There was an argument going on inside as to what was to be done to one of the men. It was emanating from a cabin, just over the next rise, and even from this distance, it seemed familiar. Finally, I heard a din of voices with the distinct taint of the Scottish burr. I kept out of sight of the skirmishers, not wanting to stop a bullet myself. Nonetheless, I had to think fast, so I clawed at his chest, and when he backed away somewhat, I kicked him hard in the leg, and ran for all I was worth.Īs I sprinted away from the blackheart, the rain began to descend in a torrent, soaking me to the skin. What on earth was he doing here? And why was he uttering such rubbish? Could he never let it go? We'd been over this numerous times. So, you are either servicing his majesty's troops, since you're out here all alone, or more credibly, working as an infiltrator for the Scots." I conclude then, that you must certainly are English, but not entirely a lady. Strewth, it is not becoming to an English lady. "Get your filthy hands off me, you bastard," I screamed.Ĭlicking his tongue in a mocking fashion, the beast remarked, "Tut-tut. He gave me a shove, pinning me against a tree, his face mere inches from mine. Instinctively, I retreated a step, turning to escape, when he grabbed the back of my bodice. The brute looked up at my approach, and smirked at me. Oh, bloody hell, it was like a déjà vu, for there, filling his canteen at its bank, was that miserable excuse for a man, Captain Black Jack Randall. Were there skirmishers this far from the main battle? Trying to avoid the stragglers, I moved along, coming to a small stream.
#DEJA VU HISTORY CRACK#
Then the crack of a musket rang in my ear. My head was reeling, and I felt nauseated and dizzy. It was particularly disorienting to return through the stones this time around. Why wouldn't he listen to me, or if not to me, at least think of the future of our child? He would exist without a father to guide him. He knew the battle of Culloden was doomed to failure from the start. I scrambled to my feet and waited impatiently for the time to pass long enough for him to ride off to his death. What use was your honor, if you were six feet under? I was so blasted sick to death about Jamie's sense of honor. Roosevelt Christ! Here I was, once more dumped on the opposite side of Craigh na Dun, while he went calmly to get himself bloody well killed on that notorious field. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander Banner by LOSLR Designs
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