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(An Outlander Fic) (Not entirely from canon) (inspired by the TV show) (if you recognize it, I don't own it).
It had been a long time coming- this trip to Scotland. Having been fantasizing about it since you were in high school, here you were, at 22 graduated from college, no job currently insight, but enough money to scrape up a trip to your favorite country.
Not only was it the land of your distant ancestors, but also a land that had called to you since you had heard of it. The accents. The history. The kilts. The cows. You were absolutely in love with the long haired cows. You had just left a farm with them the day before you made your way to Inverness. After checking into a quaint inn, you snacked and then left for the first stop on the last place you'd be visiting before you left.
Craigh Na Dune. The standing stones.
You drove the rental you'd had since you landed and drove your way up the hill. The drive was beautiful, and the hike was light but appreciated. And the view. Oh god, the view. When you got up there it was gorgeous. The light shone in such a way to make the center rock look like it was floating. The other stones haloed by shadow and sun. It was breathtaking. You tried to take some photos with your phone- for memories sake. Though, you doubted they'd turn out as well as you'd want.
Figuring you wouldn't need your phone anytime soon while on the hill, you reached behind you to the little backpack/purse you keep with you and plopped it in, resting the pack against one of the outer stones. Your booted feet squelched on the damp ground, and while it was summer, there was a nice breeze that had you keeping your jacket on over your shirt.
You just stood there for a bit, in the quiet of nature. Until it wasn't quiet anymore. Suddenly, the wind whipped, flinging your loose hair into your face. A whispering whine turned into an echo of gunshots. Voices screamed in the distance, a cry of pain, a horses whinny. You turned. Left. Right. Back again. Finding nothing. Concerned, you grabbed you bag and threw it on your shoulders, walking backwards in a circle. Hoping to find the source of the noise.
"Hello!" You called, but the wind, even more violent now, swept up the sound so even you struggled to hear your own voice. You stumbled as the wind seemed to be pushing you. Back and sideways. Until you stumbled so hard, you had to reach out a hand,
and landed with it on a stone. Instead of uprighting yourself however, you felt one last tug, from your stomach, as it pulled down. And then- darkness.
Silence.
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The silence didn't last long. Or maybe it did and you were just that discombobulated to be able to tell up from down. Your head hurt, your limbs sore. Your stomach was roiling, as if you'd just done a spin in the dryer at high speed. Everything hurt, but as the ringing silence slowly left your ears, the sounds from earlier were loud. No, louder. And as what sounded suspiciously like a bullet hitting flesh and a scream of pain reached your ears, your panic heightened and you bolted. Back down the hill from which you climbed. A hill that earlier had been dusted with dew and a few shrubs was now covered in brush and trees. Limbs snagged at your own and your clothes. Your hair ripping out at the scalp from a branch that just got a little too close. Your bag almost being ripped from your shoulders.
And then, your mountain goat like abilities failed you, and you were falling. Rolling, riding pants tearing, skin bleeding, hair even worse for wear.
Finally coming to a stop, you groan and huff and look to your left to see- boots? Before you even have time to comprehend what the heck was going on, a hand grabbed your arm and yanked you up.
"Well, well, and what is it that brings you out into a war zone, Madam? In clothes like that?"
He was tall, probably six foot, which didn't intimidate your 5'10" frame, but he felt skeevy. Your instincts were yelling at you to get away. Away from him, away from whatever war you'd just entered. And away from the stones all at once.
What the literal fuck was going on?
Your silence seemed to piss him off, and he turned and slammed you into the bark of a tree. You cried out in shock and pain, mind reeling, trying to catch up to what was happening, but body relying completely on instincts. You were grateful nothing overly fragile was in your bag, as it took a majority of the blow.
You were no child, and you were certainly not helpless. So, without even thinking, your free hand swung for his nose, and as he dodged that your knee came up, hitting him in the balls, so hard you swore you heard a crunch. Steeled toe boot landing on his foot in the way down. His hand released your own, and your right hand swung through again, clocking him in the jaw (and bruising your knuckles while you were at it) and throwing him to the ground. You turned and ran then, finally grasping the fact that that perv was wearing a, a red coat?
You don't know how long you were running, before you had to take a break. You were practically wheezing. This is why you did the sports that involved riding on another animal. Yes, horse back riding was strenuous, but on your body, not your lungs. God, you felt horrible. And you were sure you looked worse. Trying to tame your hair you did your best to smooth it back into a ponytail.
You also removed your bag away from your shoulders, hoping reorganizing it would calm you down. Your panic only rose though, when your phone was not only cracked a little (tear) but it showed no bars and no wifi. Knowing that you couldn't call for help, and that your gps app wouldn't be able to help you till you got back to civilization, you turned the phone completely off and hid it in a part of your bag. You rummaged through again, noticing your metal water bottle and handful of homemade granola bars were still there (the farm you stayed at last week had a stall at a local market. Sold the granola they made with the items they grew and wrapped them in these cute brown wax paper sleeves. We love environmentally friendly produce).
As you finally synched your bag back up, you realized you erratic breathing was calming. You could breathe now, but your chest felt hot, and every breath you took in was felt in your chest. The icier air not treating you kindly. And that's when you remembered your bag, that you literally just rummaged through, had your inhaler sitting in one of the outer pockets.
Praise all that is good and holy!
Taking two big puffs, you felt better knowing that was taken care of. Now the bigger problem was at hand again.
What the literal fuck was going on!
You remember the stones, and the weird weather, and then touching the stone and then-
Holy shit, is that a sword?
Low and behold, yes it was a sword. A sword pointed at your throat, attached to the hands of a long haired, kilt wearing man.
"Agus cò a dh 'fhaodadh a bhith nad nighean?"
You were pretty sure your brain was short circuiting. "Uuuh- what?"
He huffed at that, "I said, an who may ye be, lass?"
Damn his accent was thick. Considering you were an American that had been in the country for like- 2 weeks, you struggled to pick out his words (though you could not deny that yes- you were in love with the Scottish accent).
"Uh, I'm- uh. Lost"
The mans eyebrows curled up at that, getting lost in the low rim of his cap.
"Yer los' are ya?"
"Yeah..." You shrugged. At this point you were mostly exhausted. This was 12times more action than you expected for this adventure. It was supposed to be a day of peaceful walks. More horse riding, and eating good food. Maybe get a little waisted. All in all, very calm and easy breezy.
Funny how the world likes to mess with you.
Shouts resounded through the forest, making the man tense. After giving you one last stink eye, he sheathed his blade, grabbed your hand and said, "Ruith!"
Which.... meant absolutely nothing to you.
You ended up running to a horse. Now this messed up woods was starting to make sense. Before he could try to throw you onto the beast stomach first, you grasped the horn and hopped on yourself, him right on your heels. Grabbing the reins from you, he whipped them (and the horse and now you) into action and you were off. You don't know how long you were on that horse. All you knew is 1) you were grateful you were wearing riding pants, 2) your coat was not waterproof, and you were starting to feel the chill of the rain, and 3) your savior/kidnapper reeked something awful. A chill went down your spine as a breeze blew through you, the cold finally getting to you. Or maybe that was just the shock seeping in?
Before you realized it the horse slowed, and the man dismounted, trying to drag you off behind him.
"Ok ok! Get off. I'm coming," you swung at him as you got off the horse (with more grace than him you'd like to think).
He grabbed you again, on the upper arm, and dragged you to the cottage. A pit formed in your stomach as you neared it. It looked disheveled, though the other horses gathered outside showed signs of life. Probably all men, knowing your luck. Hopefully people not as horrid as that red coat. But you couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through you as the Scotsman opened the door... to reveal more Scotsmen.
Fuckin' great.
All eyes turned to you at this, there was a heavier-set man. A short skinny dude, some other grumpy looking individuals, two off to the left you couldn't see in the shadows, and lastly a tall bald dude nearest the door.
"Lorg i sa choille i, a 'ruith bho rudeigin. Lassie claims she s'lost." He pushed you forward more at that. You rubbed the arm he grabbed. It was definitely going to be bruised after all the manhandling. The bald man eyed you before reaching his hand out for your arm.
"If you or any more of your men manhandle me one more time, so help me god!" You slapped his hand away, stepping to the side. Hands fisted at your side now, you glared at him.
"I have gotten lost. Been shot at. Fallen down a hill. Been manhandled by some stupid Brit in a red coat. Ran some more- just to have this asshole shove a sword in my face. And then further manhandled into this building. So don't look at me like I'm crazy for yelling. Don't look at me as if I'm being unreasonable. I'm not unreasonable. I just don't know what the fuck is going on and I would appreciate a damn explanation!" All eyes were wide, looking at you. Some amused. Some offended. But the bald man's were emotionless, just calculating.
He turned slightly to the man next to you, "Thuirt thu gun do lorg thu i—"
"And stop taking about me in a language I don't understand. I'm right here. Acknowledge that fact."
The bald man straight up scoffed at that. "Wha's yer name, lass?"
"Y/n,"
"Well Y/n," drawled the bald man, " 'Til we ken yer not a spy, we'll speak 'ow we please."
You sputtered at that. A spy?? A fricken' spy? What the fuck?
The men preceded to discuss you in their native tongue. Which now that you had time to calm down (barely) you realized it was Gaelic. Scottish Gaelic, duh.
Finally, after a couple of them laughed, which had you tensing some more, the bald one turned to you again.
"My name is Dougal, tha one who found ya is Murtaugh, and you'll be coming back with us."
Before you could even make sense of everything he told you, the bald man- no- Dougal- continued speaking, "Now Jamie lad, how're you doing." From the fire on that side of the room all you could make out was broad shoulders (shirtless broad shoulders, nice) and a curly mop of red hair.
Jaime's response was something between a growl and a scoff.
"Right, well, you cannae go ridin' from the British like tha'. Murtaugh."
With a wave of his hand and the men gathered round and your savior was grappling Jaime.
"We'll have to force it back in to place," grumbled Dougal as the heavier one went and grabbed the arm.
"On the count of three. One—"
"Wait! Stop!" You shouted. They looked at you like you were crazy but you weren't about to let them interrupt you yet, "If you force it into place the wrong way- he'll never be able to use that arm again."
"And what'd'ya suggest we do then?" Came the heavier one.
"Move aside. And let me do it." You didn't give him a chance to respond before you were shooing all but Murtaugh away from the redhead. Though- when you pushed aside the small one, he pulled out his dagger (or is that a dirk?) and shoved it in your face.
He didn't get the chance to use it before Dougal called him off. "And wha' do you ken about out of joint shoulders?"
"I've been riding horses since before I could walk. And I've fallen off of as many as I've ridden. You learn how to pop your shoulders back in after a while. And it's easier to do someone else's. So, Murtaugh, if you'd be so kind as to hold him in place."
You moved to in front of Jaime, finally getting a look at his face. You had to pause for a second cause wow he was gorgeous. His face was sculpted like the statues of Ancient Rome and Greece, from what you could see of his torso- it matched the rest. And his eyes, oh his eyes, were the color of the sky on a cloudless, sunny day. You were speechless for a second. And then tried to hide your blush at how straight up HOT this man was.
"Uh, hi. I'm Y/n," you started. Figuring if you were going to be shoving joints back into place, it'd be best to use your manners. He nodded back, pain clouding his eyes a bit.
"Jaime."
"Cool, well. First, I'm going to move the arm to align the socket with the joint. It's going to hurt, but you'll need to sit very still- ok?" He nods, as you begin to slowly move the arm.
"Then once it's lined up, I'm going to twist and pop it back into joint. It's gonna hurt like a bitch, but after that there shouldn't be any pain, except for a little soreness. Now Murtaugh, you'll need to hold him extra tight cause this parts gonna sting. Ready? On the count of three." You grip his forearm and his hand tighter, nodding at Murtaugh when he's ready. You're brother always hated when your dad did this to him, but considering the circumstances, what you were about to do was the best option.
"Cool ready? Three!"
A legitimate *pop* sound rung out as Jaime grunted. But just as quick as the pain showed it was gone. He looked at Dougal then to you in amazement. "There is'na any pain!"
"Well, there probably will be. Like I said. The muscles will be sore. Is there a belt I can use? It's best if the arm is strapped in place for a little bit, to ensure you don't overwork it. The sling also allows your shoulder to relax."
"Angus, give 'er yer belt."
"Wha- my belt!" Shouted the little one. And oooo. You were totally going to roast him later for having the same name as a cow.
"Yes. Now, let's get on the road!"
As Angus walked past he threw his belt at you. Not that you really cared as you kicked it back up to you using your feet once it landed in the ground. You then knelt back in front of Jaime and helped him with the sling. His eyes were kind, and he was looking at you quite closely. "Thank ya, lass. I appreciate it." You couldn't help the blush this time.
"Please, think nothing of it. I've watched my dad do it to me and my brother since I was little. And when my father isn't around, I get the joy of patching up Gabe myself. And what's with all this 'lass' nonsense. I thought it was only for children?"
"Aye," he said. A smirking at you, "An braw women."
I'm dreaming. The hottest man in the world is hitting on me. Wow.
You're blush went down to your neck now. "Good to know. Here I thought you thought I was a child."
"Och, no. At least I hoped yer not. I'm na too old myself yet."
Before you could make any further comment,
The bald dude- Dougal you had to remind yourself- barged back into the shack.
"C'mon, you two, we donnae all day!" He marched over to you and grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the building, "You'll ride wit' young Jaime, he'll keep an eye on ya." He roughly turned you around to face him, faces a breath away, his voice was low and intimidating. "I ken no whether you're a spy, but if ya actions bring harm to my men, you won't be receiving a kind welcoming, ya hear?"
He practically growled it at you. You could just nod mutely, not entirely comprehending what he was saying.
"Alright, now giv' me yer foot?"
He held out his hands, but you simply took a step back. "If the reason you're saying that is because I need to get on the horse, don't worry. I know how to mount a horse. I ride remember?"
He pouted at that, but took a step back, nodding with arms crossed. It took you three seconds to mount up, with Jaime coming up to sit behind you. It registered to you then that it was raining again, your already damp hair just getting wetter. And that when you remembered the spill you took down the hill probably made you look absolutely run over. You ran your hand over your face to feel the cuts, and yup, there were a few. Nothing was outright dripping blood though, so it seemed the worse injuries to you was bruising. Just as Jaime was about to get on the horse, he tugged at the bag you had honestly completely forgot was on your shoulders.
"If ya donnae wan' me fallin' off the horse, lassie, you'll need'ta give me room in tha saddle."
"Oh right, sorry."
You easily slipped the bag from around your shoulders to hang from your front, before Jaime mounted your behind you. He didn't sit still long before he started fidgeting behind you, thighs bumping into your back.
"What in all- what are you doing?"
"I'm tryna get me plaid unstuck to cover us, but it's a wee bit hard wit' only one hand."
You turned, contemplating arguing with him. But you were cold, and wet. And cold. And he was hot, in more ways than temperature. So with a roll of your eyes, you reached back and helped him unstick both sides of his tartan, wrapping them around you both. The one side effect of such an action, was it required you to sit even closer to him, and you were partially afraid of sitting against his arm.
"Donnae want ya ta freeze before sun up."
His words snapped you out of your thoughts. "Wait- we'll be riding all night?"
"Aye, all the nex' day too, I imagine. We got a long ride ahead of us."
"Great," you huffed.
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The ride was long. You nodded off and on again. Head bobbing and resting against Jaime's shoulder, the uninjured one. Your stomach growled angrily at you, a day into the ride, no longer content in its silence. Jaime laughed, a deep and husky chuckle that rumbled through you, only for his stomach to grumble too. It was your turn to laugh.
Without much thought, you blindly rummaged through your bag, and grabbed one of the granola bars.
"Here," you say. Putting it into his hand that has the reigns, and taking them into your own.
"Wha's this?"
"A snack. You're hungry."
"Aye, lass. But I cannae take this from you."
"You didn't take it," you say turning your head to look at him. "I gave it to you. Consider a gift. Then it would be rude if you to decline," a smirk graces your features as you see the humor well up in his eyes.
"Ye drive a hard bargain, lass."
"I know," he laughs at your confidence.
"How about a compromise," he starts, trying to place it back into your hands.
"No I will not split it with you." You deadpan, retracting your hand and digging through your bag again. "I have more."
He laughs again, hearty and deep, as you pull out 5 more and fan them in your hand. You put all but one back and start munching on it. Hearing him do the same to his. The ride is quiet again. When you're done eating and pullout your bottle and take a swig of fresh water, offering the tank to the red head behind you, as well.
"Wha's this?" he asks, as his good hand takes it from you.
"Water," you say, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You hear him drink from it and hand it back to you. "Tha's a weird shaped flask there, lass."
You just snort. "Well. I'm just a weird person in general apparently. So it's fitting."
He laughs again at your comment,only to be shushes quietly by one of the other men up ahead. You lower your head in chastisement and merely return your belongings to your bag. As you lift your head up once more while your caravan turns a bend in the Forrest, a clearing through the trees reveals a large peak ahead in the distance.
"Hey- I know that rock!" you say, as your eyes gaze upon the familiar landmark.
"Aye, ya do, lassie?"
"Yeah- yeah- it's got the name of a male chicken. Uuuuh- Cocknammen- right?"
Jamie again huffs a silenced chuckle at your phrasing.
"Aye, indeed it is, Sassenach."
You choose to ignore his new nickname for you as your mind wanders back to earlier that day, when you had just arrived in Inverness.
The sky was grey, as all sky's in Scotland seem to be, but the weather wasn't too harsh for your lighter jacket, and so you decided to grab that and your bag before going down the stairs of your inn to the cafe. The locals were very kind, and so the one waitress who served you asked you where you were planning to visit first. You explained to her that while you were headed towards Culloden Moore to view the memorials there, you first wanted something a little less tourist populated. She laughed a contagious laugh and smiled at you, saying it was a common desire of tourists to not do the touristy things. Nonetheless, she gave you her expertise. A drive along the outer road ways to visit a couple rotting castle corpses, a hike along Cocknammon Rock – where she jokingly warned you to keep an eye out for any Red Coats planning to ambush you in their attempt to bring down the Scottish rebellion, or a trip up to Craigh Na Dune, where the fairies lie in wait to steal people across time and space.
"Oh shit," you cursed. As realization set in. For while you laughed at her then for her fantastical story telling. Now, after your unfortunate interaction with the stones, you feared what other truth her words may have had.
"Wha's the matter Sassenach?" Jaime asked you from behind, a shocked expression on his face at your word choice- despite your inability to see it.
"Jaime, I have no idea if this is true or not, but when I was in Inverness, I heard that the British like to use this region for ambushes!" You aggressively whispered to him. Trying to keep your voice low, but your worry evident.
His back went rigid at your words, "Aye, tis a fine place for an ambush." He kicked his horse forward before you could even suggest telling someone, and he rode right in up to Dougal at the front, stopping the party as the two whispered back and forth in their native tongue.
"Now, you'll be tellin me how ya come to know such things," Dougal said sternly, a fearsome glint in his eye.
"I- I- well, I'm not certain of it, but some girl in the village told me. Gossip or some thing!" you tried to speak fast while still coming up with an excuse that would be more believable than "a girl from the future told me cause I, too, am from the future". He merely stared you down for a moment, deciding your honesty levels, before shouting more incoherent aggression in Gaelic. Next thing you knew Jaime had thrown you from the saddle with a brief "hide lassie!" and then gunfire was heard.
You couldn't think. You just ran. You ran until your lungs felt as if they were going to give out on you, again, and your feet almost got tangled in the roots. When you stopped- the sound of guns and screams were long since silenced on the wind, and a cold shiver went down your spine.
Fuck, you thought, you were lost again.
Hoping that you had run a relative straight line, you turned around and attempted to walk back from whence you came, knowing you'd have better luck with the Scots (specifically Jaime) than on your own. It was as you'd just took your first step back that a twig snapped. From behind you.
Whipping back around, you came face to face with none other than the grabby man-handler red coat from before, though you couldn't help but smirk at the bruise on his jaw and the way he favored his right foot.
"Well, well, well," he began, in his annoyingly posh British accent, "Looks as if our paths are meant to find each other, Madam."
You wanted to rip his smirk right off his face, but you didn't know how well you'd win in hand to hand this time now that he knew you could punch and had some mean boots on your feet.
"Now that I've got you alone once more, maybe you could answer my questions. What are you doing in this war zone and with men's clothes on, no less."
"You and your questions can go to hell," you bite out, eyes darting every which way, trying to figure out how to escape, and hope that he forgets he has a gun on him.
"Well, the speech of a lady, the word use of a whore," his eyes zero in on you even worse than before, darkening with either desire or rage, and you are in wanting of him to not finish his sentence, "I choose the whore!"
And before your mind can even comprehend that that is exactly what you were afraid he was going to say, he springs upon you and throws you to the ground, himself not far behind.
A scream leaves your lips on the way down, but he quickly covers your mouth with one of his disgusting hands, while the other, finds rest on her left breast. The vile feeling of his hand groping you so is the cold water that shocks you from the initial shock of his attack. You squirm and squeal, and open your mouth enough for a finger to slip into it. The satisfaction in his eyes adds fuel to the fire burning in yours and with a very large amount of passion, you bite down upon his finger with everything you have.
A roar of his own escapes him, before he punches you right in the gut, causing you to release his now bloody appendage. You gasp desperately for a breath, while also trying to spit out his blood from your mouth. Your efforts are thwarted, however, as he slaps your across your face, grabbing your neck with his uninjured hand.
"You little bitch!" He seethes. The dark glint in his eyes takes on a new glow, and the desire you saw before for your naked flesh, has now turned into something far more devilish, as if takes little time for you to feel him squeeze. A gasp escapes you as his other hand joins his first in his attempt to strangle you to death. By now, whatever self defense training you've ever had has left you. Pure panic in its place. You slap and hit and claw in a desperate attempt to be free from this nightmare you seem to have fallen in. And as all hope seems lost with the growing white spots in your vision and lessening oxygen in your lungs, you are able to remove the gun from his holster. And without thinking you cock it, and press it to the side of his abdomen, and pull.
The echo of the gun cannot compete with the ringing in your ears or the sounds of you gasping for breath. However, it is enough to be the final hint that brings the tag team of Murtaugh and Jaime to your rescue.
Their horses come bursting through the trees just moments after, and their eyes fall on your coughing form, as shock and fear wracks your body with pain and tears.
"Sassenach, come, up! We must be going," says Jaime, as he hauls your shaking form up off the ground and over to the horse.
Your eyes are glassy, and your steps unfocused. You cannot recall how you even managed to get up on the horse (a feat you'll realize later was quite a struggle for the two Scotsmen in your unresponsive state). All you can do, as you feel Jaime mount up beside you, is keep your eyes locked on the unconscious form of the man who moments before tried to kill you. And as you ride away from the terrible and dark spot in the forest, all you can think is oh god at the prospect that maybe you killed him.
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It isn't until much later, when you all make it back to the castle, Mrs. Fitz has tended to your bruised throat and Jaime's bullet wound, when the shock has left ya numb and scared, that he tells you who that man was and how he caused the scars along his back and probably a good many other number of scars for others in Scotland who dared defy English rule.
And it was there, by the fire, in a castle in another time, that you and this practical stranger cemented a bond that could never be broke. For even if the bastard wasn't dead, you were the one who hurt him in the end. And it was you who were now a fellow survivor of his brutal deeds.
If Jaime had not thought you beautiful before, as you fixed his out of joint arm, he truly believed it so now. For even under the bruises and cuts and tear stains, he saw, for the first time in his 24 years, someone he thought could survive with him and accept him as he truly was.
Yes, it was but the fire, in the castle, in that time, that a man from times gone by, fell in love with a woman from the future. And that- that was ok for both of them, even if neither really knew a lot about the other.