Who doesn't love Outlander? No, really. This story is going to be made up of long chapters and short chapters and in all honesty, I don't have an ending planned out yet so who knows where this will go? Hope you like it, though!
I don't know what made me think it would be a good idea to take my horse along on vacation, but once the thought was in my head, I was determined to see it through. I knew for a fact my step-father could handle the expense and I'd managed to convince him that it would somehow be safer for me to wander the Scottish Highlands on the back of my horse than on foot alone.
Besides, I would be leaving at the end of the month to go abroad for school and there was talk of selling my horse. Naturally, I had very little say in the matter and so I was determined to spend as much time as possible with my chocolate stallion and try not to be outraged about his being sold.
I'm not sure if you know how many Rocky Mountain horses are running around England, but it's really not many. Perks of being the step-child of an ostentatiously rich man, you can have a specific horse imported. And throw a big enough fit that no one would allow for him to be gelded. And thus, Dauntless.
"Hey, boy," I murmured, slipping into my horse's rented stall. We were in Inverness and I wanted to take advantage of my free time in order to explore a local legend. "D'you think it's true?" I asked him, kissing him gently on the nose. Fortunately, Dauntless was used to my affections.
He didn't answer me of course, just nickered softly and turned his head, asking in his horsey way for pets.
"I don't put any stock in it," I assured him, rubbing his neck in his favorite spot. "But still, it'll be fun to check it out. And I want to take some pictures."
Without further conversation, I saddled Dauntless and led him out of the stable, deciding to forgo my helmet, even if it meant my mother would kill me. If they were going to get rid of my horse, I was going to do whatever the hell I wanted while I still had him.
"All right, Dauntless," I hoisted myself into the saddle. "Let's see your single-foot."
And then, quite simply, I was off to Craigh na Dun to explore the site where Claire Randall mysteriously disappeared seventy years ago and then reappeared, three years later. The innkeeper I'd talked to that morning told me some of the stories that still existed from that incident. Some argued that Mrs. Randall had been kidnapped, brainwashed, and abused by a wild Highlander. In the end, they say Claire managed to escape and fight her way free, returning to the site of her abduction. Others, more critical of Claire's character, said she rendezvoused with a Highland lover and after three years, had a falling out and returned to her husband. But what intrigued me was the superstitions of the Druids. They believed that somehow, impossibly, Claire had traveled through time.
There really wasn't much more to go on from that last story which is probably why I was so intrigued. I'd heard of bizarre things before but never had the opportunity to investigate for myself. Well, now the opportunity had arisen and I was determined to seize it. Did I believe the story myself? No, but it seemed more possible the closer I got to Craigh na Dun.