Season 1 Episode 1  



Written by  

Ronald D. Moore 




[Ominous music]


[Camera pans over the Scottish Highlands landscape, gloomy with rain and small amounts of snow. CLAIRE's voice is overlaid]


CLAIRE: People disappear all the time. Young girls run away from home. Children stray from their parents and are never seen again. Housewives take the grocery money, and a taxi to the train station. Most are found eventually. Disappearances, after all, have explanations. Usually.


[Fade to black]


CLAIRE: Strange, the things you remember. Single images and feelings that stay with you down through the years.

[Image fades in of Farrel's General Store, with CLAIRE looking longingly through the window at the various ceramics displayed]

CLAIRE: Like the moment I realized I'd never owned a vase. That I'd never lived any place long enough to justify having such a simple thing. And how at that moment, I wanted nothing so much in all the world as to have a vase of my very own.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. Six months after the end of the w*r.

[Fade to black, comes back into grainy sh*ts of chaos in a makeshift British field hospital, with m*nled men and soldiers on cots under cover]

[Men moaning, crying]


SOLDIER 1: Oh, God! Oh, God!

CLAIRE: Hold him! Hold him right now! You hear me?

SOLDIER 1: Jesus Christ! [Wailing, panting]

CLAIRE: Here, quickly!

SOLDIER 2: You're going home.


[Various voices yelling the background, asking for assistance, moaning, calling for doctors]

CLAIRE: I'll have to clamp the femoral artery before he bleeds out.

SOLDIER 2: It's all right, Jackie boy. You're going home, mate. You're going home.

SOLDIER 1: [Wailing] Oh, my God! Oh, Jesus.


[Another medic arrives, pushing soldier 2 out of the way and administering medicine through a syringe]

MEDIC: Move! We've got him now, Nurse. Scalpel.


[Scene cuts to an empty alleyway apart from boxes of supplies. CLAIRE comes around the corner, wiping blood from her hands. Her apron is covered in blood, and she appears exhausted. She approaches the street to hear cheering and laughter in the distance]

FEMALE MEDIC: [Horn honking] Claire! Did you hear? It's over! It's really finally over! [Laughs] [Crowd cheering]


[The female medic passes CLAIRE a bottle of champagne. CLAIRE watches as the soldiers celebrate their victory. She tips the bottle of champagne back and begins to chug]


[Orchestral music]


CLAIRE: Somehow in my mind, V.E. day, the end of the bloodiest and most terrible w*r in human history, grows fainter with each passing day.


[Scene fades back to the store front, with CLAIRE looking at the vase in the window]


CLAIRE: But I can still recall every detail of the day when I saw the life I wanted sitting in a window. Sometimes wonder what would've happened if I'd bought that vase and made a home for it. Would that have changed things? Would I have been happy? Who can say? I do know this: Even now, after all the pain and death and heartbreak that followed, I still would make the same choice.


[Intro song begins to play, with various imagery shown]


♪ Sing me a song of a lass that is gone ♪ ♪ say, could that lass be I ♪ ♪ merry of soul she sailed on a day ♪ ♪ over the sea to Sky ♪ ♪ billow and breeze, islands and seas, ♪ ♪ mountains of rain and sun ♪ ♪ all that was good, all that was fair ♪ ♪ all that was me is gone ♪ ♪ sing me a song of a lass that is gone ♪ ♪ say, could that lass be I ♪ ♪ merry of soul she sailed on a day ♪ ♪ over the sea ♪ ♪ to Sky... ♪ ♪


[Swing music playing as a car travels along a road in the Scottish Highlands. It's a sunny day, and peaceful. The camera pans to reveal CLAIRE and FRANK, with FRANK in the drivers seat]


CLAIRE: We were in Scotland on our second honeymoon. Or at least that's what Frank called it. A way to celebrate the end of the w*r years and begin our lives anew. But it was more than that. I think we both felt a holiday would be a convenient masquerade for the real business of getting to know the people we'd become after five years apart.


[Cut to CLAIRE stepping out of the car in the city centre]


FRANK: What do you suppose that is?


[CLAIRE looks to see what FRANK is referring to - a doorframe with blood smear above it over various symbols and letters]

CLAIRE: Oh, good Lord. Blood.

FRANK: You sure?

CLAIRE: Think I should know the look of blood by now.

FRANK: There's a stain just like it on the house next door.

CLAIRE: There's two more over there.

FRANK: We seem to be surrounded by homes marked with blood.


[FRANK picks up the suitcases from the sidewalk, and the pair begin making their way across the street]


CLAIRE: Perhaps pharaoh has refused Moses, and the spirit of death will travel the streets of Inverness tonight, sparing only those who mark their doors with lamb's blood.


FRANK: Well, you may be closer than you think. Could well be some sort of sacrificial ritual, but I suspect Pagan rather than Hebrew.


CLAIRE:I had no idea Inverness was a hotbed of contemporary paganism.


FRANK: Oh, my dear, there's no place on earth with more magic and superstition mixed into its daily life than the Scottish Highlands.


CLAIRE:Hm. Shall we?


[The pair stand outside of Mrs. Bairds Bed and Breakfast, which has blood around the doorframe]


FRANK: Lead on.


[A clock is shown, with the time of 5:50pm, then a taxidermy fox and the log book as the clock ticks in the background]


MRS. BAIRD: The blood you saw is that of a black cockerel. It's an old custom at this time of year to make such a sacrifice to honor Saint Odhran.


FRANK: Ah, Odhran. He was sainted in the... The eighth century?


MRS. BAIRD:You know your history.


CLAIRE: I'm afraid my husband is a historian, Mrs. Baird. He'd quite happily stand here holding forth for hours if you encourage him.


FRANK:Hardly. Highland folklore is far from my speciality, but am I right in thinking there's... Isn't there an old saying associated with Saint Odhran?


MRS. BAIRD: [nods] Chaidh uir air suil Odhrain


FRANK: Yes. "The earth went over Odhrain's eyes." He, um... he was buried alive, voluntarily.


CLAIRE: [laughing] Charming.


MRS. BAIRD: Are you a professor, then, Mr. Randall?


FRANK: I will be soon.


CLAIRE: He's accepted a post at Oxford beginning in two weeks.


MRS. BAIRD: Ach, then this is a last holiday before settling down to workaday life again, is it? Well, you've picked a bonnie time to be here. Just nigh on Samhain.


CLAIRE: I take it that's Gaelic for "Halloween"?


FRANK: Well, Halloween is derived from Samhain. The church often took Pagan holidays, renamed them for their own purposes. Samhain became Halloween, Yule became Christmas, so on.


MRS. BAIRD: Well, you're both welcome at the festival, of course. Mind you, ghosts are freed on the feast days. They'll be wandering about, free to do good or ill as they please.


CLAIRE: Of course, what would Halloween, Samhain, be without a good ghost story?


MRS. BAIRD: Oh, and we have those, for sure. I'll show you to your room.


[CLAIRE and FRANK walk into a light room, with floral wallpaper, a fireplace and two sitting chairs. FRANK is carrying the suitcases, and CLAIRE's voice is overlaid]


CLAIRE: Before the w*r we were inseparable. But for the next five years, we saw each other a grand total of ten days.


FRANK: It's not without its charms.


CLAIRE: Beats an army tent and a cot in the mud.


FRANK: Indeed.


CLAIRE: [overlaid] When the w*r ended, we both thought things would return to the way they once were, but they hadn't.


[FRANK sits down on the bed and sighs, chuckling when it squeaks as he gently bounces up and down]


FRANK: Gosh. [Chuckles] So much for marital privacy.


CLAIRE: Do you think the sound carries?


FRANK: Um... I think it's fair to say Mrs. Baird will be kept appraised of any renewed attempt to start a family.


[FRANK opens a notebook as CLAIRE watches with a smirk. She moves over to the bed, climbing on beside him]


CLAIRE: Ahem. Lazybones.




CLAIRE: You'll never manage the next branch in your family tree if you don't show more industry than that.


FRANK: Oh, really?


[CLAIRE stands up on the bed and begins jumping lightly, making the springs squeak again]


FRANK: What are you doing?


CLAIRE: [Giggles] Come on.


FRANK: Mrs. Randall, what am I to do with you? Right.


[FRANK climbs onto the bed and the pair begin to jump together]


[CLAIRE giggles]


FRANK:What are you doing? You're gonna break the bed.


[Cut to MRS. BAIRD downstairs, looking above for the sound of the noise as the light fixture begins to move back and forth. She smiles and continues with her work]


[Both laughing, CLAIRE kisses FRANK]


CLAIRE: You know, one of those things I used to try and remember, lying in my cot was the sound of my husband's laugh. I couldn't conjure it no matter what I did. Couldn't hear it, even though I'd heard it a million times before. It's the strangest thing.


FRANK:I know. I used to, um... [FRANK takes CLAIRE's hand, looking at her palm] I used to sketch this.


CLAIRE: My hand?


FRANK: Mm-hmm. Well, the lines, really. Why, exactly, I'm not sure, but I had a very clear memory of this... this pattern. Made little doodles everywhere. There was, um... A brigadier once dressed me down because I drew it in the margin of a report for the minister. Yeah. [FRANK sighs and kisses her palm] Claire.




[They kiss and lower down to their knees, growing more passionate as they begin to undress each other. Cut to MRS. BAIRD downstairs as the thumping resumes, slower this time]


[The pair are back in the car, on the road in the Highlands]


[Upbeat big band music]


FRANK: Happy?




CLAIRE: [overlaid] Frank's passion for History was another reason for choosing the Highlands.


FRANK: You see up there? Up on top there, that's Cocknammon rock. And in the 17th and 18th centuries, you would have often found British army patrol up there lying in wait for Scottish rebels and brigands. Can you see how it commands the high ground in every direction? It was a perfect position for an ambush.


CLAIRE: [overlaid]


Not that I minded. I was raised by my Uncle after the death of my parents.


[Cut to a scene from Claire's childhood, in the desert as she assists her UNCLE LAMB with an archeological dig.


CLAIRE: [overlaid] Uncle Lamb was an archaeologist. Ah, yes. So I'd spent the balance of my formative years traipsing through dusty ruins, and various excavations throughout the world. I had learned to dig latrines and boil water, and do a number of other things not suitable for a young lady of gentle birth.


[CLAIRE lights a cigarette while her uncle works, taking a puff before passing it to him]


CLAIRE: Uncle.


UNCLE LAMB: Oh, yes. The very thought.


[CLAIRE kneels down for a closer look as LAMB brushes dirt off of an artifact]


[Back to present times, driving down the road. Cut to Frank opening a 1940's camera, with a sh*t of Castle Leoch in the frame. They walk around the overgrown grass in front of the deteriorating building]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] Frank's newfound passion was genealogy. His personal genealogy, that is. Mine was botany.


[CLAIRE leans down to examine a plant]


I'd developed a keen interest in the use of plants and herbs for medicinal purposes.


FRANK: So from what I can gather, Castle Leoch was the ancestral home of the laird of the MacKenzie clan until midway through the nineteenth century. Hmm. Here, take a look.


[CLAIRE takes FRANK's arm and they head into the castle. It's dark inside, with debris and overgrown plants]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] In a way, burying himself in the distant past gave Frank an ability to escape the recent. While I was in the army, Frank had served in London in intelligence, overseeing spies and running covert operations.


FRANK: So, I think this might've been the kitchen.


CLAIRE: Really?


FRANK: Mmhm. I would say that's probably a hearth. Yeah. Strange. I have no evidence that my ancestor visited this castle, but it was within his operational sphere, so... It's just possible that he walked these very halls.


CLAIRE: [overlaid] He'd sent dozens of men behind the lines on secret missions. And most never came back. He didn't talk about it very often, but I knew it preyed on him.


[They move to the next room, using a flashlight to guide them as they hold hands. At the end a hallway spaced with windows, they find a door that is closed]


FRANK: [Door thumps] It won't open.


CLAIRE: Oh, come on. Three, two, one.


[The pair bang into it with their shoulders, forcing it to open. It swings wide to reveal a dark, dungeon like room with light from one window as they go down a few stairs. CLAIRE looks around before letting out a deep breath]


FRANK: What do you think this was used for?


CLAIRE:From the lack of proper lighting and ventilation, I would say... Province of the castle hermit? [Chuckles] Perhaps a troll or two.


FRANK: I don't think trolls live in pairs. Solitary creatures, they.


CLAIRE:[Chuckles] More's the pity. All this... And no one to share it with.


[CLAIRE sits on a table and looks suggestively at FRANK]


FRANK: You'll get dirty.


CLAIRE: You can give me a bath.


[FRANK approaches her slowly, and CLAIRE takes off his hat]


FRANK: Why, Mrs. Randall, I do believe you've left your undergarments at home.


[FRANK kneels between CLAIRE's thighs]


CLAIRE: [Breathing deeply, in bliss]


[Cut to the REVEREND's house, with CLAIRE sitting in a chair, perusing a book]


FRANK: Yes. Yes, yes, yes, I found him.


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: Oh, indeed. Let's have a look.


CLAIRE: "Him"? Is it... is it Walter?


FRANK: No, darling, Jonathan. Jonathan Wolverton Randall. Finally.


CLAIRE: [Rises from her chair to approach her husband] Captain of dragoons in the British army and your direct ancestor.


FRANK: Exactly. Otherwise known as "Black Jack," a rather dashing nickname that he probably acquired while he was stationed here in the 1740s. The reverend has found a series of army dispatches that mention the captain by name.


CLAIRE: Oh, how exciting. Mm. It is. Good to see all your sleuthing over the past week has paid off.


FRANK: Hmm. Yes, I was beginning to wonder.


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: It appears black Jack commanded the Garrison at Fort William for four years or so. Seems to have spent quite a bit of his time harassing the Scottish countryside on behalf of the crown.


FRANK: Well, he was hardly alone in that endeavor. The English were deeply unpopular throughout the Highlands in the 18th century.


CLAIRE: Well into the 20th, it would seem. I distinctly heard the barman in the pub last night refer to us as "Sassenachs."


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: [Chuckles] Ach. Well, I hope you didn't take offense. It only means "englishman," after all. Or at worst, "outlander."


[MRS. GRAHAM enters with a tray of tea]


MRS. GRAHAM: I've brought you a wee bit of refreshment, gentlemen. I brought but the two cups, for I thought perhaps Mrs. Randall might care to join me in the kitchen...


CLAIRE: Yes. Yes, absolutely. Thank you.


FRANK: See you later. [Sighs]


REVEREND: This person here... Mm.


[The pair continue their research in the parlor, and we see CLAIRE and MRS. GRAHAM at the table in the kitchen, drinking their tea]


CLAIRE: Ah, it's been so long since I've had a good cup of oolong.


MRS. GRAHAM: Aye. I couldn't get it during the w*r. It's best for the readings, though. Oh, I had a terrible time with that Earl grey. The leaves fall apart so fast it's hard to tell anything at all.


[Thunder rumbles in distance]


CLAIRE: So you read tea leaves, then?


MRS. GRAHAM: Like my grandmother taught me. And her grandmother before that. Drink up your cup. Let's see what we've got there.


[CLAIRE laughs quietly and downs the rest of her tea, passing her cup over to MRS. GRAHAM. She tips it upside down onto the saucer and observes the leaves]


CLAIRE: Well? Am I going to meet a tall, dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?


MRS. GRAHAM: [Chuckles]Could be. Or could not. Everything in its contradictory. There's a curved leaf, which indicates a journey, but it's crossed by a broken one, which means staying put.




MRS. GRAHAM: And there are strangers there, to be sure. Several of them. And one of them's your husband, if I read the leaves all right. Show me your hand, Dear.


[She takes CLAIRE's palm]


Odd. Most hands have a likeness to them. There are patterns, you know? But... This is a pattern I've not seen before. Oh. The large thumb, now, means that you're strong-minded and you've a will not easily crossed. And this is your mount of Venus. In a man, it means he likes the Lasses. But it is a bit different for a woman. To be polite about it, your husband isna likely to stray far from your bed. [Laughs] The lifeline's interrupted, all bits and pieces. The marriage line's divided. Means two marriages. But... Most divided lines are broken. Yours is... Forked.


[FRANK and the REVEREND enter with their empty cups, interrupting CLAIRE and MRS. GRAHAM]


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: I suspect your ancestor had a patron. A prominent and powerful man who could protect him from the censure of his superiors. Possibly, but it would have to have been someone very high up in the hierarchy of the day to exert that kind of influence.


FRANK: The Duke of Sandringham?


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: [surprised] The Duke of Sandringham.


FRANK: Hold on hold on, wasn't Sandringham a suspected jacobite himself?


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: Aye, you know, I believe you're right. And the Duke d*ed under very suspicious circumstances just before the battle of...


[Dishes rattling, dropping loudly into the sink as the Reverend attempts to clean up]


MRS. GRAHAM: None of that, none of that. Stand away before you do some permanent damage.


FRANK: I think we're getting somewhere at last. I'm really glad to hear it, but I think I shall take my leave.


REVEREND: Oh, so soon?


CLAIRE: Yes, I, uh... feel a bath is in order.


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: Aye, of course. Well, I hope you'll join us for Samhain tomorrow night.


CLAIRE: What, the pagan festival? Reverend Wakefield, you do astonish me.


REVEREND WAKEFIELD: Well, I love a good ghost story as much as the next fellow.


CLAIRE: Right. Take your time, darling. But do try to get home before the storm breaks. [CLAIRE kisses FRANK goodbye]


FRANK: I will.


[We see CLAIRE walking back to Mrs. Baird's, she sees the window the was shown earlier, and looks at the vase]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] I'd never put any stock in superstition. And my catholicism was nominal at best. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that Mrs. Graham's words had the ring of prophecy.


The w*r had taught me to cherish the present because tomorrow might not ever come to pass. What I didn't know at the time was that tomorrow would prove less important than yesterday.


[CLAIRE is seen brushing her hair roughly, struggling to get through her stubborn curls]


CLAIRE: [Sighs] Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.


[Thunder rumbles]


[FRANK is in the street in the rain under an umbrella, walking home. He sees a man standing in the rain, wearing a kilt and hat, staring up at the building. When he follows his gaze, he realizes that the man is looking up at CLAIRE in the window. FRANK becomes concerned and approaches the man]


FRANK: Excuse me. Can I help you with something?


[The man doesn't acknowledge FRANK, and simply turns away. Lightning strikes and the man disappears, leaving FRANK confused and frightened]


[Inside the room, the electricity goes out on CLAIRE. She is seen lighting candles as FRANK enters, going straight to the window]


CLAIRE: Frank, I was hoping to have the whole place lit up by the time you got back. Darling? What's the matter? Frank.


FRANK: Hmm? You look like you've seen a ghost.


FRANK: I'm not at all sure that I haven't. [Cut to a bit later in the conversation, where they are sitting in the two chairs in their room] When he pushed past me, he was close enough that I should have felt him brush my sleeve as he passed, but I... I didn't. And then I turned around to say something, and he'd gone. [Snaps] He just vanished. That's when I felt a chill down my spine.




FRANK: Did you have many Scots in your charge during the w*r?


CLAIRE: Yes. There was quite a few. There was one in particular. He was a Piper in the third seaforths. He couldn't stand being stuck with a needle. Was... [CLAIRE trails off, realizing it might be upsetting to FRANK to hear such things]


FRANK: Right. [Inhales]


CLAIRE:What is it, exactly, that you're asking me, Frank?


FRANK: When I saw that chap staring up at you, I thought he might be someone you'd nursed. Someone who might be looking for you now. To reconnect.


CLAIRE: To "reconnect?"


FRANK: It wouldn't be unusual. It wouldn't be surprising if you'd... Sought some comfort.


CLAIRE: Are you asking me... If I've been unfaithful?


FRANK: Claire...


CLAIRE: Is that what you think of me, Frank?


FRANK: No, darling, no. No. All I meant was that even if you had, it would make no difference to me. I love you, and nothing you could ever do could stop my loving you. [Sighs] Forgive me. I... Forgive me?


CLAIRE: Of course.


[The pair begin to undress and head to bed, making love slowly]


[overlaid] Sex was our bridge back to one another. The one place where we always met. Whatever obstacles presented themselves during the day or night, we could seek out and find each other again in bed. As long as we had that, I had faith that everything would work out.


[They lay in bed together in the aftermath, holding each other close.


[Church bell chiming]


FRANK: That reminds me, I, um... I want to set an alarm.


CLAIRE: Mm-mm, no. Mm? I thought we weren't setting alarms on this trip.


FRANK: [Sighs] I want to see the witches.


CLAIRE: [Laughs] Must I ask?


FRANK: Apparently there's a circle of standing stones on a hill just outside the village, and there's a local group who still observe rituals there. [Laughs] Well, they're not actually witches. This lot are meant to be druids. Sadly I don't think they'll be a coven of devil worshippers.


CLAIRE: Well, it's a pity. Can't imagine anything I'd rather do.


FRANK: Liar.


CLAIRE: [Laughs] Where will we be watching this spectacle?


FRANK: A place called Craigh na Dun.


[We see a circle of standing stones, tall and ominous in the dark, barely visible in the moonlight. FRANK and CLAIRE are walking up the hill as they speak]


FRANK: So according to local folklore, these stones were carried here from Africa by a race of Celtic giants.


CLAIRE: I wasn't aware that the celts made a lot of trips to Africa.


FRANK: Only the giant ones.


[Off in the distance, the lights of a small city are visible]


CLAIRE: Is that Inverness?


FRANK: Yes, it must be.


FRANK: [Rustling] Someone's coming.


[The pair crouch down to stay hidden as women with small f*re-lit paper lanterns make their way into the circle. They watch as they settle down prior to beginning their ritual]


CLAIRE: Is that Mrs. Graham?


FRANK: I think it is. The reverend's housekeeper's a witch.


CLAIRE: Not a witch. A druid, remember?


[Ethereal music plays as CLAIRE watches. She is enthralled with them]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] They should have been ridiculous. And perhaps they were. Parading in circles on top of a hill. But the hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the sight. And some small voice inside warned me, I wasn't supposed to be here. That I was an unwelcome voyeur to something ancient and powerful.


[The ceremony begins as the music intensifies. The women are spinning in a bit of a dance, performing their ritual as the sun rises. They are graceful and beautiful, and are speaking Gaelic throughout. The scene is washed through with burning sunlight, and ends with the women gathered around the center stone with their lanterns lit before they blow them out and disperse]


[CLAIRE sighs, as does FRANK. They wait until all of the druids are gone before they walk to the stones to get a closer look. CLAIRE closely observes a purple flower by the base of the stones]


[A woman is heard approaching; one of the druids, from the ceremony]


DRUID: Wait for me. I'm caught on something. I'll be there in a minute.


FRANK: [Whispers] Claire. Someone's coming. Come on. Shh.


[The pair hide behind one of the stones until the woman retrieves what she left. She sits down by the tree, looking out over the landscape]


FRANK: We should go.


[Back at Mrs. Baird's, CLAIRE is sitting in a small armchair, legs propped over the side as she reads a small book. FRANK is nearby, standing in the room]


[Swing music playing]


FRANK: What have you got there?


CLAIRE: Mm, I'm looking for that plant. I think it's a Forget Me Not, but I'm not sure.


FRANK: Why don't you pop back and get it?


CLAIRE: I was considering it. Would you care to go with me?


FRANK:Oh, darling, I'd love to, but I've got an appointment with the reverend. He found a box of materials last night. Bills of sale from Black Jack's quartermaster.


CLAIRE: That sounds terribly exciting.


FRANK: [Chuckles] Are you laughing at me?


CLAIRE: Never. Shall I meet you for dinner later?


FRANK: Yes. Love you


CLAIRE: Love you.


[FRANK kisses her once, then CLAIRE grabs his tie to pull him down for another kiss]


Come here.


[CLAIRE is seen climbing out of the car, back at Craigh na Dun and ascending the hill towards the stones as acoustic guitar music plays and wind bl*ws. It is peaceful as she approaches. She sees the purple flower she is seeking and smiles, taking a cutting. The wind begins to pick up, getting louder and more distorted as she approached the center stone. Almost without thinking, she places two outstretched hands onto the stone as the music crescendos then abruptly cuts off as the screen goes black]


[We then see a scene from CLAIRE's past; she's asleep in a car as it travels down the road]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] Once, traveling at night, I fell asleep in the passenger seat of a moving car. Lulled by the noise and the motion into an illusion of serene weightlessness. Then the driver took a bridge too fast.


[Crashing sounds, the car is seen flipping over and shattered glass flying around the cabin] And I woke to see the world spinning outside the car windows, and the sickening sensation of falling at high speed. That is as close as I can come to describing what I experienced. But it falls woefully short.


[Transition to CLAIRE, lying in the grass, dazed and confused. She rises to look around, realizing she is still at Craigh na Dun, but something is different. She begins to run back down the hill, startled and confused. She stops as she realizes that her car is no longer where she left it.




[She continues to look, confused as she begins to walk looking for anything familiar. She grows more and more concerned the longer she looks]


[A bang is heard close by, and birds begin cawing and fleeing. Two British soldiers are seen scurrying on the embankment with their r*fles in hand]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] When confronted with the impossible, the rational mind will grope for the logical.


[Another bang is heard, more soldiers appear. CLAIRE begins to run away, stumbling and falling down the hill]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] Perhaps I had stumbled onto the set of a cinema company filming a costume drama of some sort.


[A Scot appears, in a kilt with his g*n aimed towards the soldiers.


[Indistinct shouting] [Shouts in Gaelic] [Shouting indistinctly]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] But there was no logical reason for actors to f*re live amm*nit*on.


[A British soldier spots her and fires, missing her slightly as she drops to the ground. Bagpipe music begins playing as we watch CLAIRE run for her life, away from the men she'd seen. It's rough terrain of forest and hills, but she continues running as g*n sounds out around her. Two British soldiers track her briefly but she loses them. She approaches a stream to see a British soldier kneeling by the water. When he turns, she realizes that he looks exactly like her husband]


CLAIRE: Frank? What the devil are you doing? [She quickly realizes that it is not her husband in front of her] You're not Frank.


BLACKJACK: No, madam, I'm not.


CLAIRE: Who the bloody hell are you?


BLACKJACK: I'm Jonathan Randall, esquire. Captain of his majesty's eighth dragoons. At your service.


[CLAIRE becomes nervous as she realizes this man is not as friendly as he first appeared. She begins to run, and he chases her, pins her against the rock face of the hill with his sword drawn at her neck]


BLACKJACK: Who are you?


CLAIRE: My husband's expecting me. He'll come looking for me if I'm not back in ten minutes.


BLACKJACK: Your husband. What's his name?


[When she does not immediately answer, he places the blade closer to her throat]


BLACKJACK: What is his name?


CLAIRE: Frank.


BLACKJACK: Frank what?


CLAIRE: Frank Beauchamp. He's a teacher.


BLACKJACK: Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Beauchamp, a teacher's wife. You must think me the fool. You'll be well advised to tell me exactly who you are and why you are here.



[CLAIRE struggles to get away, causing BLACKJACK to lose his temper]


BLACKJACK: Madam! You will find my patience is not infinite.


CLAIRE: Get off me, you bastard. [CLAIRE spits in his face]


BLACKJACK: Ah, the speech of a lady. [BLACKJACK throws his sword down into the dirt] The language of a whore. I choose the whore.


[BLACKJACK forcefully turns her around and begins to raise her dress. From above, a figure in a kilt drops down and att*cks BLACKJACK, pushing him off CLAIRE. The Scot knocks him out before turning to CLAIRE.]


MURTAGH: Druid! [He holds a hand out for her]






CLAIRE: Who are you? Where are we going? Where are we go [indistinct shouting in distance]


[MURTAGH pulls CLAIRE against a tree as the British move along the ridge]


SOLDIER: Take your men over here!


CLAIRE: [screaming for help] He... [Muffled, MURTAGH covers CLAIRE's mouth, the strikes her over the head to knock her out as it fades to black]


CLAIRE: [overlaid]I wanted it to be a dream, but I knew it wasn't.


[CLAIRE comes to riding horseback, with MURTAGH behind her. They approach a small hut, with smoke rising from the chimney]


CLAIRE: [Groans] [overlaid] If nothing else, my erstwhile savior fairly reeked of Odors too foul to be part of any dream I was likely to conjure up.


[Inside the hut is dark and filled with men, who look at CLAIRE in confusion.


RUPERT & MURTAGH: [Speaking Gaelic]


DOUGAL: Let's have a look at you, then, lass.


CLAIRE: I trust you're able to see me now.


DOUGAL: What's your name?


CLAIRE: [overlaid]I decided to continue using my maiden name. If they intended to ransom me, I didn't want to lead them back to Frank.


CLAIRE: Claire. Claire Beauchamp.


DOUGAL: Claire Beauchamp.


CLAIRE: That's right. And just what the hell do you think you're-


DOUGAL: [ignoring CLAIRE, speaking to MURTAGH] You said you found her?


MURTAGH: Aye. She was having words with a certain Captain of dragoons with whom we are acquaint'. There seemed to be some question as to whether the lady was or was not a whore.


DOUGAL: And what was the lady's position in this discussion?


CLAIRE: I am not.


RUPERT: We could put it to the test. [Men laugh]


DOUGAL: I don't hold with r*pe. And we've not the time for it, anyway.


MURTAGH: Dougal, I've no idea what she might be or who, but I'll stake my best sh*t she's no a whore.


DOUGAL: We'll puzzle it out later. We've got a good distance to go tonight. And we must do something about Jamie first.


CLAIRE: [overlaid] Escape was my chief concern. But I had no idea where I was. And trying to find the road back to Inverness in the gathering darkness felt like a fool's errand.


[The men gather around JAMIE, who is cradling his arm sitting by the f*re. His shoulder is grossly dislocated, and his pain is evident]


DOUGAL: Out o' joint, poor bugger. You can't ride with it like that, can you, lad?


JAMIE: Hurts bad enough sitting still. I couldna manage a horse.


DOUGAL: I don't mean to be leaving him behind.


ANGUS: There's no help for it, then. I'll have to force the joint back.




CLAIRE: [overlaid[The wisest course of action would have been to keep my head down, my mouth shut, and wait for the search parties Frank must have called out by now.


ANGUS: [passes JAMIE a bottle of alcohol] Here, lad.


JAMIE: [Speaks Gaelic and takes the bottle]


ANGUS: [Speaking Gaelic to the other men, who gather around JAMIE] Hold him.


CLAIRE: Don't you dare! [CLAIRE approaches as the men draw blades, startled by her outcry] Stand aside at once. You'll break his arm if you do it like that. You have to get the bone of the upper arm in the correct position before it slips back into joint.


[DOUGAL nods and backs away, letting her close to JAMIE to begin working. JAMIE winces in pain when she touches his arm, but he remains still]


CLAIRE: Hold him steady. [Panting] Ah... [She begins to lift his arm, maneuvering it into the correct position] This is the worst part. [JAMIE nods, allowing her to continue]


JAMIE: Gah! [Gasping as the joint slips back into place] Bah! [Gasps] [Speaks Gaelic] It doesn't hurt anymore.


CLAIRE: It will. It will be tender for about a week. You'll need a sling. You [CLAIRE points at Angus]. Fetch me a long piece of cloth or a belt.


ANGUS: "Fetch me," she says. [Chuckles] Do you hear that, lads?


DOUGAL: Give her your belt.


JAMIE: Taking a guess you've done this before.


CLAIRE: [nods] I'm a nurse.


JAMIE: [looking at her chest] Aye.


CLAIRE: [annoyed] Not a wet nurse. He mustn't move the joint for two or three days. When you begin to use it again, go very slowly at first. Stop at once if it hurts. And use warm compresses on it daily. All right. How does that feel?


JAMIE: Better. Thank ye.


DOUGAL:Can you ride?




DOUGAL:Good. We're leaving.


[DOUGAL throws JAMIE a coat. He shares a moment with CLAIRE, and the men begin to make their way outside to the horses. When CLAIRE steps outside, she looks into the darkness, where she should be able to see the city lights of Inverness]


CLAIRE: Where is it? Where's the city? Should be visible from here.


JAMIE: Inverness? You're looking straight at it.


CLAIRE: [overlaid] There were no electric lights as far as the eye could see. So as much as my rational mind rebelled against the idea, I knew in my heart I was no longer in the 20th century.


[JAMIE climbs onto his horse, and DOUGAL approaches from inside, speaking to CLAIRE]


DOUGAL: Get yourself up. You be sure to stay close to the rest of us. And should you try anything else, I shall slit your throat for you. Do you understand me? Gimme your foot. Give it to me.


[DOUGAL helps CLAIRE onto JAMIE's horse, and she sits in front of him. He begins to tug at his kilt, struggling using only one arm]


CLAIRE: Careful. What are you trying to do?


JAMIE: I'll get my plaid loose to cover ye. You're shivering.


CLAIRE: Thank you, but I'm fine, really.


JAMIE: [chuckles] You're shaking so hard it's making my teeth rattle. The plaid'll keep us both warm, but I canna do it one-handed. Can ye reach?


[CLAIRE pulls the plaid around the both of them]


JAMIE: Ah. [Speaks Gaelic] Don't want you to freeze before sunup.


CLAIRE: Sunup? You mean we'll be riding all night?


JAMIE: All night. And the next one too, I reckon. A fine time of year for a ride, though.


DOUGAL: Druid.


[The company begins to ride, showing horses trotting along the trail as the sun begins to rise. They continue to ride through the Highlands into the next day. They cross a creek and are following a stream when CLAIRE recognizes the rock that she saw on her car ride with FRANK]




FRANK: You see up there? [points at the rock]




CLAIRE: I know this place.


JAMIE: Been through here before, have ye?






FRANK: The 17th and 18th centuries, you'd have often found a British army patrol up there.




CLAIRE: I recognize that rock. The one that looks like a cock's tail. It has a name.


JAMIE: Clach a' Choillich. Cocknammon rock.


CLAIRE: The English, they... they used it for ambushes. They could be lying in wait right now.


JAMIE: It's a bonnie place for an ambush, right enough. Dougal. [Clicks tongue to urge horse on] Dougal. Dougal. [Speaks Gaelic, explaining CLAIRE's warning. DOUGAL answers in Gaelic.]


DOUGAL: Now, you'll be telling me exactly how and why you come to know there's an ambush up ahead.


CLAIRE:I don't know, but I heard the redcoats use Cocknammon rock-


DOUGAL: Where did you hear?


CLAIRE: In the village.


[DOUGAL looks around, and then signals to his men. JAMIE forces CLAIRE to bail off of the side of the horse, sending her tumbling into the underbrush]


JAMIE: Hide yourself! [Shouts in Gaelic]


[The men rush off on horseback as British soldiers appear from all directions]


[Free from the Scots, CLAIRE begins to flee, running quickly through the forest. After a short time, a blood covered JAMIE appears on horseback]


JAMIE: Lost your way? [Speaks Gaelic, telling horse to stay]


CLAIRE: I hope you haven't been misusing that shoulder. You're hurt.


JAMIE: This lot isna my blood. Not much of it, anyway.


[CLAIRE attempts to run, but JAMIE stops her]


Dougal and the others will be waiting further up the stream. We should go.


CLAIRE: I'm not going with you.


JAMIE: Yes, you are.


CLAIRE: What, are you going to cut my throat if I don't?


JAMIE: Why no? But... You don't look that heavy. Now if you won't walk, I shall pick you up and throw you over my shoulder. Do you want me to do that?




JAMIE: Well, then... I suppose that means your coming with me.


[Back on horseback headed back to the other men, JAMIE grunts in discomfort from his shoulder]


CLAIRE: Serves you right. Probably torn your muscles as well as bruising.


JAMIE: Well, wasna much of a choice. If I dinna move my shoulder, I'd never have moved anything else ever again.


[They come back to the rest of the men]


I can handle a single redcoat with one hand. Maybe even two. Not three. Besides, you can fix it for me again when we get to where we're going.


CLAIRE: That's what you think.


RUPERT: Here's to you, lass. For tipping us to the villains in the rocks and giving us a wee bit o' fun!


ALL: Slangevar!


[The group passes around a flask, and JAMIE offers it to CLAIRE]


JAMIE: Have a wee nip. It willna fill your belly, but will make you forget you're hungry.


[CLAIRE takes a long draw, and the men ride on into the night. Some time later, in the darkness, CLAIRE begins to realize that JAMIE has lost consciousness and it beginning to slip off their horse. She calls out to get the other men's attention]


CLAIRE: Stop! Help! He's going over!


[JAMIE falls to the ground and the men and CLAIRE gather around]


CLAIRE: Help me get him up. Come on.


MURTAGH: Lift. Take it easy.


[CLAIRE follows the blood and notices a wound on his shoulder]


CLAIRE: g*n wound. The idiot could have said something. It's a clean exit. I think the round's gone straight through the muscle. I don't think it's serious, but he's lost a lot of blood. It'll need to be disinfected before I can dress it properly.


[The men look at her, confused]


MURTAGH: Disinfect?


CLAIRE: Yes, it must be cleaned of dirt to protect it from germs.


RUPERT: Germs?


CLAIRE: Just get me some iodine. Merthiolate? Alcohol?


All: Oh. Oh, yes. Yes.


ANGUS: Here you go.


[CLAIRE applies the alcohol to JAMIE's wound, and it brings him back to]


JAMIE: [Gasps] [Speaks Gaelic]


CLAIRE: Welcome back.


JAMIE: I'm all right, just a wee bit dizzy.


CLAIRE: You're not all right. Didn't you tell how bad you were bleeding? You're lucky you're not d*ad. Brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses. Right, I need a sterile bandage and some clean cloth.


[The men look as confused as ever, not understanding what she means]


Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. [She tears a strip from her gown to use]


Hold still. [Grunting] Easy.


All right. Lift him up. [Grunts]


[Struggling with the bandage]


Come on, you g*dd*mn bloody bastard.


DOUGAL: I've never heard a woman use such language in my life. Hm.


ANGUS: Your husband should tan your hide for ye, woman.


RUPERT: St. Paul says, "let a woman be silent..."


CLAIRE: You can mind your own bloody business, and so can St. Paul. And if you move so much as a single muscle while I'm tying this bandage, I will bloody throttle you.


JAMIE: Ah. Threats, is it? And after I shared my drink with you.


DOUGAL: We've 15 miles to go yet. Five hours at least, if not seven. We'll stay long enough for you to stem the bleeding and dress his wound, no more than that.


CLAIRE: He needs rest. Did you hear me?


JAMIE: Randall.


[CLAIRE turns, shocked]


The officer ye... ye encountered. He won't give up so easily. He commands the redcoats hereabouts. He'll have sent patrols out in every direction by now. We canna stay here long.


CLAIRE: You know Randall? Black Jack Randall, that is?


JAMIE: Aye. I won't risk you or anyone else being taken prisoner by that man. If ye canna fix me up well enough to ride, you'll be leaving me here with a loaded p*stol, so I may determine my own fate.


CLAIRE: Might've well told me you were sh*t before you fell off the horse.


JAMIE: Didn't hurt much at the time.


CLAIRE: Does it hurt now?




CLAIRE: Good. [Chuckles] That's about all I can do. The rest is up to you.


[CLAIRE stands up, and offers a hand to JAMIE to help him to his feet. He takes it]


JAMIE: Thank you, Sassenach. Truly.


CLAIRE: All right, well, on your horse, soldier.


[We see them back on horseback the next day, riding onto the grounds of Castle Leoch, which CLAIRE recognizes.]


CLAIRE: [overlaid] Castle Leoch. I'd been here with Frank two days ago. Or was that in the future?


[A flashback sh*t of CLAIRE from her honeymoon appears, of her on the grounds]


How could I remember something that hadn't happened yet? So far I'd been as*ault, threatened, kidnapped, and nearly r*ped. And somehow, I knew that my journey had only just g*n.