Godamn, Vol. 2
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Letra
FADE IN: ON A WOMAN’S LEGS
CLAIRE (V.O.): People disappear all the time.
CLAIRE (V.O.): 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.
CLAIRE (V.O.): Most are found, eventually. Disappearances, after all, have explanations.
CLAIRE (V.O.): Usually.
FADE IN: EXT. VILLAGE STREET - DUSK
CLAIRE RANDALL (27) standing on a cobblestoned street in a small village in post-war Scotland. Dressed in modest warm clothes, her forever unruly curls cascading over her features in the brisk wind, she stares at a SHOP window filled with household goods: embroidered tea cloths and cozies, pitchers and glasses, a stack of pie tins, and a set of three VASES.
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE (V.O.): Strange, the things you remember; the single images and feelings that stay with you down through the years. Like looking at a shop window with the sudden realization that you’ve never owned a vase in your entire life. That you’ve never lived in any one place long enough to justify having such a thing. And how at that moment, you want nothing so much in all the world as to have a vase of your very own.
CLAIRE (V.O.): Even now I can recall every detail of standing outside that shop in Scotland.
CLAIRE (V.O.): It was a Wednesday afternoon, eleven months after the end of the war.
INT. FIELD HOSPITAL - DAY
JESUS CHRIST! OHMYGOD,
OHMYGOD! OH DEAR JESUS!
WOUNDED SOLDIER: Where’s the bloody doctor?!
CLAIRE: HOLD HIM! YOU HEAR ME! HOLD HIM RIGHT NOW!
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE (cont’d): I have to clamp the femoral artery or he’ll bleed out!
SOLDIER #2: Come on, Jackie boy, it’s all right. You’re going home... you’re going home...
DOCTOR (to Soldiers): We’ve got him now. On your way.
SOLDIER #1: Thank you, doctor. Thank you.
No thanks for Claire, who saved the man’s life. But she neither notices nor cares -- too busy working her patient.
EXT. FIELD HOSPITAL - DAY (LATER)
GUNSHOTS are heard as Claire steps outside the tent with cheeks as grey as the overcast sky, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. Exhaustion etched into every inch of her face. The sound of random gunfire continues as she stands in her blood-spattered clothes outside the tent for a moment, numbly trying to understand what she sees o.c.
NEW ANGLE
CONTINUED:
NURSE: Claire! Did you hear? It’s over! It’s really, finally over!
EXT. SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS - ROAD - WIDE - DAY
CLAIRE (V.O.): 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 war years and begin our lives anew. But it was more than that.
EXT. MRS. BAIRD’S BED & BREAKFAST - DUSK
CLAIRE (V.O.): We didn’t discuss it, but I think we both felt a holiday would serve as a convenient masquerade for the real business of getting to know the people we had become after six years apart.
FRANK: Now, what do you suppose that is?
CLAIRE: Good Lord -- it’s blood!
FRANK: Are you sure?
CLAIRE: I should think I know the look of blood by now...
CONTINUED:
FRANK (peers at neighboring houses): There’s a stain just like it on the house next door. And the next. We seem to be surrounded by homes marked with blood.
CLAIRE (light): Perhaps Pharaoh has refused Moses and the spirit of death will travel the streets of Inverness this night sparing only those who mark their doors with lamb’s blood.
FRANK: You may be closer than you think. This could well be part of a sacrificial ritual -- but pagan rather than Hebrew.
CLAIRE: I had no idea Inverness was such a hotbed of contemporary paganism.
FRANK: My dear, I think you’ll find there’s no place on earth with more magic and superstition mixed into its daily life than the Scottish Highlands.
INT. MRS. BAIRD’S BED & BREAKFAST - FOYER - DUSK
CONTINUED:
MRS. BAIRD: When a new house is built in these parts, the custom -- since far back in the Old Days -- is to kill something and bury it under the foundation. The blood ye saw is that of a black cock. The houses on this street being what ye call yer “pre-fab homes” the new residents are only just now havin’ the chance to honor the old ways.
MRS. BAIRD (cont’d): Some folks in these parts believe that the late War was due to people turning away from their roots and omitting to take proper precautions -- such as burying a sacrifice under the foundation.
FRANK (quick): Or burning fish bones on the hearth.
MRS. BAIRD: -- excepting haddocks, of course.
FRANK: -- never burn a haddock’s bones or you’ll never catch another.
CLAIRE: Please don’t encourage him, Mrs. Baird. My husband is a historian and could easily stand here all day trading ancient aphorisms.
MRS. BAIRD: A historian is it? Are ye a professor then, Mr. Randall?
FRANK: Not officially, but soon.
CLAIRE: He has accepted a post at Oxford beginning in two weeks.
CONTINUED: (2)
MRS. BAIRD: Ach, then this is a last holiday before settling dun to the workaday life again, is it? Well ye picked a bonnie time to be here, just nigh of the Beltane Festival.
FRANK (to Claire): One of the four pagan sun feasts. Beltane being the feast of the spring equinox.
MRS. BAIRD: Ye’ll both be welcome, of course, but mind ye -- ghosts are freed on the feast days and they’ll be wandering about, free to do good or ill as they please.
CLAIRE: Ghosts?
MRS. BAIRD: Oh, sure now, lassie.
MRS. BAIRD (low): Like up at Mountgerald, the big house at the top of High Street? Ay, there’s a ghost. A workman killed in the eighteenth century as a sacrifice for the foundation.
MRS. BAIRD (cont’d): The story goes that by order of the house’s owner, one wall was built up first, ye see? Then a stone block was dropped from the top of it straight onto one of the workmen. They buried him in the cellar and the rest of the house built up over him.
(beat)
To this day, he haunts the cellar where he was killed, excepting on Beltane, when he’s freed to walk the streets of Inverness once more.
(beat)
A word to the wise: be careful after dark.
CONTINUED: (3)
FRANK: Thank you, Mrs. Baird. We’ll keep that in mind.
MRS. BAIRD: Ye’ll have the room up the stairs and first door to the left. Breakfast is at seven and tea at three.
CLAIRE: Thank you. Oh -- I was also wondering if you knew of anyone in the village with knowledge of the plants in the area. I have a particular interest in medicinal herbs and I’d be very interested in learning about the local varieties.
MRS. BAIRD: I should introduce you to Mr. Crook. He knows all about the plants in the area, I’m sure he’d be more ’n happy to show you.
CLAIRE: Thank you, again.
INT. MRS. BAIRD’S - SECOND FLOOR LANDING/THEIR ROOM - DUSK
[Moments later, Frank carries the luggage as Claire unlocks the door and lets them into their modest, if well-kept room. We might notice that Frank and Claire automatically separate soon after entering the room, and that there’s almost always a physical distance between them in any given space.
FRANK: Not without its charms, certainly.
CLAIRE: Beats an army cot and a tent in the mud.
CONTINUED:
FRANK: So much for marital privacy.
CLAIRE: You think the sound carries?
FRANK (stops): I think it’s safe to say Mrs. Baird will be kept apprised of any renewed attempts to start a family.
CLAIRE: Lazybones. You’ll never manage the next branch on your family tree unless you show a bit more industry than that.
INT. FOYER - DUSK
INT. CLAIRE & FRANK’S ROOM - DAY
CLAIRE: You know, one of those things I used to try and remember lying in my cot in the mud: “What’s the sound of my husband’s laugh?” I couldn’t conjure it no matter what I did; I couldn’t hear it even though I’d heard it a million times before. Strangest thing.
CONTINUED:
FRANK: I used to sketch this.
CLAIRE: My hand?
FRANK: The lines. Why exactly, I’m not sure, but I had a very clear memory of this pattern. Made little doodles everywhere. A brigadier once dressed me down because I’d somehow managed to draw them in the margin of a report for the Minister.
CLAIRE: Now that we know the bed will stand the strain...
[He gasps as her hand is suddenly inside his trousers. He fumbles with her blouse, but Claire has taken charge here and she has him (literally) in the palm of her hand.
CLAIRE (cont’d): Let’s dispense with the preliminaries.
CLAIRE (cont’d): Wait -- wait -- now.
INT. FOYER - DAY
EXT./INT. FRANK’S CAR - MOVING - DAY
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE (V.O.): Frank’s passion for history was another reason for choosing the Highlands.
FRANK: Cocknammon Rock. During the 17th and 18th centuries, you’d have often found a British army patrol lying there in wait for Scottish brigands or rebels. You see how the position commands the high ground in every direction?
CLAIRE (V.O.): Not that I minded. I was raised by my uncle after the death of my parents.
EXT. MIDDLE EAST - ARCHEOLOGICAL DIG - DAY - FLASHBACK
CLAIRE (V.O.): Uncle Lamb was an archeologist, so I’d spent the balance of my formative years traipsing through dusty ruins and various excavations throughout the world.
CLAIRE (V.O.): I’d learned to dig latrines and boil water, and to do a number of other things not suitable for a young lady of gentle birth.
INT. ENGLISH LIBRARY - DAY - FLASHBACK
An archeologist’s library, overflowing with books and papers in a London townhouse. A slightly older Uncle Lamb stands up to greet Frank as he comes through the door.
CLAIRE (V.O.): And then one day a handsome, dark-haired historian came to consult my uncle on a point of French philosophy as it related to Egyptian religious practice.
CLAIRE (V.O.): I was smitten from the first... and remained smitten even through the long years apart.
EXT. CASTLE LEOCH - DAY
The Randall car is parked outside the picturesque ruins of a medieval SCOTTISH CASTLE. Frank walks the narrow ledge nearby, making notes in a small journal, while Claire makes her own way along the same grounds, examining the local flora -- again they’re in the same location, but in different places. The structure is abandoned, with weeds and grasses encroaching on what were once neatly kept grounds.
CLAIRE (V.O.): While I was with the army, Frank had served in London -- MI6, overseeing spies, running covert operations, that sort of thing.
(beat)
FRANK: In six years, we’d seen each other a grand total of ten days. From what I’ve been able to gather, Castle Leoch was the ancestral home of the MacKenzie clan until midway through the nineteenth century...
INT. CASTLE LEOCH - GREAT HALL - DAY
Later. Bounded on either end by large archways, the room once served as a meeting hall, dining room, ballroom, etc.
CONTINUED:
Whatever furniture it once held is long gone, along with the window panes and most of the decoration. What remains is dimly illuminated by narrow shafts of daylight.
CLAIRE (V.O.): Frank’s new-found passion was genealogy -- his personal genealogy, that is.
FRANK: ... I haven’t found any hard evidence that my ancestor actually visited this castle, mind you, but it was within his operational sphere of activities and it is just possible that he did walk this very hall on occasion...
CLAIRE (V.O.): He’d become fascinated with tracing and exploring the various branches of his family tree. From what I gathered, some tiresome ancestor of Frank’s had had something to do with something or other in this region back a couple of centuries ago.
INT. CASTLE LEOCH - SURGERY - DAY
Later. Frank puts his shoulder to an ancient wooden door, but it won’t budge. Claire pitches in and the two of them shove OPEN a dusty door to a lower room in the castle. They step into the room, but it’s hard to see anything in the gloomy interior. A single slash of light comes from a high slit window and all they can make out is a high-ceilinged space crammed with broken furniture and junk.
FRANK: Just a storeroom at this point, I’m afraid. I was hoping for something a little more indicative of its original purpose.
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE (V.O.): In a way, burying himself in the distant past gave Frank an ability to escape the recent. I knew he’d sent dozens of men behind the lines on secret missions during the war and that most never came back.
(beat)
CLAIRE: He didn’t talk about it very often, but I knew it preyed on him, the responsibility for the deaths of so many. From the lack of proper lighting and ventilation I’d imagine this was the province of the castle hermit. Or perhaps a troll or two.
FRANK: I don’t believe trolls live in pairs, my dear. Solitary creatures, they.
CLAIRE: More’s the pity. All this and no one to share it with.
FRANK: You’ll get dirty...
CLAIRE: You can give me a bath...
FRANK: Why Mrs. Randall, I do believe you forgot your undergarments at home...
WIDER -- THE CASTLE
Framed by the morning sun, its shadow extends far across the rolling hills and fields.
EXT. VICARAGE - DAY
Afternoon. The manse of the Vicar is over a century old and sits close to his church. DARK CLOUDS are settling in on the horizon, a STORM appears to be on the way.
INT. VICAR’S STUDY - DAY
Frank pours over various documents on a desk. Enormous windows let in a flood of nearly blinding light into the study, which is currently overflowing with books, documents, maps, and sheet after sheet of aging yellowed paper covering virtually every surface.
CLAIRE (V.O.): Before the war, we were inseparable. But now the war was over and yet we were still separated somehow. Not physically, perhaps, but apart just the same.
FRANK: Yes! There he is! I’ve found him!
REV. WAKEFIELD: Indeed? Let us have a look.
CLAIRE (V.O.): The Reverend Wakefield, Vicar of the local parish, shared Frank’s passion for genealogy. Several long nights were spent here in hopes that one of them might suddenly unearth a baptismal certificate or some other scrap of paper related to the notorious ancestor.
CLAIRE: Him...? You mean... “Walter” was it?
CONTINUED:
FRANK: Jonathan, you remember, surely?
CLAIRE: Remind me, dear.
FRANK (patient): Jonathan Wolverton Randall. A captain of dragoons -- mounted infantry -- in the Royal Army.
CLAIRE: Right. “Black Jack” Randall, I’ve heard you call him.
FRANK: A rather dashing nickname he acquired in the army, probably when he was stationed here in the 1740’s. What the Reverend has discovered is a whole series of army dispatches that mention Captain Randall by name!
CLAIRE: Fascinating.
REV. WAKEFIELD: Isn’t it? It appears he was in command of the garrison at Fort William for four years or so. Seems to have spent quite a bit of his time harassing the Scottish countryside above the Border on behalf of the Crown.
FRANK: He was hardly alone in that endeavor. The English were rather notably unpopular throughout the Highlands in the 18th century.
CLAIRE: And well into the 20th, it would seem. I distinctly heard the barman at that pub last night refer to us as Sassenachs.
REV. WAKEFIELD: I do hope you didn’t take offense. It only means “Englishman,” after all, or at worst, “Outlander.”
CONTINUED: (2)
MRS. GRAHAM: I’ve brought ye a wee bit of refreshment, gentlemen. I’ve brought but the two cups, for I thought perhaps Mrs. Randall would care to join me in the kitchen for a bit of --
CLAIRE: Yes! Yes, absolutely. Thank you.
INT. VICAR’S KITCHEN - DAY
CLAIRE: Mmm. It’s been quite a while since I’ve tasted Oolong.
MRS. GRAHAM: Aye, I couldna get it during the war. It’s the best for the readings, though. Had a terrible time with that Earl Grey. The leaves fall apart so fast, it’s hard to tell anything at all.
CLAIRE: You read tea leaves, then?
MRS. GRAHAM: Why, certainly I do, my dear. Just as my grandmother taught me, and her grandmother before her. Drink up your cup, and I’ll see what you have there.
CLAIRE (amused): Am I going to meet a tall dark stranger or take a journey across the sea?
CONTINUED:
MRS. GRAHAM: Could be. Or could not. Everything in it’s contradictory. There’s the curved leaf for a journey, but it’s crossed by the broken one that means staying put. And strangers there are, to be sure, several of them. And one of them’s your husband, if I read the leaves aright.
(beat)
Let me see your hand, child.
MRS. GRAHAM (cont’d): Odd. Most hands have a likeness to them. Mind, I’d no just say that it’s, “See one, you’ve seen them all,” but it’s often like that. There are patterns, you know? But this is not a pattern I’ve seen before. The large thumb, now? Means you’re strong-minded, and have a will not easily crossed. Reckon your husband could have told ye that.
(re: base of Claire’s thumb)
Here’s the Mount of Venus. In a man, ye’d say it means he likes the lasses. For a woman, ‘tis a bit different. To be polite about it, I’d say your husband isna like to stray far from your bed.
MRS. GRAHAM (cont’d): The lifeline’s interrupted. A bit more chopped-up, than I usually see; all bits and pieces. Marriage-line is divided... means two marriages.
(off Claire’s look)
Doesna mean anything’s like to happen to your good man. It’s only that if it did, you’d not be one to pine away and waste the rest of your life in mourning.
(MORE)
CONTINUED: (2)
MRS. GRAHAM (cont’d): You’d marry again.
(puzzled)
But most divided lines are broken. Yours is... forked.
[There’s something in the way she says it, something hushed and disquieting that raises the hairs on Claire’s neck. But before she can pursue the matter --
-- Rev. Wakefield and Frank come BASHING INTO THE KITCHEN carrying the tea tray and cups with a great clatter.]
REV. WAKEFIELD: ... I suspect your ancestor had a patron. A prominent and powerful man who could protect him from the censure of his superiors.
FRANK: Possibly. It would have to have been someone high up in the hierarchy of the time to exert that kind of influence -- *snaps his fingers* -- The Duke of Sandringham!
REV. WAKEFIELD (of course): The Duke of Sandringham!
[Mrs. Graham is up on her feet and seizing the tea tray and cups from danger.
MRS. GRAHAM: None of that, none of that -- stand clear before ye do some permanent damage!
REV. WAKEFIELD: Yes, yes -- my apologies, Mrs. Graham. I completely forgot myself in the excitement.
FRANK: Claire, I think we’re onto something at last!
CLAIRE: I’m so glad to hear it. But I think I shall take my leave.
REV. WAKEFIELD: So soon?
CONTINUED: (3)
CLAIRE: Yes, I think a good bath is well in order.
REV. WAKEFIELD: Of course. I hope you will join us for the feast of Beltane tomorrow night?
CLAIRE (amused): The pagan festival? Why Reverend Wakefield, you do astonish me.
REV. WAKEFIELD: I love a good ghost story as much as the next fellow.
(with relish)
And the Old Feast Days are rife with tales of ghosts and spirits suddenly freed to roam about the mortal realm as they will.
CLAIRE: You make it sound positively spooky. In that case, I look forward to sharing the warmth of your table while hordes of Scottish spectres roam the land outside.
(to Frank)
Take your time, but do try to make it back before the storm breaks.
FRANK: Hmmm. Yes. Right.
EXT. VILLAGE STREET - DUSK
CLAIRE (V.O.): I never, for an instant, considered leaving Frank. I loved him still and I knew he loved me.
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE (V.O.): If the second world war had taught me anything, it was the value of steadfastness in the face of hardship.
INT. PASSENGER TRAIN - MOVING - DAY - FLASHBACK
CLAIRE (V.O.): My uncle once tried to teach me poker, but I refused to trade any of my cards for new ones. It seemed wrong, cheating even, to change just because I didn’t like what I’d been dealt.
EXT. VILLAGE STREET - DUSK
CLAIRE (V.O.): I would play the cards in my hand.
INT. MRS. BAIRD’S BED & BREAKFAST - CLAIRE’S ROOM - NIGHT
CLAIRE: Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ...
EXT. VILLAGE STREET - NIGHT
CONTINUED:
[A FIGURE. In the distance, standing at the edge of the garden of the B&B by the fence. His features are indistinct, a combination of the distance and the gloom of night, but Frank can tell he’s looking up at Claire, who can clearly be seen in the upper window, struggling with her hair in the mirror. Frank strides across the street to confront the figure. As he approaches, he can make out more details: tall, wearing a loose shirt, folded plaid over his shoulder, kilt and sporran.
FRANK: Can I help you? I say, you there -- can I help you with something?
[No response. The rain is coming down in sheets as Frank reaches out for the man -- who abruptly turns and brushes past Frank and into the night. Startled, Frank looks around --
-- where’d he go? How’d he disappear so quickly? Suddenly there’s a CRASH of LIGHTNING NEARBY and the POWER GOES OUT IN THE VILLAGE.]
INT. MRS. BAIRD’S BED & BREAKFAST - CLAIRE’S ROOM - NIGHT
CLAIRE: Someday, you might possibly consider entering a room with something less than the momentum of a Sherman tank.
CLAIRE (cont’d): What’s the matter? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.
FRANK: As a matter of fact, I’m not at all sure that I haven’t.
CLAIRE: Don’t tell me you’ve seen Mrs. Baird’s crushed workman wandering the streets.
FRANK: No. This was... something else.
CONTINUED:
MOMENTS LATER
CLAIRE: Looking at me? Are you sure?
FRANK: Quite. We could both see you clearly brushing your hair.
CLAIRE: Punishing my hair would be more accurate. What’d this fellow look like?
FRANK: Big chap. A Scot, in complete Highland rig-out, complete to sporran and running-stag brooch on his plaid.
(beat)
I only got a glimpse of his face, but he seemed terribly unhappy about something. When he pushed past me, he was close enough that I should have felt him brush my sleeve as he passed -- but I didn’t. I turned around to say something, but he was gone. Vanished. That’s when I began to feel a bit cold down the backbone.
CLAIRE: Well, that is spooky.
FRANK (quiet): Did you have many Scots in your charge during the war, Claire?
CONTINUED: (2)
CLAIRE: Oh, quite a few. I remember one, a crusty old thing really, a piper from the Third Seaforths who couldn’t stand being stuck with a needle...
*She trails off as she makes a realization.*
CLAIRE (cont'd): What is it you’re asking me, Frank?
FRANK: When I saw that chap staring up at you, I thought... that he might be someone you had nursed.... someone who might be looking for you now... to... reconnect.
CLAIRE: “Reconnect”...?
FRANK: Claire, it was six years. It wouldn’t be unusual if -- I mean, everyone knows doctors and nurses are under tremendous stress in the combat theater... and it’s just that, well, it wouldn’t be surprising if something had --
CLAIRE: Do you think I’ve been unfaithful? Do you? Because if so, you can leave this room this instant. Leave the house altogether!
FRANK (tries to take her hand): Darling --
CLAIRE: Don’t you dare touch me! A strange man looks up at my window and you take it as evidence that I’ve had an affair with one of my patients? Is that what you think of me?
CONTINUED: (3)
FRANK (caressing her hair): No. No, I don’t think any such thing, Claire.
(beat)
I only meant to say that even if you ever did... it would make no difference to me. I love you so. Nothing you ever did could stop my loving you.
FRANK (cont’d): Forgive me?
CLAIRE: “The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven...”
[Claire’s skirt then droppeth to the floor.
This time, the lovemaking is tender, comfortable, enjoyable. Claire is unabashed with her body and her sensuality, perfectly comfortable making her desires known and more than willing to satisfy her partner. Frank is more conventional, a little reserved in contrast to his more ravenous wife, but game to try and keep up with her. When it’s over, Claire rests her head on Frank’s chest as they lie amid the wreckage of the sheets.]
CLAIRE (V.O.): Sex was our bridge back to one another. The one place we always met. Whatever obstacles presented themselves during the day or night, we could seek out and find each other again in bed.
(beat)
As long as we had that, I had faith everything would work out.
CLAIRE: Mmm. Thought we weren’t setting alarms on this trip...
CONTINUED: (4)
FRANK: I want to see the witches.
CLAIRE: The what?
FRANK: They’ll be at the stones before dawn and I don’t want to miss them.
CLAIRE: Must I ask?
FRANK: The vicar told me there’s a circle of standing stones on a hill just outside the village -- their own Stonehenge, as it were -- and that a local group still observes rituals there.
CLAIRE: And tomorrow being Beltane, the witches will be out in force, I imagine.
FRANK: Well, not witches, actually. Although there have been witches all over Scotland for hundreds of years -- they burnt them ‘til well into the eighteenth century -- but this lot is really meant to be Druids, or something of the sort. I don’t suppose it’s actually a coven of devil-worshippers, or that sort of thing.
CLAIRE: More’s the pity. Can’t imagine anything I’d rather do than rise before dawn to watch a coven of devil-worshippers prance about in the Highlands. *yawn* Where, exactly, will we be enjoying this spectacle?
FRANK: A place called Craigh Na Dun.
CONTINUED: (5)
EXT. CRAIGH NA DUN - PRE-DAWN
The MISTY flat-topped green hill abounds with natural rocks and crags that jut out here and there, but the dominant feature is artificial: a circle of STANDING STONES smaller than their more famous cousins on the Salisbury Plain, but which still are more than twice a man’s height. The henge is made of giant rocks flecked with mica, which are obviously not part of the area’s natural environment.
Claire and Frank, bundled against the chill are easing themselves into a hidden vantage point where they can observe the festivities about to take place among the stones in the slowly gathering light of dawn which is just starting to pierce the low-lying night mist.
FRANK: ...the Reverend didn’t know much of the real history of the site beyond the local folklore, which maintains that the stones were carried here from Africa by a race of Celtic giants.
[Claire is looking around, trying to be tolerably pleasant at this hour.
CLAIRE (dry): I wasn’t aware the Celts made a lot of visits to Africa.
FRANK: Only the giant ones, it would seem. In any case, the true origin of the stones is lost to antiquity as well as their original purpose.
CLAIRE: Is that Inverness?
CONTINUED:
FRANK: I should think so, yes.
(sees something else)
Oh! We should take cover.
[He and Claire bustle into the shadows, just as --
THE CELEBRANTS
15 WOMEN, ranging in age from late teens to sixties, appear dressed in crude WHITE SHEETS. Silently, they walk in a line through the stones, their LEADER guiding the way.]
CLAIRE (sotto): Is that... Mrs. Graham?
FRANK (delighted): The Vicar’s housekeeper is a witch.
CLAIRE: Druid, remember?
IN THE CIRCLE OF STONES
[The SHAFT of light perfectly bisects the space between two of the massive stones, cutting directly across the diameter of the circle and straight into the face of a WOMAN standing there waiting in the dark.
Her ENORMOUS distorted SHADOW is cast back onto another plinth, and as she slowly raises her arms, the image on the sloping stone face seems to reach out with clawed hands in an image both strange and threatening.
The rest of the women form lines within the circle and begin to DANCE. Their expressions are blank, still -- almost as if they were in some kind of trance.]
CONTINUED: (2)
CLAIRE (V.O.): They should have been ridiculous, and perhaps they were. A collection of women in bedsheets, many of them stout and far from agile, parading in circles on top of a hill.
(beat)
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.
CLAIRE (sotto): You hear that?
FRANK: Hmm..?
FRANK (cont’d): Fascinating.
MOMENTS LATER
[Frank and Claire are down amid the stones themselves, the women now gone. Frank is taking notes in his journal, sketching the stones, making diagrams, etc.
CONTINUED: (3)
[Claire, meanwhile, is more interested in the various PLANTS growing around the stones. One in particular catches her attention: a VINE growing around the base of a stone with deep blue flowers and an orange center. She’s starting to bend down to examine it closer when Frank suddenly grabs her arm and pulls her quickly into hiding behind a stone. Her question is immediately silenced by his finger to her lips and she waits breathless for a moment before peering around the corner to see --
-- a WOMAN has returned to the henge. Now back in her street clothes and looking much more like the housewife than druid, celebrant, she walks the grounds for a moment looking for something. Finally, she locates a lost HAIR CLIP in the grass. Rather than make her way back down the path, however, she decides to sit down and contemplate the beauty of the area in the quiet morning sun.]
INT. MRS. BAIRD’S BED & BREAKFAST - PARLOR - DAY
FRANK: What are you doing?
CLAIRE: Looking for that plant. The one I saw in the stone circle. It could be in the Campanulaceae family, or the Gentianaceae, the Polemoniaceae, the Boraginaceae -- you know, Forget-me-nots. That’s most likely. I don’t think it was a gentian of any kind; the petals weren’t really rounded...
FRANK: Why not go back and get it? The ritual’s complete, I doubt any of the celebrants will be returning. And if they did, there’s nothing wrong with a visitor coming to examine the site or gather the local flora.
CLAIRE: Care to go with me?
FRANK: I have an appointment with the Vicar.
(with relish)
Going through an entire box of materials we found last night. Bills of sale from Captain Randall’s own quartermaster!
CLAIRE: Much more exciting, I’m sure. Have fun. Love you.
FRANK: Love you.
EXT. CRAIGH NA DUN - DAY
[THE BLUE-FLOWERED PLANT is tucked next to the base of a huge standing stone. Claire’s hand reaches down to examine it. In the full light of day, the standing stones are far less menacing and she’s relaxed as she takes some clippings from the vine and folds them carefully in a handkerchief.
Gradually, she becomes aware of that SAME HUMMING, like what a beehive might produce. Claire looks around, curiously.
After a few seconds, she zeroes in on the source, which is not a hive, but actually the largest of the stones, the one with a huge SPLIT running down the middle. Standing right next to the stone, the humming is loud and Claire puts a hand out to touch the smooth surface --
-- the stone SCREAMS. Claire backpedals, falls down. The scream was unnatural, otherworldly. The world begins to vibrate in Claire’s perception, as her senses are suddenly aware of sound and movement not normally perceived in the natural world. All around her, SOUNDS of BATTLE emanate from the other stones on the hilltop: screaming men, musketry, terrified horses, the clang of metal weapons.
Claire staggers to her feet, shaking her head in a vain attempt to clear it, as the world starts to spin and tilt in her mind. The cacophony grows more intense and her vision blurs as Claire stumbles forward, trying to find escape in any direction. Her uncertain footsteps take her to the cleft stone and she reaches out with a hand once more --
CONTINUED:
DARKNESS SHOT THROUGH WITH BOLTS OF LIGHT
CLAIRE (V.O.): Once, traveling at night, I fell asleep in the passenger seat of a moving car, lulled by the noise and motion into an illusion of serene weightlessness. Then the driver took a bridge too fast and lost control, and I woke from my floating dream looking into the glare of oncoming headlights 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.
[The world is bursting with white noise and dark light, then --
Quiet.]
EXT. CRAIGH NA DUN - DAY
[Claire opens her eyes. She’s still lying at the foot of the cleft stone. The sun still in the sky. She sits up and immediately notices that the stones have ceased screaming. But the noise of battle still travels through the air as Claire gets to her feet, in a daze. Not sure what’s going on, but sure that she wants to get away from these stones, Claire scrambles away --
-- SLIPS and falls, ends up sliding and scrambling down the hill.]
EXT. WOODS/CLEARING - DAY
[Claire finally comes to a stop in a small GROVE of TREES. She sits there for a moment at the base of a tree, trying to gather her wits. A commotion from o.c. causes her to look up and see THREE MEN wearing kilts, running across a clearing in the distance. The POP-POP-POP of gunshots echo across the field just before SIX REDCOAT SOLDIERS, armed with MUSKETS, come running in hot pursuit of the Scots.
Claire gets a little blearily to her feet. Rubs her head and neck, checking for some kind of injury.]
CLAIRE (V.O.): When suddenly confronted with the impossible, the rational mind will grope in all directions, searching for logical explanations.
(MORE)
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE (V.O.) (cont'd): I, myself, came to the quite reasonable conclusion that I had stumbled onto the set of a cinema company filming a costume drama of some sort -- one of those Bonnie Prince in the heather things that seemed to play in every theater in London.
[Just then, YELLING and SHOUTING from somewhere brings her attention back to the clearing just as FIVE SCOTS on HORSES come thundering from the opposite direction, yelling in Gaelic and heading right toward her. Claire has the presence of mind to step quickly and nimbly out of their way as they charge into the clearing.
Suddenly there’s the sound of a couple of MUSKETS FIRING and a split second later a random ball SMACKS the tree trunk right next to her. She gapes at the tree for a second.]
CLAIRE (V.O.): But my mind could find no logical explanation for actors to fire live ammunition.
ON CLAIRE’S LEGS
CLAIRE: Frank! What the devil are you about? You almost gave me...
.]
CLAIRE (cont’d): You’re not Frank.
CONTINUED: (2)
JACK RANDALL: No. I am not.
[Claire backs up a couple of steps as Jack Randall eyes her with interest, his gaze unabashedly taking in the clear outlines of her body beneath the sheer summer dress and lingering on her exposed legs. Claire bumps into a tree and stops just as Randall turns away and picks up a coat -- a REDCOAT. An 18th century British Army officer’s coat.
Ignoring her for the moment, he dresses and buckles on his sword belt.]
CLAIRE: Who the bloody hell are you...?
JACK RANDALL: I am, madam, Jonathan Randall, Esquire, Captain of His Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons. At your service.
CLAIRE: Let me go!
JACK RANDALL: Oh, it’s like that, is it?
[The more she struggles, the more it eggs Randall on. He kisses her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth for a moment before pulling back
JACK RANDALL (cont’d): You haven’t the smell of dung on your skin, so you haven’t been with a farmer. For that matter, you look a bit more expensive than the local cottars could afford.
(beat)
I like expensive things.
CONTINUED: (3)
CLAIRE: My husband is expecting me. He’ll come looking for me if I’m not back in ten minutes.
JACK RANDALL: Your husband? What’s his name and why does he allow his wife to wander the woods alone in her shift?
CLAIRE: I don’t answer to you.
JACK RANDALL: Skin of a lady, French scent in your hair... that could all be managed with money from your patron... but you’ve the speech of a lady as well.
JACK RANDALL (cont’d): You intrigue me, madam. Whores are usually so dull and obvious. I look forward to plumbing your depths.
[Suddenly he’s on her and Claire is completely overpowered. Strong, powerful fingers dig into her throat and shove her against the rock, his knees forcing her legs apart and his free hand reaching below her skirt --
-- a MAN comes CRASHING down on Randall from above. A well placed blow to the head from a powerful fist, and Randall lies on the ground, unconscious.
The man, MURTAGH (30’s) wears a ragged shirt and filthy kilt, with pock-marked skin and a swarthy complexion.]
CONTINUED: (4)
MURTAGH: This way.
EXT. HILLSIDE - DAY
CLAIRE: Who the hell are you? Where are we going? I said, WHERE ARE WE--
[He suddenly whirls, puts a hand over her mouth and throws her bodily to the ground, pinning her there with his weight. She struggles, wide-eyed and expecting the worst. In the distance, we suddenly HEAR ENGLISH VOICES in the distance.
Claire struggles wildly, hoping to cry out for help. She bites down on Murtagh’s hand, but instead of releasing her, he smashes a ROCK into her head --
CLAIRE (V.O.): I wanted it to be a dream. But I knew it wasn’t.
FADE IN:
EXT. COTTAGE - DUSK
CLAIRE (V.O.): If nothing else, my erstwhile savior fairly reeked of odors too foul to be part of any dream I was likely to conjure up.
INT. COTTAGE - DUSK
CONTINUED:
DOUGAL: What is it you have there, Murtagh?
MURTAGH: A sassenach wench, by her speech.
CLAIRE (V.O.): I decided that clutching at the remnants of my torn dress like a frightened child would only invite more predatory interest.
[Claire pulls away from Murtagh’s grip and stands tall before Dougal with a calm, steady expression on her face.
DOUGAL: A bonny one, sassenach or no. What’s your name, lass?
CLAIRE: Claire... Claire Beauchamp .
CLAIRE (V.O.): Using my maiden name was a spur of the moment decision. If they intended to ransom me, I didn’t want to lead them back to Frank.
DOUGAL: Beauchamp? A French name, it is, surely?
CLAIRE: That’s right. And just what do you think you’re --
DOUGAL(to Murtagh): Where did ye find her?
CONTINUED: (2)
MURTAGH: At the foot o’ Craigh na Dun havin’ words with a certain Captain of dragoons wi’ whom we are acquent’.
MURTAGH (cont’d): 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.
[That amuses the group. A large, fat man -- RUPERT (30’s) -- then moves toward Claire with a leer.
RUPERT: We could put it to the test.
DOUGAL: That will do, Rupert. I don’t hold wi’ rape 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 shirt she’s no a whore.
DOUGAL: We’ll puzzle it out later. We’ve got a good distance to go tonight and we mun’ do something for Jamie first; he canna ride like that.
CONTINUED: (3)
CLAIRE (V.O.): Escape was my chief concern. But escape to where? I had no idea where I was and trying to find the road back to Inverness in the dark felt like a fool’s errand.
AT THE FIRE
[JAMIE MACKENZIE FRASER (22) a young man, with a shock of red hair, sits on a stool, rocking back and forth in pain as he clutches one shoulder with the opposite hand.
Dougal comes over and gently pulls away the protective hand, while Murtagh quickly cuts away the dirty, blood-soaked linen shirt with a knife. Several men gasp at the sight of Jamie’s shoulder: a bloody wound still flowing freely down his chest, but the real horror is the shoulder joint itself and the way his arm hangs at an unnatural angle.]
DOUGAL: Out o’ joint, poor bugger.
JAMIE: Fell wi’ my hand out when the musket ball knocked me off my saddle. I landed with all my weight on the hand, and crunch! There it went.
CLAIRE (V.O.): I tried to comfort myself with the thought that Frank would have the entire constabulary of Inverness turned out looking for me by now.
BY THE FIRE
RUPERT: The wound’s no trouble. The ball went right through, and it’s clean -- the blood’s runnin’ free enough. I don’t know quite what to do about the disjointure, though. You canna ride with it that way, can you, Jamie lad?
CONTINUED: (4)
JAMIE: Hurts bad enough sitting still. I couldna manage a horse.
CLAIRE (V.O.): I recognized the faces in the room. They were hard men. Not “tough” men whose pose is often more pretense than reality, but hard. I’d seen faces like these in the war. Faces inured to living with brutality and death every day. Eyes that looked out at the world from inside deep shadows where daylight never reached.
(beat)
The wisest course of action was to keep my head down, my mouth shut, and wait for the search parties.
DOUGAL: Dinna worrit yourself. I don’t mean to be leaving him behind.
RUPERT: No help for it, then. We’ll have to try and force the joint back. Here, lad.
RUPERT (cont’d): Murtagh, you and Charlie hold him; I’ll give it a try.
[Rupert grabs hold of Jamie’s wrist as the other two get a firm grip on the young man. Jamie braces himself as Rupert gets ready to yank on the arm with all his might -- but suddenly Claire’s voice cuts through the room like a clang of steel.
CLAIRE (O.S.): DON’T YOU DARE!
CONTINUED: (5)
CLAIRE (cont’d): You’ll break his arm if you do it like that. Out of the way, please.
CLAIRE (cont’d): You have to get the bone of the upper arm at the proper angle before it will slip back into its joint.
CLAIRE (cont’d, to Jamie): This is the worst part.
JAMIE: It canna hurt much worse than it does. Get on wi’ it.
[Claire cups his elbow, then has to use all her strength to force the limb up, feeling for the moment it will pop back into the socket. Sweat breaks out on her forehead, and Jamie grimaces, but there’s no sound in the room except the soft muttering of the fire. Finally, there’s a soft CRUNCHING POP and the arm is back in the socket. The relief on Jamie’s face is immediate and obvious.
JAMIE (cont’d): It doesna hurt anymore!
CLAIRE: It will. It will be tender for several days. You musn’t extend the joint at all for two or three days; when you do use it again, go very slowly at first. Stop at once if it begins to hurt, and use warm compresses on it daily.
NEDDIE: Dougal?
CONTINUED: (6)
JAMIE: I’m taking a guess you’ve dun this before.
CLAIRE: I’m a nurse.
CLAIRE (cont’d): Not that kind of nurse.
NEAR THE WINDOW
NEDDIE: Two patrols moving this way from the south. Taking they time about it, but leaving no stone unturned.
DOUGAL: Can’t stay here much longer, then.
NEDDIE: Continue on, ye thinking?
DOUGAL: Not with redcoats on our scent.
NEDDIE: We dinna made many gains in our task to be headin’ back so soon.
DOUGAL: Time enough later. I weel explain to Colum. Bragh Stuart.
NEDDIE: Bragh Stuart.
AT THE FIRE
CLAIRE (CONT’D): The wound needs to be disinfected before it can be dressed.
MURTAGH: Dis-in-fect..?
CONTINUED: (7)
CLAIRE (impatient): The dirt must be removed from the wound and it must be treated with a compound to discourage germs and promote healing.
MURTAGH: Germs...?
CLAIRE: Just get me some iodine.
(off his blank look) Merthiolate?
(again) Dilute carbolic?
(not a chance) Alcohol?
CLAIRE (cont'd): This’ll hurt.
JAMIE: It all hurts.
CLAIRE: Now I need a sterile bandage or piece of clean cloth.
CLAIRE (cont’d): Surely there must be a single piece of clean cloth among you?
CLAIRE (cont’d): Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.
CONTINUED: (8)
DOUGAL: Can you ride, lad?
JAMIE: Aye.
DOUGAL: Good. We’re leaving.
CLAIRE: Not so fast -- you’ll need a sling to keep that arm still.
JAMIE: Use much more o’ that and ye won’t be leaving much to the imagination.
AT THE DOOR
RUPERT: What of the lass?
DOUGAL: She’ll come with us.
RUPERT: Why do ye no just leave her here?
DOUGAL: If she’s an English spy, we canna risk leaving her here to tell them which way we’ve gone. And if she’s no spy, well, I’ll not leave a defenseless woman here in her nightshift.
RUPERT: Colum may no appreciate ye bringing a “guest” home at this delicate time.
DOUGAL: Leave Colum to me.
CONTINUED: (9)
RUPERT: She’s English, and ye know how Colum feels about having sassenacheyes on his lands, much less in his home --
DOUGAL (sharp): Tha’s ‘tween my brother and me. I’ll thank ye to stay out of it. If Colum wants to bury her in the woods, then I’ll no lift a finger to stop him, ye can be sure of that.
EXT. COTTAGE - NIGHT
[A few minutes later, the men are outside the cottage and climbing onto waiting HORSES. Claire comes out with the white-faced and weak Jamie -- now we can see he’s quite tall.
Claire gapes at the view from the hilltop -- the STARS and the MOON are out and provide a glorious display, but Claire is looking toward the distant horizon with shock.]
CLAIRE: Where is it? Where’s the city? We should be able to see it from here.
JAMIE: Inverness? Yer looking straight at it.
CLAIRE (V.O.): The lights of the city should’ve been visible for miles. The electric lights, that is. But there were no electric lights as far as the eye could see. In fact, I hadn’t seen a single electric bulb or a power cord, or a socket all night.
(beat)
The implications of that observation chilled me to the bone.
CONTINUED:
DOUGAL: Jamie, get yourself up.
DOUGAL (cont’d): If Jamie canna manage one-handed you can hold the reins. But do ye take care to stay close wi’ the rest of us. Should ye try anythin’ else, I shall cut your throat. D’ye understand me?
DOUGAL (cont’d): Gimme yer foot.
CLAIRE: You all right?
JAMIE: So far. But ‘tis a young night still.
[He gives her an easy grin and helps her settle into place with his one good arm.
CLAIRE (V.O.): Dozens of wounded soldiers had tried to smile through their pain for my benefit. But this was different. The young man they called “Jamie” wasn’t putting on an act. And I instantly knew he had endured terrible pain in his short life and wasn’t afraid of the prospect of more to come.
CONTINUED: (2)
EXT. WOODS/OPEN TERRAIN - RIDING - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT
EXT. ROADSIDE - NIGHT
CLAIRE: Careful! Don’t twist like that, or your dressing will come off! What are you trying to do?
JAMIE: Get my plaid loose to cover you. You’re shivering.
CLAIRE: Oh. Well. Thank you, but I’m fine, really.
JAMIE: You’re shaking so hard it’s making my teeth rattle.
CLAIRE: I wasn’t expecting a nighttime ride when I dressed today.
JAMIE: The plaid will keep us both warm, but I canna do it one-handed. Can ye reach the clasp of my brooch?
CONTINUED:
JAMIE (cont’d): We dinna want ye to freeze before we get there.
CLAIRE: Where are we going?
JAMIE: Tell ye the truth, lassie, I don’t know. Reckon we’ll both find out when we get there, eh?
EXT. HIGHLANDS - NIGHT
CLAIRE: I know this place...
JAMIE: Been through here before have ye?
CLAIRE: Yes... I recognize that rock... the one that looks like a rooster tail... it has a name...
JAMIE: Cocknammon Rock.
-- FLASHBACK
FRANK: Cocknammon Rock. During the 17th and 18th centuries, you’d have often found a British army patrol lying there in wait for Scottish brigands or rebels.
CONTINUED:
RESUME
CLAIRE: The English use it for ambushes! They could be lying in wait right now.
JAMIE: It’s a bonnie place for an ambush, all right.
[He spurs the horse and it leaps forward, covering the distance between them and Dougal in a matter of seconds. Once they’re closer, Jamie speaks to the leader in low, urgent tones.
JAMIE (cont’d, in Gaelic): The lass thinks the redcoats might use Cocknammon Rock as cover for an ambush.
DOUGAL (Gaelic): The lass thinks?
JAMIE (Gaelic): Aye -- and I must say it makes sense to me.
DOUGAL: Now you’ll be telling exactly how and why you come to know there be an ambush up ahead.
CLAIRE: I don’t know, but I’ve heard that the redcoats use Cocknammon --
DOUGAL: Where did you hear this?
CLAIRE: In... the village.
CONTINUED: (2)
DOUGAL: From who did you --
[But then there are FLASHES OF LIGHT and THE POPPING OF MUSKETS from the rocks around Cocknammon Rock and the sound of BULLETS whizzing through the air around them. One man’s HORSE is hit and goes down.
Dougal reacts instantly, gives a GAELIC SHOUT to his men and they immediately SPLIT INTO TWO GROUPS: Dougal, Rupert and Neddie spur their horses to the gallop and charge directlytoward the rocks, while Jamie, Murtagh and two others wheel their mounts and circle around to the right.
Claire has to hold on for her life at the horse’s sudden motion, but before she can get her wits about her, Jamie grabs her around the torso with his good arm and TOSSES HER FROM THE HORSE into a BUSH, where she lands hard, but safe.]
THE REDCOATS
JACK RANDALL: Fix BAYONETS!
JACK RANDALL (cont’d): Port ARMS!
JACK RANDALL (cont’d): Pre-SENT!
JACK RANDALL (cont’d): Stand fast! STAND FAST!
CONTINUED: (3)
DOUGAL: Swerves away at the last second, the other two men swerving at exactly the same moment.
THE REDCOATS
Mystified at the sudden change. Randall narrows his eyes for a beat, then realizing a moment too late --
JACK RANDALL (cont’d): WHEEL ABOUT! THEY’RE BEHIND --
CLAIRE - A HUNDRED YARDS AWAY FROM THE FIGHT
COPSE OF TREES
THE FIGHT
CONTINUED: (4)
JACK RANDALL (cont’d): You --
DOUGAL: No time for that now lad!
EXT. CROSSROADS - NIGHT
VOICE : North star be over there.
JAMIE: Didna mean to frighten ye.
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE: Hope you haven’t been misusing that shoulder.
JAMIE (massaging shoulder):Yon wee stramash didna do it any good.
CLAIRE: You’re hurt! Have you broken open your shoulder wound, or is it fresh? Sit down and let me see!
JAMIE (CONT’D): This lot isna my blood. Not much of it anyway.
CLAIRE (a little queasy): Oh...
JAMIE: Dougal and the others will be waiting by the road. Let’s go.
CLAIRE: No! I’m not going with you!
JAMIE: Yes, you are.
CLAIRE: And what if I won’t? Are you going to cut my throat?
JAMIE: Why, no. You don’t look heavy. If ye won’t walk, I shall pick you up and sling ye over my shoulder. Do ye want me to do that?
CONTINUED: (2)
CLAIRE: No!
CLAIRE (cont’d): I mean... you can’t do that. You’ll damage your shoulder again.
JAMIE: Well then, since ye don’t want me to hurt myself, I suppose that means as you’re comin’ with me?
EXT. CREEK - NIGHT
CLAIRE: Serves you right, brawling round the countryside and chasing through bushes and rocks. You’ve probably got torn muscles as well as bruises.
JAMIE: Well, it wasna much of a choice. If I’d not moved my shoulder, I wouldna have ever moved anything else again. I can handle a single redcoat wi’ one hand -- maybe even two of them. But not three.
(beat)
Besides, ye can fix it for me again when we get where we’re going.
CLAIRE: That’s what you think.
CONTINUED:
RUPERT: Here’s to you, lassie! For tipping us to the villains in the rocks and giving us a bit o’ fun!
JAMIE: Better have a wee nip. It willna fill your belly, but it will make ye forget you’re hungry.
EXT. MOORS - NIGHT
CLAIRE (V.O.): I had no idea where we were going. I’ve never had a sense of direction in the dark, and had never learned from Frank his trick of navigation by the stars.
-- FLASHBACK
RESUME
CLAIRE: Thinking of Frank made me want to cry, so I tried to distract myself by trying to make sense of the day’s events. I was still looking for rational explanations, but there were none.
(beat)
(MORE)
CONTINUED:
CLAIRE (cont'd): The truth was, as much as my rational mind rebelled against the very idea, I knew in my heart that I was no longer in the 20th century...
CLAIRE (cont’d): Stop! HELP! He’s going over!
CLAIRE (cont’d): He has a pulse...
(puts ear to his chest)
He’s breathing... I think he’s just fainted. Put a saddlebag under his feet and if there’s water, bring me some.
CLAIRE (cont’d, to Dougal): The gunshot wound has been bleeding again, and the idiot’s been stabbed as well. I don’t think it’s serious, but he’s lost a lot of blood.
JAMIE: I’m all right... just a wee bit dizzy...
CLAIRE: You are not all right. Couldn’t you tell how badly you were bleeding?
(MORE)
CONTINUED: (2)
CLAIRE (cont'd): You’re lucky you’re not dead, tearing around the countryside, brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.
CLAIRE (cont’d)
(re: bandages)
No -- c’mon now YOU GODDAMNED BLOODY BASTARD!
DOUGAL: Ne’er heard a woman use such language in all my life.
(to Claire)
Your husband should tan ye, woman. St. Paul says, ‘let a woman be silent, and -
CLAIRE: You can mind your own bloody business and so can St. Paul!
(to Murtagh) Turn him to the left.
(to Jamie) And if you move so much as one single muscle while I’m tying this bandage, I’ll throttle you.
JAMIE: Oh, threats is it? And after I shared my drink with ye...
CLAIRE: No more spirits. He needs tea, or at worst, water. Not alcohol.
DOUGAL: Tend to your business, woman. We’ve a good way to go yet tonight and he’ll need whatever strength the drink can give him.
CONTINUED: (3)
CLAIRE: He needs rest!
DOUGAL: We’ve a good fifteen miles yet to go. Five hours, at the least and more likely seven. We’ll stay long enough for ye to stop the bleeding and dress the wound again -- no much more than that.
[Dougal moves off, ending the conversation. Claire’s eyes flare and she starts to go after him, but Jamie stops her with a word --
JAMIE: Randall won’t give up so easily.
JAMIE (cont’d): He’ll have patrols out in every direction by now. We canna stay here.
CLAIRE: You know Randall -- Black Jack Randall, that is?
JAMIE (quiet): Aye.
(beat)
I won’ risk you or anyone else being taken prisoner by that man. If ye canna fix me up well enough to ride, then you’ll all be leaving me here with a loaded pistol so I may determine my own fate.
CLAIRE: You could’ve at least told me you were stabbed before you fell off the horse.]
JAMIE: It was a bayonet -- felt it go in, but it dinna hurt at the time.
CONTINUED: (4)
CLAIRE: Does it hurt now?
JAMIE: Aye.
CLAIRE: Good.
CLAIRE (cont’d): That’s all I can do right now. The rest is up to you.
JAMIE: Thank you, Sassenach. Truly.
CLAIRE: On your feet, soldier.
EXT. HILL - DAWN
CLAIRE (V.O.): The rest of the night passed in a haze of half-sleep, verging on delirium. Then, finally we neared our destination.
CLAIRE (V.O.): Castle Leoch.
-- FLASHBACK
CONTINUED:
RESUME
CLAIRE (V.O.): I’d been here with Frank only yesterday. Or was that in the future? How could I remember something that hadn’t happened yet?
CLAIRE (V.O.): So far, I’d been assaulted, threatened, kidnapped and nearly raped. And somehow, I knew that my journey had only just begun.
END OF EPISODE
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