CHAPTER TWO
GRIEVOUS INJURY

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In the weeks that followed, Aoife spent many nights laying awake, trying to fall asleep, and thinking of her father. Of her old life. She wondered how her father was coping with her disappearance, she hoped that Lane didn't blame herself. There was probably some kind of missing persons investigation, though she didn't know what Lane could have possibly said to the officers she talked to. One minute she was in the middle of an argument and the next she was three centuries in the past.

While there were a lot of things that Aoife missed about her life — her father, her best friend, all her books and favourite shows, her cellphone — there were also a lot of things that she was beginning to enjoy about the new life that fate seemed to have set out before her.

She could have counted on one hand the number of days it took her to realize that she needed to reconcile that there was no going back. As much as her heart longed for her old life, there wasn't any way that Aoife could conceive where she'd actually be able to get back. And the sooner she accepted that she'd been given a new life and it was best to learn to enjoy it, the easier the days and weeks to come would be.

This new life came with its benefits. While her home had been in a quieter part of town, further away from the center of the city, the light pollution of the twenty-first century was hard to escape. So many nights here, Aoife would sit away from the fire, from the men talking, and just lean against the trunk of a tree and watch the stars blinking down at her, trying to find the ones she recognized and knew.

And the air... every breath was clean and fresh. She got to enjoy a campfire every night they were on the road and not in a tavern. And while she made sure they learned quickly that she didn't want to watch them skinning and preparing the animals they caught for meals, fresh food that was totally free of preservatives made her want more helpings than she'd usually take.

Of course, there was also the company.

Aoife quickly won over her companions, learning their names and faces quickly. She had especially won them over when she'd heard some man in a tavern making some snide comment about Ciaran — he'd just had an attack and was getting his strength back after everyone in the entire place had watched as he struggled to catch his breath — and Aoife had rounded on him quicker than anyone else and punched him right in the nose.

Then, well, everyone had something else to stare at rather than Ciaran. The man had clutched his bleeding nose in surprise, but for some reason that Aoife couldn't fathom, he had opened his mouth and started saying stuff about how she was lucky she was a lady or else he'd really get her for that. To everyone else's surprise, but not her own, she'd decided that couldn't stand. Unfortunately for her and fortunately for the man, Jamie had recognized what was coming and had grabbed her around the waist and lifted her right off her feet, dragging her out of the tavern as she yelled insults, grabbing onto columns and tables and doorways so that she could finish what she was saying before she was outside.

"What the devil was that?" Jamie had asked her after he'd set her down outside and thrice blocked her way back into the tavern.

"I dinnae take kindly to idiots calling people weak because there's something wrong with them. People like Ciaran, people with—" Aoife had cut herself off, struggling to find the right word as she so often did now. Could you call them disabilities? Is my definition the same as theirs if they did? "People with health issues, whether that be breathing or disfigurement or... or missing limbs, they're stronger than everyone. They have to be aware of everything they do all the time. We just... go through life. I won't let anyone call him weak for that."

At the time, she couldn't quite understand the look that Jamie was giving her. Whether it was because she was still so consumed with her own anger or just because she wasn't good at reading Jamie yet, she wasn't sure. But the look on his face had definitely changed as she'd spoken. Later, she speculated that it was some mixture of welcome surprise and respect. Like he hadn't expected her to be so accepting or so ready to defend Ciaran.

"Well, I certainly cannae let you go back in there—"

"He deserves that bloody nose and more!" she had insisted, once more trying to get past him.

"Ah ken that," he told her, placing his hands on her shoulders to both stop her and make her look him in the eyes. "But Dougal likes this place. If ye keep starting fights with men twice yer size, we might not get invited back."

"I could have taken him," she had told him.

Jamie had laughed. "Aye, after that show I believe you. But Ciaran wouldnae want you to get hurt defending him. Nor would I. None of us wouldnae want you hurt. So no more fights, got it?"

"But—"

"Aoife."

"I make no promises," she had said stubbornly, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head even further up than she needed to look at him.

He had laughed again and ruffled her hair, which made her try and bat his hand away. They'd gotten into a bit of a fight themselves there as he refused to stop until she finally broke and they were both laughing. He made her promise not to start another fight if he let her go back in and she had reluctantly agreed, if only because she'd abandoned her bannock when Ciaran stopped being able to catch his breath.

Word had spread around the group just as Aoife had expected it to. As soon as they all knew why she had started a fight with a random man in a tavern, the dynamic had changed. She was no longer just someone tagging along, someone they were helping. She'd gotten into a fight to defend one of them, and that meant something to them.

Ciaran had insisted on tending to her wounds that night, even though she insisted that she wasn't wounded and their deal was that she was to help him. She hadn't broken skin when she'd punched that man and had only really broken a single nail when she'd been clawing at everything she could reach to stop Jamie from dragging her out of the tavern. Her hand would be sore for a while, but that she could live with. And she'd told Ciaran as much.

He had checked it over anyways, holding her hand gently as he turned it over and inspected it to be sure what she'd told him was true. He was so careful and dutiful about it, Aoife couldn't help but smile as she watched him. Almost as if he could feel her eyes on him, he looked up and saw the look on her face, a curious expression overtaking his.

"What's that look for?" he had asked her.

"Naebidy has taken care of me so carefully in a long time," she had told him. "I always used to get in trouble and, well, when you know the person is okay, you stop being so careful."

"Why would anyone ever not be careful with a lass like you?" he had asked her.

Aoife had laughed then. "Because they knew they didn't have to be."

"Tragic," he had said in a soft voice, looking down at her hand again as he had brushed his thumb carefully over her knuckles. "What a tragic life you've led to not be treated as gently as you deserve."

"Maybe I don't deserve to be treated gently," she had easily countered. "Maybe I'm nothing but trouble."

"How could an angel like you ever be any trouble?"

"A devil in disguise," she had said, keeping her voice even despite how her heart had just skipped a beat. "Didnae you see Jamie dragging me out?"

This time, Ciaran had laughed. "Aye, that I saw. But why would a devil go through all that just to help someone like me?"

"Maybe it's part of my elaborate plan to turn you over to the Dark Side."

"The dark side?" he had questioned her. "If you are any indication of what the 'dark side' is, I will gladly join you."

"Well then," she had managed, suddenly feeling like it was getting hard to swallow. "I guess my plan is working."

Before long, it was December and the weather was turning colder. Aoife made sure to bundle up extra good and kept a closer eye on Ciaran, knowing the brisk, sharp air could make it harder for him to breathe if he exerted himself too much. He claimed he didn't need her worrying over him so much more just because it was cold, but she wasn't the only one that was keeping a closer eye on him.

They made camp near a farmstead, starting up a fire and pitching tents before they did anything else. The fire kept them warm while they worked and Aoife was happy to be delegated to preparing some stew as it allowed her to stay at the fire where it was warmest. Sometimes she complained about the men assuming that all she was good for was cooking, mending, tidying and the occasional healing, but when it allowed her to sit in front of the warm fire and cook — something she did enjoy, believe it or not — while the men stood feet away where the warmth of the flames didn't reach, she couldn't say that she minded.

Jamie was the first to sit down next to her, plopping down with a sigh and sitting there in silence before he leaned forward and nudged her, making her turn and look at him.

"Smells good," he told her.

"I'm glad you think so," she said. "You're gonna have to eat it, after all."

"Ye cook better than I thought you would," Jamie said.

"Are you trying to make me poison yer dinner?" she asked.

"No," he said with a laugh. "Ye lost your memory. So I thought you'd forget how to cook."

"Muscle memory, I guess," she said with a shrug.

Aoife cursed herself inside her head, feeling like an idiot for slipping up on something like that. She would have to remember to be more careful. Something so simple could get her caught. And she really didn't want to know what might happen if the people around her figured out where she was really from. When she was really from.

"Well, we're certainly all glad that yer muscles have such good memories," Jamie said.

"Oh, fuck off, Jamie," she said, reaching back to hit him. "Why don't you go make yourself useful and gan chop some more wood for the fire."

He laughed and got up from where he'd sat himself down and wandered away to where she could no longer see him. A few moments passed by before everyone started gathering around and chatting between themselves while Aoife finished off the stew. Soon enough, the stew was finished and so she began dishing it out to everyone, making sure everyone got their even share.

Aoife herself sat back once everyone had gotten their first helping, digging into her own bowl of stew, stretching out her legs to keep her feet warm closer to the fire. The men were hungry and so they ate quickly, gathering strength for the night ahead of them.

While she didn't exactly approve of it, Aoife had long since put aside her feelings about how Dougal's group went out raiding cattle most nights. After everything they'd done for her, it wasn't her place to question them and she didn't exactly have somewhere else to go. She knew that they all had their reasons, whether that be loyalty to Dougal or not being able to do much else. Jamie, she also knew, was a wanted man. And while she didn't think doing more things that didn't follow the letter of the law was a good way to react to being an outlaw, Aoife knew that arguing with Jamie was an activity that was best done only if she had an entire day to do it. Between his stubbornness and her own, they could go back and forth and around and 'round in circles for hours without reaching a conclusion.

After everyone had gotten second helpings as well, the men started gathering what they needed to set out for the night. There was a quick conversation about who would remain with Aoife at camp that ended with Ciaran being picked to stay back as it was someone else who had remained the last time. Aoife didn't mind this as Ciaran was one of the men that she was most comfortable spending time with alone.

While everyone started heading out, Aoife set about cleaning the dishes to keep herself busy. She couldn't help the anxiety that settled in her stomach as they left and keeping busy was the best way to keep her mind off her anxiety. It had taken probably a week, not even two nights past the day that she'd gotten into the fight in the tavern, when they'd returned in the night and Angus was cradling one arm like it hurt to breathe on. It was sprained, of course, an injury that had resulted from their nightly escapade. Aoife had been able to fix it to the best of her ability and though she had told him to continue taking it easy, he'd gone back to using it as normal by now. But every night since then, she'd held fear that one of them would return with an even worse injury.

"You worry too much," Ciaran chided her, sat beside her and dutifully helping her clean.

"It's not exactly a safe thing to do," she pointed out, keeping her eyes fixed down on her task. "I think it's perfectly reasonable that I worry."

"They'll be fine."

"You can't know that."

He quickly reached over and pulled her hands out of the dirty water, holding them tightly in hers so that she was forced to turn and look at him. There was sincerity in his eyes, something in his face or perhaps his body language as a whole that spoke only of wanting to calm her anxiety. Aoife found herself relaxing just a little as she looked at him.

"They'll be okay," he promised. "You dinnae need to worry, Aoife."

"Not needing to doesn't mean I won't," she said. "I care about you all, some more than others, of course, but this time traveling with you has made me care. I don't want tae see anyone hurt. What if I can't help them? What if they're beyond my help? What if—"

What if I knew how to help them but lacked the tools to do it? The centuries of medical advancement that would give me what I need to help? What if I was too late or we're too far from help?

She didn't say any of that, of course. She simply cut herself off and looked away, as she so often did when she found herself almost slipping up on something she was going to say, something that would give her away. When she looked up again, Ciaran was watching her, his expression soft.

"They're all very skilled," he reminded her. "They ken what they're doing."

"Skill doesn't mean accidents don't happen."

"But they happen less."

"But they can still happen."

He laughed. "It's like arguing with a wall, talking to you. I get enough of that from my cousin, you ken."

"How long have you known me now? I'd have thought you figured that out."

Ciaran rolled his eyes and knocked into her, turning back to his task as she laughed and followed suit. Despite their entire conversation being about her anxiety, she found it eased now. She didn't know what it was about him that made her feel more at ease, but it reminded her of home in a way that didn't make her feel homesick but, instead, reassured, comforted.

They continued on with their chore for a while, keeping the fire blazing to keep themselves warm. With the two of them working, they finished their task before too long and were left to their own devices, making conversation and waiting for the others to return.

It was common enough that the first sign that the others were returning would be the sounds of their voices. Jubilant calls of their mighty deeds they'd committed, raucous laughter as they recalled details of the night. What wasn't common, what had only happened less than a handful of times, was for their return to be announced by panicked and hurried shouts of her name. As soon as she heard it, she was on her feet and looking around for the source of the call and when it came a second time, she was able to pinpoint the origin. And as her eyes adjusted to the dark beyond the light of the campfire, she saw the group returning, carrying a body between them.

Panic settled in her heart as she quickly pushed Ciaran away to make a space near the fire for them to bring the injured party. As they turned him to set him down near the fire, Aoife finally caught sight of their head, of a shock of red hair almost the same shade as her own and the panic in her heart seemed to double at the realization that it was Jamie who was injured.

"Oh fuck," she managed. "What happened?"

"Ah, dinnae ken," Dougal said. "One second everything was fine and then Jamie yelled and we turned and he was on his knees, farmer standing over him with an ax in his hands, holding it the wrong way 'round."

"The wrong way 'round?" she echoed, hoping for him to elaborate as she dropped down next to Jamie.

"Aye, he was whacking Jamie with the back end of it," Murtagh told her, hovering close by.

"The opposite side of the blade or the handle?" she asked, trying her best to keep her voice calm.

If it was anyone else, she might have snapped at them to give her some room, but she knew the relationship between Jamie and Murtagh. Neither had told her what their exact relation was, but Murtagh watched over Jamie like a father watched over their son.

"Opposite of the blade by the way he was holding it," Murtagh supplied.

"Okay, okay..." Aoife muttered to herself. "Shallow wounds if there's any at all... probably just bruising. And a concussion. Shit."

Head wounds were dangerous. Not just in this instance because of the proximity to the brain but they bled like someone had punched a hole right through a dam. If the skin was unbroken as she thought, that didn't mean she was out of the woods just yet. If he was bleeding internally or he really did have a concussion, it could be just as deadly as if he'd been hit with the right side of the ax. Aoife tried to remember anything from her year of medical school that would help her in this situation but found herself grasping at fog trying to get past the panic she felt looking down on someone she cared about. She couldn't help thinking that he'd die and she would have no one to blame but herself. She should be able to help him, to do something for him, to be able to stop him from dying.

"Doing something halfway is better than not doing it all. If it's worth doing, it is worth doing halfway."

Her father's voice in her head caused a sense of calm to wash over her. She took a deep breath in, held it for a few moments and then let it out. Her doing something to be able to help Jamie was better than her not doing anything at all. She could do that. She could do something.

Carefully, Aoife leaned forward and gently moved his hair aside so that she could see the area that had been hit. She could see the discolouration already from the bruises that were beginning to form, but aside from that, the skin looked unbroken. Which was a minor miracle in itself. There were small, shallow cuts, but any of the blood that had pooled up had clotted quickly due to the small size of the cuts. Leaning back again, she turned to the person next to her, seeing Ciaran, worry for his cousin evident all over his face.

"Water," she told him. "Get me some water so I can clean my hands."

"Why do ye need to do that?" he asked.

"I can't tell if any of the bone is broken," she explained hesitantly. "To know for sure, I'm gonna have to feel it out. Which is gonna hurt, someone get him a drink to help numb the pain!"

Ciaran hurried off to get some water for her and someone handed her a leather flask. She popped the top off of it and instructed them to help her get him into a more upright position, tipping the flask so he would drink some of it. His eyes fluttered open and so she lowered the flask, giving him a smile when his eyes met hers.

"Hey there," she said.

"Effie?" he slurred. "What... what happened?"

"You tell us," she said. "You're the one hurt."

"Dinnae see," he managed.

"Alright." Aoife looked over at Ciaran as he knelt back down next to her. "Now, Jamie, this is gonna hurt, but I have to do it, okay?"

"Aye."

Nodding, Aoife dipped her hands into the water, wiping them down as best she could. She didn't know if there was any point to doing that as the water surely wasn't sterile. It just made her feel better, she supposed, knowing she'd done something akin to cleaning her hands. She'd tried, at least.

She felt along the bruised skin, applying gentle but firm pressure so she could feel for any broken bone and wincing when Jamie cried out in pain, knowing that meant it had to hurt. It killed her to have to hurt him knowingly, but she couldn't think of any other way to tell if he'd broken his skull without being able to x-ray him. After feeling the wound, though, she was as confident as she could be that he hadn't fractured his skull. But that left the possibility of a concussion or, the worse option, brain swelling.

"We have to keep him awake," she said, looking up at Murtagh and then at Dougal. "The bone doesn't seem to be broken but there could be internal injuries. And there's no way for me to see those."

"And keeping him awake will help?" Ciaran questioned.

"For one of the possibilities. If it's not that, keeping him awake won't hurt him. But if it is, it's crucial."

Though her heart was still hammering away in her chest, she felt a little more at ease. She quickly instructed the others to keep him upright but let him rest, face him away from the fire so there wasn't too much bright light and reminded them to keep him awake before she got up and stepped away with Dougal and Murtagh. Aoife kept her hands clasped tightly together in front of her, knowing that would keep her from wringing them anxiously.

"I dinnae know how much more I can help him," she confessed. "Broken fingers, dislocated joints... even stab wounds I can treat but a wound that I can't see is just... beyond my skills."

"Aye, there's an abbot nearby, we can take him there," Dougal said.

"We have to keep him awake until he's there. And make sure he stays away from anything too bright. If it's sunny tomorrow, we'll have to get a covered cart or—"

Murtagh rested a hand on her shoulder. "We'll take care of him."

✷ ✩ ✷ ✩ ✷

They kept Jamie awake for the rest of the night. Well, Aoife, Murtagh and Ciaran kept Jamie awake for the rest of the night. Her anxiety about his condition kept her by his side and awake through the night. She worried that his situation was worse than she knew, that there was nothing she could do for him. Or truly, that there was nothing she could do for him in this time. She wished that she could take Jamie back to the present and to a proper hospital. Though she knew that injury aside, it would make his brain explode seeing it all.

It dawned a gloomy and rainy day, with a cover of clouds. Aoife was relieved that it wasn't a brighter day, but she made sure that Jamie kept a hood up over his head to keep more of the light out of his eyes. Before they loaded Jamie up onto his horse to take him to the abbot, Aoife checked his head over one more time with the daylight to confirm what she had figured out that night.

They made a slow pace to the abbot that Dougal had mentioned. Aoife worried that riding horseback would jostle Jamie too much so she made sure they moved as slow as was reasonable to lessen that as much as possible. When they arrived at the abbot, she hung back, fearing the monks there would be dismissive of her findings because she was a woman. She told Dougal everything before they dismounted so that he could relay it and then watched anxiously as they unloaded Jamie and took him inside.

As the horses were tied up near some water for them to drink and the group gathered together with no idea of where to go, one of the monks offered them all some food, gesturing them inside but to a different area than they'd taken Jamie. Aoife stuck close to Ciaran as they all say down inside the abbot and were provided with some stew and bread. She ate in anxiety, fearful that at any moment they would return and tell them that Jamie had passed from his injuries. She didn't think she could take that news, knowing that if they were in a different time and place, she could have saved him.

They waited there even after they finished eating, hoping for good news to come at any point. Aoife started playing with and picking at the hem of her shawl to try and ease her anxiety but when some of the threads finally came loose, she was forced to stop before she unpicked the entire thing. It was at this moment that Ciaran seemed to notice and took her hands before she could reach for the other end of the shawl.

"Taking apart your shawl isnae gonna make him better," he reminded her.

"I know."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I don't know," she confessed with a sigh and a shrug. "It just... helps? A little?"

"Have some faith," he told her. "This isn't going to be the place we lose Jamie."

"I've never been the most faithful..." she confessed. "I think it's just as likely this is exactly the kind of place we would. Isn't that what you'd want? To die in a place that is closer to God?"

"If Jamie can survive Black Jack Randall, he can survive this," Ciaran told her.

She supposed that was true. Aoife had seen the scars on Jamie's back, she knew what had happened to him. He had survived an injury as grievous as that, he had managed to heal without those wounds getting infected. That was almost as much of a miracle in her eyes as him surviving this.

But then, a voice in her head said, a terrible and pessimistic little voice, how many miracles is one man allowed?

Aoife looked back at Ciaran. "What if he doesn't get another miracle?"

"He will," Ciaran told her, his voice more confident than she felt. "Jamie's strong."

Just then, Murtagh and Dougal came back into the room where they were all waiting and everyone looked to them for the news they must have brought. Their expressions were grave and it didn't give her any hope, but Ciaran kept a grip on her hand that reassured her it wouldn't be bad.

"They say he's gaun to be okay," Dougal told him. "But they think he stands a better chance of healing fully if he's taken to a hospital in France."

"France?" Ciaran questioned.

"Aye," Dougal said. "Murtagh is going tae take him. Ciaran, yer going to take word to Collum at Leoch and you'll take Aoife with you."

Having said his piece, Dougal turned away from them all. Aoife, feeling confused, turned to Ciaran, hoping for an explanation.

"Leoch?"

"Castle Leoch," he said. "The home of the Laird of Clan Mackenzie."

"And why would we have to take word on Jamie there?"

Ciaran gave her a confused look in return. "Because Collum is Jamie's uncle."

"And who is Collum?"

"How do ye not ken who he is?" Ciaran asked.

"Memory loss, remember? I can't remember my family and you think I know who this Collum person is?"

"Sorry, I keep forgetting. Collum is the Laird of Clan Mackenzie."

"Jamie's uncle is a Laird?" she asked incredulously.

"Aye, he is. And yer gonna meet him."

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an. and just like that we're heading into season one! Honestly there was only supposed to be one chapter setting Aoife up in the past to parallel the show more but then last chapter got too long and this one is nearly 5k on its own so that would have just been waaay too long. So you get additional content! That can't be a bad thing.