Ellen watches her brother closely, counting each breath he takes; she's terrified that the next one she counts will be his last. She sits by her brother's bedside in his tent. Due to his precarious state, they'd been tending to him for the better part of the night. Mama, Da and Roger have all been in the tent, fretting around Brian.

The Sherstons have already offered their home for Brian to recuperate further. The letter hadn't mentioned Brian's accidental hanging. It would be uncouth to discuss so openly, even in a letter but the snide part of Ellen knows that sensationalism of the story has no doubt made the rounds of Hillsborough society and it's too big for Mrs Sherston to offer her invitation out of kindness. The notoriety of having the hanged man as a house guest would focus the attention of Hillsborough on the Sherstons in a most gratifying way.

The whole situation is precarious as even though Brian lives (Ellen crosses her pointer and middle fingers as the thought crosses her mind), she's now reminded of how easily you can lose the ones you love. The thought causes her mind to swerve back to Murtagh. Earlier that day, Ellen had watched as Da and Roger, who's been recovering from his own injuries (thankfully only has a few bruises and sore limbs), load Murtagh's covered body into a wagon to be taken with them. She saw Da linger by the wagon for ten minutes, Roger placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort, before straightening his shoulders and returning to work.

Ellen turns back to Brian, her hands reaching out to touch him but they hesitate, hovering in the air as she tries to decide where best to put them. His state still seems so precarious touching him might hurt him even more.

There doesn't seem to be one bit of him that hasn't been touched. His hands are swollen, stained purple-red with bruising, the crushed fingers nearly black, raw rope-weals sunk so deep in the flesh of his wrists that she is queasily sure she can see white bone. Two fingers of Brian's right hand are broken; all his nails are clawed bloody, torn, or missing. Her own throat tightens at this evidence of just how ferociously he had fought to live. She'd almost lost him, her best friend.

The grotesqueness of his hands doesn't match the horror of his face. It is bruised and swollen, too, with a ghastly ruff of leeches attached beneath his jaw, but it is more subtly deformed, like some sinister stranger pretending to be her brother. His hands are decorated with leeches, too. It is almost like he is wearing every leech available.

It all looks unreal, badly done makeup for a horror play.

—

A little while later, Jamie slides into Brian's tent (trying not to think about the position he'd found his son in with Brynmor Jones in the same tent) where Claire is currently sitting with Ellen while Brian sleeps. Roger has been tasked with organising food for the men and making small medical checkups on Claire's behalf. Ellen is combing out Brian's tumbled hair with a wooden comb, gently removing burs and twigs, working at the tangles, slowly and patiently. Claire strokes his cheek, singing something under her breath—"Frère Jacques."

Jamie stays close to the entrance of the tent, only looking over at them briefly before standing awkwardly by the door. His mind still swirling from all the conflicting emotions he has been experiencing what with his godfather's death and the devastation that came with it then the horror then relief at his son's hanging then survival. He's almost afraid to grasp onto that relief as he knows how quickly it can almost disappear.

Claire looks up and catches Jamie's eye. She gives him a nod and a tiny smile, meant to be reassuring, but he can see the bleakness in her eyes. Claire gives Ellen's arm a small squeeze and then gets up to go over to Jamie, laying her hand gently on his arm.

They step outside, lingering at the entrance of the tent. They're startled when a figure steps in front of them. "My apologies, Mr and Mrs Fraser. I did not realise that you didn't see me." It is the Governor. He takes another step and looks towards the flap of the tent as if to look in, Jamie makes a determined move to stand in front of the tent to keep him away from his son.

"Your son. Is he—"

Jamie glares at the man, surprised he's approached them after Jamie had yelled at him after Murtagh's death and now with Brian's hanging on Tryon's orders. He is alone and looks very tired. He smells of drink; his Council and the militia officers would have been toasting his victory. His eyes are clear, though, and his step firm.

"He is alive," Claire says shortly, her cheeks still stained from tears.

Jamie clenches his jaw, trying to control his emotions as he's reminded of the fact that while one person in their life is alive, there is another person who is not. He takes a deep breath and steps towards Tryon, looming over him, Claire looks at him sharply. The Governor has to tilt his head back to look up at him and Jamie can see that he doesn't like it, but Jamie doesn't care. He's happy that the expression on his face appears to rattle Tryon too, but the Governor lifts his chin, determined to say whatever he had come to say.

"I have come to make my apologies for the injury done to your son." He says. "It was a most regrettable error."

"Most regrettable," Jamie repeats, with an ironic intonation. He takes a step forward, and Tryon automatically takes a step back.

Heat rises in the Governor's face, and his jaw clenches. "It was a mistake." He insists, through his teeth. "He was wrongly identified as one of the outlawed ringleaders of the Regulation."

"By whom?"

"I do not know. By several people. I had no reason to doubt the identification."

"Indeed," Jamie asks sharply. "And did Brian Fraser or Roger MacKenzie say nothin' in their own defence? Did they no' say who they were?"

Tryon's lower teeth chew his upper lip briefly then lets go. "They… did not."

"Because they were bloody bound and gagged!" Claire cries furiously. "You didn't let them speak, did you, you— you—"

Jamie places a reassuring hand on his wife's arm before raising the other slowly towards the Governor's throat, just above the gorget. A flash of panic lights Tryon's eyes, and he jerks backwards before the hand reaches him.

The panic then subsides at once, replaced by fury. "You dare try to lay hands on me, sir!"

"Oh, I do, aye. As ye did lie hands on my son." Though a response to the core of cold rage he feels inside him, Jamie doesn't actually intend to harm the Governor and is not just an act of intimidation either.

"It was a mistake! And one I have come to rectify, so far as I may!" Tryon is standing his ground, jaw tight as he glares upward.

"Then I insist ye recall te me the circumstances when Brian Fraser and Roger Mac were taken; who gave 'em up, and wha' was said. I mean te get te the bottom o' it." Jamie takes a deep breath, and steps back, forcing his hands to relax from the fists into which they had been clenched.

Tryon's jaw muscles bulge, and his limbs tremble, but he keeps his temper in check. He breathes deeply through his nose before he speaks. "There were three men, Mr Fraser. They held Brian Fraser and Roger Mackenzie captive; one had a badge for Fraser's Company, so of course I thought the man was one of yours."

That would have been a reasonable assumption for the Governor to make, Jamie thinks but he himself is in no mood to be reasonable.

"One man identified your son as James MacQuiston, one of the ring-leaders of the Regulation." Tryon continues.

"Does the Governor recall what any of these men looked like?" Claire asks with eerie calmness. Eerie to everyone but to Jamie. He knows she's raging furiously inside.

"There's no need," Roger says, approaching them. "I ken who it was tha' handed us over." His face twists, recalling the horrifying memory.

Jamie ignores it and turns to his son-in-law, eager to know who did this to them, to his son. "Ye do?"

"Aye, he was a fair-haired fellow, verra tall and weel set up. Green-eyed."

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ." Claire murmurs, ashen. "It's not–"

Jamie's eyes widen and he stares at her for a moment, not knowing how to respond. Tall, fair-haired, and green-eyed. It could have been Stephen Bonnet. He looks back to the tent that still occupies his son and daughter as he thinks over his wife's suggestion. For a moment, Jamie wonders why she cut herself off before realising that only he, Claire and Brian in their group know that Stephen Bonnet is alive.

"Jesus." He says. "I ne'er thought o' such a thing."

"Who?" Roger interrupts. He's frowning in confusion.

"How do you know?" Claire asks him instead.

Roger, thankfully, takes the diversion. "I've met 'im and his wife. It's William Buccleigh MacKenzie. He's one o' the men tha' did this te me and Brian." He gives Claire a pointed look. Jamie clues that it must be something related to time travel that cannot be mentioned in front of Tryon.

Mackenzie…

It narrows it down but the four or five that he can remember are all in Scotland, not here. He'll ask later but one things for sure, Jamie will avenge his son for the harm caused to him. Jamie clenches his jaw in fury, trying to contain it as his mind races.

—

A/N: Happy new year! 🎉