A/N: Hi! So I only discovered Outlander (TV series) at the beginning of lockdown but I have to say I devoured most of it very quickly. I''m trying to draw out season 5 as long as possible because I know they haven't even started filming the next one yet... I've also started reading the first book - I prefer the TV Jamie but the book Claire, I don't know about you guys? I'd love to hear what you all think! I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep this up but I will try! xoxo
What I was experiencing was no feeling I'd ever experienced before.
It was a feeling of falling fast downhill, tumbling head over heels over and over while simultaneously rotating horizontally. It was the feeling of falling you get when you're just about to fall asleep but your body wakes you up with a sickening jolt in the pit of your stomach, which feels also like it is in your head.
Perhaps it was simply indescribable.
I thought I was dying.
I hit the ground, or at least I must have done, and came to my senses again, the world becoming bright, or at least as bright could get on a day such as that when the wind and rain were pounding the earth with a vengeance. However, the wind and rain seemed to have subsided, which was a little unexpected.
I realised I was also lying on the ground. Perhaps I'd had some sort of fit. Perhaps my hormonal migraines had begun to get worse, as I'd feared they would the older I got. I'd heard horror stories of some people having to quit their jobs, spend half of their lives in bed, due to such incapacitating headaches and the disorientating aura that accompanies them.
Despite these fears, and a little confusion, I felt fine, having landed on the grass.
I looked around me, expecting to see my Mum and John jogging towards me, concern in their eyes, calling out to see if I was okay. I couldn't see them.
I also couldn't see the church.
Nor could I see the graveyard, the village or the car that we'd parked on the verge. In fact, I seemed to be lying beside a stone about twice my height, weathered and a little mossy towards the base. Surrounding me were perhaps a dozen more stones, these perhaps a foot shorter and less rectangular. Cat's teeth.
"The fuck?" I whispered to myself.
I'd been to a couple of stone circles but neither Avebury nor Stonehenge had looked like this. Both were larger, and Stonehenge had a motorway running by it, not to mention the swarms of tourists snapping photos of the stones.
"What the absolute fricking fuck?" I elaborated elaborately.
Why would I be at a stone circle when I'd been in a graveyard? Perhaps I was having a vision. Had I slipped and hit my head on the headstone of one of my ancestors? If so, there was probably some irony in that.
I found I still had use of my limbs. It appeared to be a very realistic vision so I decided to humour it as best as I could, play along with it until it finished, like a dream would eventually fizzle out as a sleep cycle ended, or when your alarm goes off.
I jumped as a shot rang out somewhere behind me, or was it below me?
A shot?
I knew it was because I'd done some shooting with cadets at school, where we'd followed a sort of youth army or airforce training outline. I'd been rubbish at shooting but had enjoyed it nevertheless.
The shot I'd heard had not been from a cadet rifle.
What's more, there was a faint smell of smoke in the air that only became stronger as more shots echoed around the hill that the stones appeared to be set on that was unlike the smell on the range.
I pushed past the instinct to stay down and use the stones as a natural shield, having weighed up the disadvantages of my visibility on a hill versus whatever shelter I might find from being on lower ground in some patch of trees or a shrubbery, and began a brisk scramble down the hill, keeping my head down lest the shine of my face attract the attention of the firers. Luckily, I was wearing grey walking trousers and a dark blue t shirt, although my purple raincoat and light blue fleece combined with the rustling of the waterproof fabrics were less to my advantage. There wasn't really much I could do about that, however.
A grove below looked like a sufficient place to gather my thoughts. Throwing myself against the trunk of a relatively thick tree. It was perhaps an oak, but examining the local flora to attempt to discern where I was was not exactly the most prominent concern I had at that moment.
The firing was a little quieter, either because I'd managed to get myself out of the way of the exchange of rounds or because the shrubs around me were stopping the noise from carrying too far. I wasn't putting my guard down, no matter how far away the shots were being fired.
I knew I was probably just overreacting to whatever situation I'd dreamt up but didn't fancy dying, even if it was just in a dream. I expected it would be more than a little unpleasant.
It must just be a historical re-enactment or something. An unusual event to take place considering the global crisis but not necessarily an impossible theory. Sherlock Holmes' words came to mind: "Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbably, must be the truth." I was hardly back in time or anything. Thus, it was either a dream or vision, which would explain the change in location, or a re-enactment or local hunting society, which would explain the shots. Or the army, I guessed, as a final option. There was a rational explanation to this.
It was then that I realised I was not alone by this oak tree.
At the end of one of the roots of the oak lay a pool, still and shining in what appeared to be the light of the rising sun. A man in a red coat was crouched by it, washing a sword.
A sword.
"The fuck." I didn't seem to remember any other words, which would have amused me if I weren't in a state of extreme agitation, anxiety and fear for my life and sanity.
The man, who hadn't seemed to have noticed my presence before my godforsaken cursing, looked up, an expression of surprise stretching his features.
He chuckled. "What do we have here?"
I could only look at him in shock. His face had a slightly stretched look, perhaps from being outdoors a lot of the time, while his hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. He was not an attractive man but had a powerful presence, like a vicar or a teacher. I supposed I probably wouldn't look any better with my hair in that style.
He took a few long strides towards me, causing me to dart away towards a natural rock wall that sheltered the grove. It also prevented me from going any further away from the man.
"A young lady, out all alone? My, I would have mistaken you for a lad, but then again in these parts breeches seem to be frowned upon."
He was approaching me now, sword in hand. All sounds around us had now faded into a buzzing silence in my ears and I could feel my breath in my throat, the cool rock on my back, the warmth of his body pressing up against mine. I had to get away.