The days have blurred and turned into weeks. We visited village after village, my feeling of helplessness growing. Even amongst the vast and beautiful landscape, I felt trapped, as if I were back in the stone walls of Castle Leoch. Would I have to reconcile myself to live the rest of my life amongst strangers, 200 years in the past?

When we arrive at the next village it is ablaze. Men are pushing people around and going through people's belongings.

"What's going on?" Claire asks.

"It's the watch," Murtagh says. "Men you pay to protect your cattle. Otherwise, they'll steal them themselves."

"Extortionists," Claire states.

"Why burn the house?" I ask.

"It's a warning. I heard talk in the village. The husband's a sympathizer working with the redcoats," Murtagh says.

"That's only gossip," Claire states.

"It's no excuse for criminal behavior," I insist.

"The watch may be criminal, but they're Scots first," Ned says. "They can't abide traitors who do the bidding of the British army."

I see a man hand a bag with two chickens in it to Dougal.

"And Dougal taking his cut... I suppose that's patriotism as well," Claire remarks.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, my dear. No, no, no. No, that's business," Ned tells me.

I look around. "Where's Jamie?"

"Oh, he's making himself scarce," Murtagh tells me. "He has a price on his head, remember. The watch would turn him over in a minute, if they thought there was profit involved."

"Patriots until it profits them not to be," I state.

"Their loyalty lies where the money lies," Murtagh says.

"Off we go," Dougal tells us.

We stop to make camp for the night. Like always the fireside chats are not for my taste.

"I was... I was slipping her the wee man, all night long, and she was ganting for it," Angus says. "Ganting! I gave the lassie such a seeing-to. She'll be walking bow-legged for months."

"Aye, aye, you sleekit dog," Willie says.

Angus offers me a plate of food.

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry," I tell him.

"What's the matter with you?" Willie asks.

"I've no stomach for stolen food," I state.

"Please yerself," Angus says.

I stand up. "And I don't sit with thieves."

Angus grabs hold of me and points his knife at me. "Listen, you. Hey! I will not be judged by an English whore."

"Angus." Jamie steps up to us. "Angus. She doesn't want it, all the more for us, huh?"

Angus finally drops his knife and I pull my arm from his grasp.

Claire sits down beside me on a log.

"I do not know how much longer I can spend with these barbarians," I confess.

"I know," Claire tells me. "I feel the same. But we do not have a choice."

"We have horses and food we could run," I offer.

Claire shakes her head. "We need a plan."

"We need a chance," I argue.

"And we will get one," Claire tells me. "I promise." She stands up. "Until then we stick together."

I nod my head. "Always."

As Claire leaves Jamie walks towards me.

"What's got into you, woman, talking to Angus that way?" Jamie asks.

"Angus can kiss my English arse," I tell him.

"Aye, he's a clarty bastard, but those are fighting words," Jamie tells me.

"Well, where I come from, we don't..." I start.

Jamie cuts me off, "It doesn't matter where you come from. You're here."

"So I'm just to stand by and watch?" I question.

"You're not to judge things you don't understand," Jamie tells me. "Stay out of it, Ava."

We head to the next village. It's a poor showing this time. No one seems to have much. The last man in line has nothing.

"Torcall. You come to me with empty pockets. What's going on?" Dougal asks.

"Redcoats came through two days ago, house to house, took what they wanted," the man explains. "You know me, brother. Every year, I pay what I owe to the MacKenzie. But tonight I canna feed my family."

Dougal hands the man the other chicken that was stolen. "Your family will have supper tonight, and afterwards, you'll join us for a drink." He turns to the crowd. "All of ye will eat! Join us tonight for a dram."

"I know what you're doing," Claire says to Dougal. "The more mercy you show today, the more you collect tonight for yourself."

"Aye, the lassie can see right through us," Ned says as he steps between Claire and Dougal. "We scots are not as canny as the English, yes. Good thing we're not doing this in Oxfordshire."

"What is it that you're accusing me of?" Dougal asks.

"A penny for the Laird, a pound for your own pocket," Claire says. "Whatever you wish to call it."

"I call it clan business, and none of yours," Dougal tells her.

I'm benign to see a familiar pattern. But for my sympathies for Jamie, I have little interest in Dougal's self-serving performance. The language as alien as ever, but the sentiment clear. "Give us your money, and we will protect you from the English, from the Sassenachs." But then my ears sparked to a name I'd heard somewhere before. "Long live the Stuart." of course that would be the second Jacobite rising, the '45.

A lost cause as it turned out. I was beginning to realize the activities Dougal and his men were involved in weren't criminal. They were political. He was using the shocking display of Jamie's scars not to frighten his audience, but to stir outrage against the British. Dougal was raising money for a Jacobite army.

I sit by the fire not ready to sleep. I can hear Jamie and Dougal arguing.

"Devil take ye, Dougal MacKenzie. Kinsman or not, I don't owe ye this," Jamie says.

"I seem to recall a certain oath of obedience," Dougal tells him. "'So long as my feet rest on the lands of Clan MacKenzie.'"

"I gave my word to Colum, not to you," Jamie reminds him.

"It's one and the same, lad, and you ken it well. Outside of Leoch, I am Colum's head, hands, as well as his legs," Dougal argues.

"I never saw a better case of the right hand not knowing what the left was up to," Jamie says.

"The MacKenzie's, the MacBeolains, the MacVinishes... none can force them to give against their will," Dougal insists. "But we have something in common. We want our king back where he belongs. Don't you?" Jamie doesn't say anything. "You have more to gain from a Stuart throne than I do. If you don't want to save your own silly neck..."

"My neck is my own concern, and so is my back," Jamie tells him.

"Not while you travel with me, sweet lad," Dougal says.

I creep down to where Jamie is still standing. He is punching a tree.

"He'll do that again, use you like that?" I ask.

"Aye," Jamie says. "Aye, it gets him what he wants, you see."

"And you'll let him?" I question as I sit down on a log.

"He's my uncle," Jamie says. "A man has to... to choose what's worth fighting for." Jamie sits down on the log beside me. "As you ken well." Jamie smiles slightly and I can't help but smile back. "Well, best get some sleep."

"Yes, of course," I agree. "Try not to hit any more trees."

"Don't worry. Trees are safe, Sassenach," Jamie tells me.

"Good night," I tell him before walking off.

The next morning as I watch them pack, I see the men in a different light. Not criminals, but rebels. I wish I could tell them that they are on the losing side of history, that it is all a pipe dream. The Stuarts would never unseat the protestant King George II, but how can I tell them that, these proud, passionate men who lived and breathed for a flag of blue and white?

We continue through the highlands. On our way to the next village, we come to a holt. In a field are two x shaped crosses with bodies on them. I stay a distance back with Claire while the men investigate. Both men have a t carved into their chests.

Even I know that this is not the work of the watch but of the redcoats.

"They've been out here at least a week," Rupert says.

"More, likely, by the smell," Willie reasons.

"Bloody bastards!" Angus shouts.

"Take them down," Dougal instructs. "Wrap the bodies."

"We'll give them a proper Christian burial," Ned says.

At the next village we are offered proper housing. I cannot tell you the last time I slept in a bed. Well rather tried to. I hear something outside my door. I grab a candle holder as I go to open the door. I trip over something or should I say someone on the ground.

"What on Earth!" I shout. I realise it is Jamie as he stands up. "What are you doing sneaking around outside my door?"

"I wasn't sneaking about. I was sleeping or trying to," Jamie tells me.

"Sleeping here?" I question. "Why?"

"The taproom's full of townsmen half gone with drink. I was worried some of them might venture up here in search of... well..." Jamie explains. "I didn't think you'd care overmuch for such attentions."

"After the events of today, I doubt any of them are feeling very kindly towards an Englishwoman," I reason. "I'm sorry I stepped on you. You're being kind. You can't sleep out here. At least come into the room. It's warmer."

"Sleep in your room with you?" Jamie asks. "I couldn't do that. Your reputation would be ruined."

"My reputation?" I question. "You've slept under the stars with me before, you and ten other men."

"That isn't the same thing at all," Jamie says.

"Well, at least let me give you the blanket off my bed," I tell him. "Or is that too scandalous?"

I grab the blanket and give it to Jamie. As I do our hands touch.

"I'll be right here," Jamie tells me.

"Good night," I tell him.

I head down to the hall to try and find some breakfast. I see Jamie heading out.

"Good morning, Mr. MacTavish," I greet.

"Morning, miss," Jamie tells me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, the horses will be needin' their breakfast as well."

I spot Claire sitting with Ned and I join them.

"Why did you let me think you were thieves?" Claire asks.

"What's made you think otherwise?" Ned questions.

"Dougal's speech the other night," Claire tells him.

"I thought you had no Gaelic," Ned says.

"Well, I've picked up enough to understand what "Long live the Stuart" sounds like," Claire explains.

"You might've picked up more than you should," Ned tells her.

"What if I told you that the odds were stacked against you?" I ask.

"And which odds are those?" Ned questions.

"The British army is the best in the world," I state.

"Oh, that's a known fact. What of it?" Ned asks.

"You're raising money for a war that you cannot win," I state.

"And that worries you, does it?" Ned questions.

"You're the ones that should be worried," Claire insists.

"You talk as if the future is already decided," Ned states. "Outmanned we may be, but I would match our fighting hearts against the best army in the world."

"Fighting hearts don't stand a chance against cannons," I argue. "You are going to lose."

"That's your opinion, and you're entitled to it," Ned tells me.

"It's a fact, Ned," Claire insists. "You have to believe me. History will never record the name of another Stuart King, but it will record the names of thousands of highlanders who've died needlessly for a doomed cause."

"History be damned," Ned says.

Angus stands up and walks towards a group of rowdy men. He hits one of the men's head into the table.

"Here we go," I remark.

Everyone in the hall seems to get involved in the fight. It's all rather messy and for what I cannot even say. Claire, Ned, and I stand in the corner and watch.

I sit with the MacKenzie men.

"Three split lips, two bloody noses, twelve smashed knuckles, and four loosened teeth," I state.

"And my ribs hurt a bit," Willie tells me.

"Bastard's fingernail was sharp as a boar's tooth," Rupert says as he points to a cut on his face. "He's gouged a hole in me."

Claire cleans the scraps on Angus' hand, and he winces in pain. "You're such crybabies. I've tended to six-year-olds braver than you lot."

"Any excuse for a fight," I state.

"You were the excuse," Murtagh tells me.

"Me?" I question.

"And your sister," Murtagh says. "It was your honor we were defending. The lout called you a whore. You're a guest of the MacKenzie. We can insult you, but God help any other man that does."

Once everyone is tended to, we head to ready to leave the village.

"So there I am in bed, harelip Chrissie on my left and sweaty Netty, the butcher's daughter, on my right. They get jealous of each other, start arguin' about who I'm goin' to swive first," Rupert says. "Can you believe it?"

"I believe your left hand gets jealous of your right," I remark. "That's about all I believe."

Rupert starts to laugh.

"You're a witty one," Jamie tells me.

"I've never heard a woman make a joke!" Rupert says with a laugh.

"There's a first time for everything," I tell him.

"Hard ride ahead," Jamie tells me. "Three days till we cross Culloden Moor."

Culloden Moor. It's the place where in less than an hour the Jacobites lost something in the region of 2,000 men. In the years following Culloden, the estates of the Clan Chieftains were plundered, sold. The government banned the wearing of tartan. They banned the carrying of swords, even the Gaelic language. In effect, Culloden marked the end of the clans, and the end of the highlander way of life. That happened in 1746, three years from now. And what of these MacKenzie men? How many of them were doomed to die on that wretched battlefield?

Before it gets too dark, we set up camp for the night.

"I'm going to the river to wash," I state.

Willie, Angus, and Rupert go to follow me.

"Let her go," Dougal tells them.

The river is cold but it's refreshing as I wash my hands. Suddenly I hear Dougal.

"Who are you?" Dougal asks. "An English lady of Oxfordshire that's what you'd have us believe. But you would seem to be a lady of strong political opinions, eh?"

"There's no harm in an opinion," I tell him.

"You've seen things on the road. You tell the redcoats, and we'll be bound to crosses just like the men we cut down," Dougal argues.

"I'm not a spy," I tell him.

"Maybe not. But ye're sowin' the seeds of doubt in our midst, working behind the cover of yer woman's skirts to undermine the cause," Dougal insists.

"I am trying to warn you," I tell him.

"Huh. Warn me about what?" Dougal asks. "Eh?"

"I'm trying to save your life," I tell him.

"Madam..."

I turn and see a group of eight redcoats on horseback.

"Pleasure to see you again."

It is the man from earlier. The one from the village who asked me if I was alright.

"Once more, I ask you... is everything all right?"

I smile. "Hello, again, officer."

"Lieutenant Jeremy Foster of his majesty's army," the man introduces. "And this time I do mean to ascertain the lady's well-being."

"The lady is none of your concern," Dougal tells him.

"And you are?" Lieutenant Foster asks.

"Dougal MacKenzie, war chief and brother to Colum, Laird of the MacKenzie Clan, and the lands upon which you stand," Dougal tells him.

"MacKenzie or not, if you are holding this English lady against her wishes, you'll be dealt with," Lieutenant Foster warns. "Tell me, madam, are you here by your own choice?"