All language subtitles for Outlander.S03E01.STRiFE.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

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Previously...

The Battle of Culloden will happen...
today.

Just as history foretold.

And we must go now.

You promised me that if it came to this,

you would go back through
the stones, back home...

you and the bairn.

My name is William Grey,
second son of Viscount Melton.

I'm afraid I'm not prepared to kill ye.

I owe you my life.

- I'm pregnant.
- No.

It's Jamie's.

I've been offered a post at Harvard.

- Boston?
- Yes.

I want us to be together.

We will raise this child as our own...

yours and mine.

I cannot share you with another man.

- You must let him go.
- I know.

I accept your conditions.

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_

Bring that block over there.

Uhh!

Take a knife.

- Sergeant?
- Yes, sir.

Oh!

Uhh...

Ah!

Ah!

Aah!

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.

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...

Then we will have them, sir.

- The time is now.
- Aye.

Sire, give the command to charge

while there is still a chance.

Uhh!

Yah!

Aah!

- Aah!
- Uhh!

- Uhh!
- Ah!

Ah... uhh!

Uh... uhh!

- Uhh!
- Ooh...

And where've ye been?

Enjoying a wee whisky?

Aah!

Ye're welcome.

And the Lallybroch men are safe home.

Aah!

Uhh!

Aah!

Red hot, boys, all along the line!

Fire!

Fire!

Fire!

Aah!

Ah!

- Gah!
- Aah!

Ooh... uhh!

Yah!

Oh!

Ahh!

Ah...

Ah!

Ah... uhh!

Ah... ah!

Are you alive?

Jamie, are ye alive, man?

Dunno...

Quiet.

There's redcoats still about,

and they're killin' the
wounded where they lie.

- Can ye stand?
- No.

Let me be.

Let me be.

I'm not gonna leave
ye to die in the mud.

Even if ye are a pig-headed
loon who canna hold his whisky.

Drink you under the table.

Get out, ye ken?

(orchestration continues dramatically ♪

Are you sure we can afford all this?

Mm, it's a little tight, but...

You've always said you
wanted a real home.

It certainly is real.

All this space just for the two of us.

Soon to be three.

Yes.

The history professor's
study, I presume?

Well, maybe.

The study can be

wherever the lady of the house desires.

Well, the lady of the
house desires it thus.

The kitchen, where, presumably,
the lady of the house

will be rustling up various
appetizing dishes and...

"Rustling"?

That's what they say in America.

"I mean to rustle me up some vittles."

Well, I wouldn't get your
hopes up too high, partner.

Ha. I'm a little out of
practice these days.

Hey.

I will be happy with whatever you make.

Oh! Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

Like some help with that?

Oh, no, I-I'm good. Thank you.

Now just you never mind.

Here.

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.

I can manage, really.

Well, of course you can manage, my dear,

but why should you when
you can have help?

Millie Nelson.

Claire Randall.

Where did you learn to do that?

My uncle taught me how to cook

over the campfire.

Sounds dirty. All that ash and soot.

Actually, it gives the food a
really lovely, smoky flavor.

Well, your husband must like it.

That's all that matters, I suppose.

Yes.

Well... I hope so.

Oh... so you're just
gonna spring it on him.

He likes surprises, does he?

Not really.

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.

Hey, now there's an idea.

No, actually, I think
Frank will really like

something different for a change.

He's very progressive.

Very... open-minded.

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.

There, slowly.

Mm...

So... do we run for it?

I'm no' running anywhere.

Barely a man here can stand.

If ye can go, Rupert, then go.

Dinna linger on our account.

No. I'll bide.

For one thing, the British are
still thick as lice out there.

Aye. 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.

Claire, darling, we need
to leave in 20 minutes.

Coming, Frank.

Got to look pretty when
you meet the boss.

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.
- 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.

Oh, well, you're alone in
that sentiment, Professor.

Certainly, the press believes that his
defeat in November is all but assured.

Perhaps I prefer it to
believing we're doomed

to the presidency of Thomas Dewey.

Well, I read a piece just last week

that said the president
actually has more support

than it appears.

I beg your pardon?

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.

Ha. "A column in 'The Globe.'"

Professor Randall, you're gonna
have to pay closer attention

to your wife's reading habits.

She keeps reading "The Globe,"
the next thing you know,

she'll be trying to get
women into Harvard Law.

Harvard Medical

enrolled female students
three years ago.

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.

Past experience has shown

few women succeed as physicians.

Dean Jackson, I don't
believe I mentioned

my wife was a combat nurse

with Royal Army Medical
Corps during the war.

Really? Oh, well.

Very patriotic, Mrs. Randall,

"pitching in in time of crisis"
and that sort of thing.

But I'm sure you were happy

to resume more important and, um...

fitting domestic concerns for a lady

with the conclusion of the war.

Yes.

I'm very happy.

Of course you are.

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...

- You all right?
- Hmm?

You're very quiet.

I'm fine.

Murtagh.

Murtagh...

Aye.

Wha... what happened to Murtagh?

I dinna ken.

Any word on Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser?

I lost sight of him in the fight.

I hope to God he's already dead.

Private! You two, check on the back.

Right away, sir.

Christ.

I am Lord Melton.

Rupert MacKenzie, of Leoch.

And others late of the forces
of His Majesty, King James.

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?

No, My Lord.

Traitors all.

Shall we be hanged, then?

You will be shot.

Like soldiers.

Thank you, My Lord.

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.

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.

That's the last of the
bacon, I'm afraid.

I'll go down to the market
later this afternoon.

All right. Did you sleep well?

It's a little hard to get
comfortable these days.

I've got it.

I've said it before and
I'll say it again.

These are an abomination.

Well, that's how they drink it here.

Mm-hmm.

It doesn't even smell
like tea after weeks

of sitting in these...
little paper diapers.

There is coffee if you'd rather.

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?

I suppose not.

Well, I'm not sure I'll ever understand
the American obsession with the new.

Like everything has to be new, new, new.

Well... that's one of the
reasons I like this country.

- It's young...
- Mmm, thank you.

It's eager.

It's constantly looking
towards the future.

You know, I've been thinking.

Will you pass me some toast?

Thanks.

I'd like to apply for citizenship.

Really?

Well, I've lived all over the world,

and I've never really had

a strong attachment to England.

And I-I want our child
to have a-a real home.

Our child...

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.

It's just something I want to do.

Well, there's no need.

My employment provides us both
with residency indefinitely.

That's not what this is about.

No.

It's not what this is about.

It's about that.

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.

- I'm sorry.
- Don't walk away, Claire.

It is time we dealt
with this like adults.

As opposed to the way that
I've been dealing with it?

Please stop! Stop...

And talk to me.

And say what, Frank?

What is it that you want from me?

I want to know when
you're going to come back

from the fucking past!

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.

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.

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.

Well, I'm not the one who's
been fucking other people.

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.

I never thought otherwise.

Go... or stay.

But please...

do it because it's what
you really want to do.

Reload!

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.

His Grace has specifically
directed that there be

no exceptions made on account of age.

I'm sorry.

Hey, hey. Steady now, lads... hey?

It'll be over soon.

Chin up, okay?

All right.

Names?

Giles... McMartin.

Frederick MacBean.

Oh.

Do you want me to write a
letter for you, Jamie?

Something to yer family, perhaps?

No.

No, no.

Let it be.

What about yer wife?

What about Claire?

She's gone.

Where did she go?

Does any man wish to be next?

Aye.

I'll take my leave of ye now, Jamie.

I'll see you again soon.

Gordon Killick.

I'm glad ye're awake.

I didna want to say farewell

while you snored and
farted in yer sleep.

You always snored louder
than any man I ever heard.

Eh, folk always blamed me fer it, but...

Angus was the one who snored.

Huh.

It'll be good to see him again.

Be good to see the two of you together.

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.

Reload.

Does any man wish to be next?

Aye.

Rupert Thomas Alexander MacKenzie.

I mean to set a quick
pace, so try to keep up.

Next.

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.

Frank?

Claire.

What is it?

My waters have broken.

All right.

Uh, I'll warm up the car.

The ambulatory wounded have
all been executed, My Lord.

We'll have to carry the rest out.

Have the Corporal of the Guard
select stretcher bearers.

Yes, My Lord.

Are they to be shot laying down...

Prop them up, certainly.

Good Lord.

No man in the king's custody

shall be shot lying down on my watch.

Not even traitors.

Yes, My Lord.

Sorry, My Lord.

You men who are unable to walk

shall be carried outside
to face your sentence.

Does any man wish to go first?

Aye. Aye.

Aye, get this over with.

Name?

James...

Alexander...

Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser...

Of Broch Tuarach.

Fraser?

Are you the Jacobite
known as "Red Jamie"?

I've been called that by my enemies.

God's blood.

Does any other man wish to go next?

Aye. I'll go.

Does the name John Grey
mean anything to you?

Listen to me!

Grey. John William Grey.

Do you know that name?

Look.

Either shoot me...

or go away.

Near Corrieyairack.

A boy, about 16.

You encountered him in the wood.

Aye.

Aye, the one that...

tried to kill me while
I was taking a pish.

I broke his arm, I recall.

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?

Aye, he promised to kill me.

But I dinna mind if you do it for him.

He said he owed you a debt of honor.

Present... fire!

My Lord?

This is a deuce of a situation, Wallace.

This Jacobite scum is "Red Jamie."

The one on the broadsheets?

The same. 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?

No. This filthy wretch spared
my youngest brother's life,

thus incurring a bloody great
debt of honor upon my family.

I see.

So you can't give him
to His Grace after all.

I can't even shoot the bastard.

Not without discrediting
my brother's sworn word.

I winna tell if you dinna.

Perhaps we could shoot him...

under an alias.

Present... fire!

It will be dark in three hours.

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.

Yes, My Lord. And, uh,

what about the prisoner, My Lord?

What about him?

He's too weak to crawl, let alone run.

He's not going anywhere.

At least not until the wagon gets here.

I don't want to go anywhere.

I want to be shot.

Raving.

I doubt he'll live
through the journey...

But at least his death
won't be on my head,

or on my family.

Yes, My Lord.

Where are we sending him?

No...

They're taking their sweet time.

I'm here, I'm here.

- It's all right. Shh.
- Oh... oh...

- Breathe.
- Oh. It's all right.

It's perfectly normal.

I'm glad I missed you with that ashtray.

Your aim was spot on, it was my
cat-like reflexes that saved me.

Mm.

Good evening, Mr. and Mrs.,

uh, Randall. I'm Dr. Thorne.

I'll be your attending
physician this evening.

- Where's Dr. Bell?
- 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.

I'm not panicking. I...

How far apart are her contractions?

Um, I'm not sure.

- Three minutes.
- First child?

- Yes.
- No.

No, I-I had a miscarriage...

about a year ago.

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.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you
about the miscarriage.

None of that matters now.

Just promise me one thing.

Try not to throw an
ashtray at that doctor.

I can't promise that.

- Ooh...
- Shh.

God, I wish I could be there.

No, you don't. Trust me.

I'll be waiting, okay?
No matter how long.

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.

Claire...

I love you.

Ooh... oh...

Mm... oh...

Don't worry, Mrs. Randall,
you won't feel a thing.

And when you wake up,
you'll be a mother.

Wait, no. I don't want to be put under.

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.
- 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?

Just something to calm you down.

Good night, Mrs. Randall.

Leave everything to us.

You bastard.

Ohh...

Jamie?

Jamie!

Jamie, can you hear me?

Jamie, can ye speak?

Am...

am I dead?

Ye've come home... to Lallybroch.

Lallybroch.

I can't believe you're
really home, brother.

Oh. Where's my baby?

- Where is my baby?
- Ah, Mrs. Randall, you're awake.

Where's my baby?

Where's my baby?

Is it dead?

- Shh.
- This way, Mr. Randall.

Claire. Claire.

It's all right.

- Here she is.
- Oh!

Shh...

Oh. There she is.

It's a baby girl.

Ooh.

She's all right.

She's perfect, Claire.

Oh, you are so beautiful.

Just like her mother.

Frank...

I've been so horrid to you.

No, no, no.

Forget all about that.

This is all that truly matters now.

Yes.

Yes.

It's going to be all right.

We're gonna be all right.

I promise.

Maybe this right here...

really can be a new beginning.

Yes.

- For all of us.
- Yes.

Let's make it so.

I love you.

What a beautiful little angel.

Thank you.

Where'd she get the red hair?

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