Chapter Text
Prologue
“John, stop!”
Claire’s shout reached his ears at the same moment a strong hand wrapped around the crook of his elbow, yanking him hard and sending him stumbling gracelessly backwards. He barely kept himself from going arse-over-teakettle onto the hard-packed dirt and taking her with him.
“Don’t touch that!”
“Claire?” With more force than absolutely necessary, Lord John Grey jerked his arm away from the offending hand. “What are you doing? It’s only a large rock.” He looked back at the tall standing stone and frowned. What was it about this monolith that drew his attention—almost pulling him forward to touch, wanting to feel the rough surface under his fingertips? “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like this—so large a standing stone— save at Stonehenge in Salisbury.”
“Step back, John.” She reached for his arm, but he sidestepped away. “Please. Come away from it.”
He was used to hearing Claire give orders and even occasionally making polite requests, but this was more. Was that fear he heard in her tone? A puzzle to add to the others buzzing around in his head. Buzzing. Like the sound he heard when they first stepped into the small clearing. He still heard it. Hypnotic. Like the subtle drone of hives. And yet there was something else. Some feeling of electricity, recalling him a bit unpleasantly to an evening involving an electric eel and a rather unfortunate duel.
Shaking off that memory, he looked again at the standing stone. He could swear he felt a gentle tugging, as if it were pulling him toward it. Without thinking he took a step forward, toward the stone. It was tall, far taller than either he or Claire. It was strange, standing by itself, almost like a massive guardian in this small clearing. Taking a slight step forward, he cocked his head. Was it just his imagination or had the buzzing increased? A quick scan of the small clearing evidenced no sign of a hive, nor did he see any cloud of insects swarming. Still, the buzzing remained.
“I said stop, John!”
This time there was no mistaking the tone in Claire’s voice. It was fear. Real fear, not the kind brought on by some imagined boogeyman, but deep bone-chilling fear. It was a sound he knew well.
He’d heard that particular tone in many, many voices throughout his life from the age of sixteen when first he set foot on a battlefield, onwards. And while the objects of the fears were varied, to him the sound of fear was always the same—raw, like a violin string turned to a single piercing note, slicing through his head, his bowels, and his heart. He didn’t think he’d ever heard that tone in Claire Fraser’s voice, but he knew it presaged ill. He didn’t understand what made her afraid but he absolutely knew he could trust her instincts.
Forcing himself to take a step back, he looked over his shoulder away from the stone, catching her eye. “Claire… what?”
She was breathing hard as she stepped in to him, wrapping her two hands around the crook of his arm, and pulling him back several more steps, away from the mass of rock in the center of the clearing. “Come away from it, John. Let’s find a place to sit and we’ll talk.”
“But the… the stone.” He tried to pull away, stepping once more toward the hypnotic standing stone. “I know it sounds mad, but it—it’s—buzzing. Do you hear it? I tell you Claire, it’s buzzing like a swarm of bees.” He could almost sense the vibrations of thousands of tiny invisible wings beating as one against the inside of his skull.
“Can’t you hear it? I swear I can almost feel it.” Her grip on him tightened, fingers clawing uncomfortably into his flesh. He felt each one despite the layers of shirt and jacket he wore.
“Yes, John. Yes, I hear it.” She loosened her grip slightly, still pulling at him. “Please, please, John come away from it. Please.”
He turned to her in protest, and then he looked into her eyes. The fear he heard in her voice reflected in the wide pools of sherry-brown. Whatever this was, as far as Claire was concerned, it was of the utmost importance that he move away. And he had learned to always take her warnings seriously.
“Very well, my dear, I shall do as you ask.” He stopped resisting, covered her hand with his other, and allowed her to lead him away from the clearing. Each step was like pushing through thick mud up to his knees. Glancing at Claire, he had the sudden impression that she was struggling, too. Did she also feel the strong pull back? Slowly, they retraced their original path, moving back between the trees until the sound barely registered with him, and the feeling of being pulled toward the stone stopped.
“There,” Claire said on a breath, releasing his arm at last and sinking down upon a fallen tree trunk. “I think we’re far enough away now. It’s all right.” She was flushed from the exertion of physically moving him away with her.
“Far enough away? From what?” To say he was puzzled was an understatement. “It’s just a very large piece of rock, Claire. Surely in all your travels, you’ve encountered others of similar size. Why this irrational compulsion to get away?”
“It’s not irrational, John, not to me. And it’s not just a large rock.” She squirmed a little on the tree trunk, as if trying to make the rough bark under her bottom a little more comfortable. Then she took his hand in a firm grip, pulling him down to sit beside her and looking directly into his eyes. “John, tell me; why were you going to touch the rock?”
The question took him aback. Why was he reaching for it? He couldn’t quite recall. He’d been walking with her through the wood, accompanying her on her search for plants and other bits with which to torture—medical—him as well as her future patients. Then he…. He….
“I don’t know.” He spoke slowly, as if chewing every word for its flavor. His wide eyes met hers and he froze. “I don’t know.” It was a whisper this time, barely sound on breath.
Roughly, he shook his head, then instantly regretted the move. The sky tilted, and for a moment, he was back in the nightmare of his captivity on the Pallas, the splintered deck rolling beneath his bare feet.
“John.”
Her warm hand cupped his cheek. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep steadying breath. You’re all right. You’re free. You’re not on that ship anymore. “I’m all right.” I’m all right. He looked at her, confusion suddenly playing across his face. “What?” He blinked a few times, trying to bring her face into focus. “Sorry. What did you ask?”
“The rock,” she repeated. “You started reaching out to it. Do know why you did that?”
“No. Yes.” He felt the hot flush coloring his face and briefly debated offering her a lie. Unlike Claire, he was quite the adept liar when he wanted to be. But no, this was Claire, after everything they’d been through together, everything they’d meant to each other, he owed her only truth. “You’ll think me mad, but I— I swear I heard it…,” he shook his head in confusion, “calling to me.”
Her eyes opened wide and he felt another hot flush of embarrassment wash up his neck and over his cheeks. “I know; I know, it sounds insane.” He gripped her hands tightly. “But I swear, I heard a sound. A—a buzzing and I felt… I felt drawn to it. It was pulling me in, Claire, and I,” he shook his head again, the loose strands from his queue brushing his jaw. “I couldn’t resist.”
His gaze caught hers and held it, ice forming in his gut. Had the months of captivity and mental torture broken him after all? “Oh, God, am I going mad?”
“No.” Her voice was firm as she squeezed his hands firmly. “No, John, you are not going mad.” She sighed on a long exhale. “Or if you are, then so am I, and this is all some mad dream.”
“Claire?” Fear for his own sanity suddenly transmuted into concern for her. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head briskly, blinked, and faced him straight on. “John, do you recall our night together—or rather the morning afterward?” Now it was her turn to blush with embarrassment. “Our… talk?”
“Yeesss.” He drew out the word, thinking rapidly, trying to puzzle out what she was talking about. The last thing he wanted to ever remember was that mortifying moment of awakening in his bed in the house on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia and realizing he was naked, not alone, and that his equally naked bedmate was Claire. “To which part of our… talk are you referring?”
“The part where I asked you about Brianna telling you about what we are?”
“I do. Yes.” Oh gods, not that again. “And I told you that I didn’t believe it but promised to act as if I did.” The heat rising now from his chest was irritation, quickly on its way to anger. Why was she bringing up that fairytale again? “Why?”
“Because… because.” She stopped, frowning for a moment. “Look, John, I know you don’t believe us. But now you must. It’s imperative.”
“God’s blood, Claire!” He sprang up from the log. “Enough!” He didn’t like losing his temper, but sometimes anger was the only thing she responded to. He was tired, and angry, and sick of her behavior.
Yes, she was, for all intents and purposes his physician. Yes, he was still recovering from his months-long ordeal at Richardson’s hands. But enough was enough. “Stop treating me like a feeble idiot and either tell me why you pulled me away from that rock, or shut up and leave me be!”
“I pulled you away to stop you.”
“Stop me from what?” His voice rose with his anger.
“Stop you from going through the stone!” she shouted, her anger matching his.
“Going through—? It’s a solid piece of stone. There’s no going through—not without explosives. And those would only blast it to bits thereby defeating the purpose of going through.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not the one who’s mad here. It’s you.” He grabbed her arms, holding her still, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
“I’m not, John. I swear I’m not and neither are you.” Grasping his upper arms just as he held hers, she dug her fingers into the muscle. “Please, you must listen to me. You must believe me.”
“Believe you? Why? This is lunacy!” He let her go abruptly, pushing away from her and striding back along the path toward the stone. Two steps and the buzzing started again in his head. Two more steps. It grew louder. It wouldn’t stop. Was he truly losing his mind? Had Richardson broken him after all?
She ran to him and he caught her arms, intending to shake the truth out of her if necessary. “Tell me, Claire. Just tell me without any stories about time travelers. I’ve had enough of those—from Brianna, from you, even from that goddamned bastard Richardson.”
“Richardson?” Her eyes opened wider. “He-he said he was a time traveler.”
“Yes.” The anger washing over him felt good. It gave him strength. “That’s why he took me. Spouted some rubbish about ending slavery years before it actually did. Wanted Hal to change a speech he planned.” The memories flowed over him again, the zealot’s gleam in Richardson’s eyes as he spoke, the fear gripping John’s gut that this time, finally, his luck had run out and he would die at the hands of this madman.
The dam holding back his own fear and anger broke. “Yes, Goddamnit! And I’m sick of it!” The look on her face stopped him cold—he’d frightened her.
He never meant to do that. He was so tired, battered like the wreckage of a ship pounded against a rocky shore, so many emotions hitting him at once: anger, frustration, confusion, fear. Fear that he was starting to lose his mind. And the buzzing—the infernal buzzing—it wouldn’t stop. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Claire. It’s just…. I can’t take it anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” She was calmer now, not so wild-eyed. “I’m sorry I upset you. I just… I just had to stop you from touching the stone.”
Again with the stone! She was like a dog hanging on to a bone. Fury exploded like a volcano erupting from within. “Stop me?” He was yelling, feeling as if he were teetering on edge of sanity. “For the love of God, Claire, stop me from what?”
“From going through the stone.”
“Going— What are you talking about?”
“That stone is a… a portal of some kind. Connecting this place to another somewhere else in time.”
He didn’t want to believe her. Hadn’t. He indulged her fantasy and Brianna’s out of a sense of kindness, not wanting to openly ridicule either of them. But this—this was going too far.
“It’s how I came to Scotland—to Jamie in the first place.” She clutched at his arm again, even as he turned back to the stone. “I touched a standing stone and it pulled me through. I couldn’t let it take you.”
Now he was afraid. She was mad. Quite mad. And Jamie would probably blame him for it. “Claire,” deliberately he lowered his voice, striving to stay calm. “Take me? Take me why?”
“Because you’re a bloody time traveler, too!”
“Bollocks!”
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