Author Notes: Thank you for being patient while I took my writing hiatus. A few things I decided to age Molly up to 33, I was not comfortable with the age difference between her and Murtagh, and this is more appropriate in my opinion, and intern, I had to change a few dates in the older chapters. I hope you enjoy this new chapter, and I'm thrilled to be back.

They moved quickly through the night, getting as far from Randall as possible, but for Molly, there was no corner of the earth far enough to escape what she endured. The trauma caused by Randall's hand left her confused and weak, but slowly she began to recall moments like missing puzzle pieces.

When the sun came up, they finally rested. Dougal was concerned with Randall's men coming after them. Randall got what he wanted by seeing Jamie. Molly had no energy to go back and forth about it until Dougal decided he wanted to talk.

The men put the camp up hastily. They needed a spot to sleep and gather water. Molly curdled up next to the fire, but her attempt at rest became impossible. Her mind kept repeating everything. Randall was going to kill her, and she could still feel the grip of his hands around her throat every time she swallowed. He did not know her, yet the hatred he carried was crippling.

"We will stay here tonight," Dougal commanded. "And continue to Inverness in the morning. We are lucky we got this far."

The idea of Dougal wanting to continue as if nothing happened did not shock her. The man was an absolute jackass and seized every opportunity to show it. However, she was not worried about herself. It was Jamie. He had put everything on the line to get them out of that situation. Yet it meant nothing to his uncle. It broke her heart.

"Miss Molly?" Angus addressed. He was hesitant as he approached, standing in front of her. Taking a deep breath, Molly looked up at him with curiosity, and without warning, he fell to his knees. "I ask fer forgiveness. I acted foolish and put ye in harm's way."

The hot-headed little toad managed to surprise her yet again. Angus could be sweet when he wanted to be, and she appreciated the effort. "Angus..." Molly began. Leaning forward, she reached for his hand. "You are a good friend. But what happened was not your fault." Despite his ability to irritate her, Angus was a loyal man. She was not about to allow him to take the fall for something so clearly out of his control.

"At least we can agree on that."

He could not help himself, could he? That unbridled hostility he had was poison. "What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Molly questioned as she brought her attention to Dougal.

Leaning forward, Dougal adjusted the fire before casually looking up at Molly, "It means whatever ye want it to mean." Slowly he sat upright, watching her through the flames.

For a moment, Molly sat there quietly, staring at the ground. He wanted her to respond; she knew that, and she also knew she should not give in, but she could not seem to care. Furrowing her brows, she slowly looked at Dougal, "Are you suggesting this is my fault?"

"Yer the one needing rescuing."

She was speechless. Angus had finally walked away, taking himself out of the situation, and Jamie stared her down, desperately hoping she would not react further.

"You left us behind!" Molly argued.

"Ye should not have provoked them."

"Jesus Christ." She could not believe what she was hearing and started laughing. "Provoke them?"

"Molly." Murtagh intervened to calm her down. The Scotsman came up behind her, gently grabbing her shoulders, trying to pull her away.

"Stop," Molly warned, shrugging herself from his hold. "We were outnumbered and outgunned. What did you think was going to happen?"

"Ye know what I think? I think ye wanted to get caught. The way you flaunt about, hanging onto anyone willing to give ye attention, it would not surprise me." While Dougal spoke, his stare shifted away from Molly, looking directly behind her.

The silence that followed spoke volumes. Molly did not need to look to know it was Murtagh he referred to. But she looked anyway. Murtagh showed remarkable restraint keeping his head forward, only further proving that he was a far better person. If she had access to the blade resting on his hip, Dougal would be on the ground bleeding out already. Molly slowly brought her attention back to Dougal, and she finally realized that no matter what, they would never be friends.

"I am not sure how I can put this more plainly, you unimaginable bastard. They had been following us the whole time." The woman spat out. "If I were to take an educated guess, someone in Randall's regiment spotted Jamie before or after you brought him on stage like a prized pony!" She no longer cared; she was tired of trying to keep the peace with him. Dougal had no empathy for her or what she had gone through. It made it feel like everything she did was for nothing. But Molly did not do it for him. She did it for Jamie, Murtagh, and Angus, whose quick thinking made it possible for her to have this conversation. "Randall remembered me. And because of my association with all of you, he knew Jamie was in the area." Molly took a breath before calming herself down.

"Why?" Jamie questioned without hesitation.

"Why, what?" Molly replied quietly, her eyes staring into the flames of the fire.

"Why did you not tell him?" Jamie forced.

Taking a deep breath, the American turned, looking the young Scotsman in the eye, and replied. "Despite your previous opinion of me, you matter to me, Jamie. " Looking away from her friend, Molly pulled herself to her feet before walking away from the group. There was more she needed to tell them, but it would have to wait. She was angry, terrified, and needed a good cry without interference. "Do not follow me."

Murtagh had not stopped staring at Dougal the entire time, his body stiff, fighting the urge to stab him in the throat. No, he was not okay. Murtagh just had enough experience to know when to react. While Dougal's behavior and words came across as hatred and suspicion, Murtagh could see it for what it was, jealousy. Instead of telling Dougal what was on his mind, he followed Molly.

Molly had only been down by the stream for a few minutes before her desire for privacy was interrupted. The sound of cracking branches following close behind was no surprise to her, and part of her already knew who it was before she turned to look. But if anyone was going to follow her, she was glad it was him.

"Dougal dinna speak for the rest of us." Murtagh acknowledged. The Scotsman approached as if he were coming up on a wild animal he did not want to scare away. Molly was in a vulnerable state of mind, and Murtagh knew to tread carefully. He chose not to force the conversation. If Molly wanted to talk, he knew she would, but he also knew being alone was the worst thing she could do now.

"I know," Molly answered quietly. Slowly, she turned and looked at him with sorrowful eyes. "He-Randall..." She could recall it so clearly, but speaking of it felt impossible.

"It was to be a joke us leaving both of ye behind." The Scotsman admitted. There was no suitable time to discuss this, but he needed to be honest with her; she deserved that. "We should have known better. I would never do anything to put ye in danger. When we found you." His words trailed off, recalling those critical last moments. There was no way to explain the fear he felt seeing her fighting for her life. "I hope ye can fergive me. I am not sure I will be able to fergive myself."

"Please do not do that. Do not blame yourself for something that was so out of your control. I do not want that on my conscious." Could they have done things differently? Of course, but for Murtagh to blame himself for something that no one predicted would happen was insane to her. She could still feel his arms wrapped around her body and his voice pleading with Randall to let him take her place. Those were not characteristics of an awful man but of a loving and loyal one. "You came back for me." That was enough. Taking a deep breath, Molly looked up with uncertainty. "Randall charged me with treason."

The news was predictable but managed to cause Murtagh's heart to drop. The Scotsman glanced up at the woman through furrowed brows. As selfish as it was, he had hoped he could have convinced her to stay, but that seemed like a fantasy now. He kept quiet, but you could almost see the wheels turn in his mind. "There is a man in Inverness who owes a favor. I can get you safe passage to the Americas through a shipping port. We will say our goodbyes, and ye can put this behind you."

"I'm not leaving." Molly blurted out. God, he looked at her like there was something worth looking at, and yet, she could not find the courage to tell him the things her heart wanted her to say. Closing the distance, Molly pulled Murtagh's hand in hers, "I'm a part of this now, and we have been through too much already just for me to walk away. I want to finish what we started."

She had been through hell and back and still came out an angel. The monster did not break her. Randall did not weld that kind of power. "I give ye my word, Molly; I will protect ye."

"I trust you."

Clearing his throat, Murtagh dropped his hand from Molly's and reached into the breast pocket of his worn jacket. "I believe this belongs to ye." He explained while handing her journal back to her.

There it was, the smile Murtagh thought he would never see again. Molly snatched the leather-bound notebook and enthusiastically flipped through the pages, desperately searching for something. Suddenly, she stopped, her eyes looking on in astonishment. It had survived. The wilted Calluna she had been using as her bookmark, the very flower from their first meeting in the courtyard.

Murtagh had been looking on, not realizing the significance at first, but there were a few moments that were hard for any man to forget. "Ye can't say it's empty now." Recalling the memory with a smile.

"Why did you do all this for me?" Molly asked as she glanced over at Murtagh.

Taking a deep breath, Murtagh leaned in, tenderly caressing the bruise on her cheek with his fingertips, "I think ye know why." He whispered. His hand fell as soon as he said it, and just like that walked away.

He loved her.