Claire looked around the main parlor at The Manse, clearly uncomfortable with Brianna's outburst, especially in front of strangers. "Bree, darling, I don't think this is the time or the place to be discussing this," she said at last, obviously doing her best to remain calm. She gave me a rather tight smile. "I'm sure you're a lovely girl, Miss Carlyle, but getting my daughter's hopes up like this isn't very kind—"

"Mother!" Brianna cried out.

I crossed my arms, really disliking the notion that Claire was making me out to be some sort of bad guy. "Trust me, Dr. Randall," I said, my tone icy, "if you knew the first thing about the life I've lived, and how much work it took to be where I am today, you would know that I am not a liar, and wouldn't make up trivial things like the location of and time of my birth to a complete stranger."

Claire's lips thinned at that. "Be that as it may," she continued, her eyes leaving mine and turning to regard Brianna again, "this visit has come to an end. Brianna Ellen Randall, we need to return to London. Now."

Brianna turned to look at her mother, her eyes blazing. "No," she said firmly.

Claire blinked, likely wondering why using her daughter's name in its entirety hadn't worked at that moment. "Brianna..."

Brianna came and stood beside me, taking me firmly, but not painfully, by the arm. "I've seen old photographs of you; Tris looks identical," she said firmly.

Claire lowered her eyes. "Brianna, that's enough," she said softly.

Brianna shook her head. "No, listen—"

"Brianna," Claire said softly, "it has been a very long day, and you're tired. I don't want you upsetting yourself."

I drew myself upwards to my full height, continuing, somehow, to find the courage that I had, so long ago, buried deep within me. "Actually," I countered, "I think you should listen."

Claire looked stunned at my determination, likely hoping that she had succeeded in making me back down. "Miss Carlyle..."

"We share a birthday, Mother," Brianna said, interrupting her mother, whose gaze snapped back to hers. "We were born in the same hospital, on the same day. And Tris was adopted—"

"Brianna—"

"No," I said, cutting across Claire, my voice so firm that she would have no choice but to listen to me. "My birth certificate states that my biological parents were British, that my father was a professor, and my mother was a nurse," I said, and Claire appeared stunned by this. "It also is written there, by the on duty nurse, that my father told her that he and his wife had decided to have only one child, and that she wasn't to mention me to my mother."

Claire bit her lip, clearly torn. "I see."

"You always said that it was traditional for doctors to put expectant mothers to sleep when it came time for them to deliver their babies," Brianna said quickly. "Mother, you told me how angry you were when the doctor did this to you, you told me that!"

Claire gave a stiff nod. "I did tell you that, Bree, yes..."

I wetted my lips. "Brianna's entire name is Brianna Ellen Randall?"

Claire looked as if she wanted to correct me, but, at last, replied, "Yes."

I sighed. "In addition to the first note, the nurse made a second one," I said, lowering my voice, not wanting to draw attention, despite the notion that Roger and Fiona, having noticed our conversation, were seemingly drawing the guests towards the door to leave. "She named me; not my mother, given that she didn't know about me; not my father, who rejected me; and not the orphanage, who protected me. She claimed that my first and middle names, that their initials..." I felt my eyes filling with tears, as I allowed myself to believe, for the first time, that I had a family out there that, despite what all orphans are told at least once in their lives, wanted me, and it was due to circumstances that I was torn irreparably from them all. "...that their initials would match my twin sister's."

Brianna's eyes snapped onto me. "You knew that you were a twin?"

I nodded. "I knew," I confirmed, "but I never really thought about it... It hurt too much..."

Claire's eyes, wide with shock, stared at the two of us. "What is your name?" she whispered.

"My name is Beatrice Eryn Carlyle, or so I've been made to believe. The Carlyle came from my adopted parents, of course, but..."

Claire peered more closely at me, so much so that I stopped speaking. "What is your blood type?" she asked softly, almost as if she hardly dared hope what I was saying was true.

"A," I answered softly, the word barely passing my lips before everything changed.

Claire's previous frosty demeanor seemed to immediately crack, before it seemed to melt away completely and she dashed towards me, yanking me into her arms. "I didn't want to believe it, of course I didn't, because I never imagined that Frank would be so cruel," she whispered. "He made me put my past behind me, to forget, so that we could raise Brianna together, as ours, but little did I know that he was keeping secrets as well, and tore me away from another daughter of mine and—"

"Forget your past?" Brianna asked slowly, her tone low.

Claire stopped clutching me so close, permitting me to breathe, but still kept ahold of my hands, almost as if she was afraid to let me go, now that she and Brianna had found me. She turned slightly, realizing the room had emptied; Fiona was cleaning everything, and Roger slowly made his way towards us. "Oh, Roger," she said quietly, "we are so sorry that we put a premature end to your..."

Roger shook his head at her apology. "Dinna fash," he answered, and Claire seemed to stiffen at the phrase. "I ken they cared for my father. They were here for him, no' for me."

Claire sighed. "Roger, I hate to impose, but would you mind if Bree and I spent a few days here at The Manse?" she asked, looking at me, still not letting me go. "I'm finding that I need to have a discussion with Bree...and with Tris."

Roger raised his eyebrows. "I certainly dinna mind," he said, cocking his head to one side. "But what do ye want with Tris?"

Claire gave Roger a soft smile. "If my suspicions are correct, Tris is my daughter, and Brianna's twin sister."

Roger's eyes widened. "Right," he said at last, obviously coming to terms with it. "I'll go and fetch yer bags from yer car. I'll put ye in one of the rooms upstairs..." He walked backwards towards the door, opened it, and made his way outside, shaking his head.

I swallowed, looking over at Brianna, who appeared stunned, staring at Claire. "We can go upstairs to my bedroom," I said, reaching out and taking Brianna by the hand. "That is, the room I always stay in when I come here. The reverend put me into it on my first Christmas here, nearly two years ago," I said softly, leading them up the staircase, "saying the wallpaper matched my eyes..."

Claire was the next one to speak, although her tone was awkward. "You were adopted, then, Tris?" she asked softly.

I nodded. "I was," I confirmed; once we reached the top of the staircase, I led them into my bedroom, where Claire gestured towards the bed. I ventured towards it, keeping my hold on Brianna, and we leaned up against the pillows, while Claire perched at the foot. "My adoptive father was called Max, short for Maximilian; he was a thermodynamics engineer who passed away while testing safety regulations at a distillery when I was nine."

"And your adoptive mother?"

"Her name is Ginny, short for Virginia," I said quietly, lowering my eyes. "She went through turmoil when Max died, to the point where she became an alcoholic, took lots of men home, and then..."

Brianna's gaze snapped onto me, as she could see my body tensing up. Slowly, she crawled her fingers towards my hand, and we immediately wove them together.

"Did... Did they hurt you?" Claire asked quietly. "The men?"

"They asked Ginny about me, and then she let them," I said softly. "If I refused, she would whip me... I've still got the scars on my back—"

"She what?" Claire demanded, outraged.

My gaze snapped onto hers. "I'm sorry, I—"

"No," Claire said firmly, "you have nothing to apologize for, darling, absolutely nothing. I never want you to apologize for something like that. Please tell me that rotten woman is in prison, or else I think I might—"

"She is," I interrupted her quickly. I felt my other arm trembling from underneath the black blouse that I wore, and Brianna cocked her head to one side, watching. I turned my gaze onto it, before looking up at her, and down at the sleeve.

Brianna, taking the hint, slowly rolled it upwards, gasping. "Oh, my god," she breathed, taking in the marks I'd made with a straight razor.

Claire lurched forward and made a grab for my arm, gasping slightly. "Oh, Tris," she breathed, her eyes filling with tears as she took in the scars.

"Both my arms are covered with them; my legs, too," I told her, my tone numb. "I hated myself for giving into them, but I was so afraid of being whipped again, that I felt like I had to. I wouldn't look at them, though; I wouldn't give them the satisfaction."

"Did they use protection?" Claire whispered, as if she was begging me.

I nodded. "They did," I whispered back. "I was taken to hospital as soon as Max's best friends, Patrick and Freya, who liberated me, knew what had happened. By some stroke of luck, I didn't have any sexually transmitted diseases."

Claire sighed, seemingly with relief, reaching outwards and tucking my hair behind my ear. Her eyes flowed with tears as she traced the outline of my ear, shaking her head. "Your ears are the same as Brianna's," she said quietly.

Brianna turned her head, gently pushing my hair out of the way, and smiling at me. "We do," she confirmed, nodding.

Claire moved her purse, slung over her arm, into her lap, unclipping it so that it opened, and pulled out her wallet, the back section reserved for photographs. She pulled out a black and white snapshot, the clothing clearly dating to the late-1930s, before the Second World War. She turned the photograph so that I could see it, and I gaped at the notion that I could literally have been looking down at a photo of myself. "That's me and Frank, my first husband, on our wedding day, in 1937," she said softly.

Brianna stiffened from beside me. "Your first husband?" she asked. "What are you talking about, Mother? You've always been married to Daddy..."

Claire lowered the photograph and sighed, returning it to her wallet slowly. "Frank loved you very much, Brianna," she began softly, "but he was not your natural father."

Brianna remained stiff. "What are you talking about? You're not actually saying that there was someone else..."

Claire sighed, lowering her eyes. "Yes," she admitted, seemingly relieved to finally be able to speak about it, "there was another man, and I loved him very much. And yes," she continued, reaching outwards to take us both by the hands, "he was your real father."

"You lied," Brianna declared, neither pulling away, nor accepting the hand that Claire had reached out to her. "All my life, you lied to me."

"Frank didn't want you to know," Claire said brokenly.

Brianna shook her head. "Typically, I'd tell you not to blame this on him," she said, pulling her hand away from Claire, "but, in light of recent events," she continued, squeezing her other hand in mine, "I'd say you're right."

Claire pursed her lips. "He wanted to raise you as his own," she continued desperately, "and I agreed. It's why we moved to America, so we could put all this behind us."

"Until you found an excuse to visit Scotland?" Brianna demanded, looking around my borrowed bedroom in The Manse. "Is that really why we're here? So I can have some kind of surprise introduction to my real father?"

"No," Claire answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "We merely came here to pay our respects to Roger, in the wake of the reverend's death. Of course, the added bonus came when we found Tris," she said.

Brianna sighed. "I won't regret that, ever," she assured me.

I gave her a soft smile. "Neither will I," I replied.

"It wouldn't be possible for you to meet him anyway," Claire said, once Brianna's and my exchange concluded.

Brianna was immediately on the offensive again. "Because he has no interest in meeting his daughters?" she snapped.

Claire immediately looked pained at Brianna's words, before she looked imploringly at me for a moment, and finally spoke again. "Because he's dead," she admitted at last. "I promised Frank I wouldn't tell you about him. So for twenty years I haven't uttered his name out loud..." She watched as Brianna still appeared against it, while I, though sympathetic towards Brianna, did want to know about my father. "But now the both of you know, and I need to tell you about him," she said, speaking quickly, excitement in her eyes. "About your real father... Jamie Fraser," she declared, caressing the name.

Brianna gave her a disgusted expression. "I don't want to know anything about him. Not one single thing," she declared, and moved to get up and off the bed.

"Bree," I said, turning towards her and making a grab for her arm, "I can see that you and... Our mother," I said, causing Claire to give me a soft smile, "have been at odds for a while now. I can see that there is a distance between the two of you. Perhaps this was the reason."

Brianna turned to look at me. "She had no right to lie to me about our father."

I squeezed her hand. "I doubt she saw it as a lie, Bree. She likely saw it as protecting you. Think for a moment—we were born in 1948. Think of society for a woman who had committed adultery and what people could have put her through."

Brianna sighed, likely considering it for a moment. "I suppose so..."

"You want some answers, clearly," I said, nodding towards Claire. "She's prepared to give us answers. We should listen to her."

Brianna slowly lowered herself back onto my bed. "All right," she said softly, looking at Claire opposite us. "I don't want to argue. Let's just agree that I... We have a father who isn't Daddy and leave it at that."

Claire shook her head at her; clearly, there was more to say. "Brianna, I need to tell you something else," she said. "I need to tell you and Tris something else about Jamie. It's very important; I know that it may come off as strange, and potentially unbelievable, but you need to listen. Please."

I turned to regard Brianna, who appeared reluctant, so I squeezed her hand and turned back to look at Claire, knowing that this was no time to judge her. "We're listening."

Claire nodded, relieved at my acceptance. "In 1945, just after the war had ended, Frank and I came here, to Scotland, for a belated honeymoon," she began. "Frank, good friends with the reverend, wanted to look into his library for some information on his family tree. It was while we were here that I met Mrs. Graham, the reverend's former housekeeper. Over tea one afternoon, she read my palm." Claire smiled at the memory. "I never really believed in such things, but she wasn't charging me money, and the reverend trusted her, so it wasn't as if she would deliberately attempt to deceive me."

"What did she find?" I asked softly.

"It was...odd," Claire said, landing on that word after a bit of thought. "When she read my palm, she found that one of my lines meant that I would be married twice. I thought it was odd; I had served in a war, and my main goal, other than victory and not dying, was returning home to my husband, to Frank, at the end of it..."

"You never struck me as someone who would believe that," Brianna said at last.

Claire shook her head. "I wasn't," she agreed, "but Mrs. Graham spoke with such conviction that I felt I had to believe her. And then, one afternoon, I went to pick flowers near a place close by, called Craigh na Dun..."

"What?" I asked, leaning forward. "Fiona's mentioned it," I added, once Claire's gaze snapped upwards to mine, and she nodded encouragingly at Brianna, so I turned to face her. "It's a stone circle, where Fiona goes to dance. She took over duties from Mrs. Graham; it's considered an honor to be invited..."

"Were you ever invited?" Claire asked softly.

"Last spring, when Roger and I came for Easter," I said, shaking my head. "Reverend Wakefield had something to attend to at the church, but Roger had to drive him, due to Fiona's commitment to the dancers. She... Fiona mentioned that it was relaxing," I said, chuckling to myself, "but it really wasn't, not for me, anyway, so much so that whenever she asked me to go with her, I would always pretend I had some sort of assignment and decline—"

"Why wasn't it relaxing?" Claire whispered, her eyes wide upon me.

I shook my head again. "You'll think I'm crazy, but... It sounded like there was a swarm of bees gathered around, to the point where I was convinced any of us would be stung at any moment," I told her, "although there weren't any prevalent flowers about."

Claire leaned forward and clutched at my hands. "You're like me," she whispered, her voice shaking with happiness.

"Like you...? What?" Brianna asked, looking back and forth between us. "What's going on? I don't understand..."

"Brianna," Claire said, turning to face her, "while I was here with Frank all those years ago, I went to Craigh na Dun, as I said, to pick flowers. I wanted to make some healing draughts," she explained, "but, while I was there, I heard... Well, it sounded like a battle."

"A battle?" Brianna asked. "Like, in a movie or something?"

"Precisely," Claire said, nodding. "I walked toward the stone which sounded like it was the one producing the sounds, and that's when I fell through it."

"You fell through a stone?!" Brianna and I demanded together.

Claire sighed. "I know it sounds mad, believe me," she said, her tone awkward, "but I swear to you, it's true. I ended up in the eighteenth-century, in 1743, where I met a Highlander called Jamie Fraser—"

"So, time travel is real, then?" I asked, feeling as if this was all a dream.

Claire nodded. "It is, and, as I was British, and the Scots were having troubles with them, Jamie was persuaded to take my hand in marriage. I, albeit reluctantly, agreed to do so. We were very happy together, although several things attempted to stand in our way. We went to France in an attempt to escape the notion that Jamie was a wanted man—"

"You married a criminal?" Brianna cried.

Claire shook her head. "No, the charges were trumped-up ones; there was a man, a British solider, named Black Jack Randall who terrorized Jamie, and, by extension, me, multiple times over the years—"

"Randall?" Brianna asked. "He wasn't..."

"He was a several times great-uncle of Frank's," Claire told Brianna patiently. "He went to Lallybroch, the family home of the Fraser family, where he whipped Jamie for supposed insolence towards the Crown. Then, he was offered a choice—entertain Randall, for lack of a better term, or he would take Jenny, she's your aunt," she added in quickly, "inside the house and have her do so."

I felt my skin crawling at that, memories swimming in my thoughts, and Brianna immediately took me by the hand. "I can sympathize on both accounts," I whispered.

Claire nodded in understanding. "Jamie was taken to prison, where he was repeatedly whipped, due to his refusal to permit Randall to rape him. His father, Brian, your namesake," she said, looking over at Brianna when she said this, "came to visit the prison in an attempt to free Jamie. It was the last time he saw his father, as he died not long thereafter."

"That was why he was a wanted man, then," I said, my voice bitter.

"Yes," Claire said softly. "When we journeyed to France, with Murtagh, Jamie's godfather, I told Jamie that I found out I was pregnant."

"Wait," Brianna cut in, "was this still in 1743?"

Claire gave a soft smile. "Yes, it was," she confirmed. "I delivered a stillborn child, a girl, in France, in May of 1744, while we lived there."

I felt my eyes fill with tears. "We... We had a sister?"

Claire nodded. "Yes, you did. Her name was Faith, and she had red hair, like Jamie's and Brianna's," she said quietly. "You also have a brother, Fergus, whom me and Jamie adopted while we were in France. He was an orphan, raised in a brothel, and Randall came there and attempted to rape him," she said quietly. "When Fergus told me what had happened, and that Jamie was going to duel Randall, I went to confront them. I went into labor during that time, and that was when I lost Faith."

"A brother?" Brianna asked, her voice a whisper. "We had a brother... And you just left him there?"

Claire bit her lip. "We didn't know if Fergus could travel; Jamie couldn't," she added. "We decided to attempt to stop the Battle of Culloden, but were unsuccessful."

"Did... Did Jamie die in battle?" I whispered.

"I always thought he did," Claire admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "As I said, I was unable to complete the research, due to Frank's insistence."

I felt myself form a half smile as my thoughts went a mile a minute. "But you didn't have a European history major as a daughter when you made that promise," I told her.

Claire looked up at me. "Tris, I can't ask you to..."

I scoffed at her. "Mother, please," I said, leading her eyes to warm and her mouth to smile. "I was given the run of the reverend's library, when he was alive, and, believe you me, he has plenty for me to look at. Not to mention that Roger frequently gives me good ideas for reference materials, which always seem to be lurking in the shelves," I said, leaning forward, and pressing a kiss onto her cheek.

"Did he know about us?" Brianna asked, once I'd leaned back.

"As you know, detecting pregnancy back then typically came from a woman missing her periods, or courses, as they were referred to then," Claire explained patiently. "One certainly couldn't tell if they were having more than one baby, naturally. But I can tell you this: Jamie knew that I was with child and forced me to return to 1948, and to Frank. It was as if he knew that Frank would take me back as his wife, despite me being pregnant with another man's baby. Frank couldn't have children of his own, so he saw my pregnancy as a gift, as a means for the pair of us to start our marriage over again," she continued. "Jamie... He loved you," she assured the two of us. "I know he loved you then, and he would love you now..."

"Someone as fearless as Jamie Fraser couldn't have died, not then," I declared, shaking my head in the silence that followed.

"Tris, darling, I know you want to believe that, but..."

"But nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I am going to research until my eyes bleed until I know definitively, one way or the other, if my father, Jamie Fraser, truly died in the Battle of Culloden," I declared, and practically sashayed out of my bedroom, catching sight of Roger down the hallway, just leaving one of the larger guest bedrooms. "Roger?"

He turned around. "Family reunion over already?" he joked.

"It's hardly the time for jokes, young man, or for you mooning after my sister," I joked right back, directly causing him to blush, much to my amusement. "I need your help."

Roger saluted me. "At yer service. What can I do?"

"Did the reverend have any books on the clans?" I asked him. "Specifically, Clan Fraser?"

"Clan Fraser?" he asked, blinking. "Why do ye need to know about them?"

I sighed. "There is an eighteenth-century Highlander I'm looking for who is a part of that clan," I told him softly.

Roger blinked. "I thought Claire's surname was Randall..."

"Oh, Roger, keep up," Brianna said, coming up behind me and crossing her arms. "Frank Randall was the man who raised me, but he wasn't my biological father."

"Bree," Claire scolded lightly, stepping out of the room as well. "Roger, do you know the stories about Craigh na Dun?"

Roger inclined his head. "Aye, stories about people going away with the faeries. Time travel is often whispered about, and..." His eyes widened. "Ye mean that ye..."

Claire gave Roger a soft smile. "Yes," she confirmed.

Roger turned and regarded me and Brianna at the same time. "Yer biological father was a Fraser?"

"Yes," Brianna and I said at the same time.

Roger sighed. "That's a wee bit creepy when ye answer at once... Suppose I'll have to get used to it," he said softly. "But I say that because my true name is Roger MacKenzie."

"Oh," Claire said, smiling. "That's quite a coincidence."

"How?" Roger asked.

"Jamie, that is, my husband, as well as Brianna and Tris's father... Well, his mother was called Ellen, and she was a MacKenzie as well," Claire explained.

"Ellen," Brianna said softly, turning to look at Claire. "Did you ever meet her?"

Claire gave Brianna a soft smile. "No, darling," she responded, "Ellen died when Jamie was just a child, in childbirth, with Jamie and Jenny's younger brother, Robert."

"What can I help ye with, Tris?" Roger asked.

"We need to find out if Jamie died at Culloden," I told him quickly. "Is there any way we can find that out?"

Roger scratched the back of his neck. "I ken that Father had some information about the clans, but I never bothered to look," he confessed.

"Can we see them? Please?" Brianna added, as Claire gave her a sharp look.

"Aye, of course," Roger responded, leading us all down the staircase and directly into the library, where I practically ran towards the shelf he indicated. "Fiona's gone home for the night, but there are plenty of leftovers in the fridge..."

"I think food's the last thing on all our mind's, Roger," Brianna told him.

"Bree," Claire scolded again.

I scanned the titles before me on the old bookshelf, running my finger along all the spines as a moment of pure respect and reverence towards whomever had compiled them together. I pulled out The Clans of the Scottish Highlands by James Logan, which I promptly handed to Brianna, who took it over to the main table in the library. I felt Claire coming up behind me next, and so I handed her The Highland Clearances by John Prebble, while The Clans and Families of Scotland by William and Andrew Smith went to Roger. I took the reverend's two volume copy of The Scottish Highlands, Highland Clans and Highland Regiments by John S. Keltie, before joining Brianna, Roger, and Claire at the table.

"Indexes are wonderful things," Claire said softly.

I looked up, noting that Brianna and Roger had done so as well, and we watched as Claire flipped to the index of her book and was skimming it avidly. Promptly, the three of us copied her, knowing that it would take less time to sort through the books that way. "Fraser," I breathed, catching sight of the name. "What about yours?"

"It has a section," Claire said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Aye, so does mine," Roger put in.

"Mine, too," Brianna said brightly.

I flipped to the proper section of my book, while my three table companions did the same, and we did our best to scan our sections appropriately. I discovered the portion about my grandparents, Brian Fraser and Ellen MacKenzie, how they had married, and had four children—William, Janet, James, and Robert. It mentioned Ellen's death from childbed fever, alongside that of Robert, as well as William dying as a child, paving the way for Jamie, my father, to be the heir to the title of Laird of Lallybroch. It mentioned Jenny's marriage to a man called Ian Murray, as well as a houseful of children—

"No birth control," I muttered.

"Hmmm?" Claire asked, looking over, before she smiled. "Ah. Jenny and Ian really loved one another," she mused.

"That's what they called it back then, all right," I said.

"You don't want children?" Claire asked.

"What?" I cried, looking up at her. "No, I... I want children, I just..."

Claire gave me a soft smile. "You're just unsure about the means to have them?"

I pursed my lips, lowering my eyes back down into the book as I looked hard for something, anything, that would ultimately lead me to information about whether or not Jamie Fraser had survived the Battle of Culloden. "Something like that," I said at last.