Between Jamie Fraser and Brianna MacKenzie and Roger MacKenzie and Fergus Fraser and Marsali Fraser and Lord John Grey as parent-child.
The autumn leaves crinkled underfoot as Brianna MacKenzie made her way to the mailbox, a morning chore that had become as much a part of her routine as lighting the hearth or tending to Jemmy. The crisp air of North Carolina was a stark contrast to the evergreen memories of the Scottish Highlands, but it was here, in this unforgiving New World landscape, that her family had planted its roots.
Today, however, the mundane act of retrieving the post bore the weight of the world. Amongst the usual stack of letters and correspondences sat a peculiar envelope, its edges slightly yellowed with age, bearing a wax seal that caught the morning light— the Fraser stag, proud and unyielding. Her heart caught in her throat; it was a symbol she'd grown up with, one that signified home, history, and blood. But the script that accompanied it was from a hand unknown, spilling across the paper with an urgent flourish that belied the calm of the rising sun.
With tentative fingers, Brianna peeled back the seal and unfolded the contents. The letter was cryptic, with only a few lines written in a style that spoke of another time, another place:
To those who bear the Fraser blood in times to come,
Aid is sought for he who has fathered nations.
A reckoning of past deeds awaits in the land of mist and memory.
The thread of fate frays; only kin can bind it once more.
—A Friend of the Ridge
It was enough to send shivers down her spine—the past was reaching out, touching the present in ways she couldn't comprehend. Brianna MacKenzie, engineer and daughter of time's greatest paradox, was no stranger to the impossible. Yet, this felt different, substantial, as if the very air around her hummed with the ghosts of an unfinished chapter. There was but one person she knew who could help her decipher the riddle—Roger MacKenzie, her husband, historian, and fellow time-traveler.
Roger's reaction to the letter was one of scholarly intrigue mixed with a protective reservation. "Brianna, the past is a dangerous place for those like us. We've found a life here... a good one." His eyes were earnest, but she could see the ember of adventure alight in their depths. "I know," she whispered, "but if someone related to us is reaching across time..." she trailed off. "We must at least consider the possibility that we're needed."
The decision was not made lightly. The two of them, along with Fergus Fraser—Jamie's adopted son—and his wife Marsali, gathered in the close quarters of Brianna's home. Fergus, with his one hand splayed across the table, offered a Gallic shrug. "Some debts cannot be settled with the passing of time," he remarked, his accent thick as the tension in the room.
Marsali, ever pragmatic, chimed in with a furrowed brow, "But what of the bairns? We cannot ask them to shoulder the burdens of our history." Her concern was valid; they all bore the responsibilities of parenthood, of shaping a future untainted by the errors and trials of their predecessors.
It was then, when doubt and duty clashed with the yearning for understanding, that the true journey began. Lord John Grey, a figure from Jamie's past and a man of noble honor, arrived unannounced, as if by providence, with his own pieces of the puzzle. His presence, both unsettling and reassuring, provided the catalyst they hadn't known they were searching for.
"I am afraid the matter involves our mutual acquaintance, James Fraser," Lord John announced, the familiar blue of his coat a contrast to the rustic interior. "And it is with a heavy heart that I must relay the urgency of this summons."
It was decided by dusk; they would journey back to Scotland, back to the stones that had witnessed so much of their tale. As night fell and they each retired with their own thoughts, Brianna lingered a moment longer in the hearth's glow. Jamie's legacy was not just etched in the annals of history; it was woven into the very soul of his kin. And she, Brianna MacKenzie, born of two worlds, was the keeper of its flame—a flame that now threatened to be extinguished unless they dared to venture into the tides of time, once more.