Dougal strode over to the young man and patted him on the shoulder, making the man wince. "Agh, Uncle, ye know it's this shoulder that's damaged!"

"Aye, I know, lad." Dougal sat beside him on a chair, drawing it closer to the fire. "Now get up so the lass can sit down would you, yer legs are still working, after all."

The young man rose, taller than he'd seemed sitting down. He was possibly my age, if not a couple of years older. He looked like he'd stepped off the packaging of a shortbread tin or a whiskey bottle, tartan over his shoulder and around his waist, but his head uncovered to show the thickness of his hair.

He took a step towards me, making me cringe slightly, aware of his height and obvious strength.

"I won't hurt ye lass," he near whispered, "I can see you've fallen." He knelt down and touched one knee, his fingers coming away bloody. I was frozen, amazed by his familiarity and the tenderness of his hands.

"I-," I began.

"She nearly came to worse," interrupted Dougal roughly, "Randall would have had her had we not intervened."

The young man rose, "Randall!" He spat. "That filthy bastard. Takes what he likes and enjoys the ruin he leaves behind." He looked me over, a slight awkwardness to him now that he looked down at me from full height, as if he hadn't quite grown into his stature yet. "What's yer name, lass?"

"Claire." I replied, putting an air of confidence on. "And you are?"

"Jamie McTavish, at yer service." He replied, bowing a little theatrically, but I could tell that it was sincere.

Dougal shook his head. "Now we're all acquainted, lass, if ye wouldn't mind, we've a wounded man to attend to."

I stepped off to the side, giving the men some room to sit, but still close enough to the fire to feel its comforting heat. I remembered that it was summer, but the evening chill was creeping in all the same. The brown-haired man who Dougal had exchanged a glance with earlier approached Jamie and took hold of the young man's shoulder, pushing slightly. I frowned, thinking back to a first-aid course I'd taken, and recalling something about dislocation. Unable to control myself, I shouted:

"Stop!" I marched over, unsure where my confidence had come from but taking full advantage of the adrenaline. "You'll make it worse like that, let me have a look at it."

Dougal turned to me. "What do ye think you'll be able to do that our Murtaugh cannot do?" The brown-haired man, Murtaugh, raised his eyebrows but seemed a little relieved at my intervention.

"Dougal, she may have a softer touch." He suggested. "And besides, the lad wouldnae talk to me again if I left him without the use of his sword arm." Murtaugh gave me a little push towards Jamie. "Go ahead lass, it'll be yer funeral."

I sighed, desperately trying to remember the first-aid course. "Right, well… er… firstly sit still and take a deep breath." I tried gently.

"Lass, just get it over with." Dougal said sharply, "We need to be on the road soon or we'll have redcoats all over us by the time the moon is up."

I followed my own advice and took a deep breath. "I'm going to push your shoulder back in, but you'll need to sit as still as possible."

I turned to the other men, including the farting man I'd sat behind on the way. "I need you to hold him down, this is going to hurt, and I need to do it properly or he'll lose the use of it."

The men did as I said, while mumbling something about bossy women, but my heart was beating so loudly I could barely hear.

I pulled one way and pushed another until I felt a pop and the shoulder went in, with Jamie letting out a short but loud cry of pain.

"There, that's better." I said, rather surprised at my success, promising myself that I'd pay far more attention in any more first-aid courses I happened to do. "Just wrap it up and try not to use it for a few weeks, and it'll be as good as new."

"Thank ye lass." Said Jamie, taking out a hip flask and taking a deep drink from it. "I just wish ye'd warned me it might hurt before ye did it so I could have had some of this."

I laughed, "I'm sorry." I wasn't sure what else to say, his blue eyes expressing more gratitude than his latter statement implied. "You're welcome."

Dougal clapped his hands. "Right, we need to leave now, before the redcoats find us. If we stay overnight Collum will think we're all lost to that bastard Randall."

He turned to me. "Lass, you'll ride with Jamie, see he doesn't move his arm. You're a wee thing, so I'm sure his horse won't mind."

One of the men snorted, "Aye, and Jamie willnae mind either having a warm wee lass so close by against him."

I scowled, convinced now I had really travelled in time, somehow, by their mannerisms, their utter convincingness, and by my own fatigue. I probably would have had some sharp retort, had I been at my best, but I supposed I had time-lag or something, having come back to a time certainly before my birth, and the birth of many great-grandparents.

Jamie took my arm and led me outside, giving me his knee to climb up to the horse. My groin and thighs were still sore from the five minute ride to the house, and I dreaded to think of the pain of a journey of unknown length.

Jamie swung up gracefully behind me, despite his injury and doctors' (my) orders, sitting rather close for comfort. For a time where probably showing my ankle would cause a heart-attack, he certainly was very close indeed. He clicked his tongue and we followed Dougal deeper into the woods.

We passed the journey in companionable silence, only breaking it for Jamie to offer me once or twice a drink from his flask, which turned out to contain the most disgusting Scotch whiskey. I couldn't bring myself to refuse his hospitality and kindness in sharing his drink with me, and welcomed the warmness the alcohol gave me inside. We rode on, for at least two hours, and I suspected northwards, as the last of the sun had set to our left.

"I have been wondering," Jamie ventured an hour or so into our journey, when I could barely feel by arse. "What on earth are you wearing?"

I smiled to myself, glad he couldn't see my face lest he think I was laughing at him. "They're walking trousers, and a raincoat."

"Bit strange, aye, for a young lady to be wearing breeches?" He pushed.

"Yes…" I thought, briefly, imagining that this would be the first of many lies told in my stay in whichever century this was. "I was dressing as a man while travelling to visit family. Thought I'd be safer that way, but evidently I was not." I shook my head to play the part, "I'm so stupid, and now I'm completely lost."

"What family do you have here, lass?" Jamie had taken my story as the truth, he had no alternative explanation for my appearing where I had otherwise.

I hesitated, feeling terrible at falsifying an entire new character, but also trying to comb through any period drama, or historical novel, to think of some possible plausible family that lived up here. Nothing came to mind, damn.

"I was… er… I have some family in Carlisle, but my coachman took the wrong turn and went to ask for directions. I thought he had got back on the coach to begin driving again, but somebody else was then driving and threatened to kill my family if I didn't come with him as a hostage for ransom. I ran away and then came across that man – Randall? – when your countrymen found me and rescued me." It all came out as a sort of word-vomit, but sounded convincingly scared, but proud at the same time. I hoped it gave the impression that I was some merchant's daughter, or some lower nobility, presuming that they might take better care of me that way, and it explained my well-spoken manner, and level of education.

I felt Jamie nod, accepting my story in silence. "We'll get you looked after, Mistress…?"

"You can call me Claire, I don't mind." I realised my faux pas the moment it was out of my mouth. "I mean, Ridley, Claire Ridley."

"Mistress Ridley." Jamie repeated thoughtfully. "Ye have nothing to fear when I'm around Mistress Ridley. I ken these men… ruffians really, can be crude and loud, but they'll respect me, and no harm will come to ye."

He sounded so self-assured, making me wonder whether he was arrogant, or perhaps born into a good position or title. I'd probably find out. His face was handsome, not in a film star way, but more of a guy you'd lock eyes with in the gym one day. From what I could feel, he certainly had the body of a guy who went to the gym, or rode a lot of horses, or evidently did a lot of training. I could feel myself taking a liking to him, how easy he was to talk to, how our silences were comfortable. Perhaps I had found myself an ally in Scotland, which I knew I would most certainly need, as a great castle came into view and my companions quickened their pace.