I shudder as I feel cold water being poured over my head. "Bloody hell."

"Aye, a bit brisk?" Mrs. Fitz says with a laugh. "Keeps you clearheaded and strong though."

I step out of the wash tub. "I really can wash and dress myself, you know."

"Oh, I don't mind helping you." Mrs. Fitz dries my back with a towel. "Such beautiful skin you have. I've never seen a woman past eight or nine with skin so unmarked by injury or illness. Your husband will be a lucky man."

I let my mind wander as Mrs. Fitz starts to brush my hair.

"Oh, aye. Hundred of MacKenzies will be turning up in the next few days for the gathering. Are you listening to me, child?" Mrs. Fitz asks.

I snap out of my haze. "Sorry, what? Gathering? I'm not familiar with that term."

"'Tis where all the MacKenzie men throughout the Highlands come and plight their oath to the clan and himself," Mrs. Fitz explains. "Last one was decades ago when Colum was made Laird. I'm fair glad you and your sister are here to handle the physicking. I have enough to manage without dealing with folks' ailments. You do well with that. Dougal and himself will not forget it. You'll be in their good graces, make no mistake."

If Claire and I can get in Colum and Dougal's good graces, perhaps we could win our release and begin to make our way back to Craigh na Dun.

I watch Claire pace around the surgery. She is reading from one of the books the old healer used.

"...for headache, take ye one ball of horse dung. It is to be carefully dried."

"Is this to be our life? Being trapped in a castle?" I question. "I mean what are you even trying to do, Claire?"

"Medicine and caring for the people of the clan MacKenzie is the most logical way for me to earn their trust," Claire tells me.

"So, you're playing nurse again?" I question.

"Do not act as if you have not tended to Mr. MacTavish more than once since our arrival," Claire says. I cross my hands over my chest. Claire sighs. "We cannot raise suspicion. So, I have to find a way to apply 20th century medicine using only the methods and equipment available in the 18th."

"Or we could just run away," I offer.

"Where?" Claire asks. "Where would we run to, Ava? We do not know where we are. No one in this century takes kindly to lone female travelers."

I sigh. "I hate when you are right."

"And you should be helping me," Claire insists.

"Why would I do that?" I question.

"You're smart, Ava. You can help me," Claire insists. "Instead of spending your time sitting around twiddling your thumbs."

"I already have done this, Claire," I remind her. "I've worked as a nurse. I've amputated limbs for God's sake. Maybe I just don't want to be a doctor like you."

Clair nods. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just think that you have so much skill. You should use it."

"The discarded medicines need to be disposed of," I tell her. "I will do it."

I head up to the kitchen to look for Rupert and Angus. They have been spending their time up here while Claire and I see patients. I find them both drinking as routine dictates.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I could use some help in the surgery," I tell them. "The discarded medicines need to be disposed of."

"What are you two drunkards still doing taking up space in my kitchen?" Mrs Fitz asks. "If you're not working here, be gone with ye."

"We're just following orders keeping an eye on this one," Rupert insists.

"Oh, and has she been hiding at the bottom of your mug for the past two hours?" Mrs Fitz questions.

I hear something shatter and a woman gasp.

"Oh, Shona. Dinna fash yourself over this. Go on home now. Be with your other wee Bairns," Mrs Fitz tells the woman. She turns back to the rest of the kitchen workers. "Carry on working."

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Colum's chambermaid," Mrs Fitz tells me.

"Is she going to be all right?" I question.

"Aye, in time. Her boy died last night, wee Lindsay MacNeill," Mrs Fitz explains.

"What happened?" I question. "Why did nobody come and get me or Claire?"

"Oh, miss, what ailed wee Lindsay has no mortal cure," Mrs Fitz tells me.

"He went up to an eaghais dhubh, he did," Angus tells me.

"Where?" I question.

"The old ruins of the Benedictine Monastery," Mrs Fitz explains. "Folk hereabout call it the Black Kirk."

"You think somehow the ruins killed him?" I question.

"'Twas not the ruins, you daft woman. 'Twas the demons who roam free inside the ruins," Rupert insists.

Mrs Fitz shakes her head slightly. "Poor wee soul. Sickly boy on his best day. No match for old nick."

A young boy comes into the kitchen. "The MacKenzie requests your presence in his chambers, Miss Beauchamp."

Mrs Fitz walks towards the boy and tries to smooth out his hair. "Have you never heard of a comb, you wee gomeril?"

"Aw, leave off, auntie," the boy says.

"My nephew, Tammas Baxter," Mrs Fitz introduces. "Lindsay MacNeill was like a brother to him."

"MacKenzie's waiting," the boy says.

"Right." I turn to Angus and Rupert. "The medicines are on the step. You can't miss them. And if you by chance do just ask Claire where they are."

I head to Colum's study. He is being fitted for a coat.

"It'll be a trifle longer than your standard frock coat," Colum says.

"Well, you're hardly standard, now, are you, my Laird?" the tailor says. "A one-of-a-kind coat for a one-of-a-kind man."

"I was told that you're the finest tailor in the Highlands, come fresh from Edinburgh," Colum says.

"Well, I thank you, my Laird," the man says with a small bow. "My wife's people are Mackenzies, and I'm always happy for a chance to bring her home."

"And did your wife's people encourage you to mock your Laird?" Colum asks.

"Mock?" the tailor questions.

"Does not a man's coat usually fall just to the knee?" Colum asks.

"Yes," the tailor says.

"And did I ask you for anything different than that?" Colum questions.

"Well, no, not explicitly, but, um, I just thought..." the tailor starts.

"That my legs should be hidden?" Colum questions. "That I have something to be ashamed of?"

"I would never presume," the tailor says. Colum pulls a knife and holds it to the man. "My Laird... please."

"You make me a standard frock coat and have it back to me by tomorrow," Colum instructs.

"Of course, my Laird. Thank you, my Laird. Thank you," the tailor says before leaving.

Colum turns his attention to me. "Do you sew as well as physick, Miss Beauchamp?"

"Only flesh, which makes a rather poor garment, I'm afraid," I tell him.

Colum chuckles. "Just as well, I called you here on another matter." Colum starts to undo his trousers. "Davy Beaton, he used to massage me. It made movement easier. I hoped you would do the same."

I nod. "Of course."

Colum hops up onto a table. This is the first time I've actually gotten a good look at his legs up close.

"What's wrong?" Colum asks. "Do you find my legs as repellent as the tailor does?"

"No, it's just, well, I believe it'd be more beneficial if rather than your legs, I massaged the base of your spine," I explain.

Without questioning my directions Colum pulls up his shirt. His bare arse is staring me in the face.

"Don't tell me my arse offends you too," Colum says.

I don't answer him. "Moist heat is usually quite soothing after a massage. Is there any water for boiling or some clean cloth?"

"No. Mrs. MacNeill, my chambermaid, she lost her son last night," Colum tells me. "She hasn't been in this morning."

"I was very sorry to hear about her boy," I tell him.

"Aye. It's Satan's work," Colum insists. "The foolish child he went up to the Black Kirk. Sometimes I wonder what I did to make the devil punish me like this. What, you don't have demons in Oxfordshire, miss?"

"We do, but we call them Scots," I joke.

Colum laughs before grunting.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" I question.

"No, no. On the contrary. You're easing the pain considerably," Colum assures me. "Gwyllyn the bard, he'll be singing in the hall tonight before the gathering. I'd like you to come along as my guest."

I force a smile. "Thank you."

Claire and I walk together to the hall. She gets a good laugh out of me telling her I practically had to massage Colum's arse. Dougal walks up to us as we stand in the back away from everyone else.

"My brother looks very well tonight," Dougal tells me. "He says it's down to you and your healing touch."

"I'm glad I could be of service," I tell him.

"Aye. Seems that the feral cat we picked up on the road is trying to pull in her claws," Dougal remarks.

"What a charming description," Claire states.

I grab hold of my sister's hand. "If you'll excuse us, I believe we'll have a better view from over there."

Claire and I head to sit down on a bench. I sit near to Laoghaire with Claire between us.

"Hello. We've not been properly introduced. I'm Claire Beauchamp," Claire tells her.

"Laoghaire MacKenzie," she instructs.

I smile at the girl. "Ava Beauchamp.

I notice Jamie walks into the hall.

"Cuts quite the fine figure, Mr. MacTavish," I state.

"Aye. But it's not me he fancies," Laoghaire insists.

"Well, men rarely know what's best for them," Claire tells her. "That's what us women are for."

"Laoghaire. Mrs. Beauchamp. Ms. Beauchamp," Jamie greets as he sits next to me.

I smile. "Mr. MacTavish."

"I was just telling Miss MacKenzie how beautiful she looked tonight," Claire says.

"Aye. Aye, she's bonny," Jamie says.

The singer starts to play a harp and sing.

"I don't understand a word, but it's so beautiful," I whisper to Jamie. I lean over to look at Laoghaire. "Has Gwyllyn been at the castle long?"

Jamie speaks before Laoghaire can, "Aye. Many years. I spent a year at Leoch when I was 16 or so. Gwyllyn was here then. Colum pays him well. Has to. The Welshman would be welcome at any Laird's hearth."

"I remember when you were here before," Laoghaire tells Jamie.

"Mm, do you?" Jamie asks. "You canna been much more than seven or eight yourself. I doubt I was much to see then so as to be remembered."

"Well, I do remember, though," Laoghaire assures. "You were so... I mean, do you not remember me from then?"

"No. No, I dinna think so," Jamie tells her. "Still, I wouldna even be likely to." He turns to me. "A young birkie of 16's too taken up with his own grand self to pay much heed to what he thinks are naught but a rabble of snot-nosed Bairns."

I continue to drink the wine from my cup.

"Colum's rhenish, is it?" Jamie asks.

"It's very good. I've had two... three glasses," I tell him. I hold the cup out to him. "You can have the rest if you like."

"Most folks who drink with Colum are under the table after the second glass," Jamie tells me as he takes the cup.

"Are you implying that I'm intoxicated?" I question.

"I'd be impressed if you weren't," Jamie says.

Everyone claps as Gwyllyn finishes his song.

Jamie leans into me. "This dressing's been chafing me for days. Would you mind helping me with it?"

"Now?" I question.

"Well..." Jamie starts.

"Yes, of course," I tell him.

Jamie hands the cup to Laoghaire. "Take that back, will you, lass?"

Jamie and I walk to the surgery together.

"All right, so let's have a look at that shoulder," I tell him.

"Uh, I dinna need your help," Jamie tells me.

I look at him curiously. "Hmm?"

"I just thought I should see you back to surgery while you could still walk upright," Jamie tells me.

I laugh lightly. "Oh. Thank you. I suppose I did overindulge slightly. I should have known, though. If it was really uncomfortable, I imagine you would have just ripped off the bandages yourself."

"Oh, I was afraid to," Jamie tells me. "Thought I'd get my arse skelped if I touched it."

"Too right," I assure him. "I am the healer, after all. I'm in charge."

"Never doubted it," Jamie assures.

"Really, though, if it was bothering you, you should have told me. I would have taken it off for you the other day at the stables," I tell him.

"No. I couldna do that before Alec," Jamie insists.

"Scars. You don't want Alec to know you've been flogged?" I ask.

"No. No. Old Alec knows I've been flogged, but he's not seen it," Jamie explains. "To know something like that is... well, it's not the same as seeing it with your own eyes. It's a bit personal, maybe, is what I mean. I think if Alec were to see the scars, he couldna see me anymore without thinking of my back."

"You don't mind me seeing your back?" I question.

"I don't. You seem to have a knack for letting me know you feel sorry for it, without making me feel pitiful about it," Jamie tells me. "Anyway... I should go." Jamie turns to leave.

"Wait," I tell him. "Let me have a look at that."

I unbutton Jamie's coat and take his necktie off. I look at the wound on his shoulder.

"It's scabbed over nicely. There's no drainage. Take those bandages off in a few days," I instruct.

"As you say," Jamie assures.

'Good night, Mr. MacTavish," I tell him.

"Good night, Miss Beauchamp," Jamie tells me before leaving.