Timeless ~Outlander~

Randall

As we entered the grand dining room of the inn, a wave of opulence surrounded us. The rich wooden furniture and the long, polished table, laden with an extravagant feast, hinted at the affluence of those in attendance. High-ranking soldiers filled the room, their camaraderie evident in the cheerful banter and hearty laughter that filled the air. It was a stark contrast to the harsh realities of the road we had travelled.

Lieutenant Foster took the lead, introducing us with a sense of formality, "My lord, may I present Mrs. Claire Beauchamp, Miss Nora Van der Berg, and Mr. Dougal Ma-," but his words were abruptly interrupted by the commanding figure seated at the head of the table.

"Come in, come in," the man exclaimed, rising from his seat with an air of warmth and authority. His uniform bore the insignias of high rank, and he exuded an undeniable aura of charm and confidence. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease as I observed him.

"This is a happy surprise. A most enjoyable surprise," he continued, his eyes fixed on Claire. His charm was undeniable as he bent to kiss her hand. "It has been far too long since I've gazed upon a lovely English rose."

"Left Tenant claims you've quite the story to tell," he added, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Claire responded with graciousness, "I'm so grateful you're willing to listen to it."

"I so love stories," the commander admitted with a chuckle. "I've not heard a good one since I first set foot upon this blasted turf." He gestured toward the vacant seat at the close end of the table. "You must be absolutely famished. I hope the venison is to your liking. It's the very best quality, I assure you."

"Thank you," Claire accepted the invitation and took her seat, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she surveyed the lavish spread of food before her.

"I shot the beast myself. It's quite the country for hunting, I'll give them that. the cheese is surprisingly good too and the claret is my own, bottled in '35. need I say more?"

The man seated to Claire's left gestured for me to sit and the commander promptly turned his attention toward me. Without much preamble, he remarked, "And a Dutch colonist?"

"Yes, sir, Nora Van der Berg," I replied, my tone polite yet tinged with wariness.

"Funny way of speaking those colonists have, isn't it?" he mused, his smile sly and somewhat mocking, before shifting his focus elsewhere.

"Now, Left Tenant Foster, you're going to introduce me to this noble Scottish gentleman," the commander prodded, directing his attention toward Dougal.

Lieutenant Foster promptly followed the commander's directive, "My lord, may I present Dougal MacKenzie, War Chief to the Clan MacKenzie and brother to its laird. You have the honour of meeting Brigadier General Sir Oliver Lord Thomas, knight of the bath and commanding officer of the northern British army."

The commander turned his gaze toward Dougal with a grin. "War Chief, eh?" he quipped, his eyes assessing Dougal. "I'll say this for you, you look the part."

"A fine specimen of the local inhabitants, my lord," one of the sycophantic men seated at the other end of the table chimed in, eager to curry favour with their commanding officer. It was dehumanizing how they spoke about the Scottish, using words like "specimen."

"How am I to address you, sir?" the commander inquired, directing his attention to Dougal.

"You can call me MacKenzie, if it pleases ye. Or if we're being formal, you can call me Chief MacKenzie, which, in matters of war and bicker, leaves us ower fae each other as equals, dinnae ye ken," Dougal replied, his Scottish brogue thick and unfamiliar to the Englishmen.