| MAN: | Bring that block over there. |
| (GRUNTS) (SLASH) |
| Uhh! (WEAK MOAN) (OBJECT CLANGS) |
| MAN: | Take a knife. |
| (CHUCKLES) (INDISTINCT CHATTER) (LIGHT CLANG) (WHEEZY INHALE) (GASPS) (LABORED BREATHING) (OBJECTS CLATTERING) (BREATHING HEAVILY) (CONTINUES LABORED BREATHING) (MAN CALLS OUT, METAL CLACKING) (INDISTINCT CHATTER) |
| (GROANS, GRUNTS) (UNSTEADY BREATHING) |
| MAN: | Sergeant? |
| WHO?: | Yes, sir. |
| (THUD) |
| MAN: | Oh! |
| (LABORED BREATHING) |
| (THUD) |
| (GRUNTS) (CRACK) |
| MAN: | Uhh Ah! |
| (GASPING) (WIND MOANS SOFTLY) (FOOTSTEPS RUSTLING) (OBJECT CLANGS SOFTLY) (UNSTEADY BREATHS, EXHALES) (MEN SHOUTING, GUNSHOTS ECHOING) (EXHALES, GROANS) (MEN YELLING) |
| (BOOM) |
| (YELLING VOICES ECHOING) (LABORED BREATHING) |
| MAN: | Ah! Aah! |
| JAMIE: | (EXHALES) (LABORED BREATHING) (WEAK GROAN) |
| (SHOUTS) |
| (SWORD CLANGS) (BATTLE SOUNDS ECHOING) (UNSTEADY BREATHING) (INDISTINCT CHATTER) (METALLIC CLATTERING) (ARTILLERY FIRE BOOMING) |
| CHARLES STUART: | The travel canteen was a gift from my father on my 21st birthday. |
| Mark me, James, I will watch the Duke of Cumberland drink from it when this day is done. |
| (BATTLE SOUNDS ECHO) (UNEVEN BREATHING) (ALL YELLING) (ARTILLERY BOOMING) (MEN CONTINUE YELLING) (BOOM) (MEN'S CRIES ECHOING) (SHALLOW, STRAINED BREATHING) (WIND HOWLING SOFTLY) (EXHALES) (EXHALES, MOANS WEAKLY) (INDISTINCT CHATTER) (INDISTINCT CHATTER IN BACKGROUND) (SHALLOW BREATHING) (DISTANT BOOM) (BOOMING REVERBERATION) (SOUNDS ECHOING) (MOANS) (EXHALES) (OVERLAPPING CHATTER) (HORSE'S HOOVES THUDDING) (HORSE HUFFS) (DISTANT EXPLOSIONS) (CHATTER CONTINUES) (DISTANT, MUFFLED BOOMING) (WHOOSHING SOUND) |
| (BOOM) |
| (MEN SHOUTING) |
| (BOOM) |
| (HORSE WHINNIES) (ARTILLERY CONTINUES BOOMING) |
| O'SULLIVAN: | This is nothing but a diversion! Cumberland wants to rattle our nerves. If we stand fast and force him to come to us across the moor (ARTILLERY BOOMS) Then we will have them, sir. |
| JAMIE: | The time is now. |
| MEN: | Aye. |
| JAMIE: | Sire, give the command to charge while there is still a chance. |
| (DIRT, ROCKS THUDDING) (OVERLAPPING SHOUTING, COMMOTION) (SHALLOW BREATHING) (SUSTAINED BATTLE CRY) (BATTLE NOISES FADE) (LABORED BREATHING) (DISTANT SWORDS CLANG) |
| (ALL GRUNTING, YELLING) |
| (SWORDS CLANGING) (GRUNTS) (CLANK) |
| MAN: | Uhh! Yah! Aah! Aah! Uhh! Uhh! Ah! |
| (MEN GRUNTING, SCREAMING) |
| MAN: | Ah uhh! |
| (SOUNDS FADE, ECHO) (CHOKING) |
| MAN: | Uh uhh! |
| (MEN YELLING, SCREAMING) (GRUNTING) |
| MAN: | Uhh! Ooh |
| (BATTLE SOUNDS CONTINUE) (GASPING) (WHEEZING) (PANTING) (BATTLE SOUNDS CONTINUE) (MEN YELLING, SWORDS CLANGING) (LAUGHS) |
| JAMIE: | And where've ye been? Enjoying a wee whisky? |
| MURTAGH: | (GRUNTS) Aah! Ye're welcome. And the Lallybroch men are safe home. |
| (BATTLE SOUNDS CONTINUE) |
| MAN: | Aah! |
| (SWORDS CLANGING, MEN YELLING) |
| MAN: | Uhh! Aah! Red hot, boys, all along the line! |
| (MEN CONTINUE YELLING) (SOUNDS FADE) (EXHALES RAGGEDLY) (WHISPERS RAGGEDLY, GROANS) (SUSTAINED BATTLE CRY) |
| MAN: | Fire! |
| (GUNFIRE) |
| MAN: | Fire! |
| (ALL YELLING) (GUNFIRE) |
| MAN: | Fire! |
| (GUNFIRE) (SUSTAINED BATTLE CRY) (MEN YELLING, GRUNTING, SCREAMING) (METAL CLANGING) (BATTLE SOUNDS) |
| MAN: | Aah! |
| (CRY ECHOES) (WIND HOWLING SOFTLY) (BATTLE SOUNDS INTENSIFY) (YELLING, SCREAMING CONTINUES) (CLANG) |
| MAN: | Ah! - Gah! Aah! |
| (OVERLAPPING YELLING, HORSE'S HOOVES THUDDING) (THUDDING) |
| RANDALL: | (GRUNTING, YELLING) Ooh uhh! |
| (DRAMATIC MUSIC) (INTENSE MUSICAL BUILDUP) |
| MAN: | Yah! |
| (CLANG) (WIND HOWLING SOFTLY) (METAL CLANGS) (INTENSE PERCUSSIVE MUSIC) |
| MAN: | Oh! |
| (INTENSE MUSIC CONTINUES) (BOTH GRUNTING) (BOTH GRUNTING) |
| MAN: | Ahh! |
| (INTENSE, DARK MUSIC) (GRUNTS) (BOTH GRUNTING) (DRAMATIC ORCHESTRATION CONTINUES) |
| MAN: | Ah |
| (GRUNTS) |
| MAN: | Ah! |
| (BOTH GRUNT) |
| MAN: | Ah uhh! |
| (HAUNTING GAELIC MUSIC) (WOMAN SINGING IN GAELIC) |
| MAN: | Ah ah! |
| (BOTH GROAN, PANT) (PANTING, MURMURS) (BOTH BREATHING HARD) (HAUNTING GAELIC SONG CONTINUES) (WOMAN CONTINUES SINGING) (INHALES) (WIND HOWLING SOFTLY) (RUSTLING, GRASS CRUNCHING) (HAUNTING GAELIC MUSIC) (GROANS SOFTLY) (SWEEPING MELANCHOLY ORCHESTRATION) |
| CHORUS: | Oh |
| (SWEEPING ORCHESTRATION INTENSIFIES) |
| CLAIRE: | Are you alive? |
| RUPERT: | Jamie, are ye alive, man? (GASPS) |
| JAMIE: | Dunno (MOANS) |
| RUPERT: | Quiet. There's redcoats still about, and they're killin' the wounded where they lie. Can ye stand? |
| JAMIE: | (WEAKLY) No. (MOANS) Let me be. Let me be. |
| RUPERT: | I'm not gonna leave ye to die in the mud. Even if ye are a pig-headed loon who canna hold his whisky. |
| (MURMURING) |
| JAMIE: | Drink you under the table. |
| (SCOFFS) |
| JAMIE: | Get out, ye ken? |
| (LABORED BREATHING) (INTENSE, SWEEPING ORCHESTRATION) (orchestration continues dramatically) |
|
|
| (DOOR THUDS CLOSED) (FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING) |
| CLAIRE: | Are you sure we can afford all this? |
| FRANK: | Mm, it's a little tight, but you've always said you wanted a real home. |
| CLAIRE: | (EXHALES) It certainly is real. All this space just for the two of us. |
| FRANK: | Soon to be three. |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) Yes. The history professor's study, I presume? |
| FRANK: | (CHUCKLES) Well, maybe. The study can be wherever the lady of the house desires. |
| CLAIRE: | Well, the lady of the house desires it thus. |
| FRANK: | The kitchen, where, presumably, the lady of the house will be rustling up various appetizing dishes and |
| CLAIRE: | "Rustling"? |
| FRANK: | That's what they say in America. (AMERICAN ACCENT) "I mean to rustle me up some vittles." |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) Well, I wouldn't get your hopes up too high, partner. |
| FRANK: | Ha. |
| CLAIRE: | I'm a little out of practice these days. |
| FRANK: | Hey. I will be happy with whatever you make. |
|
|
| (SOFT MUSIC) |
| CLAIRE: | Oh! Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! |
| (SIGHS) (INHALES) (EXHALES) (SIGHS) (SIGHS) (EXHALES) (INHALES) (EXHALES) (CLOCK TICKING SOFTLY) (GAELIC MUSIC) |
|
|
| MILLIE: | Like some help with that? |
| CLAIRE: | Oh, no, I-I'm good. Thank you. |
| MILLIE: | Now just you never mind. Here. (SMALL LAUGH) I remember when I was having my first. My back ached something fierce, and that handsome, but lazy sack of bones I call a husband never did lift a finger. |
| CLAIRE: | I can manage, really. |
| MILLIE: | Well, of course you can manage, my dear, but why should you when you can have help? Millie Nelson. |
| CLAIRE: | Claire Randall. |
|
|
| MILLIE: | Where did you learn to do that? |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) My uncle taught me how to cook over the campfire. |
| MILLIE: | Sounds dirty. All that ash and soot. |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) Actually, it gives the food a really lovely, smoky flavor. |
| MILLIE: | Well, your husband must like it. That's all that matters, I suppose. |
| CLAIRE: | Yes. Well(EXHALES) I hope so. |
| MILLIE: | Oh so you're just gonna spring it on him. (LIGHT LAUGH) He likes surprises, does he? |
| (WATER BUBBLING) |
| CLAIRE: | (EXHALES) Not really. |
| MILLIE: | Well, you're a braver woman than I. I swear to God, if I surprised Jerry with something other than pot roast, meatloaf, baked beans with cabbage one night, he'd up and have a heart attack. (LAUGHS) Hey, now there's an idea. |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) No, actually, I think Frank will really like something different for a change. He's very progressive. Very open-minded. |
| MILLIE: | Well, God love Jerry, and I do, despite what you might think. He's really no different than most men in this world who don't want their wives doing anything out of the ordinary. Just cook, clean, raise the kids, look pretty when they meet the boss. You're lucky. You won't find another man like Frank again. |
|
|
| (SMALL LAUGH) (MELANCHOLY INSTRUMENTATION) (DARK NOTES) |
| RUPERT: | There, slowly. |
| JAMIE: | Mm |
| (GULPS) (COUGHS) (ROUGH BREATHS) (SOFT SOBBING) (VOICES MURMURING, PEOPLE CRYING) |
| RUPERT: | (PANTING) So do we run for it? |
| KILLICK: | I'm no' running anywhere. Barely a man here can stand. If ye can go, Rupert, then go. Dinna linger on our account. |
| (PEOPLE COUGHING, CRYING) |
| RUPERT: | No. I'll bide. For one thing, the British are still thick as lice out there. |
| KILLICK: | Aye. |
| RUPERT: | Even those that fled the field yesterday will no' get far. I heard the British troops passing by quick-march. It winna be hard for them to hunt down our bedraggled lot. |
|
|
| (SOFT, DRAMATIC MUSIC) |
| FRANK: | Claire, darling, we need to leave in 20 minutes. |
| CLAIRE: | Coming, Frank. |
| (EDGY INSTRUMENTALS) (EXHALES SHARPLY) |
| CLAIRE: | Got to look pretty when you meet the boss. |
|
|
| DEAN JACKSON: | Truman's ascension to the presidency was a an accident of history, a cosmic joke meant to humble the nation just as America's power had reached its Olympian zenith at the end of the war. And, uh, since that sad day when he took up the reins of government, the, uh, "haberdasher from Missouri" has proven himself to be totally unequal to the task of assuming the mantle of Washington, - Jefferson, and Lincoln. |
| FRANK: | Hmm. Obviously, we are both new to these shores, but if I was a betting man, I wouldn't count the Democratic nominee out just yet. |
| DEAN JACKSON: | Oh, well, you're alone in that sentiment, Professor. Certainly, the press believes that his defeat in November is all but assured. |
| FRANK: | Perhaps I prefer it to believing we're doomed to the presidency of Thomas Dewey. |
| CLAIRE: | Well, I read a piece just last week that said the president actually has more support than it appears. |
| DEAN JACKSON: | I beg your pardon? |
| CLAIRE: | Well, I was just saying that I read a column in "The Globe" that predicted victory for the president if he continues to pound away at the Republican congress as ineffectual, whereas Mr. Dewey only offers the voters platitudes. |
| DEAN JACKSON: | Ha. "A column in 'The Globe.'" Professor Randall, you're gonna have to pay closer attention to your wife's reading habits. |
| (CHUCKLES) |
| DEAN JACKSON: | She keeps reading "The Globe," the next thing you know, she'll be trying to get women into Harvard Law. |
| (SNICKERS) |
| CLAIRE: | Harvard Medical enrolled female students three years ago. |
| DEAN JACKSON: | (SCOFFS) A bone cast in the general direction of Eleanor Roosevelt and her coterie of agitators. My understanding is the girls are barely adequate in their studies. (CHUCKLES) Past experience has shown few women succeed as physicians. |
| FRANK: | Dean Jackson, I don't believe I mentioned my wife was a combat nurse with Royal Army Medical Corps during the war. |
| DEAN JACKSON: | Really? Oh, well. Very patriotic, Mrs. Randall, "pitching in in time of crisis" and that sort of thing. |
| (CHUCKLES) |
| DEAN JACKSON: | But I'm sure you were happy to resume more important and, um (SNAPS TONGUE) fitting domestic concerns for a lady with the conclusion of the war. |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) Yes. I'm very happy. |
| DEAN JACKSON: | Of course you are. |
| (CHUCKLES) |
| DEAN JACKSON: | What young woman wouldn't be at the prospect of impending maternal bliss? Um, have you had, uh, an opportunity to examine the prospectus for the, uh, spring seminar on the Wars of the Roses? Uh, I fear Professor Holloway is overloading the schedule ... |
|
|
| (MELANCHOLY MUSIC) (BACKGROUND CHATTER) |
| RUPERT: | You all right? |
| JAMIE: | Hmm? |
| RUPERT: | You're very quiet. |
| (BOTH CHUCKLE) |
| JAMIE: | I'm fine. |
| (MELANCHOLY MUSIC CONTINUES) |
| JAMIE: | Murtagh. |
| RUPERT: | Murtagh Aye. |
| JAMIE: | Wha what happened to Murtagh? |
| RUPERT: | I dinna ken. Any word on Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser? |
| KILLICK: | I lost sight of him in the fight. I hope to God he's already dead. |
| (DOOR CLATTERS, HINGES SQUEAK) (LOW MURMURING) (DOOR THUDS) |
| LORD MELTON: | Private! You two, check on the back. |
| MAN: | Right away, sir. Christ. |
| LORD MELTON: | I am Lord Melton. |
| RUPERT: | Rupert MacKenzie, of Leoch. And others late of the forces of His Majesty, King James. |
| LORD MELTON: | So I surmised. I have been ordered by His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland, to execute any man found to have engaged in the recent treasonous rebellion. Does any man here claim innocence of treason? (TENSE MUSIC) |
| RUPERT: | (CHUCKLES) No, My Lord. Traitors all. Shall we be hanged, then? |
| LORD MELTON: | You will be shot. Like soldiers. |
| RUPERT: | Thank you, My Lord. |
| (MOANS) |
| LORD MELTON: | You have an hour in which to prepare yourselves. If any of you wishes writing materials to compose a letter, perhaps, the clerk of my company will attend to you. |
| (SOMBER MUSIC) |
|
|
| (AIR WHEEZING) (SNIFFS) (BIRD TWITTERS) (WHIMSICAL GAELIC MUSIC) (BIRD TWEETING) |
| FRANK: | Tell you, after eight years of rationing, I could wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs for the rest of my natural life. |
| CLAIRE: | (SMALL LAUGH) That's the last of the bacon, I'm afraid. |
| I'll go down to the market later this afternoon. |
| FRANK: | All right. Did you sleep well? |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) It's a little hard to get comfortable these days. |
| FRANK: | (KETTLE WHISTLES)I've got it. |
| (WHISTLING FADES) (WHISTLING) |
| FRANK: | I've said it before and I'll say it again. These are an abomination. |
| CLAIRE: | Well, that's how they drink it here. |
| FRANK: | Mm-hmm. (SNIFFS) It doesn't even smell like tea after weeks of sitting in these little paper diapers. |
| CLAIRE: | (CHUCKLES) There is coffee if you'd rather. |
| FRANK: | I mean, why change something that works perfectly well? Tea in a tin. Scoop it out. Put it in a pot. Is it really so difficult? |
| CLAIRE: | I suppose not. |
| FRANK: | Well, I'm not sure I'll ever understand the American obsession with the new. Like everything has to be new, new, new. |
| CLAIRE: | Well that's one of the reasons I like this country. It's young |
| FRANK: | Mmm, thank you. |
| CLAIRE: | It's eager. It's constantly looking towards the future. |
| (SOFT GRUNT) |
| CLAIRE: | You know, I've been thinking. |
| FRANK: | Will you pass me some toast? Thanks. |
| CLAIRE: | I'd like to apply for citizenship. |
| FRANK: | Really? |
| CLAIRE: | Well, I've lived all over the world, and I've never really had a strong attachment to England. |
| (LIQUID TICKLES) |
| CLAIRE: | And I-I want our child to have a-a real home. |
| FRANK: | Our child (INHALES) (EXHALES SHARPLY) Since when were you never attached to England? Can you walk away from your heritage that easily? Hastings and "Magna Carta", Drake, Marlborough; the Tudors, Stuarts, the Plantagenets. These are things I fought a-a war for. |
| CLAIRE: | (CUTLERY CLINKS SOFTLY) It's just something I want to do. |
| FRANK: | Well, there's no need. My employment provides us both with residency indefinitely. |
| CLAIRE: | That's not what this is about. |
| FRANK: | No. |
| CLAIRE: | It's not what this is about. |
| FRANK: | It's about that. (SHAKY BREATH) A wife who won't let me touch her. Admit it. You are using this pregnancy to keep me at a distance. You have retreated further and further into your shell ever since we got here. |
| CLAIRE: | I'm sorry. |
| FRANK: | Don't walk away, Claire. It is time we dealt with this like adults. |
| CLAIRE: | As opposed to the way that I've been dealing with it? |
| FRANK: | Please stop! Stop And talk to me. |
| CLAIRE: | (EMOTIONALLY) And say what, Frank? What is it that you want from me? |
| FRANK: | I want to know when you're going to come back from the fucking past! |
| CLAIRE: | You asked me to leave behind everything that truly mattered to me! And yet it's fine for you to go on about the things that you've missed in the good old days. "Never talk about the past." That was the bargain. And I've kept that bargain to the letter. |
| FRANK: | No, the bargain was that we raise this baby together. Our child. It hasn't even been born yet, and you will not let me in let alone touch you, God forbid. |
| CLAIRE: | Is it sex? Is that what this is? When you need a good fuck and you can't find one? Well, I hear there's some lovely girls at Radcliffe who would just die over your English accent. |
| FRANK: | Well, I'm not the one who's been fucking other people. |
| (SCREAMS) (CRASH) (BREATHING HEAVILY) |
| FRANK: | I didn't force this bargain on you, Claire. I didn't force you to come to Boston. And I'm not forcing you to stay. |
| CLAIRE: | (EXHALES) I never thought otherwise. |
| FRANK: | Go or stay. But please do it because it's what you really want to do. |
| (SOMBER MUSIC) (SNIFFLES) (SOBBING) |
|
|
| (GUNFIRE) (OMINOUS CHORDS) (PERCUSSIVE RHYTHM) |
| MAN: | Reload! |
| (DARK MUSIC) (BODY THUDS) (MAN GRUNTS) (DARK MUSIC) |
| RUPERT: | I beg ye not to judge them by the same standard that ye apply to the rest of the men. They're naught but lads. They canna be held responsible for their actions. |
| LORD MELTON: | His Grace has specifically directed that there be no exceptions made on account of age. I'm sorry. |
| (BOYS WHIMPERING) |
| RUPERT: | Hey, hey. Steady now, lads hey? It'll be over soon. Chin up, okay? All right. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Names? |
| GILES MCMARTIN: | Giles McMartin. |
| (BREATHING HARD) |
| FREDERICK MACBEAN: | Frederick MacBean. |
| (QUILL SCRATCHING OVER PAPER) (WHISPERS) |
| JAMIE: | Oh. |
| KILLICK: | Do you want me to write a letter for you, Jamie? Something to yer family, perhaps? |
| JAMIE: | No. No, no. |
| (LABORED BREATHING) |
| JAMIE: | Let it be. |
| KILLICK: | What about yer wife? What about Claire? |
| JAMIE: | (WHEEZY BREATHS) (WHISPERS) She's gone. |
| KILLICK: | Where did she go? |
| (GUNFIRE) |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Does any man wish to be next? |
| KILLICK: | Aye. |
| (SOFT MUSIC) |
| KILLICK: | I'll take my leave of ye now, Jamie. |
| JAMIE: | I'll see you again soon. |
| (BREATHING HEAVILY) (DRAMATIC MUSICAL FLOURISH) |
| KILLICK: | Gordon Killick. |
| (QUILL SCRATCHING OVER PAPER) |
| RUPERT: | (COUGHING) I'm glad ye're awake. I didna want to say farewell while you snored and farted in yer sleep. |
| JAMIE: | You always snored louder than any man I ever heard. |
| RUPERT: | Eh, folk always blamed me fer it, but Angus was the one who snored. |
| JAMIE: | Huh. |
| RUPERT: | It'll be good to see him again. |
| JAMIE: | (WEAKLY) Be good to see the two of you together. |
| RUPERT: | Huh. I'm no saying I forgive you for Dougal. But I'll no go to my grave hatin' you for it either. The Lord will judge us both, and I trust in His mercy. Farewell, Jamie. |
| (GUNFIRE) |
| MAN: | Reload. |
| LORD MELTON: | Does any man wish to be next? |
| JAMIE: | Aye. |
| RUPERT: | (SOMBER MUSIC) Rupert Thomas Alexander MacKenzie. I mean to set a quick pace, so try to keep up. |
| (GUNFIRE) |
| MAN: | Next. |
| (SPEAKING GAELIC) (SPEAKING GAELIC) |
|
|
| (CLOCK TICKING) (FAUCET DRIPPING) (RATTLING SOUND) (RATTLING) |
| FRANK: | Dear Reverend, I find myself in need of your assistance once more. I hope you'll indulge me in undertaking some research regarding an 18th century Highlander who fought in the battle of Culloden. His name was James Fraser. |
| CLAIRE: | Frank? Claire. |
| (HEAVY BREATHING) |
| FRANK: | What is it? |
| CLAIRE: | My waters have broken. |
| FRANK: | All right. Uh, I'll warm up the car. |
|
|
| (TENSE MUSIC) |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE?: | The ambulatory wounded have all been executed, My Lord. We'll have to carry the rest out. |
| LORD MELTON: | Have the Corporal of the Guard select stretcher bearers. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Yes, My Lord. Are they to be shot laying down? |
| LORD MELTON: | Prop them up, certainly. Good Lord. No man in the king's custody shall be shot lying down on my watch. Not even traitors. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Yes, My Lord. Sorry, My Lord. |
| LORD MELTON: | You men who are unable to walk shall be carried outside to face your sentence. Does any man wish to go first? |
| JAMIE: | Aye. (PANTING) Aye. Aye, get this over with. |
| (PANTING) |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Name? |
| JAMIE: | James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser (GRUNTING) Of Broch Tuarach. |
| LORD MELTON: | (TENSE MUSIC) Fraser? (GRUNTING) Are you the Jacobite known as "Red Jamie"? |
| JAMIE: | (CHUCKLES) I've been called that by my enemies. |
| LORD MELTON: | God's blood. Does any other man wish to go next? |
| MAN: | Aye. I'll go. |
| LORD MELTON: | (SOFTLY) Does the name John Grey mean anything to you? Listen to me! Grey. John William Grey. Do you know that name? |
| JAMIE: | (LABORED BREATHING) Look. (PANTING) Either shoot me or go away. |
| LORD MELTON: | (TENSE MUSIC) Near Corrieyairack. A boy, about 16. You encountered him in the wood. |
| JAMIE: | (MAN, INDISTINCT) Aye. (CHUCKLES) Aye, the one that tried to kill me while I was taking a pish. I broke his arm, I recall. |
| LORD MELTON: | (TENSE MUSIC) John Grey is my brother. He told me of his meeting with you, that you then spared his life, and he made you a promise. Is that true? |
| JAMIE: | Aye, he promised to kill me. But I dinna mind if you do it for him. |
| LORD MELTON: | He said he owed you a debt of honor. |
| MAN: | Present fire! (GUNFIRE) |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | My Lord? |
| LORD MELTON: | This is a deuce of a situation, Wallace. |
| (INHALES, EXHALES) |
| LORD MELTON: | This Jacobite scum is "Red Jamie." |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | The one on the broadsheets? |
| LORD MELTON: | The same. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | His Grace would be more than pleased to hear of such an illustrious prisoner. They have not yet found Charles Stuart, but a few well-known Jacobites should appease the crowds at Tower Hill. Shall I send a message to His Grace? |
| LORD MELTON: | No. This filthy wretch spared my youngest brother's life, thus incurring a bloody great debt of honor upon my family. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | I see. So you can't give him to His Grace after all. |
| LORD MELTON: | I can't even shoot the bastard. Not without discrediting my brother's sworn word. |
| JAMIE: | I winna tell if you dinna. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Perhaps we could shoot him under an alias. |
| MAN: | Present fire! (GUNFIRE) |
| LORD MELTON: | It will be dark in three hours. |
| (GROANS) |
| LORD MELTON: | Continue with the executions and then find a small wagon and have it filled with hay. Pick a driver, someone discreet, by which I mean willing to accept a bribe, and have them here before it gets dark. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Yes, My Lord. And, uh, what about the prisoner, My Lord? What about him? |
| LORD MELTON: | He's too weak to crawl, let alone run. He's not going anywhere. At least not until the wagon gets here. |
| JAMIE: | I don't want to go anywhere. I want to be shot. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Raving. |
| LORD MELTON: | I doubt he'll live through the journey |
| (GRUNTS) |
| LORD MELTON: | But at least his death won't be on my head, or on my family. |
| LIEUTENANT WALLACE: | Yes, My Lord. Where are we sending him? |
| (DRAMATIC MUSIC) (HORSE WHINNIES) (MOANS) |
|
|
| (MOANS) |
| CLAIRE: | No |
| (BREATHING HEAVILY) |
| FRANK: | They're taking their sweet time. |
| (MOANING) |
| FRANK: | I'm here, I'm here. It's all right. Shh. |
| CLAIRE: | Oh oh |
| FRANK: | Breathe. |
| CLAIRE: | Oh. |
| CLAIRE: | It's all right. (PANTING) It's perfectly normal. I'm glad I missed you with that ashtray. |
| FRANK: | (CHUCKLES) Your aim was spot on, it was my cat-like reflexes that saved me. |
| CLAIRE: | Mm. |
| DR. THORNE: | Good evening, Mr. and Mrs., uh, Randall. I'm Dr. Thorne. I'll be your attending physician this evening. |
| FRANK: | Where's Dr. Bell? |
| DR. THORNE: | Uh, he was unavailable. I left a message with his service. Stay calm, do exactly as I tell you when I tell you to do it, and all will be well. There's no reason to panic. |
| CLAIRE: | I'm not panicking. |
| DR. THORNE: | How far apart are her contractions? |
| FRANK: | Um, I'm not sure. |
| CLAIRE: | Three minutes. |
| DR. THORNE: | First child? |
| FRANK: | Yes. |
| CLAIRE: | No. No, I-I had a miscarriage about a year ago. |
| DR. THORNE: | Of course. That does complicate things a bit. Higher risk factors for both mother and child. Well, I think it's time we got your wife into delivery, Mr. Randall. Give her a kiss and I'll take charge of her from here. You'll be fine. |
| (DOOR OPENS, CLOSES) |
| CLAIRE: | I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the miscarriage. |
| FRANK: | None of that matters now. Just promise me one thing. Try not to throw an ashtray at that doctor. |
| CLAIRE: | (BOTH CHUCKLE) I can't promise that. |
| (GROANING) |
| CLAIRE: | Ooh |
| FRANK: | Shh. |
| (DOOR OPENS) |
| FRANK: | God, I wish I could be there. |
| CLAIRE: | No, you don't. Trust me. |
| FRANK: | I'll be waiting, okay? No matter how long. |
| (GROANS) |
| DR. THORNE: | Off you go, Mr. Randall. The father's waiting room is down the hall and to the left. Just follow the smell of cigarettes and flop sweat. |
| FRANK: | (GROANS) Claire I love you. |
|
|
| (EXHALES) |
| CLAIRE: | Ooh oh |
| (MOANING) |
| CLAIRE: | Mm oh |
| (GROANING) |
| ANESTHESIOLOGIST: | Don't worry, Mrs. Randall, you won't feel a thing. And when you wake up, you'll be a mother. |
| CLAIRE: | Wait, no. I don't want to be put under. |
| DR. THORNE: | Nurse Watkins, if you'd be so kind? Now, now, Mrs. Randall, all is well. Well, you needn't worry your pretty little head - about anything. |
| CLAIRE: | Please. Don't tell me what I need. I'm perfectly capable of deciding how I want my baby delivered. I just Oh! Oh! What was that? |
| DR. THORNE: | Just something to calm you down. Good night, Mrs. Randall. Leave everything to us. |
| CLAIRE: | (WHISPERS) You bastard. |
| (SOMBER MUSIC) |
|
|
| JAMIE: | Ohh |
| (VOICE ECHOES) |
| JENNY: | Jamie? Jamie! Jamie, can you hear me? Jamie, can ye speak? |
| JAMIE: | (WHEEZY BREATHING) Am (WHEEZING) am I dead? |
| JENNY: | Ye've come home to Lallybroch. |
| JAMIE: | (SOFT MUSIC) Lallybroch. |
| IAN: | I can't believe you're really home, brother. |
| (SWEEPING ORCHESTRATION) |
|
|
| CLAIRE: | (SOFT GROAN) Oh. Where's my baby? (WHIMPERS) Where is my baby? |
| NURSE: | Ah, Mrs. Randall, you're awake. |
| CLAIRE: | Where's my baby? Where's my baby? Is it dead? |
| NURSE: | Shh. This way, Mr. Randall. |
| FRANK: | Claire. Claire. |
| (GASPS) |
| FRANK: | It's all right. Here she is. |
| CLAIRE: | (GASPS) Oh! (BABY FUSSING) Shh Oh. |
| FRANK: | There she is. It's a baby girl. |
| CLAIRE: | (LAUGHS) Ooh. (BABY FUSSING) |
| FRANK: | She's all right. She's perfect, Claire. |
| CLAIRE: | Oh, you are so beautiful. |
| FRANK: | Just like her mother. |
| CLAIRE: | Frank I've been so horrid to you. |
| FRANK: | No, no, no. Forget all about that. This is all that truly matters now. |
| CLAIRE: | (SNIFFLES) Yes. |
| FRANK: | (CHUCKLES) Yes. It's going to be all right. We're gonna be all right. I promise. |
| CLAIRE: | Maybe this right here really can be a new beginning. |
| FRANK: | Yes. For all of us. |
| CLAIRE: | Yes. Let's make it so. |
| FRANK: | I love you. |
| NURSE: | What a beautiful little angel. |
| CLAIRE: | Thank you. |
| NURSE: | Where'd she get the red hair? |
| (SOMBER CHORDS) |
