Featured Gaelic and Pronunciations:

- Magairlean (mah-gehr-lehn) - bollocks/testicles

24 February, 1744

Maison Elise, Paris, France

JAMIE POV

Jamie brushed off his coat and shared a glance with his brother-in-law after they had descended from the carriage, the pair of them exchanging a knowing glance. "Prepared te hear the same spiel all over again?" Cailean asked him. Jamie didn't know what a 'spiel' was, but if he had to guess, it must have something to do with how Charles was likely to repeat the same speech he'd been giving them every time they met. 'When is your meeting with the Minister of Finance?' 'Have you even met him yet?' 'These plans are very important, James. Mark me, I need you to make haste!' Jamie nodded to Cailean, who patted his good brother on the back before the pair of them entered the establishment.

As expected, Charles was seated at a round table surrounded by women and male friends with a glass of wine in his hand, but when he saw the two men enter and approach his table, he waved the ladies away. "James, Cailean, how wonderful to see you again," said Charles in a manner that would suggest impatience.

"Good evenin', Yer Highness," Jamie said to him as he sat down at the table.

"Well? Have you scheduled a meeting with the Minister of Finance yet?" Charles asked him impertinently.

"As a matter of fact, we have," Cailean chimed in.

"Excellent! When is it?" Charles demanded of them.

"On Saturday, we shall ride to Versailles and meet with Monsieur Duverney over a game of chess," Jamie told him, and Charles's excited expression faded quickly into one of annoyance.

"And why couldn't this meeting be sooner?" he demanded.

"The Minister of Finance is a verra busy man, Yer Highness," Cailean told him calmly. "Ye ken, Paris isnae the only city in France. He had te travel to Marseille early last week and will only be returning on Thursday."

"And why can't this meeting be on Thursday?" the Prince demanded with frustration.

"Because Marseille is a five days' journey away, Yer Highness. The man will want te see his family, I'm certain," Jamie told him. "The man will be less likely te work with me if I rush him." At this, Charles let out a sigh and slumped back into his seat.

"I see your reasoning, James, and though this mission is of the utmost importance, I would have to agree," he said with frustration. "Very well. I am glad at least that you have finally arranged a meeting with him, James. For that, we celebrate." He raised his hands, and the ladies returned, this time crawling over all three of them.

" Bonsoir, mademoiselles, " Cailean told the girls, who giggled girlishly. One of the girls was trying to sit on Jamie's lap, and he kept pushing her away, but the lass was quite impertinent.

" Merci , but I am not interested," Jamie told her in French, and she pouted. "I am married."

"So are most of the men here, James," said Charles, also in French.

"Come, your wife will never know," said the girl, tugging on Jamie's arm, and he pulled it free.

"I assure you, she will," he said somewhat firmly, surprising her. Charles was staring at him, his brow raised curiously - after all, his eyebrows were shaved - and Jamie cleared his throat. "My wife, she… She is La Dame Blanche. " The girl gasped and darted away from him. "If she finds I've been… indulging… Lord knows what she will do to me."

" La Dame Blanche? " Charles asked. "I knew there was something odd about your wife!"

"What's La Dame Blanche? " Cailean whispered to Jamie, who seemed a bit bothered by Jamie calling his sister by that name.

"I'll tell ye later," Jamie whispered back. The girls left him alone after this revelation, and that was all that he could ask for. He would just have to pray to the Lord that word never got back to Catrìona - he was certain she would not take kindly to being called a 'witch', not after what happened at Cranesmuir.

29 February, 1744

Jared's House, Paris, France

CATRÌONA POV

I awoke to rustling, and when I opened my eyes and sought the source, my gaze landed on Jamie, who was putting on his belt. "Jamie?" I asked, and he stopped to look up at me. "What are ye doin'?"

"Go back to sleep, mo nighean ," he told me with a smile.

"What are ye doin'?" I asked again.

"Off to the warehouses te inspect a new shipment that's just arrived and then it'll be a mad dash off te Versailles," he told me. "If I'm lucky, Duverney will agree te return te Paris with me te meet with the Prince."

"If yer lucky? I thought that's what we were avoidin'," I told him.

"Charles is relentless. He'll no' give up until the man tells him te pish off himself," Jamie replied as he pulled on his coat, and then he bent over the bed to kiss me, but I turned my head for him to miss. "Catrìona…"

"Ye promised ye'd come with me and the lads on a walk, Jamie," I told him. "Are ye really goin' back on yer word?"

"Was that today? I'm sorry, mo ghràidh , but ye ken how important this is-"

"And this isn't?"

"I didnae say that."

"But ye implied it."

"There will be plenty of time for other walks, Catrìona."

"But ye've barely spent any time with the lads, Jamie! All I wanted was fer ye to spend more time with yer sons, but yer too busy, aren't ye?"

"Catrìona-"

"Just go." I was final with my tone, having stood up to stand by the window with my back turned to him. I heard him let out a sigh.

"I love ye, Catrìona, and the lads," he said, but I didn't answer him. He seemed to linger for another few moments, and then his footsteps carried him out the door.

Versailles, Paris, France

JAMIE POV

Jamie couldn't stop thinking about how upset his wife was with him. She didn't even tell him she loved him before he left and wouldn't answer him, which meant she was furious. That hurt him quite a bit. Here he was, working hard for her mission to put an end to some rebellion that she claims is coming, and she was upset with him for not being home enough. Did she have any idea how tiring it was to do Charles's bidding? To deal with the man himself?

Duverney tipped over his queen, declaring Jamie the winner of the chess game that the pair of them were playing. "The game is yours… again," said Duverney with amusement. "You play very well."

"I do my best," said Jamie, shaking off any thoughts about Catrìona and the inevitable argument that was brewing. "But, if I may return te more pressing matters… When we first met a fortnight ago, ye offered te be of service if I ever needed ye."

"You know, James, if you desire my help, it would not be a bad idea to lose a game once in a while," said Duverney with amusement, and Jamie smiled.

"I respect ye too much te allow such a cheap victory," Jamie answered him.

"Then I give you permission to respect me less," said Duverney, returning the pieces to the board. Jamie glanced across the room at Cailean, who was scanning over the book titles in the many shelves. Feeling Jamie's eyes on him, he turned, then nodded subtly and began to make his way to the table. "Now, how can I be of service?"

"Ye ken that there is a claim to the English throne, and no' of the arse that sits on the throne now," said Jamie as Cailean approached the table.

"Good game, lads?" Cailean asked, taking a seat at the table.

"Your good brother is very skilled at the game, Mr. Fowlis. I should like to see your skill sometime," said Duverney, and then he turned back to Jamie. "Yes, yes, we all know about James and how his throne was usurped by the heretic from Hanover. What of it? Does his son wish to make another attempt to reclaim the throne?"

"Indeed he does," Cailean chimed in.

"But he cannae do it without support," Jamie told him, and Duverney let out a heavy sigh.

"I should have thought something like this would have been brought to my attention eventually," he said. "I want to help your cause. I want the throne of England to be ruled by a Catholic, same as every other Catholic in all of the continent, but King Louis does not have the resources, considering the war with Austria and now England has depleted our resources… And he certainly has no desire to fund his cousin's rebellion, especially not after the failed rebellion that James led some years ago."

"In '15, yes," said Cailean. "Tha's why we want ye to tell Charles this yerself." At this, Duverney's brow raised.

"You mean to discourage Prince Charles from mounting your rebellion?" he asked in mild shock, and Jamie nodded.

"Aye. Scotland and our people cannae bear another failed rebellion. Our people are already poor and starved, and without the proper resources and finances te win, we dinnae think it wise to invade," Jamie explained.

"Charles is eager te invade as soon as possible, and while the sentiment can be appreciated, he doesnae ken the true situation in Scotland," Cailean told him.

"We arenae equipped te handle a rebellion, which is why we need ye te tell the Prince what ye've told us," Jamie finished.

"I see," said Duverney. "As Minister, I cannot speak officially to the emissary of a monarch not recognised by the King."

"Of course, but if ye were te meet with Charles unofficially in a place that values discretion above all else, like, say… Maison Elise?" Cailean asked, and the expression of recognition crossed Duverney's face.

"I see," Duverney repeated. "I have not been there in months. My wife…"

"She need not know," Jamie told him. "As my good brother said, discretion above all else."

"Ye can simply tell her yer out playin' chess with Jamie," Cailean told him. "After all, are politics no' like a giant game of chess?" Duverney nodded, then glanced down at the board in front of him.

"Very well," said Duverney. "I will agree to meet with Charles, but it cannot be for some time. I've only just returned, and I am expected elsewhere."

"The Prince will be delighted te have a meeting with ye. Just let us ken what day works best fer you," Jamie told him, and then he rotated the board, switching the colours for the two players. "Another round, mon amie? "

Jared's House, Paris, France

CATRÌONA POV

I took breakfast in my room, as I was exhausted and frustrated and had no desire to be surrounded by people. As it turned out, I received several invites to dinner parties and salons for the following week, as one of the young maids, Francesca, informed me.

" Merci, Francesca. I'll respond to them later," I informed her as I took a sip from my tea, my Fowlis tartan wrapped loosely around my shoulders.

"And I have found this, Madame, in the kitchen," said Francesca, producing a pair of lace gloves that I had worn to the lads' christening and commonly wore to Mass, of which I was forced to attend by Jamie. "I believe they are yours?" I glanced up at Francesca over my tea and let out a frustrated huff.

"I gave those to Suzette to mend. Where is she?" I asked Francesca.

"I do not know, Madame," Francesca told me, and with a huff, I stood up, wrapping the tartan more tightly around myself, and crossed to Francesca to grasp the gloves from her.

"I'll find her myself," I said, but Francesca stopped me from exiting the room.

"Madame, you cannot leave this room dressed like that!" she said to me, a rather scandalised expression crossing her face.

"I dinnae care, Francesca," I told her, but she was relentless, so I let out a huff and traded my worn, but personal tartan for a fancy, ornate robe that I didn't need before exiting the room and searching the house for Suzette. "Suzette!" I called as I made my way into the servants' quarters. "Suzette!" Suddenly, I heard giggling and moaning coming from behind a door - Suzette's door, specifically. "Suzette! I thought I asked ye…" I said again with annoyance, pushing open the door and finding myself shocked by what I had seen. I wasn't shocked by the action itself - I'd heard the moaning and giggling - but what did shock me was who Suzette was… copulating… with.

"Oh!" Suzette squeaked, quickly covering her bare breasts while bloody Murtagh stared at me from the bed, Suzette sitting on his thighs. "Did you need something, Milady?"

"It… it's no' important…" I said with a stutter, then quickly rushed out of the room and back to mine to hide. Even Murtagh had a faithful bed companion! How was he managing to get lucky while I was getting left hung to dry by my own husband?

Sometime later, I was attempting to stitch the torn gloves myself. I wasn't overly skilled at stitching clothes, as it was nothing at all like stitching a wound on a human being. I heard a knock at the door, which startled me a little and sent the needle into the tip of my thumb. " Magairlean… " I muttered to myself as I stuck my thumb in my mouth to suck on the wound. "Come in!" The door opened and Murtagh entered, and I let out a huff. "Havin' a grand time keepin' Suzette from her duties, are ye?" I said to him bitterly.

"I won't apologise fer spendin' time with yer lady's maid, if ye have a mind te reproach me," Murtagh told me rather neutrally.

"What ye do with yer own time is yer own concern and I dinnae care what ye stick yer cock in, either, unless yer choice has somethin' else te be doin'. It's the middle of the day, Suzette is paid te do her job, ye ken!" I spat at him. "Have ye nothin' else te be doin'?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," Murtagh spat back at me.

"Well, neither do I!" I shouted, throwing the gloves down onto the settee. "But fer Bride's sake, must ye take the servant I need most te yer bed? Put her at risk fer pregnancy?"

"Since when did you become such a priggish scold when it comes te frolicking between the sheets?" Murtagh demanded of me. "Or are the rumours true? That there is no frolicking between yer sheets anymore?"

"Ye can mind yer own bloody business and remember who runs this damn house!" I shouted, standing up. My face held firm, and Murtagh's equally firm face began to soften.

"I'm sorry, lass," he said after a moment of tense silence. "I shouldna have used that against ye."

"And how would ye even ken what happens in my bedchamber?" I demanded of him, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Suzette and the other lassies claim they ken what does or doesnae happen in a lady's bedchamber," said Murtagh, and my eyes widened. "Ye ken gossip is a large part of a house like this, lass. If yer denyin' the lad his marital rights-"

"I'm not denying him anything!" I snapped at him. "It's him who won't even touch me ! Who won't even look at me! So dinnae dare blame me!" I turned on my heel and stalked to the window, looking out at the streets of Paris, and let out a sigh. "All this… I dinnae ken if it's worth it anymore. I feel I've lost so much."

"The lad's been struggling after what that bastard did to him," Murtagh told me.

"Ye think I dinnae ken that?" I demanded from him. "I tried te help him, te be understandin', te be patient… I dinnae ken what te do."

"Be more patient," said Murtagh. "He'll get better. With Randall dead-"

"But ye see, there's the problem," I interrupted him, my eyes cast downward to a servant walking down the street. "Randall isnae dead."

"What?" Murtagh asked suddenly. "What do ye mean he isnae dead? I saw him lyin' dead with my own eyes! He was bleedin' on the stone floor of Wentworth Prison."

"Apparently, he has made a miraculous recovery," I said without emotion.

"How do ye ken fer sure?" Murtagh asked me.

"At Versailles, when I sent ye and Jamie te go and have wine with Duverney," I began.

"A drunken frog, at his finest," Murtagh growled at the mention of Duverney.

"I'm sure," I said. "Anyway, I was speakin' te Sandringham when his secretary came. His secretary turned out to be a man named Alex Randall, younger brother to Jack Randall. He claimed that his brother was recovered."

"Recovered?" Murtagh asked.

"'Injured in the line of duty' was how he put it. He didnae specify that his brother had been nearly crushed te death by a herd of coos," I said.

"Jesus wept," Murtagh muttered. "Randall really is the Devil's spawn." He paused for a moment. "Ye… ye havenae told Jamie, have ye?"

"How could I?" I asked, turning to look at him. "Te ken his attacker is alive? He's a stubborn fool, when it comes te protectin' his honour! He'd probably run back to Scotland and get himself arrested or hanged whether he kills Randall or no'."

"Ye ken the lad verra well," said Murtagh proudly. "It's best no' te tell him."

"Even if it means lying to him?" I asked. "On the day we were married, we made a vow te each other never te lie te the other."

"It's no' lyin', it's witholdin' information," Murtagh told me.

"What's the difference?" I asked.

"Look at it this way. Yer keepin' this from him te save his life. If it keeps the lad from runnin' off in a blind fury te meet his maker at the end of a rope, I'll be keepin' that secret with ye. Does yer brother ken?"

"Aye," I answered. "Thank ye, Murtagh… and I'm sorry I shouted at ye fer lyin' with Suzette. Although I wish ye'd no' keep her from her duties."

"Is she needed now?" he asked me.

"I suppose no'. I was goin' te go fer a walk te clear my head a bit, but I can dress on my own," I said to him.

"Good. Now, if ye dinnae mind, I have some business with her te finish," said Murtagh, getting ready to leave the room.

"I suppose ye've never thought of birth control, have ye?" I asked him, stopping him.

"Control?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Nevermind, I'll pick somethin' up fer Suzette in my travels. I've been lookin' fer an excuse te go to the apothecary again," I said. Murtagh nodded curiously at me, and then he was gone, leaving me to dress on my own.

Master Raymond's Apothecary, Paris, France

As I made my way to Raymond's apothecary shop, I couldn't stop my mind from buzzing about. I knew that Jamie was drastically affected by Randall's actions, but a small part of me couldn't stop thinking that he wouldn't bed me because he didn't want me anymore. I knew that wasn't true, or at least hoped it wasn't - but he was less affectionate with me than he had been before. He wasn't using the damage that Randall did to him as an excuse to push me away, was he? Or was his being less affectionate my fault? As I came upon the apothecary, I had to shove those thoughts out of my mind, but they did not linger far. "Ah, Madonna! What a pleasure to see you again!" Raymond said cheerfully when he saw me enter his shop, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Good afternoon, Master Raymond. Yer lookin' mighty cheerful today," I said to him.

"It is because I am seeing the face of a dear friend," he said to me. "What is it I can do for you today?"

"I'm lookin' fer somethin' te prevent a pregnancy from happenin'," I said to him, taking in the look on his face. "Not fer me, although even if it were, I wouldnae need it." I couldn't stop myself from blurting that out.

"I see," said Master Raymond with mild concern. "Delphine, can you search for mugwort in the back?"

" Oui, Monsieur, " I heard Delphine say, and heard her footsteps disappear.

"Is there anything I can do to help you , Madonna?" Master Raymond asked me. "You appear quite troubled."

"I suppose I am a bit… It's just…" I said, and then I let out a sigh. "I feel so alone. My husband is never home, the lads are always crying aboot somethin'… I shouldna even be sayin' this to ye but I dinnae have anyone else te turn to, but my husband willnae even touch me anymore." I felt tears stinging my eyes, and before I could stop them, I burst into tears. "It feels like he doesnae want me anymore!"

"Oh, mon amie, I am certain that is not true!" said Master Raymond, handing me a handkerchief to wipe my eyes.

"I miss him, ye ken? He feels so far away from me, even when he's lying beside me," I said as I dabbed my eyes with the cloth.

"I can assure you, Madonna, that you are not the cause of what ails him," said Master Raymond. "Your son, does he still have trouble with his breathing?" I nodded through my tears, finally regaining control of myself. "I think I have something for that. Wait right here, Madonna." And then he was gone. In his absence, I got myself back under control, occasionally sniffling and needing to wipe my eyes dry. To distract myself, I began to scan the labels on the bottles, reciting to myself what they contained and what they were used for, when I came across one that surprised me a bit.

" Aconitum napellus… " I murmured as I read the label of the bottle.

"Monkshood," said a voice behind me, startling me a little to the point of nearly dropping the bottle. "You must take care, Madame."

"I ken this is poison," I said as I examined the bottle in my hand. "I'm no' aware of any medicinal uses fer monkshood."

"Nor am I, Madonna," said Master Raymond cheekily.

"Yet, ye sell it in yer shop?" I asked curiously.

"I have it in my shop. What I sell in my shop to my customers who, usually in a moment of passion, want to poison their enemies, is frangula purshiana. "

"Bitter cascara," I repeated, and he nodded.

" Oui , Madonna. The effect is almost immediate. The stomach will seek to purge itself and… well, you get the idea," he said to me.

"So it makes the enemy suffer visibly, but it doesnae kill them," I said.

"Precisely! The poisoner attributes the recovery to the intervention of a priest or some sort of counter-spell. No one dies, and the customer is satisfied," said Master Raymond proudly.

"So yer a canny businessman and a humanitarian, aye?" I asked.

"Indeed, Madonna! Now, if I may ask, who is the contraception for?" asked Master Raymond, and I noticed he had a small package in his hands.

"My lady's maid," I answered him.

"Oh! Usually, it is the other way around," said Raymond with amusement. "The maid buys a preventative for her lady so the lady can maintain the pretence of fidelity."

"Well, if things change between my husband and me, I may be back fer meself. Two lads under six months old, I'll no' have another fer at least a couple of years. Perhaps I'll send my lady's maid," I said, as if to tease myself, but my face said otherwise.

"You are certainly a most unusual lady, Madonna, but that is a good thing," said Master Raymond.

"I used te be, tha's fer sure. I dinnae ken aboot now, though," I said to him.

"Whatever do you mean, Madame?" asked Master Raymond curiously.

"Nothing too bothersome, I suppose. It's a worry I never thought I'd have, though. Ever since I've come te Paris, my life has gotten more and more conventional. I've never lived a conventional life, and I suppose that I've…" I paused. People in Paris had it much worse than I did. They were starving, sick, homeless and on the streets, and here I was complaining about being bored. "No, it's… its nothin'…"

"I do wonder, Madonna, if you have ever considered putting your medical talents to use?" asked Master Raymond, and I raised an eyebrow. " L'Hôpital des Anges is always looking for help."

" L'Hôpital des Anges? " I asked.

"A charity hospital that is near the cathedral. Notre Dame. The nuns who run it do their best, but they must rely on medical volunteers. Not all of them are as perceptive as you, or as in need of helping others," Master Raymond explained to me. I paused in thought for a moment. A charity hospital in need of medical volunteers? That could give me a chance to do something meaningful to help people in need. It would be enough to keep my mind busy while Jamie was away, and I could have Beth bring the lads so I could take care of them, if need be. But would Jamie be okay with that? Who was I kidding? I didn't need his permission. I didn't give him permission to hang out at a damn brothel, so I didn't need his permission to save lives in need of saving.

Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris, France

Beth pushed a small baby carriage that contained wee Brian, who was bundled up tight to keep from catching ill, while another servant pushed another baby carriage containing Archie, who was squirming around more and didn't want to be as bundled up as his brother. We strolled along the paths of Jardin du Luxembourg , a beautiful garden outside of a beautiful home built for Marie de Medici, widow of King Henri IV and mother to the young King Louis XIII, in the early seventeenth century. Accompanying us were Mary Hawkins and Louise de Rohan, both of whom were thrilled to get out of the house. Mary seemed to be a bit tense, while Louise was happy to be out in nature. "The gardens are so beautiful even in this time of year," Louise was saying to me. " Les bébés even seem to be enjoying the weather."

"The cooler air is good for Brian's lungs," I responded to her. "It helps te open them up a bit so he can breathe better."

"Good for him, the poor boy," said Louise, glancing over at Beth, who pushed the carriage that contained Brian. "He's such a poorly thing. And the doctors say they can do nothing?"

"They would rather put him in the hands of God," I said, somewhat bitterly.

"I shall propose the King's physician look at him. Perhaps he will have something different to say," said Louise. She then looked at Mary, who was clearly frightened about something. Beth had been trying to talk to her, but Mary was unresponsive. "Mary! Smile, won't you? It is a beautiful day!"

"I can't marry a Frenchman!" Mary suddenly exclaimed, causing all of us to freeze in our steps.

"Why?" asked Louise after a moment, a teasing expression on her face. "Is there something wrong with Frenchmen?"

"How they…" Mary began, and then she looked at me. " Your husband must be so gentle… and k-kind… I know he d-does not trouble you in… that way…"

"In what way, Mary?" Beth asked patiently, encouraging her to speak. Beth, who was around Mary's age, was a very good friend for Mary, always encouraging her to speak her mind and to speak more clearly. "Do ye mean…"

"Wh-what they do in… in b-bed," said Mary meekly, and Louise cackled loudly, drawing the attention of other promenaders in the garden. "My maid said that a… a F-Frenchman's th-thing… you know, they… they p-put it right between a lady's legs!"

"Mary," said Beth, trying to stop her before she said anything else to make Louise cackle wickedly at her.

"R-right up inside of her!" Mary continued, and Louise faked a shocked expression.

"No!" she said.

"Yes!" Mary exclaimed gullibly, and then she looked at me. Behind her, Beth gave me an apologetic look. "An Englishman, or even a S-Scot… Oh, I didn't m-mean it that way, but a man like your husband… s-surely he'd never dream of… of f-forcing his wife to endure s-something like that…"

"How do you think Madame Fraser has come to have two beautiful babies, Mary?" Louise asked her sarcastically. "Where do you think babies come from?"

"Ye cannae blame her fer not knowing," Beth told Louise in defence of Mary. "The English are so sheltered! Especially English ladies in the higher class."

"Aye, it's true," I chimed in, looking at poor Mary's bright red face. "Mary, a gràidh, I think we need te have a little talk…"

"Men don't d-do things like that where I come from!" Mary snapped at Louise, who snorted with laughter.

"And where is that? The moon?" Louise asked her with amusement.

"Seaford! In Sussex!" Mary spat back at her. Sussex… Hearing Mary Hawkins say that suddenly jogged a memory I had…

"My great aunt in Sussex sent me this, she said it belonged to my great grandmother," Tom told me as I sat down at my desk to study medical terms, and he pushed aside my textbook and set down a piece of paper with names scribbled on it in ink. It was old, but on the top was a year - 1945.

"A family tree?" I asked, having seen the one my father had put together when I was a child.

"Mhm," said Tom. "This one goes back quite a few generations. See, here's me and my asshole of a brother, then my father, Joshua Randall, born in 2069, my grandfather, Benjamin Randall, born in 2037, my great grandfather, Brian Randall, born in 2004, my great great grandfather Gary Randall, born in 1978, my great great great grandfather, John Randall, born in 1953, my great great great great grandfather, Franklin W. Randall, born in 1906 - this was his youngest child…" He went back and back and back until he reached Jonathan Wolverton Randall, born in 1705. "…who married Miss Mary Hawkins in 1746 and had a son, Denys."

"Mary Hawkins…" I muttered to myself quietly.

"Yes, ma'am?" said Mary herself, and I glanced up, drawn out of my flashback and finding myself again in the year 1744.

"What?" I asked, not having known I'd even spoken aloud.

"Y-you said my name, ma'am," said Mary meekly.

"Oh," I said, suddenly recalling. "Yes. Yes, I… I realised where I kent yer name from, only… only I realise now that it wasn't you , it was… another Mary Hawkins…"

"There's another of me?" asked Mary curiously.

"Well, yer name is quite common. Ye ken many Marys, I'm sure."

"The name is so common indeed! I shall never give my children such common name!" Louise exclaimed. "Are we to stand here all day?" she asked impatiently, clearly wanting to move on from this topic that she deemed uninteresting. Oh, to be in a world of simple things… I thought I'd heard, a long time ago, that Louise de Rohan was beheaded in the French Revolution, or died of an illness shortly before. Louise very much reminded me of the stories of Marie Antoinette, and it made me sad to think of which end might be her fate.

"No, of course not," I said to her, and as we began to walk, I hung back just a little behind the group. Mary Hawkins… Of course Randall had to be alive, because how else would Tom come to existence? Randall had to live to sire Tom's direct ancestor, otherwise, Tom wouldn't exist at all, and if he didn't exist… would I even be here today?

"Mistress Fraser," said a male voice, and I turned to find my eyes widening at the sight of bloody Alasdair Fowlis standing there in his Fowlis of Barra kilt, a young man who looked quite a bit like him beside him. "A pleasure te see ye again, Mistress Fraser.

"I thought I left ye behind in Le Havre," I said, probably somewhat rudely, but I didn't care.

"Mistress, should I stay behind?" I heard Beth ask me, and I didn't turn to look at her as I answered her.

"Go on, Beth, it's all right," I said. I waited until I heard the wheels of the baby carriage roll away before speaking again. "What do ye want?"

"To learn more aboot yer father," said Alasdair Fowlis, approaching me. "Mistress Fraser, may I introduce my son, Archie Fowlis?" The young lad behind him stepped forward, fair-haired like his father, and bowed to me.

"Mistress," he said politely. He couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen, maybe fourteen.

"I named my son after my good friend and cousin, Archie Fowlis, son of Eairdsidh Ruadh Fowlis, Laird of Cìosamul," said Alasdair Fowlis.

"I ken who the man is," I said to him, and then I glanced at his son. "A pleasure te meet ye."

"Ye say yer father was called Archie Fowlis. How old did ye say ye were?" Alasdair asked me.

"I didnae," I replied.

"Ye look old enough te be his child… Ye ken he disappeared in 1725. He was eighteen years old," said Alasdair. "Do ye ken where he went, then?"

"I grew up in Barra. My father was killed by the English," I told him.

"Barra is a small island. We would have kent if a Fowlis family was killed by the English. Especially one so prominent," said Alasdair suspiciously.

"Barra is bigger than ye think," I told him. "Why don't ye go and sniff around someone else and leave me be? I'm not botherin' ye. I understand yer next in line te inherit the chiefdom of Clan Fowlis? Well, I'm no' after disputin' it." For a moment, Alasdair Fowlis raised his eyebrow in surprise, then quickly steeled his expression.

"But you have a brother," said Alasdair.

"And he isnae after it either," I told him.

"Perhaps not now, but when my uncle dies, who's te say yer brother willnae come and make a claim?" Alasdair asked me.

"Politics is all ye damn men care aboot," I said.

"I'm suspicious of ye, Catrìona Fowlis Fraser. I'm no' entirely sure ye are who ye say ye are," said Alasdair suspiciously. "The dates dinnae add up."

"Then stop seekin' me out. If I'm botherin' ye, it's because yer makin' me bother ye. Leave me be, leave my family be, and we willnae bother ye," I said to him firmly. "If ye'll excuse me, I'm going to rejoin my family. Maybe next time, try cornerin' me when my husband is near and see what happens." We exchanged a firm look, but there was something strange in Alasdair Fowlis's eye. It seemed almost… familiar. Like he recognised something about me or saw something familiar to him. "Good day te ye, Mr. Fowlis, and you as well, Mr. Fowlis," I said to the two of them, and then I was on my way, stuck wondering why Alasdair Fowlis was so stuck on me and my brother. I supposed if someone said they were the child of your closest friend who had gone missing, you'd be a little curious, but in my opinion, he was just being rude and obstinate. Well, hopefully, he wouldn't bother me again, and I'd tell Jamie to be on the lookout for him.