and women!" I cried as he gently rubbed my back.

"Aye, I ken, lass. I ken," Jamie told me, pressing his lips to my hair while he held me.

"I dinnae want te stay here another moment. Let's get Caoimhe and Ian and get the hell out of this godforsaken land!" I hissed, holding onto Jamie tightly. It was a shock to me, really. Knowing the horrors of human history was one thing, but seeing them first hand, experiencing the horrible treatment of other human beings… I had operated on men and women of all colours, ethnicities and backgrounds, and despite some subtle regional genetic differences, they were all the same on the inside. How could one man hate another purely because of the colour of his skin? A knock on the door sounded, and Jamie bid whoever it was to come in.

"Mama?" Archie said, and I looked up from Jamie's shoulder at my son, sniffling and wiping my eyes as I pulled away.

"Archie," I said. "Did ye do somethin' fer the man?"

"Aye, I… did the only thing that I could," said Archie a bit meekly and awkwardly. "But… ye might not like it…"

"What did ye do?" I asked him, standing up, and Archie approached me and handed me a piece of paper, which I read with widened eyes:

RECEIVED OF CATRÌONA FRASER THE SUM OF TWENTY POUNDS STERLING BEING IN FULL FOR THE PURCHASE OF A MALE NEGRO SLAVE NAMED TEMERAIRE.

"Ye bought him? In my name?" I exclaimed, horrified. "Archie!"

"Did ye have a better plan? It was the simplest way te appease the man that owned him!" Archie exclaimed in his defence. "I told him it was yer… first time at a slave market, tha' we came from Scotland and didnae have such a thing there. And I explained too, tha' ye were wi' child-" He was a bit shocked when I slapped him across the face, having never been hit by me before - and frankly, I was a little surprised, too, and took a step back to collect myself.

"Dinnae say another word, Archie Fraser," I said to him neutrally, turning away from him with the paper in my hands.

"The… the bill of sale needed a… a name te make it legal… I panicked, I didnae ken what te put. Should I have put my own name, Da?" Archie asked Jamie, who must have been trying to comfort him.

"It's all right, lad. Where is he?" Jamie asked Archie quietly behind me.

"Waitin' outside. I gave him my vest, but I didnae have any other claithes. I'll give him some of my own. Have my things been brought in?" Archie asked Jamie.

"Aye, do tha'. He can board wi' ye," Jamie told him, and then I heard footsteps and the door closing behind me. For a long moment, there was silence, and then Jamie spoke again. "He just wanted te help ye, Catrìona."

"By buyin' another human being?" I asked. "My own son has bought another man, in my name. Oh, God, and I hit him…" I buried my face in my hands, feeling the tears stinging my eyes yet again. "What is wrong wi' me?"

"Ye were overcome, Catrìona," Jamie told me, approaching me and laying his hands on my shoulders. "He'll forgive ye… but it couldnae hurt te apologise te him."

"We have te free him," I said. "The man, we… I cannae own a slave, Jamie. I cannae."

"Aye, I agree, we do, but we cannae free him in Kingston. He'll just be captured again," Jamie told me. "At least wi' us, he'd be cared fer."

"Aye, I need te tend te him. The poor lad had a nasty wound on his leg," I said softly, looking down again at the offensive paper in my hands. "What if I tore this up? Said he was a companion of ours?"

"Then he'd have no proof he was yers," Jamie told me.

"He isnae mine, he is his own man," I said with anger.

"Aye, I ken, but others willnae see it that way, Catrìona. Ye ken tha' well. He would have no proof he is already owned, and someone could claim him as their own," Jamie told me, and I let out a groan and plopped down onto the bed.

"This is a nightmare. A horrible nightmare," I said with a heavy sigh.

"We'll think of somethin'. Perhaps we can take him back te Scotland wi' us, free him there. No one would dare try te claim another man there," Jamie told me. "In the meantime, we'll keep him safe wi' us."

"I suppose so," I replied. "Ye should accept Mr. MacIver's invitation te the ball, by the way. The slaves from the Bruja were purchased by the Governor. They may ken what's become of Ian. It's strange, I met the Governor on the Porpoise and he didnae seem the kind of man te buy another."

"Hm," said Jamie, seeming to get an idea.

"What?" I asked him.

"I dinnae think the slaves of the household would trust either ye or me… but they might trust him," Jamie said, gesturing with his eyes to the paper in my hand.


ARCHIE POV

"And… there ye are," Archie said to Temeraire, placing a tricorn hat on his head. "Ye look like a proper Scotsman! Well, post-Culloden." Temeraire glanced up at the hat on his head, not daring to move or say a word. "If ye dinnae like it, ye dinnae have te wear it. We are lucky we're nearly the same size, arenae we?" Temeraire removed the hat quietly while Archie picked up a lighter jacket, handing it to him with a soft smile. "Might be a bit warm, but I'm assumin' ye'll come back wi' us te Scotland, and it's quite cold there. I imagine it isnae so cold in Africa?"

"Thank you, sire," said Temeraire quietly with a soft African accent.

"I'm sorry fer what tha' bastard did te ye. I couldnae imagine bein' paraded naked in front of so many people like tha', and women as well," Archie told him. He was about to speak again when he heard a knock and the door and he opened it, finding his parents on the other side.

"We need te speak wi' Temeraire, lad," Da told him.

"Of course," said Archie, stepping aside, and then he looked at his mother, who seemed quite upset, and carried her medical bag in her hand. "Are ye all right, Mama?" Without saying a word, she hugged him tightly, an embrace he returned.

"I'm so sorry, Archie. I should have never laid a hand on ye," Mama said to him, kissing the side of his head.

"It's all right, Mama. I wish I could have done somethin' different other than buyin' Temeraire," Archie replied, embracing his mother tightly.

"Ye did the right thing, lamb. He'll be safe wi' us," Mama replied, pulling back from the embrace to smile up at Archie and gently touch his face. "And we'll be settin' him free, as soon as we're able."

"Free?" said Archie, turning back to look at Temeraire. "Ye hear that, man? Ye'll be free."

"Free?" asked Temeraire, glancing curiously and eagerly at the Frasers.

"Temeraire, would ye mind if I had a look at yer leg?" Mama asked him, letting go of my son to approach Temeraire.

"Yes, ma'am," said Temeraire, pulling down the breeks Archie had given him and sitting down on the bed so Mama could treat his leg.

"I'm a doctor, and this looks like an awful infection," Mama said to him, examining the infected wound on his leg. "Ah, but dinnae fash, nothin' I cannae treat."

"You mean to free me?" Temeraire asked again, looking up at Archie and Da.

"Aye, lad," Da told him. "We dinnae ken how yet, or where we can free ye safely, but we intend te."

"You buy me… to set me free?" Temeraire asked them, seemingly unable to process this straight away.

"Aye, lamb," said Mama, smiling up at him softly with her kindly maternal smile - the one that always comforted Archie whenever he was distressed. "We've no desire te own ye."

"So I'm free?" asked Temeraire.

"Ye are, but ye'll be stayin' here under my watchful eye so I can rest assured tha' this infection is gone," Mama told him, reaching into her bag to pull out the syringe that she had used on Da's shoulder, and Temeraire's eyes widened.

"What you do to me?" he asked her with fright.

"Oh, dinnae fash, eunan , this'll only pinch a wee bit, but it'll ensure tha' this infection goes away quickly," Mama told him, inserting the needle into his thigh. Archie watched as Temeraire scrunched up his face, and when Mama removed the needle, he relaxed.

"It was not bad," he said.

"Not in the slightest, aye?" Mama asked him, playfully looking up at Da. "Now Temeraire, I need te do what's called a debridement - cut out some of the infected tissue. It'll sting a wee bit more, but it'll help ye heal faster." Hesitantly, Temeraire nodded, allowing Mama to work, and the whole time, he didn't even flinch or make a sound.

"It is not as bad as it was when I was shot," Temeraire told her, and Mama paused a moment to look up at him.

"Ye were shot?" she asked him.

"Yes, ma'am. By Mr. Jamison," said Temeraire.

"He was the owner. No' the auctioneer. He was the one who signed off on the paper," Archie chimed in, and Mama scoffed.

"I'd like te shoot him in the leg, see how he likes it," she said under her breath as she finished cutting away infected flesh and then washed the open wound with alcohol.

"Dinnae threaten te shoot men in the leg, Catrìona," Da told her.

"Why? 'Tis only a threat," Mama told him, pulling out bandages to wrap the wound with.

"Wi' ye, one cannae be certain if it is truly a threat or a promise," Da told her, and Mama made a face at him. "Temeraire, we plan te leave the island soon, but first, we need te find our niece and nephew. My nephew has been kidnapped, likely taken into slavery as ye were, and there are some other men who may ken where he is, but I cannae speak wi' them. They've been enslaved, and likely willnae trust me. If ye'll come wi' us te the Governor's reception tonight and speak wi' these men, learn what's become of my nephew… then we shall forever be indebted te ye. Will ye help us?" Temeraire glanced around the room first at Da, then at Archie, then at Mama, who gave him a soft smile, and then he looked back at Da and nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said, and Da smiled.

"Then we have a bargain," Da told him, holding out a hand to Temeraire. At first, he didn't know what to do with it, then he placed his hand in Da's, who gave it a shake.