With each passing day, Molly's heart grew heavier. There wasn't a moment where she wasn't thinking about her own time, her family, Boston. The young woman filled her endless days, helping with laundry, working in the kitchen, every now again tailoring. Laird MacKenzie seemed to be the biggest fan of her stitching. For Molly, it was busy work while she figured out when she was going to make her great escape. Molly feared with each nightfall her window was closing. It had been two months since she disappeared at this point, she could only assume her family thought she was dead. It made her wonder what kind of damage would cause if she showed up after they accepted her passing? Maybe her being dead was for the best.

Finding a little bit of free time, Molly sat quietly by herself in the grassy field a few yards away from the castle. Her green eyes darted up; all she could see was the sky forever. For a second, Molly felt okay. Her eyes closed as she took in a deep breath of fresh air, maybe just maybe on the other side, her Grandma was watching that same clear sky. Slowly, her eyes opened, looking down into her lap where her journal lay open. The pages no longer empty. She filled them with all her secrets as Murtagh had put it. Gaelic words she had heard and tried to decode, list of things that she missed like the sound of car horns in the middle of the night, Red Sox baseball games, Netflix, showers, she spent a lot of time drawing things that she found interesting, like people, a lot of people. Admittedly her sketches weren't good, some better than others. She wrote letters to her family. One's that could never be sent silly as it may have been, she thought writing down words to them would make them feel her somehow. Her eyes darted across each page, taking another look at everything she had put in her journal. The young woman had become so consumed in her thoughts; she was unaware that someone had approached her until their shadow danced across her view.

Her eyes furrowed as she stared at their boots until their throat cleared, causing Molly to glance up at them. Peering down at her with his cold stare was Dougal. The last person she wanted to see. The man frightened her. His presence left her with an unsettling feeling. If he took the time to come out here to look for her, it wasn't for anything pleasant.

"What the fuck are ye doin out here?" The stern male asked coldly. His eye's glancing around the open space before falling onto Molly.

"Nothing," Molly responded with hushed reservation. Her eyes nervously looked away from him like a scared child as she began to pull herself from the ground. She quickly felt Dougal's handgrip tightly around her forearm, forcing her to her feet. The man lacked the patience to wait for her to get up on her own.

"Ye could have done nothing in the Castle instead of making me look high and low for you."

He was such an asshole. Molly knew better than to snap back at him; she had seen what happened when people tried. Instead, she bit her tongue as she brushed the grass from the pleats in her skirt. Taking a deep breath."What can I help you with, Dougal?" She asked while looking back over towards him, but he wasn't paying any attention. He discovered her book of secrets, and her heart sank. It wasn't the lack of privacy or the fact that he took it upon himself to look through her journal without asking Dougal was a jerk; she didn't expect anything less from him. Her journal. Had been the only thing she had that was hers in this new life, now she couldn't even have that.

"Please give that back." Panic present in her words as she reached out towards him, attempting to grab the journal from his hand. It didn't work. He nudged her away, turning his back while slowly flipping through each page. Molly could only watch on in horror as he discovered her secret world. Dougal didn't say a word, only offering glances at her.

"Tioraidh means goodbye." Dougal suddenly offered as he paced around the young woman until abruptly stopping. Grabbing a loose page from the journal in hand. The older male turned on his heel facing the American "Do ye think I look like this lass?" He held up one of her drawings, his brows furrowed together as he gave Molly a questioning look.

"… of course not." Molly hesitated. Clearing her throat nervously. "I'm not very good." Her eyes watched as he carelessly shoved the page back into its rightful spot, hoping that he had enough fun at her expense to return the book to her, but he didn't. There were other drawings in there she didn't want him to see, one person who she spent quite a bit of time drawing on various occasions, meant only for her eyes. She watched on with bated breath as he studied each poorly done sketch, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he looked down at her, his stern expression softening while releasing a deep breath; Dougal slammed the book shut, tossing it back to the American.

"Laird MacKenzie wants to see you." He announced as he started to head back towards the castle. "Today, Miss St. Claire, hurry up!" The male warned.

Quickly picking up her skirt so she wouldn't trip, Molly sprinted toward Dougal, trying to keep up with his hurried pace. "Do you know what for?" She asked curiously. The male merely glanced over his shoulder to her before pushing the woman forward. "If he told me. I would have just told you myself." Dougal added sharply.

Why did she even try? The rest of the walk was uncomfortable. Molly followed close behind Dougal. She had been to Colum's study before, though Dougal was insistent about taking her. She knew he probably thought the weak little American girl couldn't do anything on her own.

The two made their way up a set of stairs, turning down a long corridor when Dougal came to a sudden stop. Turning to face Molly, the male looked at her curiously. "What did you say ye'r father's name was?"

The question came as a surprise to the woman. She studied him for a moment."I didn't." She started slowly. "His name is Rory…"

Huh." The older male responded. His stare, only growing stronger on her "I knew a young man long ago named Rory…" Finally responding. There came a drawn-out pause than with no warning; Molly noticed his hand reach towards her, gently Dougal loosely grabbed ahold of a small section of her hair. Though, it didn't feel like an advancement, more of an observation. "I remember his hair being dark like yours, but curly." It was if the very name had sparked a memory from his youth that he had long since forgotten. Suddenly his hand dropped to his side.

"What was his family name?" Molly asked simply out of curiosity. It was a long shot, but she liked the idea of the possibility of this young man being a long lost relative. A boy named Rory with similar features as her father? Her dad rarely talked about his family history, and her grandparents were no different. Crazier things have happened.

"McFadden." Dougal quietly added as he recalled his friend from long ago.

That hopeful feeling Molly had quickly washed away. Somethings had to be-left to coincidence. "May I ask what happened to him?"

Dougal's brows furrowed with his eyes falling to his feet. Rubbing his beard, the male cleared his throat, looking up at the young woman. "When the lad turned 16-years of age, he had went riding, and he never came back." He didn't need to give more detail; from the way he spoke, it seemed that he felt the boy met a tragic end.

People disappear all the time. Disappearances almost always have an explanation. Molly thought to herself. She looked up at the male; a soft smile slipped across her lips."Perhaps, he is somewhere different with a beautiful family and happy." Molly offered as some form of comfort to him. That sounded like a better ending anyway.

Dougal didn't respond, though her ending sounded much better than the one he had pictured. After a short moment. Dougal stiffened motioning, Molly forward. "Enough of this." He announced, following on the brunette's heels as the two reached Colum's doors. Molly stood in front of Dougal as the male reached forward, pounding on the large, heavy doors announcing their arrival. Immediately the Lairds voice was heard on the other side, calling them to enter.

Molly entered the room first with the added assistance of Dougal shoving her in further.

"Miss St. Claire." Dougal greeted. The male took a few steps back, standing there quietly with his arms folded in front of him as he waited for his next orders.

Colum sat quietly at his desk, his hand working continuously to sign documents resting before him. The room was quiet until he was ready. "That will be all, Dougal." He finally told his brother after the longest five minutes of Molly's life. The woman slowly turned towards Dougal, who nodded and quickly made his way out of the room, leaving the American and Laird of Castle Leoch to themselves.

"Sit," Colum demanded. The Laird didn't bother to look up. The room full of so much silence made his voice loom, startling the young woman. Molly jumped slightly at the command, quickly finding herself sitting quietly across from him.

The Laird gently placed the quill in his hand back in its inkpot. Grey eyes darted up to the brunette sitting across from him. His expression left emotionless as he leaned back in his chair, hands folded comfortably against his desk. He didn't speak or at least not right away.

"You've made quite the impression on Mrs. FitzGibbons. You get your work done, respectful to everyone. These are good qualities to have." The MacKenzie expressed.

The positive feedback was, of course, nice it was good to know she wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb but did nothing for her nerves. It didn't answer the question of why Colum wanted to see her. Molly looked up at the Laird, offering a soft smile ."That makes me very happy. Being a guest in your home, I find it important for me to do my part." That was true. They gave her a place to stay with little questions asked the very least she could do was pull her weight. As she waited for him to speak again, the woman couldn't help but feel that this was his way of buttering her up for something else.

"That's good to know," Colum told her while studying her for a moment. Leaning forward, he casually folded his hands in front of him. The one thing Molly liked Colum was straightforward and this time was no different "Rent is due. I'm sending Dougal and his men to collect. I'm sending you with to make sure things go smoothly. Having a woman along will be more inviting for some of our tenants."

She was sure all color drained from her face. The American sat there quietly, forcing a smile as she processed what he was asking her. After a moment, Molly shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "What do you mean exactly when you say to make sure things go smoothly?"

"When my men are happy, they work better." He started to explain. "Your job will be to make sure they are fed, mend clothing, help with horses—" The Laird was immediately cut off before he could finish. Molly knew it was improper to interrupt, but the outrage building in her, she couldn't help but say something.

"I'm sorry, you want me to play den mother to them? They are grown men, who can take care of themselves." She huffed back. "I'm not doing it."

"You misunderstand me miss St. Claire. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Ye don't have a choice." His voice never faltered. It didn't need to. He carried an intimidating presence all on his own. Colum's palms pressed along the edge of his desk, slowly pulling himself to his feet, now hovering over the young woman ."Doing your part also includes doing what I ask of ye. I didn't know you were willing to give up ye're warm bed and food so quickly." Molly knew a threat when she heard one.

"Where will they be going?" She managed to get out. It wasn't a yes, but better than the resistance, she just offered the Laird. The question seemed to please him.

"They will make their way through the countryside and up to Inverness."

That piqued her interest. Molly's green eyes shot towards him. Did he just say what she thought he said? That was the magic word, quickly Molly's entire attitude shifted."When do we leave?" Offering a smile to the Laird.

A small smirk slipped across Laird MacKenzie's lips. The closest thing to a smile Molly had seen from the man "In three days. That should be enough to get your affairs in order."

Truthfully, if he allowed it, she would leave tonight. Luckily for him, she didn't know where she was going "More than enough." She responded happily.

"There's one more thing." He quickly added. Molly was all ear's; nothing could ruin her mood now. "You may want to familiarize yourself with the books in the healer's chambers. You will act as such on this journey if needed."

She had been wrong before. And there it was, she knew Calum didn't want her to follow them around and clean up after them, well-done. Molly's own common sense helped her figure out what a healer was "I'm not qualified. I don't know how to—" It was now her turn to be interrupted.

"Aye, I know. We have no one." This time Colum came across calmer, more patient with her with a hint of desperation. "Ye're young, your hands steady, I've seen your work with a needle." The Laird wasn't stupid; he knew this was a tall order to ask of her. Especially with everything else he wanted from her.

There was so much more to medical care then just bandaging wounds. Molly didn't have the energy to explain this to the man. "Stitching flesh is not the same thing as mending fabric."

"Let us pray ye won't have to."

There came a long pause from both as silence filled the room. Molly's eyes darted to the pleats in her skirt, mulling over everything Colum told her. The only thing keeping her from retracting her yes was the promise of Inverness. "Dougal is going to hate this." Breaking her silence.

"Good thing he doesn't decide."

The morning he got the call from his mother, Rory booked a flight back to Scotland. Leaving Boston and his wife behind in the hopes he would return with their daughter. He had been in Scotland for two months with no signs of Molly anywhere. The only clues they had was what they found at Craigh na Dun. No signs of a struggle, no blood, one missing woman, and no answers.

His nerves shot as he paced around his mother's garden, a glass of whiskey in one hand as he flicked a cigarette in the other. Slowly the male brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a long final drag before crushing the nicotine stick under his shoe. Slowly turning on his heel, Rory watched Rose through the partially open sliding door. She had been on the phone all day, surrounding herself with flyers as she had been since day one. Rory's brows furrowed as he ran his hand through his mop of salt and pepper hair once much darker when he wore a younger man's clothes. Letting out an exhausted breath, Rory made his way into the house and to the kitchen to meet his mother. He didn't speak right away but waited for her to get off the phone. His back turned while leaning over the sink emptying his glass and placing it in the sink. Then he heard the phone hang up. Rory turned around to face her. He leaned up against the sink folding his hands across his chest. "Why are ye doing this?" He asked, but his mother didn't respond but tried to ignore him. "Mom. Listen to me. It's been two months Molly isn't coming back."

It was then he met the older women's cold stare. "She's not dead, Rory. I can feel it in my bones." Her eyes fell to her tabletop staring at the missing person flyer's she had made in hopes someone had seen her, but deep in her own heart, she knew she wasn't missing. Not really. "You and I both know what happened…" Her word's trailing off as her eyes met her sons.

Rory looked back at her before taking a seat across from her. "She might as well be..." He finally replied. That response did not sit at all with his mother.

"Rory James McFadden St. Claire." Rose scolded, pulling herself from her chair. Immediately cut off before finishing her thought.

"I lived there. Ye remember that? I haven't forgotten." Suddenly finding himself raising his voice at the woman who raised him and called him her own.

"Of course, I haven't my son. But you of all people. Do ye have no faith in ye're own Child? Ye own flesh and blood."

There was a long pause. Rory's brows narrowed as his head hung low until. "It's that place I have no faith in." He responded in a whisper.