Chapter 1: An Unlucky Encounter

Claire hastened up the embankment into the cover of the wooded area, twigs snapping beneath her feet. The cool morning air was dense with moisture, droplets of water tipping off the foliage and cascading on to her hair and face and the back of her neck, sending a chill down her spine.

She lifted her heavy skirt to keep from tripping and at once she wished that she had chosen to wear pants today. Pants, a blouse, jacket and hat had been a recent disguise; a male entertainer, as she played her part as the Sassernach, singing and travelling to unknown villages in hopes of finding Jamie, her love and her husband.

Jamie. The thought of him delivered a wave of longing that shook her to her core. Like a fierce hunger, she yearned to feel his warm touch, to see his comforting smile, to hear word that he was alright. The feeling built up inside her and morphed into sickness and she stopped abruptly. Grasping a tree, she hunched over and vomited.

Was it equal parts worry and morning sickness? She wasn't sure. Since leaving Lallybroch, she had become aware of the biological signs that told her that she was carrying Jamie's child. What a cruel twist of fate, learning of this miracle in the exact days in which Jamie had been ambushed and went missing. Or perhaps it wasn't cruelty, but a gift, given at the exact time she needed it, urging her to be strong and move forward.

As her nausea subsided, Claire straightened and leaned against the tree in support. She exhaled and began taking in her surroundings. Through the trees she could see the path they rode in on. She could see her horse and her travel companion, Murtagh, still mounted upon his horse, waiting for her.

Murtagh patted the horse and stroked its mane, which was almost as unruly as his own hair. Murtagh's face was shrouded with thick facial hair. His hazel eyes and heavy eyebrows conveyed a slightly uneasy expression as he scanned the trail on which they were riding.

Moments earlier Claire had asked for a break from riding when she felt her nausea arise to a point she could no longer ignore; her second time stopping to be sick that morning. Not knowing the real reason for the break, Murtagh nodded, but not without an irritated expression to indicate that she was holding them up from reaching their destination, a village called Ardmair, to which they should have already been halfway.

However, Claire could feel the way Murtagh's composure towards her had softened compared to days earlier. Last night, for the first time, Murtagh had opened up to her about his concern for Jamie and love for Jamie's late mother. And while Claire could sense that their relationship was changing from ill-matched travel companions to something that resembled friendship, it remained unspoken between them.

Claire began making her way down the hill when she heard a sudden shout. Startled, she halted and crouched behind a tree. Heart pounding, her wide eyes scanned the scene for Murtagh. A flash of red was in front of him and she moved so she could see. It was a Redcoat, a British Soldier, but just one—a young fellow. He was pointing his musket at Murtagh, who was still atop his horse.

Claire's hand instinctively went to the dagger in her garter as she watched the tense moment unfold. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she tried to think of how to react. But before she could, Murtagh drew his sword in a flash and the Redcoat, whether intentionally or not, fired the gun into the air. Murtagh's horse reared in shock, throwing its rider off backwards onto the ground.

At that, Claire leapt up, grabbing the dagger from her garter, and flew down the slope, her mind a rush with thoughts, while also somehow devoid of them. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she crept closer, crouching behind the foliage close to the road, her presence still unnoticed.

The soldier instantly took advantage of his upper hand, and with Murtagh on the ground, he thrust the bayonet of his musket into Murtagh's shoulder of the arm which still clutched his sword, pinning the shoulder to the ground. Murtagh hollered in pain as the bayonet pierced his flesh, letting out a steady stream of profanities at the soldier who seemed pleased but also uncertain of his next course of action. Murtagh's anxious horse whinnied and moved with nervous, erratic movements.

Incensed at the act of brutality against her comrade, Claire saw her opportunity to help and seized it, sweeping silently upon the attacker from behind. Enraged, she held her knife firmly to the soldier's neck.

"Drop the gun this instant or I will cut your throat," she heard her voice say, her speech wavering slightly.

Murtagh fell silent, his eyes wide. The soldier cocked his head slightly to try to get a peripheral view of the person holding a knife to his throat. He hesitated, evidently wondering whether to call her bluff, and there was a moment when they all waited in silence, wondering who would make the next movement.

Fearing it would be the soldier, Claire's pace quickened, and she tightened her grip. She was prepared to do what she needed to in order to protect them; to allow them to continue their search for Jamie.

"Ah fuck it," she said aloud and began to dig the knife into the soldier's throat. He made a noise in fear and pain and pulled the bayonet from Murtagh's shoulder and dropped it to the ground. Murtagh swore in Gaelic.

Claire released her grip, and swiftly picked up the musket, now pointing the blood-stained bayonet at the soldier who faced her, clutching his neck. Now she was faced with a choice.

"Please," The soldier was wide-eyed. Backing up, he held one hand out to her. "I promise, I will just go back to camp, I will leave you be. Please, spare me!"

"You will leave us be?!" Claire voiced in rage, "You just impaled my companion, why should I let you live?" She raised the gun higher to take aim.

"Please, you're British! Spare my life and I won't tell a soul. You have my word!" pleaded the soldier and Claire could see in that moment how young he was; a fresh soldier in training. This may have even been his first altercation. She could tell he was filled with shame and regret, waiting for his young life to be ended by a woman, let alone one who was supposed to be on his side.

Claire could feel her stance faltering, and the soldier may have sensed it too, because he suddenly turned and took off into a staggered run. And after a couple seconds Claire knew the moment had passed and she wouldn't be able to bring herself to shoot him in the back.

With the soldier all but out of sight, she turned to Murtagh who still lay on the ground, a patch of blood seeping through his clothing below the collarbone. "Why dinna ye shoot the bastard?," He said gruffly, his brows furrowed in anger. "Yer too damn soft, ye ken that woman?"

"You're welcome for saving your life," Claire retorted, as she knelt beside him to assess the damage. "What kind of soldier keeps a bayonet on his gun?" She murmured spitefully.

"One lookin' to start a fight," grumbled Murtagh looking up at the sky, shaking his head at the situation.

"Hold still," Claire said, her hands shaking with adrenaline, as she peeled back Murtagh's jacket away from the injury. Underneath, the light-coloured shirt was soaked in dark blood. Quickly, Claire ripped open the bloody fabric to get a better look at the wound. It was next to his shoulder blade and just under the collar bone. The wound was deep, and had it been any farther over, it would have been fatal.

"You're lucky," She said, "It just missed a major artery."

Murtagh shot back a look of annoyance. "Lucky me."

Claire got up and swiftly moved to her horse, which also now exhibited uneasiness, brought on by Murtagh's skittish horse beside it. Out of the saddle bag, Claire pulled a bottle of disinfecting alcohol and a roll of bandage. She opened the bottle as she moved back to Murtagh and without warning—hoping to spare him the anticipation of what was to come—she poured it on the open wound.

Immediately Murtagh's eyes slammed shut, and he yelled in pain through gritted teeth. Suddenly fearful that a group of Redcoats would be drawn to the sound, she placed her hand on his forehead, "Shhh, Shhhhh," she attempted to quiet him, "That was the worst of it, I promise."

Murtagh breathed heavily, his eyes still closed. "Ye tryna' kill me Lass?" He managed hoarsely.

"No," Claire was layering the cloth for the bandage, and took out her knife, cutting a long strip to wrap it with. "I'm trying to save you." Firmly, she held the makeshift bandage in place, using pressure to try to control the bleeding. Then with a hand on his good shoulder, she said, "Now you're going to need to sit up a bit so I can wrap this."

Murtagh gave a pained expression. Gingerly, he began moving to sit up and Claire got behind him to help. She worked quickly and wrapped the bandage over his clothes, winding it around his chest and then over his shoulder and under his arm until the cloth over the wound was held securely in place.

"Does that feel alright?" She asked Murtagh.

"Swell," he replied through gritted teeth.

Claire stood and hastily and wiped blood off her hands onto the dark fabric of her skirt. Then she picked up the soldier's gun and tossed it off the path amongst the ground foliage where it would not be spotted.

Then she went to Murtagh's side again. He was still sitting up, but he looked pale, and Claire worried about shock setting in. But time was of the essence, and they desperately needed to put some distance between them and the soldier. "Do you think you're ready to stand?" She asked.

Murtagh hesitated for a second, and then, his jaw set, gave a nod. Claire pocketed the alcohol bottle and knife, then picked up Murtagh's sword and handed it to him. Then, with her body positioned under his good arm, she helped hoist him up to a standing position. Murtagh grunted in pain as his body opposed the movement.

Once standing, Murtagh made his way to his horse, which was still restless. Murtagh pet the black stallion's muzzle calmingly. "I know ye dinna mean that, Laddy," he crooned. The horse seemed comforted by the gesture, and after a few pats on the mane, seemed to calm down. "But let's no' be doin' that again," Murtagh murmured.

Claire's mind was buzzing as she thought about their next move. She was concerned about Murtagh being on horseback for too long. She watched as he mounted his horse now with one hand, the colour draining from his face as he did so. He looked precarious, slightly hunched over, holding the reins in one hand. His other arm, limited in movement, rested on his thigh.

"It will take too long to continue on to Ardmair now." Claire said, formulating a plan. "We'll go back the way we came, find a safe place to rest and get that wound taken care of properly."

Murtagh shook his head languidly. "We need to push forward, continue with our search."

Claire frowned. "Head in the direction that the Redcoat went? To a village that could be a three hour's ride from here?" Claire challenged, now confident in her decision. "It's too risky. On our way, we passed what looked like a road to a small settlement. It will have to do."

After a moment's consideration, Murtagh gave a begrudging nod, "Aye".

"Stay close, and if you begin to feel faint, say something and we'll stop." Her mind wandered back to a distant memory. "I'll not have a repeat of the night of Cochnamon Rock".

Despite the situation, Murtagh gave a small chuckle, understanding her meaning. While not a laughing matter at the time, the thought of Jamie sliding off his horse after keeping a gunshot wound hidden, a testament to Jamie's stubbornness, was something that Murtagh and Claire could lightheartedly joke about now.

Their love for Jamie was the commonality between them.

Together they began the slow journey back, along the path from which they came.