In the fall of 1989, a young man named Rory James McFadden St. Claire, a handsome 25-year-old Scottish immigrant, walked into Massachusetts General Hospital about to embark on the biggest journey of his life. Rory and his American wife Angela of two years were moments away from welcoming their first and only Child, Rory was a rookie firefighter only a few months into his new career. Prior he was doing odd jobs here and there to help pay the bills until his wife finished her teaching degree. Roy couldn't believe how far he had come. He never thought he would get married, find a job, let alone become a father, but here he was. He was a nervous wreck. Rory ran through burning buildings, pulled victims from car wrecks without giving it a second thought. But the idea of raising a child scared him shitless.

His green eyes stayed on Angela. His hand wrapped tightly around her fist. Sweat poured down her rosy cheeks, despite the young woman's agonizing pleads. He could only watch, offering words of love and encouragement; This was her fight. Even with the chaos and nurses, his focus was only on her. Angela was so much stronger than he could ever be. Rory leaned forward, brushing strands of her blonde hair from her forehead, gently giving her a soft kiss. Then, after giving her final push, she fell back in exhaustion. Her blue eyes met her husband's, offering a gentle but weak grin. A moment of silence, then the sounds of a healthy newborn baby crying filled the air.

"Say hello to your baby girl." The nurse smiled, handing the new baby over to Angela, who was eagerly waiting to hold her little girl.

Rory's eyes grew like saucers. His heart pounding from his chest. Angela looked up toward her husband, the nervous hands of a new father cupped themselves under the life force created by the love of two people. The small child rested comfortably in the crook of his arm. "Look at that. A bonny lass..." He whispered. "Hello, Molly." The young father smiled through tears of joy.

A very typical experience; for a typical family. But Rory was anything but typical.

Rory James McFadden was born in 1693 by the river in a small village residing near Inverness. His parents Aileen and Hamish; raised pigs; this would be how they supported their small but growing family. Rory was their oldest and currently only child but, that wasn't going to last much longer. Aileen was expecting another, but tragedy would hit before the birth of their second child.

Harmony between the clans was far and in-between. Their biggest threat was each other. There was a power struggle happening for control over the highlands. Clan MacKenzie held control and would for many years to come. Rory's village was on MacKenzie's land. Under MacKenzie's protection, they lived in peace. However, one day in 1706, everything changed. The village had been ransacked and destroyed by a smaller clan looking to send a message to the MacKenzies. A lot of people were killed and displaced. 13-year-old Rory watched as his father's throat got slit while trying to fight off the invaders from stealing their pigs. Aileen told her young son to hide, Rory did just that. When he returned, Rory would find his home burnt to the ground. His mother and unborn sibling dead from smoke inhalation.

Word of the unsolicited attack got back to Castle Leoch. Rory, with so many others, found refuge behind the safety of the castle gates. For Rory, it was only to be a temporary stay but quickly turned into a permit arrangement. He had nothing to return to. Instead, he received work and a place to stay. Rory spent most of his time cleaning the stables and taking care of the horses. He created a close friendship with Laird Jacob MacKenzie's youngest son Dougal. The Boys were the same age, wild, and liked to get into trouble. The best friends would tease how Dougal would be the future Laird, and Rory would be his War Chieftain. However, this would never happen.

It was 1709, Rory just turned 16. Rory had returned to the stables after taking one of the stallions out for a run. His name was Roan Rory's favorite. He was approached by Dougal, who came sprinting towards the gate, running through the mud. Dougal had grown into a tallboy. Rory, who always seemed to be a few inches shorter, was now eye to eye with his friend. Rory was tall, thin, his dark curly locks of hair pulled out of his face.

Catching his breath, Dougal handed over an envelope. "From the Laird." He never referred to the Laird as his father, at least not in front of others.

"Aye, but what is it?" Rory questioned, grabbing the envelope from the other boy's hand. His eyes study the curious piece of paper.

"Rory..." Dougal started slowly. Closing the distance between himself and his friend. A cheeky grin slipped across young Dougal's lips, giving his friend a hardy yet playful shove. "He wants it sent to Inverness… He wants ye to do it!" He explained with enthusiasm. It was a big deal.

"Me? Why?" The stable boy asked, sounding as shocked as he looked.

"Ye're our fastest rider and he trusts ye!"

Wow. That's the only thought crossing the young boy's mind. Usually, only the most experienced riders were tasked; with deliveries for the Laird. Roy's mind was in such a fog he had forgotten Dougal had been talking to him until he was met with a sudden smack to the cheek.

"Ye goin?"

"Aye, I'll do it." Rory finally agreed. Both were unaware this would be the last night they would ever see each other again.

After receiving more information on where this letter was going, Rory was off with the assistance of Roan. The last image Rory would have seen was Castle Leoch disappearing behind him. It took him about two days, but he had finally made it to Craigh na Dun. He was so close to completing his mission, Roy could taste it. This one task would open his doors to so many opportunities. Roy could not fail. The stones started to appear over the hill. It was a beautiful and yet mysterious sight. He had heard stories about the standing stones. Some said they were cursed; others said fairies lived there. Honestly, he thought they were full of shit.

The young lad jumped from his steed, securing him to a nearby tree. Rory had stopped off to relieve his bladder. It was odd, being so out in the open but with no soul around. He kept his eyes on his boots but sneaked glances at the stones. He could have cared less about them, but it was like he was being called. After fastening his belt, Rory decided to do a quick look around; he didn't see the harm in it. He had moved across the circle and found the whole structure disappointing. What was the fuss about stupid rocks? Turning on his heel, he had reached in his pocket to make sure the letter was secure. Upon pulling his hand back, he managed to bring the letter with it. He watched as it floated gracefully to the ground. As soon as he bent down to grab it, the wind suddenly picked up, taking the letter for an unexpected ride.

"Shit!" He blurted out in a panic. He moved as quickly as his legs allowed, always an inch from grabbing the parchment. The wind continued to taunt him until the letter found itself pressed against the famous cleft stone. Rory slowly approached as if he was cornering prey. Then, he heard the most peculiar sound, a buzzing sound. His head lifted as his eyes met the face of the stone. He could have sworn the sound was coming directly from the stone curiously Rory leaned in close enough that he still wasn't touching the stone but enough to hear the buzzing clearer. Losing his balance, the male pressed the palms of his hands against the stone. It felt like the air sucked out of his body, and everything went black.

The curly-haired male woke feeling like the wind had knocked out of him. His green eyes stared at the blue sky above. Engulfed in a blanket of confusion, Rory slowly pulled himself to his feet. He stood there for a moment, thinking he died, but he felt fine. His head darted this way then that while observing his surroundings. Something was off. It looked the same, but different at the same time. The tugging worry in the pit of his stomach snuck upon him. All his stuff was gone. Was he robbed? Riddled with panic, the male found himself running down the hill when suddenly stopping in his tracks. His horse and the trees had all vanished; in its place was some winding road with strange lines. He looked further down and appeared out of nowhere. A big metal moving device whooshed right past him. The lad fell right on his back, practically giving himself a heart attack; shortly after, another one rushed by and another. Finding the courage to get up, he noticed some paper on the edge of the road. Quickly, grabbing for it. He realized it was an article. What he found that made the breath leave his body was the date printed on the top…Monday, September 25, 1980.

He couldn't peel his eyes away; this couldn't be happening. "This doesn't make sense." Turning his head slowly. His eyes landed back on the stones in disbelief. His stomach was in knots as he made his way back up the hill. Rory kept telling himself he was dreaming, but what he was feeling felt too real to be a dream. The wind blew slightly, and the young lad found himself standing there in fraught. Something did happen, but he was uncertain of what. He felt so alone. Suddenly, he slid his foot back but managed to lose his footing; falling back, he rolled violently down the hill smacking his head against a boulder knocking him out cold. He didn't know it at the time, but 40 years down the road, history would repeat itself.

"She's late. That woman is gonna hold us back." Dougal groaned. He seemed to be in a particularly foul mood this morning. Dougal wasn't keen on Molly tagging along, though it seemed, after the peculiar encounter outside of Colum's study, his attitude toward the American was growing with more hostility. Molly figured it was because it had stirred up memories and emotions he wanted to forget.

"I'm preciously on time. I was early." Pulling her hood down, Molly turned around to face the War Chieftain with a cheeky grin. "I was wondering where you were." Raising a brow. She didn't care if he liked her or not. He wasn't her concern. She wanted to get to Craigh na Dun. The stifled laughter from the rest of the crew did not go unnoticed either by the stern leader.

"Ye might want to try and make an effort on being on his good side lass," Murtagh whispered in her ear after quietly stepping up behind her. Her eyes stayed on her horse, but she noticed both his arms reaching across her shoulders, fixing the loose straps on her saddle.

"Now ye won't fall on yer face." He commented before walking back over to Jamie.

Molly Didn't utter a word. Gently, she turned her head over her shoulder. Her green eyes followed the scruffy-bearded male though he never looked back. However, she felt a noticeable skip in her heartbeat.