It had been a little over a week since Molly's arrival, and the transition to Castle Leoch had been rather interesting. The castle was as she painted in her imagination- sequestered by itself. The first night was difficult, but nothing compared to the loneliness that followed days after. When Molly and Murtagh arrived, the young woman immediately got swept away from her new companion when Mrs. FitzGibbons noticed how ill the American was. Sending her to bed rest, stuck in an unfamiliar location, alone, her only company was Mrs. Fitz, who certainly was the kindest woman she met, but achingly familiar to her grandmother, making her homesickness grow. A day or so later, when Molly was feeling much better, she was introduced to the fashion of 18th century Scotland, and according to Mrs. Fitz, now looked like a proper Scottish woman.

The most nerve-racking event occurred when Colum MacKenzie or Laird MacKenzie sent for her. She was unsure how well he would perceive her, a stranger in his home. He was suspicious of her as one would have imagined, though when asked how Molly found herself in Scotland, the American told the same story told to Randall, Murtagh, and Dougal. Molly told it so much now she almost started to believe it herself. It had become clear the Laird was more interested in where her loyalty fell. Being American, she had no stake in their politics, but Molly felt that having Scottish blood and not being English could only work in her favor. After her interrogation, they agreed. Molly could stay with them as a guest of the MacKenzies, prompted with the promise of her sleeping quarters, and some form of independence a young adult required, but under the understanding that it wouldn't be for free. Limited in her skill sets, Molly agreed to help Mrs. Fitz with whatever was asked of her and offered up her tailoring services, all that time she learned to sew looked as if they were going to pay off after all. Molly, reluctant with this arrangement, found herself unable to feel completely at home. To help numb the uncertainty of getting back to Inverness, Molly tried to build a routine for herself, anything to dull the heartache she was feeling.

Her fingertips dragged along the cobblestone of the castle walls, the sun shining high above, as a slight breeze danced through loose strands of her brown hair. The courtyard was full of life, people going about their business, as usual, children running around playing games. It was the strangest feeling, watching their everyday lives unfold, knowing that everything around her had already happened. It was like walking through a history book, but better, she could see it, feel it, she kept finding herself being left breathless at the natural beauty of it all. It was better than any historical fiction novel she ever read.

The young woman suddenly stopped as she observed an elderly woman who was tending to her cart full of flowers. Molly didn't ask what they were for; she only shared with her a smile. After a moment, Molly turned on her heel to walk away when the other woman stopped her, handing the American a Scottish Heather from her collection. Gently, Molly took the flower into her hand, quietly admiring its vibrant purple color. She knew this flower well, a legendry flower of Scotland, yes but, they resided in her grandma's garden. Suddenly the young woman found herself picturing her last moments with her grandma Rose before disappearing in plain sight. Feeling a lump form in her throat, Molly smiled, thanking the woman and continued her way. Her green eyes darted up, making sure she didn't walk into anyone; as she did so, she noticed a very familiar face hanging around the courtyard, the scruffy beard, the quizzical look resting upon his brow. Immediately a soft smile slipped across her lips at the sight of the man who saved her from Captain Randall. "Hello, Murtagh." She called out gently, slowly approaching the older male.

The Scotsman had perched himself up against the wall, arms folded across his chest, standing quietly by himself while he observed a group of young boy's sword fighting with sticks they had found. He enjoyed it. It reminded him of when he was a young lad, a much happier time. His eyes furrowed as he rubbed his chin. Shifting his weight, he looked over to see who was calling his name, suddenly becoming alert recognizing the voice as female. When a woman came around looking for him, it typically meant he was in trouble. Pulling himself from the cobblestone, Murtagh glanced over, only to find himself becoming pleasantly surprised. It was the American lass. He found himself having to do a double-take; she looked so different from the last time he had seen her, he almost didn't recognize her.

"

Don't tell me you forgot about me already?" Molly teased. She couldn't help but notice the perplexed look on his face. He was a hard one to read. She couldn't tell if he liked her, hated her, or if he just had a general disinterest towards everyone.

"You're a hard one to forget." The male replied, still holding that indifference he carried so well. On the inside, however, was a different story.

Molly, unsure of what he meant, only hoped that it was a compliment. She looked up at him, offering a small smile before looking away from him, her focus fell on the group of boys he too had been observing only moments ago. The young woman fell quiet, thinking perhaps she was annoying him. She didn't realize it, but she very much held the Scotsman's attention.

The male's hazel-eyes darted up to the afternoon sky while he scratched his beard, then looking to his boots as he adjusted how he was standing. It felt a bit like uncharted territory for him; she was a bonny lass, bonnier than the women he found himself running around with usually. Murtagh caught himself watching her from the corner of his eye. The last time he saw Molly, she was more like a scared little girl, but now, she looked and carried herself like the woman that she was. There were things that he had noticed and admittedly liked, like how she loosely braided her hair, letting it cascade across her shoulder, her dress noticeably hugged her in all the right places, and he couldn't even believe he was thinking it, but the color matched her eyes. He watched as her stare fell to her hands as she twirled the flower stem between her fingers, then he noticed the leather-bound book she was carrying in her other, clearing his throat.

"What ye reading lass?" He asked, nodding toward her hand.

Molly diverted her attention back to Murtagh, surprised by the sudden conversation starter."Oh, it's not a book. I think it's a journal." She explained. "I found it in my room. I don't know why I brought it with me." She shrugged gently. Perhaps she thought she would find a reason to write in it.

"Found it, ye mean you stole it." Raising a brow at the young woman.

"No, found it." Molly corrected as she looked back up at him, playfully rolling her eyes. Her gaze fell back to the journal, flipping through the empty pages. Her body shifted towards Murtagh as she leaned her shoulder against the stone.

"Have ye written down all your secrets?"

"No, it's still empty." She quickly replied, closing the journal. A cheeky grin slipped across her lips as she looked up at the male. "Even if I had, I wouldn't tell you."

Raising both brows, he threw his hands up."Lucky for you, I don't meddle in the affairs of women." He huffed in response.

"Why ask, hm?" She questioned with a smile.

She was messing with him, but it still caught Murtagh off guard. After a moment, his brows furrowed. "Making conversation." Responding bluntly.

"You certainly are a charmer Murtagh."

Clearing his throat, Murtagh casually leaned himself back up against the wall, folding his arms across his chest once more. "Be careful lassie, keep talkin like that; I might start to think ye like me."

"And on that note. I must take my leave." He was an enigma, that was for sure. Taking a deep breath, Molly pulled herself away from the stone wall. "I have to help Mrs. Fitz prepare for dinner..." offering a small smile though he wasn't looking at her. Beginning to walk away, Molly ended up stopping when she felt her flower slip from her fingertips. Unwilling to part with the flower, Molly quickly turned on her heel to retrieve it. When doing so, she had noticed Murtagh already picking it up for her. She held her hand out, waiting for him to hand it back to her, but he never did, at least not right away. The male studied the flower resting between his fingers. It was so small and dainty compared to his hands. Suddenly he raised a brow, and without saying a word, reached across grabbing Molly's journal from her. The young woman watched him with confusion, but then he opened to a random spot, placing the flower in between the pages, closing the leather-bound journal handing it back to her.

"Ye can't say it's empty now." He explained.

Molly truthfully was taken aback by his response. The only thing she could think to do was smile, even working on her curtsy before turning on her heel once more to walk away. Though, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, giving a small wave on her final departure.

The Scotsman offered a nod of his own in response, pulling his attention away from the young woman, he still found himself looking over at Molly as she was walking away. The image of her glancing over her shoulder painted in his memory. As he said, beautiful women were nothing but trouble. Suddenly hearing a whistle, he turned his head, noticing Dougal motioning for him. No doubt, Colum wanted to speak to them about something. Anything to distract him from whatever this hell was he was now feeling. Furrowing his brows, he started heading over to Dougal, but not before looking over his shoulder through the American lass was already gone.