Murtagh had been separated from his charge during the chaos of the battle. Although, he could hardly call James Fraser his 'charge' anymore. The child whom he had sworn to protect had grown into a braw, intelligent young man and a formidable warrior.

'The lad could probably even teach this old coot a thing or two,' Murtagh thought to himself.

Now, Murtagh Fitzgibbons was more like a companion or even a servant to the young Laird of Lallybroch. If that was the case, he was quite proud to serve the son of his best friend and the woman he had once loved.

Murtagh spun in a circle listening to the sounds of the battle and scanning the forest for any sign of Jamie. Maybe 'bodyguard' was a better description of the roll he felt himself to occupy. He spied two redcoats who looked like they were in pursuit of someone and moved to follow them.

When the British soldiers seemed to give up on their quarry and turned for the thick of the battle, Murtagh decided to continue on his current path toward the stream in hopes of finding Jamie.

What he found instead was something else entirely.

Distinctly he saw the red flash of a British officer's coat at the bottom of a steep declivity descending to the stream. He heard the accent of an English woman's voice shouting, "Get off me, you bastard!"

Next, he could have sworn, he heard the sound of her spitting at the officer. 'I hope the lass got him square in the face,' he thought. Murtagh smiled, he liked this lass already.

However, his smile transformed into a scowl as he heard the voice that answered. It was that of the notoriously vicious Captain of His Majesty's 8th Dragoons, Blackjack Randall.

"Ah, the speech of a lady. The language of a whore. I choose the whore," said Randall.

That did not bode well. Murtagh didn't have any idea who the woman was but no one deserved to be in that man's clutches. He swooped down from the ledge above them on which he had been lurking, knocking the Captain out.

Murtagh turned to the woman dressed only in her shift. Surprised by her appearance to see how far that scoundrel had gotten in his assault of her, he called, "Trobhad!" (Come!).

"What?" she said.

"Trobhad!" he said again, reaching out his hand.

She took it and followed him. Still confused, she asked, "Who are you? Where are we going? Where are we go…"

She was cut off as Murtagh pulled her behind a tree to avoid more redcoats and put an end to her protests with a hand over her mouth. Seeing that she was going to continue to be troublesome he used the hilt of his dirk to knock her out.

Murtagh took the woman and hid until the fracas was over. He found his horse, which thankfully was not far off. With his captive? refugee? survivor? (he didn't know what he should call her) he headed off to the band's predetermined meeting place.

The lass woke up just as they reached the cottage. She did not seem to comprehend that he had actually rescued her as she acted hostile to him. Throwing barbed insults at him including comments about his foul stench. However, Murtagh realized that being an English woman in Scotland was probably confusing enough let alone having been attacked by an officer from her homeland yet rescued by a Scot. Her suspicion was understandable.

Murtagh took her by the elbow and pushed her before him into the cottage. Silence fell over the highlanders assembled inside and all stared at the scantily clad woman in their midst.

Murtagh announced, "I found this caileag shassanach (English girl) near Craigh Na Dun."

One of the other men named Rupert asked, "an do ghoid thu as a leapaidh, a bhalaich?" (did you steal her from her bed, lad?)

"Let's have a look at you, then, lass," their leader, Dougal, said as he took her by the elbow and drew her closer to the light.

Sarcastically, she replied, "I trust you're able to see me now."

Murtagh grinned and thought to himself, 'Now there's that brazen lassie who spat in Randall's face.'

"What's your name?" Dougal asked.

"Claire," the lass replied, "Claire Beauchamp."

"Claire Beauchamp," Dougal repeated.

"That's right," the bold lassie pressed with indignance, "And just what the hell do you think you're- "

Ignoring her, Dougal turned to Murtagh and said, "You said you found her?"

"Aye," Murtagh replied, "She was having words with a certain Captain of dragoons with whom we are acquainted." He folded his arms across his chest, "There seemed to be some question as to whether the lady was or was not a whore."

"And what was the lady's position in this discussion?" Dougal asked, turning to Claire.

Holding her head high she replied, with conviction, "I am not."

"We could put it to the test," Rupert offered with a leer.

Dougal turned and stared at him, "I don't hold with rape. And we've not the time for it, anyway."

"Dougal," Murtagh added with certainty, "I've no idea what she might be or who, but I'll stake my best shot she's no a whore."

"We'll puzzle it out later," Dougal concluded, "We've got a good distance to go tonight. And we must do something about Jamie first."

...oOo...

Jamie felt like the wind had been knocked out of him (for the second time that day) as soon as the brown haired lass walked into the cottage. She was beautiful, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild, and a defiant glint in her eye.

She had such a proud bearing despite her lack of proper attire. She even seemed fearless in her interaction with Dougal. He was impressed. Anyone who would even attempt to stand up to Clan MacKenzie's war chieftain must be formidable indeed. This woman was unique - a breath of fresh air.

Something instinctual made him stiffen and growl inwardly when he saw how the other men ogled her. Claire was her name. He felt a strong desire to stand in front of her, screening her scantily clad body from their view. He may have actually done just that if his arm didn't hurt so damn much.

He cringed at the reference to Jack Randall and was pleased that his good friend and lifelong companion, Murtagh, had rescued her from that evil bastard. Now he had yet one more reason for wishing to kill the British officer.

He knew Rupert was only joking but he nearly leapt out of his chair, dislocated shoulder be damned, at the mention of putting her 'to the test.' He was beginning to feel quite protective of the Sassenach.

Having finished with Claire the men moved to Jamie to deal with his injury.

"Out o' joint, poor bugger," Dougal said with little sympathy, "You can't ride with it like that, can you, lad?"

"Hurts bad enough sitting still," Jamie replied, "I couldna manage a horse."

"I don't mean to be leaving him behind," Dougal proclaimed.

"There's no help for it, then," said Angus, "I'll have to force the joint back."

"Aye," replied Jamie with no little trepidation. He did not have much faith that Angus actually knew what he was doing.

Angus handed Jamie a bottle of whiskey, "Here, lad."

"Taing dhut!" (Thank you!) said Jamie, taking the bottle as well as a long swig.

Angus had some of the other men gather around and told them to hold the lad. Just as the highlander was about to force Jamie's arm back into place, Claire realized his error.

She stepped closer and cried out, "Don't you dare!"

At her outburst the men instinctively drew their blades.

Jamie, however, was delighted to hear her speak out on his behalf, some level of concern obviously laced in her voice. She came closer with the intent to intervene.

Undaunted, but with a measure of trepidation, Claire ordered, "Stand aside at once. You'll break his arm if you do it like that. You have to get the bone of the upper arm in the correct position before it slips back into joint."

Her commanding voice belied such a sense of knowledge and determination that Dougal merely nodded and backed away as did the others, allowing her access to the patient.

As soon as Claire touched his arm, Jamie winced in pain but remained still. However, his eyes also flew wide at the electric sensation her touch sent through his entire body.

Claire looked to Murtagh, who stood behind the patient and said, "Hold him steady." Murtagh braced himself and wrapped his arms firmly around the lad avoiding the injured shoulder.

Jamie's and Claire's eyes locked. They stared at each other for a moment. She felt it too.

She nodded her preparedness at Jamie and he nodded in cooperation. He felt at ease under her care and for some inexplicable reason, trusted her completely.

Jamie grimaced and hissed as Claire began to lift his arm, maneuvering it into the correct position.

Looking him in the eye, she told him, "This is the worst part."

Jamie nodded his understanding.

Claire lifted the arm and in a grinding of bone and sinew as well as gasps and grunts from Jamie, the joint popped back into place.

He gasped. "Taing Dhia!"(Thank God!) cried Jamie in immense relief. Then with an amazed look at Claire he proclaimed, "It doesn't hurt anymore!"

Claire met his eye. "It will," she assured him, "It will be tender for about a week. You'll need a sling."

"You," she said, looking pointedly at Angus, "fetch me a long piece of cloth or - or a belt."

"'Fetch me,' she says," Angus chuckled in indignant offense, looking to the others for commiseration. "Do you hear that, lads?"

"Give her your belt," ordered Dougal in a serious monotone.

Glaring at Dougal, Angus reluctantly complied.

Watching her work, Jamie said, "Taking a guess you've done this before."

Claire nodded, "I'm a nurse."

Looking pointedly at her chest, Jamie replied, "Aye."

"Not a wet nurse," Claire replied with annoyance. She leaned close, wrapping her arms around him to secure his arm with the belt. She was so close it was almost an embrace and Jamie trembled in restraint not to reach out and touch her. Jamie closed his eyes when he smelled her intoxicating scent and breathed it in.

"He mustn't move the joint for two or three days," she ordered, as she strapped the arm in place, "When you begin to use it again, go very slowly at first. Stop at once if it hurts. And use warm compresses on it daily," Claire felt the need to ramble, being so close to the strong handsome highlander. The connection she felt to him at their first touch was disconcerting to her. She had never felt that way before. Not even with Frank.

When she was done with the buckle she stood up and said, "All right. How does that feel?"

"Better," replied Jamie, "Thank ye."

Claire nodded in return and they stared at each other again for another long moment.

"Can you ride?" asked Dougal.

"Aye," replied the lad.

"Good," said Dougal tossing him his coat, "We're leaving." With a nod toward Claire he added, "She'll ride with you to help with the reins if you need it."

Jamie stood and looked down appreciatively at Claire. She looked away and swallowed nervously as she couldn't deny the attraction she felt for him.

As they stepped out of the cottage Claire looked in the direction of where Inverness should be and asked, "Where is it? Where's the city? It should be visible from here."

"Inverness?" Jamie countered. Nodding in the direction of Claire's gaze, he said, "You're looking straight at it."

Claire was somewhat shocked and hesitant. There were no electric lights as far as the eye could see. So as much as her rational mind rebelled against the idea, she knew in her heart she was no longer in the 20th century.

Jamie sidled past her and went to mount his horse.

Dougal stepped out the door next and came up behind Claire.

"Get yourself up," he told her. Then grabbing her arm and leaning in to whisper in her ear he said, "You be sure to stay close to the rest of us. And should you try anything else, I shall slit your throat for you. Do you understand me? Gimme your foot. Give it to me." He helped her onto Jamie's horse.

Claire was confused and upset again at being treated like a prisoner after the respect she seemed to garner for successfully resetting the dislocated shoulder.

As she settled in place in front of Jamie he started to fiddle with his plaid.

"Careful," she said, concerned for his injured arm, "What are you trying to do?"

"I'll get my plaid loose to cover ye," he offered, "You're shivering."

"Thank you, but I'm fine, really," she said, trying to brush off his kindness.

Jamie chuckled at her indignance. The true leader in him took charge, knowing it was what they both needed, and diplomatically said, "You're shaking so hard it's making my teeth rattle. The plaid'll keep us both warm, but I canna do it one-handed. Can ye reach?"

Claire reluctantly conceded and reached around to help.

Once they were wrapped up he said, "Ah. Seo a-nis (Here, now). Don't want you to freeze before sunup."

"Sunup?" exclaimed Claire, "You mean we'll be riding all night?"

"All night," he confirmed, "And the next one too, I reckon. A fine time of year for a ride, though."

The leader of this motley band of Scottish warriors called, "Trobhad!" and they were on their way.

With the cold rain drizzling down on them Claire was skeptical that it was a 'fine time of year for a ride.' But she figured maybe it was just his sense of humor. She was happy to have him, as opposed to any of the others, for a riding companion. He was kind, caring, and charming (not to mention good looking) and made her feel at ease in this disconcerting situation. She also couldn't deny the connection she felt toward him when they first touched. Maybe he could be a helpful friend in her pursuit to get back home.

...oOo...

A/N: Scottish translations found at great scot .