"It wasn't always like this, you know," Brianna confided in me; two days later, after exhausting the reverend's library for any information on Jamie Fraser, Roger suggested that the four of us head into town. Brianna was sat at a table in the middle of Lauders, a pub that Roger had taken me to a handful of times since that first Christmas; I sat with her, while Roger navigated the crowd to get us some whiskey.

I cocked my head to one side, studying my twin sister's body language; if you looked at us from the back, one would likely be amazed to see two young women of six-foot, but likely wouldn't assume they were related. If one looked at us from the front, however, after bypassing the mane of red hair Brianna had been blessed with, as well as my own raven tresses, they would see the similarities in our facial features. "You mean your distance from Mother?" I asked at last, doing my best to guess what was on her mind.

Brianna turned to look at me with a small smile. "I always thought she could read my mind, we were that close," she said softly, the statement letting me know that I'd guessed right. "I wonder if you have that, too."

I shrugged. "Time will tell, I suppose," I said, tentatively leaning closer, to which Brianna met me halfway, and we sat, shoulder to shoulder. "From what I know, given that Ginny..."

Brianna wrinkled her nose. "God, I'm sorry, but everything you've told me... I really hate her, Tris. I'm sorry; I know she was your mother—"

I held up my hand. "Virginia Carlyle forfeited the right to call herself that in relation to me, or any child, for that matter, the minute she let her friends from the pub take advantage." I sighed, shutting my eyes for a moment before allowing them to pop open again. "It's all right, though. I hate her, too, so there's nothing for you to apologize for."

Brianna gave me a soft smile. "Thanks," she said. "And, sorry. You were saying?"

"Right, yeah," I said, shaking my head. "I mean, from what I know of scheduling, teachers or professors are mostly adhered to what the students' are, with the exception of staff meetings and all that entails. As for doctors...well," I said, giving her an awkward expression, "I know that they're in high demand, and that their schedules are unpredictable, but all I really know about them is the soap Emergency Ward 10. My aunt, Freya, was quite fond of the program; in fact, it was her favorite. She was actually a nurse before she left to marry Uncle Patrick and have their kids."

"Right, because it was seen as unseemly for nurses to be married and stay in their job," Brianna said, nodding her head, as if aware of this. "But, you're right; Daddy... Sorry, Frank," she corrected herself, bitterness enveloping that one particular word, "would have a much more flexible schedule, to the point where I would barely see Mother. If I needed help on an assignment, he was there; a ride to school or to see friends, he was there again. I think, looking back on it now, that he enjoyed being the favorite parent, almost as if him having this hold over Mother was... I don't know, powerful?"

I reached underneath the table and wound her hand around mine. "Not that he doesn't deserve vitriol..."

Brianna chuckled darkly. "Given what he did to you..." She shook her head, looking at me askance. "He took you from me, Tris, from Mother... He had no right to do that. I always felt as if I was missing something, wanting something, and, now that I've got you back... Well, let's just say it will be a long time before I let you out of my sight."

I smiled at her. "The same goes for you, Bree. I hope you know that."

Roger hurried through the crowd, somehow managing to retain his grip on three large glasses of whiskey, which he placed down onto the table. "Here we are; nothin' like a wee dram to soothe our disappointment," he said, smiling in Brianna's direction.

I shook my head, lifting up my glass. "I should have known I was Scottish..."

Brianna blinked, cocking her head to one side. "Why?"

"Despite her circumstances, she always loved whiskey," Roger said.

Brianna squeezed my hand again, but sipped at her own whiskey. "No need to dwell on the whole disappointment thing," she said. "Mother said she was going to the archives today, so maybe she can find something..." She broke off, looking up, and I followed her gaze as an outgoing young woman with red hair stepped into the bar, and began to chat up the bartender, as if they were old friends. "Do you know who that is?" she asked Roger.

Roger turned his head. "Ah, that's Gillian Edgers," he responded, lowering his voice. "She's very vocal about the Scottish National Party, which is all about bringing back Scottish independence..."

"Roger!" Gillian called out, having spotted him staring, and walked over, her presence practically commanding the room.

"Gillian," Roger responded with a polite nod.

"Who are your friends?" she asked, smiling kindly.

"Oh," Roger said, turning back towards us, "these are Brianna and Beatrice Randall," he said, as we'd discussed me taking Frank's name, despite the circumstances.

"Oh, ye're twins," Gillian breathed, obviously impressed.

"Guilty," I said, returning her smile.

"Brianna and Beatrice both are history majors," Roger continued, as Geillis looked back and forth to him, to us, and back again, with obvious interest, "with Brianna attending Harvard, and Beatrice actually studying under me at Oxford."

"Very impressive," Geillis said, nodding her head. "Are ye in town for long?"

Brianna shook her head. "We were visiting relatives in London when we received word about Reverend Wakefield," she explained patiently. "Mother and I came over to see them, and Tris, of course, when we got the news..."

"The reverend was like an uncle to me, ever since Roger became my professor," I explained, amazed at the notion that the narrative seemed seamless. "The Manse became a sort of home away from home, while Bree stayed in Boston with Mother."

"Well, perhaps if ye come back again, ye can come to a meeting," Geillis said, nodding at the both of us. "Roger," she said, nodding to him, before slipping away.

"She must have a lot of followers, looking like that," Brianna mused, watching her walk away for a moment, before looking across the table at Roger. "She seemed to know you."

Roger nodded. "We've run in the same academic circles," he replied.

I raised my eyebrows. "You've never mentioned her..."

Roger shrugged. "Nothin' much to tell," he said softly, drinking a bit of his whiskey, "other than the notion that she's nearly been arrested for protesting without a permit..."

I gasped then, my jaw dropping, and I could feel Brianna immediately tensing beside me. "Arrested..." I breathed, turning to look over at her. "Bree, what if Jamie got arrested for participating in the Battle of Culloden?"

Roger shook his head, looking sadly at the table. "Those who survived the battle were immediately shot by the British," he explained.

Brianna leaned across the table. "All of them?"

Roger blinked. "Well, I... I dinna ken," he said at last. "Certainly, if there were survivors, they were few and far between."

I considered it for a moment. "Typically, in the judicial system, in centuries past, if you weren't executed, you were placed in a prison..."

"With hard labor," Brianna said, promptly clutching at my hand again; I could feel her heartbeat as she gripped it, likely matching my own. "I imagine the conditions must have been deplorable back then, given the horror stories you can hear..."

"I ken that Ardsmuir Prison was the main Scottish prison used after what the British refer to as the Jacobite Rising," Roger said, and both Brianna and I turned to look at him. "It closed no' too long after the rising, and its ruins are about two hours away from here. Father took me there; it's on the coast, and he told me about its history then..."

"Inverness has a library, doesn't it?" Brianna asked.

I nodded. "It does. Roger took me last Christmas for some reference materials for my final paper, and they must have books on the rising, as well as the aftermath..."

Roger took a final swig of his whiskey, leading to Brianna and me taking one as well. "We'd best go and look," he declared, grinning at his. "I think I'm becoming a dog with a bone."

Roger drove us directly to the public library, and we immediately went to the reference desk, asking about books pertaining to the Jacobite Rising, Culloden, and potential prisoners who had served time at Ardsmuir Prison. We were directed to the wartime section, unsurprisingly, and sifted through a plethora of books on the subject. Considering that we all three knew about history, it certainly made the job easier.

"Mother said that Jamie's name, his full name, was James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser," Brianna said quietly.

"Wait a moment," I breathed, feeling around the back of the shelf, and raising my eyebrows. "It seems like someone hid this one," I mused, pulling out a book which had been tucked away behind the main row, titled, Ardsmuir Prison: The Last Years – 1745-1756. I opened the book and inspected the borrowing card. "Hmmm..."

"What is it?" Brianna asked, stepping forward, and looked stunned. "Roger, it looks like Gillian borrowed this book."

Roger, who was sat at a table nearby, with plenty of literature around him, lifted his head. "Aye, she devours all she can about Scottish history."

I flipped to the back of the book, to its index, in order to cut down on time, and scanned each section carefully. "Here we are—prison records," I said, with Brianna gasping with excitement beside me. I started from the beginning, in 1745, knowing that Jamie was likely to be imprisoned directly after the battle, but came up empty within that first section. "He's not listed..."

"Keep going," Brianna said softly; she didn't want to think the worst either.

I nodded, although I was bitterly disappointed when I bypassed the years 1746 – 1751 with nothing to report, until— "Brianna, it's here," I gasped, scanning the names with a trembling finger, and we mutually let out a gasp as the name James Fraser was written in the copy of the ledger for the prison records of 1752.

"He lived," Brianna said, her eyes filling with tears.

I nodded, swallowing, as I felt myself becoming teary-eyed as well. "I wonder what he was doing beforehand," I mused, shaking my head.

"He could have been in hiding," Roger suggested, shrugging his shoulders. "He likely kent he would be imprisoned, and didna want to be."

"Especially not for a cause he believed in," Brianna said quietly.

I felt myself still shaking as I turned the page, which verified that Jamie was still imprisoned in Ardsmuir in 1753, 1754, 1755, and 1756. "It's mentioned that the prison closed," I said, and, upon turning the page, my hopes were dashed, "and the inmates were deported to the New World," I said, shaking my head with disappointment.

Brianna sighed. "Oh, no," she said, her voice filled with despair. "There were measles and smallpox outbreaks in what was known as British America at that time, and without Mother to ensure his safety..."

I clasped her hand. "It's all right. We'll just have to expand our search, and maybe—"

"Wait," Roger said, interrupting us. "What did ye say his full name was?"

I looked over at him. "Jamie's name? It's James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser."

"Why?" Brianna asked.

Roger shook his head, staring down at the book he was holding. "It was just a hunch, but I found an old Scottish reference book for businesses," he said, holding it up. "It says here that, in 1766, in Edinburgh, an Alexander Malcolm owned a print shop."

I gasped. "Alexander Malcolm," I breathed, shaking my head.

Brianna immediately ran over to Roger, who looked up as she approached, whereupon she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Roger, meanwhile, dropped his hold upon the book and wrapped his arms around her waist, to the point where she plopped down onto his lap, and the pair of them continued their antics—

"As lovely as this is, especially given the notion that this ups the chances of you becoming my brother in truth," I said, interrupting them, to the point where they broke apart with red cheeks, "I think we should investigate this Alexander Malcolm lead, don't you?"

"Edinburgh is around three hours distance from Inverness, meaning around a hundred and fifty-five miles," Roger said, as the three of us sat in the library at the Manse later that evening. "On a good day, a horse can take you thirty miles..."

"Meaning it would take around five days to get from one to the other," Brianna said quickly, beaming at Roger.

Roger chuckled; they had been holding hands constantly since that afternoon, the unspoken truth that they were now in a relationship out there for all to see. "Aye," he told her.

Brianna, still grinning, leaned over and kissed Roger again.

"Okay, maybe not in front of me, okay?" I said, holding up my hands to shield my eyes. "That's my sister, Roger. And, Bree, he's my professor..."

"Not my professor," Brianna said coyly.

"Aye, and ye aren't my student," Roger declared.

I looked up as the front door opened, and Claire stepped through it. "Mother," I said, bolting to my feet, the excitement in my voice. "How was your day?"

Claire gave me a soft smile as she approached, taking in Brianna and Roger's clasped hands with a raised eyebrow, before she came to sit beside me. "Uneventful, although I did find my signature in old ledgers pertaining to Lallybroch, as well as a keepsake that Jamie gave to me, which I lost. It's now in a historical museum," she mused.

"What kind of keepsake?" Brianna asked.

"It was a dragonfly, suspended in amber," Claire said, shaking her head. "It sounds a bit cruel, I know, but I thought it was beautiful. Dragonflies symbolize new beginnings, and amber represents healing, so I suppose it was an appropriate keepsake..."

I inched my hand closer to hers, and felt relieved when she took mine. "Well, I found some information today myself, as did Roger..."

"But we met this woman in the pub which inspired everything," Brianna burst out.

Claire blinked. "A woman? What woman?"

"Her name is Gillian Edgers," Roger responded. "She's a passionate woman, known for her protests pertaining to the Scottish National Party."

Claire appeared stunned. "Is she?"

"She is. Gillian's great," Brianna said, despite the notion that we'd barely spoken to her for a handful of moments. "Roger says they run in the same academic circles."

"Do you?" she asked.

Roger nodded. "Aye. I've seen her sometimes at various functions around town. It's how she met her husband, the Scottish National Party, but I've heard he's been ill..."

"I didn't even know she was married," Brianna said.

I nodded. "It's not like she mentioned her husband when she met us..." I cocked my head to one side, considering it. "She didn't even wear a ring..."

"Well, if he is ill, perhaps he needs a doctor," Claire said pragmatically.

"You should have seen Gillian," Brianna said. "Hair as red as mine..."

Claire immediately sat upon the edge of her seat. "Red hair?"

Brianna nodded. "Yes... Why? What's wrong?"

Claire immediately got to her feet without an expeditious reply and went towards the front door; it was then that I realized that she hadn't taken her coat off. "I have to warn her..."

"Mama?" Brianna burst out, her voice high-pitched and frightened; it was likely her feelings towards her that caused the childhood name.

"Where are you going?" I asked, as we both hurried after her, Roger on our heels.

We left the Manse and drove along the road; it was getting dark, and there was a definite chill to the air, one which hadn't been there all day. With Claire behind the wheel, Roger up front, and Brianna and me in the back, we watched the green landscapes shooting by, wondering what was going on. When a stone sign came into view, its etchings reading Craigh na Dun – 5 miles in the semi-darkness, Brianna and I looked at each other, eyes wide.

We finally reached the hill, and saw a light from a fire burning within the center of the eponymous stone circle. Claire pulled the car off to the side of the road, and the four of us clambered out of it and up the steep incline. In the fire, we could all see the outline of a body, and the light shone upon the stones, reflecting back onto the live person who stood there, flaming red hair covered by a cloak.

"Geillis?" Claire breathed, her eyes wide as she took in Gillian.

Then, Gillian, or Geillis, seemed to hurry towards one of the stones.

"Geillis, no!" Claire shouted, hurrying forward, but Geillis/Gillian vanished through the stone she had run towards. Claire hurried to the top of the hill, eyes wide at the sight of the charred body within the flames, just as Brianna, Roger, and I hurried up behind her.

"What is going on?" Brianna whispered.

"Is this what time travel is?" I gasped, my voice shaking. "People sacrificing..."

"No," Claire said firmly, her voice firm, as she turned around, clutching at both mine and Brianna's hands. "I never killed anyone to get through the stones. I just had to give up gemstones, not another life."

"What is that noise?" Brianna whispered, inclining her head towards the stones.

"It's like a buzzing," Roger said, before their eyes snapped onto mine.

I nodded sagely. "I think I mentioned that..."

Claire sighed. "You can all travel then," she said, a fair amount of relief in her voice.

Roger appeared shocked by the ordeal, before he nodded his head. "I should go and call the constables," he said softly.

Claire nodded. "Do you wish us to accompany you?"

Roger sighed. "It likely wouldn't be good if we're found here..."

Claire sighed, looking back at the stones, before we went back down the hill. "You mentioned that you had found something," she said, turning to look at me. "What was it?"

"Mama," I said, testing out the new name, which Claire seemed to smile at, "Jamie didn't die at Culloden."

Claire stopped walking. "What are you talking about?"

"He wasn't executed either; he was a prisoner of war," Brianna told her, and she looked over at her. "Tris found a book about a place called Ardsmuir Prison."

"It had the logs of prisoners, and Jamie was listed there between 1752 and 1756," I told her quickly, eagerly, surprised at the notion of how excited I found all this to be, despite only knowing my true identity in such a short span of time.

Claire shook her head. "He... He didn't die in battle?"

"No, Mama," Brianna said, obviously knowing we had to be patient with her. "We were initially worried, because the prison closed in 1756, and all the prisoners were deported to the New World afterwards..."

"...but that's when Roger swooped in and saved the day," I continued, beaming over at him. "He found businesses in the eighteenth-century, in Edinburgh, dated from 1766."

"Which leaves significant gaps of time from 1745 to 1752, and then again from 1756 and 1766, but he's definitely alive," Brianna burst out.

"We'd better get back to the Manse," Roger said, taking a good look at Claire. "Why don't I drive us back?" he asked, reaching out his hand for her keys.

Once back at the Manse, Roger called in the body, anonymously, while Brianna and I perched on either side of Claire, who was nurse a cup of tea on the coach. She hadn't said anything since we'd returned to the Manse, just sipped her tea, or stared off into space. Brianna and I weren't worried; we likely believed we would be in the same boat if we'd heard such a thing in such a short amount of time. Finally, though, she set the tea onto the coffee table and looked decidedly at us both.

"I have to go back," she said quietly.

Brianna took her by one hand, while I took her other one. "I know."

"And we're going with you," I replied.

Claire immediately balked at that. "I can't ask you to—"

"You didn't," I told her.

Brianna nodded. "We offered."

"But," I told her, holding up my hand, "we're going to make some plans first."

Claire lifted her eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Well, for one thing," I began, "you will need some appropriate clothing."

"And, for another," Brianna continued, "you'll need to give notice at work. I'm sure Uncle Joe will help you there."

Claire chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you're right, on both accounts."

"You'll need to find some money," Roger said, stepping forward to join us. "Well, we'll need to find some money."

Claire gasped. "Roger, I don't think..."

"Claire," Roger said, his voice firm, "I am falling in love with yer daughter," he declared, to which Brianna beamed at him, and went to sit beside him. "I'm not going to be without her; I canna be."

Claire smiled at the couple. "All right," she said. "I suppose it would be wrong to stop you."

"Good," Brianna said, obviously pleased with the arrangement.

"One thing about that," I said, holding up my hand. "It would be seen as unseemly for Roger and Brianna to be traveling around with us, unmarried..."

Claire sighed with a nod. "You make a good point, Tris," she said, turning to regard both Roger and Brianna again. "Well?"

"I'd marry ye tomorrow," Roger declared, much to Brianna's shock. "But I willna take ye as my wife against yer will."

Brianna shook her head, before she grinned at him. "Let's do it," she said happily.

Roger grinned. "Really? Ye'll marry me?"

Brianna reached upwards and touched his cheek. "Really."

Roger immediately turned to Claire. "Claire, do we have yer blessing?"

Claire beamed. "It's not as if you need it, but of course you do," she assured them.

I got to my feet and went into the library, before returning with a notepad and pen. "So, we need to get period appropriate clothing," I said, writing everything down. "Mama, you need to call this Joe person..."

"Joe Abernathy," Claire informed me patiently. "He was the only Black student at Harvard studying medicine, while I was the only woman." She smiled at the memory. "He became my closest friend, and an uncle figure to Brianna." She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I know he would have loved you..."

I smiled at her. "I'm sure the feeling would have been mutual," I assured her, returning to look at the list again. "We need period appropriate money, and... Oh, gemstones."

"Some antique shops will likely have some things," Roger assured us. "Gemstones as well. Ye would be amazed what people give away..."

I quickly added gemstones onto the list. "Perhaps some small, easily-tucked-away books on the history of Scotland?" I suggested to Claire.

"That will definitely come in handy," Claire said, nodding.

I wrote that down as well. "Roger and I will need to give notice at Oxford..."

"And I'll need to tell Harvard as well," Brianna said, turning to Roger. "I guess I can tell them that I'm marrying a handsome Scot and not returning to America..."

"We can make some lists for Joe and have him send us some pertinent belongings, things we want to have with us for the journey," Claire said patiently to Brianna. "I will also need to speak to an estate agent, so that the house in Boston can be sold."

Brianna nodded. "I used to love that house," she said softly, "but this trip changed everything about what I thought I knew."

Claire looked saddened by her words. "Bree... Oh, darling, I'm so sorry..."

"No, Mama," Brianna told her firmly, "it was Frank. It was always Frank. Don't blame yourself; not anymore."

"Mama," I said, waiting for Brianna to finish her thought, "how much pull does Joe have at the hospital in Boston?"

Claire blinked. "Quite a bit; he is very successful. Why, darling?"

I smirked at her. "Perhaps he can put together a medical kit for you," I suggested, and Claire looked shocked. "You know—penicillin, certain vaccines..."

"Tris..."

"Smallpox, measles, tuberculosis, yellow fever, dysentery, cholera..."

Claire threw her arms around me. "That is certainly an idea... I will likely ask for more things to be included in the kit to round it out—serialization implements, surgical tools, bandages, and whatnot—but it is an excellent idea, darling."

I grinned, waiting until she released me to add it to our list. "I'm glad you think so."

"I'll speak to the new reverend at Father's church," Roger said quietly. "See about getting me and Brianna married and quickly..."

"I'll need a wedding dress," Brianna said thoughtfully, obviously considering.

"I'm sure there is a boutique in time that can accommodate us," Claire assured her.

Brianna looked over at me, eyes wide. "Tris, you'll be my Maid of Honor, won't you?"

I grinned at her. "Wild horses wouldn't stop me."

Claire considered for a moment. "It's still afternoon in Boston, so I'll telephone Joe at the hospital now, if that's all right with you, Roger."

Roger nodded. "I dinna mind, Claire. It's fine."

Claire turned and looked at me. "Do you mind if I borrow the list for the phone call, Tris? I wouldn't want to forget anything..."

I handed her the notepad. "Not at all. Perhaps you'll think of other things to add."

Claire smiled, nodding her head. "Yes, perhaps I will," she said, turning to go out into the hallway, where the phone was located.

I turned and regard Brianna and Roger, who were currently discussing whether or not children would be a part of their union, and I smiled at them. "I'll give the two of you some space," I told them, and they looked over at me. "Let me know when you want me to go shopping with you, Brianna, and I'll be ready."

Brianna smiled. "Thanks, Tris."

Roger caught my hand as I moved to leave the room. "Do I have yer blessing?"

I squeezed his hand. "Of course, Roger. Just don't hurt her."

Roger shook his head. "I wouldna dream of it."

I left the living room and passed Claire in the hallway, indicating that I was going upstairs to bed, but she caught me before I left. "What is it?" I whispered.

Claire held up her finger. "Joe," she said into the phone, "I have some more news... It seems as though Brianna has a twin sister..."

"Is that right, Lady Jane?"

"Yes," Claire said, her tone happy, "and her name is Beatrice. She was a history major at Oxford, can you believe that?"

"Of course I can, Lady Jane; she's your daughter. How did she end up all the way over there when you and Bree were here?"

"Well, it seems as though Frank told the hospital to place her for adoption," Claire answered.

"No! How could he do that?"

"I suppose we'll never know..."

"Is she there? Could I say hello?"

"Yes, she's right here," Claire said, and handed over the phone.

"Hello?" I asked softly into the receiver.

"Beatrice? Is that you?"

"Yes, it is, Joe. It's lovely to hear your voice," I replied. "And, please, call me Tris."

"Well, now, Tris, you sound nearly identical to Bree. I suppose that's to be expected, the two of you being twins and all..."

I spoke with Joe for a few moments before I returned the phone to Claire, who kissed my forehead and told me to sleep well. I ventured upstairs to my borrowed bedroom, knowing that Brianna would come in for bed soon, as the two of us were sharing my room in an effort to give Claire some space. I sat down upon the double bed and stared out the window into the darkness, considering that Claire and Jamie would be reunited, and that Roger and Brianna had literally just found one another. I was happy for the both of them, truly, but I couldn't help but think that I was so broken beyond repair that I would never know such happiness as to fall in love, marry, and stop having inhibitions to permit myself to be close to someone, when I had had been violated so irreparably in my formative years.