So finally a new one. Hope you'll like it.

I also wanted to thank all my readers and reviewers for letting me know what they think of the story, it means a lot to me, and also thank you SamanthaJane13 and all other readers for sticking with the story. So thank you.

Castle Leoch, 1743

The company had reached the keep of Leoch by dawn the next day. The rain had stopped later on and the ride was in comfortable silence, with Isabelle wrapped tightly in Jamie's arms and plaid.

If it was to either to ensure, that she didn't flee or didn't catch a cold, the young Irish woman wouldn't know.

Once they had gotten nearer to the castle, the bustle of people got more and more with every move the ponies made. Dougal and the rest of the men let them trot past the gawking crowd and Isabelle knew why they had that reaction.

To them she was an outlander, judging from the way the people kept staring at her clothes. Something that must seem alien to nearly every one, that has never seen the thing that were normal to her.

Isabelle remembered the one time, she had visited the ruins of Castle Leoch, when she had gone there with Frank. Of course now it looked even more grand, than it had been as only parts of it back home. Her uncle told her, that there was a possibility that Jonathan Randall might have lived there, too. But now knowing who Black Jack was, she only wished, that he would never go there.

"I have been here before." she spoke softly, not daring to let the others hear her, as only Jamie knew some part of her story.

"Have ye?" Her companion pulled her closer, making sure to still share his warmth against the cold of the new morning. "Tis the home of Clan MacKenzie."

Isabelle knew as much. She had been to the nearly every place that was near Inverness and even remotely interesting.

A tattered stable lad walked up to them and took the reins of Dougal's pony. "You're early. We hadna thought to see ye before the Gathering!"

Dougal swung down from his steed and left to see his brother Callum, with Rupert and Murtagh in tow.

Behind Isabelle Jamie dismounted first, standing beside the horses head and offering his hand, to help her down. The young woman just shook her head and, too, swung down from the saddle.

"I am not helpless, you know." she said and readjusted her shirt, that had risen up during the ride.

Jamie laughed. "I never said ye were. Although ye could be a damsel."

Swallowing the urge to hit him, Isabelle looked around the stony courtyard. Seeing the keep now in full, made her woeful. She would have loved to show her uncle pictures of the castle and to tell him, how the life was in these times.

But all this wouldn't matter now. She had travelled through time and was stuck there. No way to get back to her own home. No electricity and probably no modern sanitary facilities.

A hand on her shoulder, brought Isabelle back to the present. Jamie was staring down at her, only a small hint of concern in his eyes. An older lady was beside him, looking at her open-mouthed and obviously waiting for an explanation from the young Scot for this apparition.

"Isabelle McGeady." Jamie said, lightly tilting his head towards her. "And Mistress FitzGibbons," he added with a tilt towards her.

She looked at Isabelle, who shrank away only slightly under her scrutinizing eyes. "Dougal found her in the woods, said we needed to bring her with us."

But only a few seconds later Mrs FitzGibbons smiled at the young woman in front of her and pulled her into her arms. "Come now deary, we shall find ye somethin' a bit more...appropriate." she said looking Isabelle up and down.

"What? I, Jamie is hurt." Isabelle said, trying to make the old woman stop, as she had a firm grip on her arm and was leading her into the keep. "He was shot and stabbed. I need to care for his wounds properly before they get infected."

"Infected?"

Mentally the Irish woman scolded herself. She was in the 1800, she needed to speak like them. "It will get inflamed, you know, with pus and swelling and fever."

"Oh, aye, I know what ye mean. Do ye know what to do for that? Are ye a charmer? Or a Beaton?"

Isabelle wasn't sure what Mrs FitzGibbons meant with the last one, but she nodded anyway. The old woman nodded and called Jamie back, who was walking off in the opposite direction. She grabbed him by his good arm also and brought both of them into the keep.

They had come to a fairly large room, furnished with a bed, couple of stools and a fire, after a rather long trip through narrow corridors that where even colder then the outside and only dimly lit by slitted windows.

The old lady helped Jamie to a stool by the fire and freed him of his tattered shirt, throwing a warm quilt over his shoulders, while Isabelle warmed her frozen limbs in front of the flaming hearth.

Mrs FitzGibbons clucked at the shoulder that was now bruised and swollen and poked at the clumsy dressing, the young woman had put there.

Isabelle turned from the fire and moved over to them. "I think it will need to be soaked off and then the wound will be needed to cleaned with a solution to, ah, prevent fever."

The old lady nodded and asked her what she needed. She thought hard before something aunt Claire had told her once. So Isabelle asked Mrs FitzGibbons for garlic and thyme, clean rags and a cauldron of water for boiling.

Jamie was swaying with weariness, probably to tired to protest about anything that was said about him. "I'll bring a bit of comfrey and camomile tea, too. T'lad looks as though it's been a long night."

Isabelle nodded and went back to the fire, to get some more warmth in her hands and feet. If the stone floor hadn't been so cold, she would have taken off her boots and stood there bare foot.

Mrs FitzGibbons came back a short while later with her apron full of garlic bulbs, gauze bags full of the dried herbs and torn stripes of linen. The small black cauldron hung from her arm and Isabelle rushed to help her as the other held the large pitcher of water.

"Oh deary, don't ye worry, I can hold more then ye think." she said and put everything on a table near the hearth. "What would ye have me do, m'dear?"

Isabelle asked her to peel the garlic and boil the water, while she inspected the herb packets. There was everything she asked for and even some willow bark. Her former teacher at nursing school had told them, that it was often used as a pain killer in these times. Even sometimes in the modern world.

Throwing the garlic and thyme into the boiling water, together with the cloth strips, and letting the comfrey and willow bark steep in a small pan of hot water, the young woman thanked her.

Mrs FitzGibbons said her goodbyes and went back to the other things she had to do, but not before she promised to bring them both some broth.

Taking a deep breath Isabelle sat back in front of Jamie and carefully pulled the bandages off. She was trying to be gentle but still the rayon pad stuck to his flesh and came away with a soft crackling of the dried blood.

"I'm sorry." she uttered softly as she saw the fresh droplets of blood oozing around the edges of his wounds.

Jamie smiled slightly, and for a second Isabelle thought he was flirting with her. "Don't worry, lass. I've been hurt much worse, and by people much less pretty."

As he bent forward for her to wash out the wounds with the boiled garlic decoction, the quilt slipped from his shoulders. And right there the young woman could see, that his remark was a statement of plain fact.

She could see, that Jamie's upper back was covered with a crisscross of faded white lines. It seemed he had been savagely flogged. More than once, Isabelle deduced. There were small lines of silvery tissue where the welts crossed and some irregular patches, where his back had been struck with the blows a few times on the same spot, flaying off skin and gouging the muscle beneath.

Isabelle breathed in a gasp as she saw the scars, they seemed so brutal. Nothing she had seen in her time at nursing school compared to it. Of course the teachers had shown them pictures of injuries during the periods of time and how to care for these, but in modern times people didn't get flogged anymore.

"Lobsterbacks. For escape and theft." Jamie said, shrugging his good shoulder.

Nodding her head, Isabelle went back to the task at hand. "And what were you escaping from?" she always had been curious, so she wanted to ask the first thing that came to mind.

"The English," he said with an ironic lift of his brow, "and before ye ask where, Fort William."

The young woman raised her brow herself, trying to match the dryness of his tone, when she spoke. "I gathered as much, after all you're not really on friendly terms with them. But whatever were you doing at Fort William?"

Jamie rubbed his brow with his free hand. "Oh that. I think it was obstruction."

A small laugh escaped her, as the young woman looked up at the Scot. "Obstruction, escape and theft. You sound a right dangerous character."

She tried to distract him from her task. And apparently it had worked, as the corners of his mouth twitched and a corner turned up, while one of his dark blue eyes glinted over his shoulder at her.

"Oh I am that," he said. "A wonder you think yourself safe in the same room wi' me and you an Irish lassie."

Isabelle chuckled softly. "Ah, you mean as the Scots and Irish don't exactly see eye to eye, yes?"

His response was a short nod. "Oh well, you look harmless enough right now."

Of course she would never tell the truth that she didn't really think so at the moment. Shirtless, scarred and blood-smeared, with stubbled cheeks and red eyes from the long ride the last night, Jamie looked thoroughly disreputable. And even so he was tired, he still looked entirely capable of further mayhem, should there be a need to.

Jamie laughed, a deep rumbling sound, that was infectious to all parties in his company. "Harmless as a sitting dove. I'm too hungry to be a threat to anything save breakfast. But let a stray bannock come within reach and I'll no answer for the consequences."

Isabelle hummed softly, as she cleaned the wound, having to rub harder, because it was so deep. The young Scot winced at the action and she apologized instantly.

"Sorry, the stab wound is very deep and it's dirty."

He had gone pale beneath the coppery stubble of his beard, even though he told her it was all right.

Clearing her throat, Isabelle tried to get him back to their conversation. "What exactly is obstruction?"

Jamie breathed in deep and fixed his eyes on the bedpost on the other side of the room. "Ah, well, I suppose it's whatever Captain Randall chose to say it is."

Another gasp tore from her lips as she heard the name of Uncle Frank's ancestor. She had already met him and knew what he was capable off.

"Are you familiar with that man?"

"I...well...that one time, when I was out with Dougal, I met him in the woods. It wasn't a pleasant encounter." Isabelle was nervous and Jamie had to feel the brunt of her action. She pressed harder than she intended on his wound, causing him to move his shoulder away uneasily from her ministrations with a sigh.

Jamie set his teeth and continued his story, trying to distract himself. "In my case it meant defending my family and my property and getting myself half killed in the process." He stopped, not wanting to say more. But before he could feel the pain in his shoulder again, the young Scot continued. "It was near to four years ago. There was a levy put on the tracksmen of Fort William – food for the garrison, ponies for transport and suchlike. I wouldna say many liked it, but most would yield what they had to. Small parties of soldiers would go round with an officer and a cart or two, collecting the bits of food and things. And one day in October, yon Captain Randall came along to L" he broke off, before he quickly caught himself and glanced at Isabelle - "to our place."

The young woman nodded at him, giving him a sign to continue.

"We'd thought they'd not come so far; the place is a good distance from the fort, and not easy to get to. But they did."

He closed his eyes briefly. "My father was away – gone to a funeral at the next farm. And I was up in the fields wi' most of the men, for it was close to harvest, and a lot to be done. So my sister was alone in the house, except for two or three of the women servants, and they all rushed upstairs to hide their heads under the bedclothes when they saw the red coats. Thought the soldiers were sent by the Devil – and I'll no just say they were wrong."

Isabelle had finished with the nasty part, laying the cloth down. Now all she needed was a poultice of some kind – lacking modern remedies, it was all she could do to prevent infection – and a good tight dressing.

Jamie had his eyes closed, not seeming to notice their progress in looking after his wound.

"I came down towards the house from behind, meaning to fetch a piece of harness from the stable, and heard shouting and my sister screaming inside the house."

"Oh?" She didn't want to sound intrusive. Isabelle had a feeling, that the story he told, would do nothing for her first impression of Randall, as he wasn't at all the gallant soldier her Uncle Frank told her about.

"I went in through the kitchen and found two of 'em riflin' the pantry, stuffin' their sacks wi' flour and bacon. I punched on of them in the head and threw the other out of the window, sack and all. Then I burst into the parlour, where I found two of the redcoats with my sister, Jenny. Her dress was torn a bit, and one of them had a scratched face."

Jamie opened his eyes and smiled grimly. "I didna stop to ask questions. We were going round and about, and I wasna doing too poorly, for all there were two of them, when Randall came in."

Isabelle listened as he continued his story. The Captain had stopped the fight by simply holding a pistol to his sisters head. Jamie had been forced to surrender, quickly being seized and bound by the two soldiers.

She shivered as he spoke of what had happened after. Randall had smiled charmingly at his captive and said, "Well, well. Two spitfire scratchcats here, have we? A taste of hard labour'll cure your temper, I trow, and if it doesn't, well, there's another cat you'll meet, name of nine-tail. But there's other cures for other cats, aren't there, my sweet pussy."

He stopped for a moment, his jaw clenching. "He was holdin' Jenny's+ arm behind her back, but he let go then, to bring his hand round and put it down her dress, round her breast, like," Jamie smiled unexpectedly as he remembered the scene. "So," he resumed, "Jenny stamped down on his foot and gave him her elbow deep in the belly. And as he was bent over choking, she whirled around and gave him a good root in the stones wi' her knee."

Despite herself, Isabelle had to snort in amusement along with him. He continued his story. Jenny tried to shoot Randall but one of the soldiers got there first. He wanted to rather die for her then have her dishonour herself with them. The Captain had thrust a knife between Jamie's teeth, so he couldn't call out, and took Jenny with him.

"She thought he would kill me, and perhaps she was right. After that, I dinna ken what happened. One of the dragoons hi me in the head wi' the stock of his musket. When I woke, I was trussed up in a cart wi' the chickens, jolting down the road to Fort William."

Isabelle had laid her hand on his own, wanting to give him some piece of comfort, even though it wouldn't help him in any way. "I'm sorry. It must have been terrible for you."

Jamie smiled suddenly, the haze of fatigue gone. "Oh aye. Chickens are verra poor company, especially on a long journey."

Realizing the dressing was done, he moved the shoulder experimentally, wincing slightly as he did so.

"Don't, you really mustn't move it. In fact I'm going to strap that arm to your side." Isabelle said, reaching for the strips of fabric left. "Now hold still."

Jamie didn't say anything or make a move to stop her. Both felt a sense of trust as she continued with her task. After all, they had spent hours pressed together on the back of a horse, riding through the night. It was as though they had some kind of intimacy between them.

When she had finished the strapping, Isabelle helped him on with the rough linen shirt, easing it over the bad shoulder. Jamie stood up and smiled down at her, tucking it one-handed into his kilt.

"I thank ye Isabelle. You've a good touch." His hand reached out as though he wanted to touch her face, but seemed to think better of it as the hand wavered and dropped to his side. Apparently he too felt the spark of intimacy.

Isabelle flipped her hand in a think-nothing-of-it gesture, looking away and letting her gaze travel once again around the room. She already had seen the interior, knowing there would be no electric fittings, no carpeting, and no shiny brass knobs on the bedstead like she was used to at Claire's and Frank's house. There were only a smoke-blackened fireplace, the narrow casement windows and the solid oak furnishings.

All this made her eyes water, as she in no way could be sure to ever find a way home again. Jamie took her hand as she tried to hide her face, but it was too late. He had already seen it and asked her in a gentle voice what was wrong.

"I...I'll be all right, it's nothing really." she said sniffling.

"Are ye widowed lass? Or maybe is someone waiting for ye at home?" His voice was so gentle and full of sympathetic concern, that she lost control of her schooled feelings.

Overcome with emotion and tiredness, Isabelle threw herself at him, sobbing hysterically, not sure if he could understand her mumbled reply.

Jamie, despite her thoughts, gathered her close with his good arm, sitting down on the stool he sat before. He rocked her gently, muttering soft Gaelic in her ear and smoothing her hair with one hand. Isabelle wept bitterly, it was the first time since she had landed herself with these people, that she surrendered herself to her fear and confusion.

She quieted down a bit, as he stroked her neck and back, offering the comfort of his broad, warm chest, that so reminded her of her father. As her sobs had lessened and she had calmed down, Isabelle leaned tiredly into the curve of his shoulder.

"I'm sorry...thank you for...uhm...you know." she started babbling, backing away from him with a flaming face.

Just as she had calmed herself, Isabelle thought about how good Jamie was with a horse, when he kept stroking her behind her ear, listening to his soothing words. A thought, about how if she were a horse, she would let him ride her anywhere, crossed her mind causing her to get back to the present.

Jamie put his hand under her chin, making Isabelle facing him.

"Ye need not be scairt of me, he said softly. "Nor of anyone here, so long as I'm with ye."

He let go of her and turned to the fire.

"You need somethin' hot, lass," he said matter of factly, "and a bit Lo eat as well. Something in your belly will help more than anything."

Isabelle wiped her eyes and laughed shakily at his attempts to eat the broth one-handed before she went to help him. He was right, food did help. They ate broth and bread in silence, sharing the growing comfort of warmth and fullness.

Once they were done, the young Scot stood up, picking up the fallen quilt from the floor. He dropped it back on the bed and motioned her towards it. "Do ye sleep a bit, Isabelle. You're worn out, and likely someone will want to talk wi' ye before too long."

Of course she knew that she was in a precarious position, but the exhaustion was too much for her, to care for anything else. She only protested slightly, before falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pile of pillows and quilts on the bed.