Lochlainneach

Culloden

17 April, 1746

Culloden Moor, Inverness, Scotland

JAMIE POV

It was nothing but silence. Dead, quiet silence. Occasionally, a moan would be heard somewhere off in the distance, but soon, it died down as the man it belonged to took his final breath.

Cannon fire. Clumps of dirt flinging everywhere, flying all about. A whinny of horses as they tried to run in fright, but were forced to stay. Men shouted all around, running to and fro as cannon blasts littered the land, leaving craters bigger than Jamie could possibly imagine.

It was dark. The sky was clearer than Jamie had ever seen it. The stars glittered in the night sky, peaceful, inviting... He didn't know what time it was, only that he had been lying there for hours. The battle had been fought in the morning and it lasted less than an hour, and still, Jamie laid on a pile of men who were already dead. Lucky bastards, he thought to himself. When will my time come?

"This is nothing but a diversion!" came the voice of Lord George Murray through the destruction and the shouts. "Cumberland wants te rattle our nerves! If we stand fast and force him te come te us across the moor, then we will have them, sir!" Another explosion, and Lord Murray, O'Sullivan and Charles ducked as a cannon blast blew the grass and mud to Kingdom Come nearby. "The time is now!"

Now. Now would be a great time to die. It would be soon, or at least he hoped. He could no longer feel his feet as they were numb with cold. Part of his kilt felt wet and warm - blood, still pouring from the wound on his upper thigh. Would he bleed out? Why hadn't he bled out already? It should have happened by now. It should have happened...

Fear no more the heat o' the sun...

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone...

Home. Catrìona. Archie. Jenny. Ian. Young Jamie. Maggie. Kitty. Murtagh. Cailean. Lallybroch . Home art gone. What else did Jamie have to live for? Why was he still alive?

He dodged another cannon, losing his footing and crashing down onto his stomach. "Jamie!" It was Cailean. He dove down onto the ground beside Jamie and quickly checked him for wounds. "Are ye hurt?"

"No," Jamie answered him.

"Have ye done it? Is she safe?" Cailean asked him, his concern for his sister heavy in his gaze. Jamie nodded.

"Aye... Both of them," he told him.

She'd left behind her tartan, which had been draped over her shoulders like an arisaid. Jamie picked it up and brought it to his lips once she'd passed through, then laid it at the foot of the stone in memory of his beloved. She was gone from him, four hundred years into the future in another man's arms. He wondered briefly if she'd made it, and if she had, how she was... but that made no sense. She was born four hundred years in the future, so she wasn't even born yet.

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great;

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.