I awoke to the crackling of a fire, the smokey smell reminded me of family camp-outs and summer bonfires. Of toasting marshmallows and quiet nights, of freezing toes and sweaty backs sticking to the nylon of sleeping bags. The memories of which this simple aroma evoked in my mind, had not yet happened. I had not yet happened, I wasn't even sure if I would happen. My situation was so otherworldly, so story-like, that I still was not positive that this was not just one big dream; maybe I had stayed up late reading again and I was subconsciously implanting myself into the story? And yet another side of me pleaded with the universe that I not be dreaming, this whole adventure that I had stumbled upon seemed to be an absolute affirmation of hope. For years, I had read book after book, learning about far off lands and magic, of mysterious creatures and of heroes and heroines battling for reasons that were courageous and selfless. To finish those books and come back to reality was always a horrible endeavor, the real world was nothing like what I had read. Fights were petty and murderous, people were cruel for no reason and others were living miserably with no one to help them. The world had been mapped from corner to corner, the seas had been charted and the mountains and jungles explored. There was no mystery, no wonder, and no magic.

And yet, I had somehow stumbled upon the potential for a great story, maybe not with magic and mythical creatures; but the mystery, suspense and wonder seemed to be guaranteed. So tell me how I could pass up something that could potentially prove to me that the world wasn't as flat as it seemed?

I couldn't.

With a soft groan, I pushed myself up, slowly so as to not stretch and pull at the tightness that was my back. It burned dully, but where it lacked in pain, it made up in the urge to scratch. It felt like a horrible sunburn, after the burn feeling had gone and the horrible itching obsession had taken it's place. My body spasmed as the urges to scratch rocked through my body. My hands clenched each thigh, the nails digging into the soft flesh painfully. I bit my lip as another wave came over me; with jerky movements, I flexed my back, rejoicing when the thin fabric of my nightgown rubbed over my wound.

"No!" came an adamant voice from the corner, making me jump.

"Stop it! You'll only open the injury back up, just hold on one moment, I might have a salve-..." Claire, rummaged through various cabinets on the opposite wall, her skirts swishing around her ankles heavily. She squinted and mumbled to herself, pulling out jars of all sizes and replacing them with little grunts of annoyance.

"Ah! Here we are!" She said with a tap of her foot, "Come on over and have a seat by the fire, you can thaw out from the chilly night while I apply it." She gestured to her chair by the fire as she said this. I got up slowly and held my nightgown around myself, making my way slowly to the chair, my back itching me all the while. The piece of furniture was old looking, a dark wood with even darker stains on the backrest, left there by the amount of hands that had held the wood. The chair was well-worm and smooth, cool to the touch. I settled my self in it backward, my back to Claire and my front facing away from the fire, towards her stone table, which I had sat upon the night before.

"Do you mind if I pull up your shift?"

"My wha-" I realized quickly that she meant the nightgown, "Yes, of course." I said. Claire took the garment and pulled it over my shoulders, so that I was wearing it like a scarf, but with my hands still through the sleeves to preserve modesty. Very carefully she began to spread the salve along the mangled bits of my back, her hands were cold, which provided a heavenly contrast to the itches that burned along my back. My head slipped down to rest on the back of the chair, arms hugging the backrest to my chest. My eyes slipped closed as I relaxed into the English woman's touch.

With a slight feeling of remorse, I realized that I was still wearing my jeans, as dirty and ripped as they were, I was hesitant to get rid of them. Yet I knew that eventually I would have to dress like the others, and most likely explain to them what "jeans" were and why a woman would wear pants. Maybe though, I could get away with washing the trousers and hiding them away, it seemed an awful waste to discard such fabric in the era that I was in. Maybe I could even sell them to a seamstress or taylor for some extra cash. "Coin", I corrected myself. "cash" wasn't a term here.

I let one of my hands fall to my bent knee, to feel the denim rough beneath my fingers. Even though I had decided to stay and stick out the adventure, the feel of the woven fabric beneath my fingers brought a wave of homesickness to the forefront of my mind, weighing down the weightlessness of my thoughts like a cement block.

Luckily before those thoughts pulled me too deep, they were interrupted by footsteps coming down the stone staircase to my left. With a small movement, I turned my head and looked over my shoulder, just in time to see my headrest from last night come down the stairs with a basket in his hand.

The night before, I had noticed his eyes and face, seeing as those things were eye level at the time. Today though, the first thing that struck me was his height, and that's saying something, naturally I'm the tall one at 5'10. He was much taller though, had to have been at least 6'3, maybe even taller. When he walked into the room, he had a commanding effect, with the height, looks, and muscled body; and yet instead of acting the way he looked, he froze on the bottom step when he saw Claire and I. His cheeks flamed slightly with a pink flush as he turned around to face away from us with a whirl, his kilt whipping around his knees with a whoosh.

"I apologize lassies, I dinna ken ye were indecent." his voice was deep and had that pinched tone of someone that was embarrassed. I turned around to look back at Claire, she met my confused stare and with a dramatic sigh, rolled her eyes, which caused me to stifle a nervous laugh into my arm.

"Honestly Jamie, you are not going to ruin the girl's reputation by looking at her wound, turn around and tell me why you have come down."

Jamie turned around slowly, but made sure to keep his eyes averted from my "indecent" back; once he was facing me again I noticed with slight curiosity that his arm was bandaged up in a grimy sling, obviously his height and my pain had distracted me from this little fact.

"Mrs. Fitz tol' me ta' bring down a breakfast for the both of ye'." he said as he carefully placed the basket on the stone slab table in front of me. The basket seemed to be intricately crafted out of tiny little black twigs, my fingers twinged at the thought of the cramps that must have been received from working with a material so small.

From my vantage point, I could not discern what was in the basket, but whatever it was beckoned to my starving stomach like a beacon. Time traveling, being cut and whipped and then stitched up by a stranger, among strangers seemed to have worked up quite an appetite for me. The steam rising up from the nest of woven twigs curled as it dissipated into the air, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked bread. Jamie must have noticed my wistfully, starving expression because he said,

"Och lassie, if ye' want some food, ye' just got ta' ask!" and then reached into the basket to hand me a smoking hot piece of the most delicious looking bread I had ever seen. Sadly, I could not admire the workmanship because my one-track-mind devoured the morsel in seconds, scorching my tongue and throat in the process. With a smothered cough into my shoulder, I looked over at Jamie and said,

"You might just want to move the basket over towards me." his mouth twitch up in a half grin as he relented, sliding the bread basket in front of me.

Five pieces later as I gulped down a cup of water Claire had fetched for me, I heard Jamie say quietly behind me,

"Sassenach, d'you ye' mind helpin' me outta' this bandage, its chaffin' me awful bad."