All language subtitles for Outlander.S01E01.HDTV.x264-2HD

People disappear all the time.

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.

Most are found eventually.

Disappearances, after
all, have explanations.

Usually.

Strange, the things you remember.

Single images and feelings

that stay with you down through the years.

Like the moment I realized
I'd never owned a vase.

That I'd never lived any place

long enough to justify
having such a simple thing.

And how at that moment,

I wanted nothing so much in all the world

as to have a vase of my very own.

It was a Tuesday afternoon.

Six months after the end of the war.

Oh, God! Oh, God!

Hold him! Hold him right now! You hear me?

Jesus!

Here, quickly!

Doctor, doctor!

I'll have to clamp the femoral
artery before he bleeds out.

It's all right, Jackie boy.
You're going home, mate.

You're going home.

Oh, my God!

- Oh, Jesus.
- Move!

We've got him now, Nurse.

Scalpel.

Claire! Did you hear? It's over!

It's really finally over!

Somehow in my mind, V.E. day,

the end of the bloodiest

and most terrible war in human history,

grows fainter with each passing day.

But I can still recall
every detail of the day

when I saw the life I
wanted sitting in a window.

Sometimes wonder what would've happened

if I'd bought that vase
and made a home for it.

Would that have changed things?

Would I have been happy? Who can say?

Even now, after all the pain

and death and heartbreak that followed,

I still would make the same choice.

♪ Sing me a song of
a lass that is gone ♪

♪ say, could that lass be I ♪

♪ merry of soul she sailed on a day ♪

♪ over the sea to Sky ♪

♪ billow and breeze,
islands and seas, ♪

♪ mountains of rain and sun ♪

♪ all that was good,
all that was fair ♪

♪ all that was me is gone ♪

♪ sing me a song of
a lass that is gone ♪

♪ say, could that lass be I ♪

♪ merry of soul she sailed on a day ♪

♪ over the sea ♪

♪ to Sky... ♪

- Synced and corrected by Retrojex -
- www.addic7ed.com -

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.

I think we both felt a holiday
would be a convenient masquerade

for the real business of getting to know

the people we'd become
after five years apart.

- What do you suppose that is?
- Huh?

Oh, good Lord. Blood.

You sure?

Think I should know the
look of blood by now.

There's a stain just like
it on the house next door.

There's two more over there.

We seem to be surrounded
by homes marked with blood.

Perhaps pharaoh has refused Moses,

and the spirit of death

will travel the streets
of Inverness tonight,

sparing only those who mark
their doors with lamb's blood.

Well, you may be closer than you think.

Could well be some sort
of sacrificial ritual,

but I suspect Pagan rather than Hebrew.

I had no idea Inverness

was a hotbed of contemporary paganism.

Oh, my dear, there's no place on earth

with more magic and superstition

mixed into its daily life
than the Scottish islands.

Hm. Shall we?

Lead on.

The blood you saw is
that of a black cockerel.

It's an old custom at this time of year

to make such a sacrifice
to honor Saint Odhran.

Ah, Odhran.

He was sainted in the...
The eighth century?

You know your history.

I'm afraid my husband is
a historian, Mrs. Baird.

He'd quite happily stand
here holding forth for hours

- if you encourage him.
- Hardly.

Highland folklore is
far from my speciality,

but am I right in thinking there's...

Isn't there an old saying
associated with Saint Odhran?

Yes.

"The earth went over Odhrain's eyes."

He, um... he was buried alive, voluntarily.

Charming.

Are you a professor, then, Mr. Randall?

I will be soon.

He's accepted a post at
Oxford beginning in two weeks.

Ah, then this is a last holiday

before settling down to
workaday life again, is it?

Well, you've picked a
Bonnie time to be here.

Just nigh on Samhain.

I take it that's Gaelic for "Halloween"?

Well, Halloween is derived from Samhain.

The church often took Pagan holidays,

renamed them for their own purposes.

Samhain became Halloween,
Yule became Christmas, so on.

Well, you're both welcome
at the festival, of course.

Mind you, ghosts are
freed on the feast days.

They'll be wandering about,

free to do good or ill as they please.

Of course, what would Halloween, Samhain,

be without a good ghost story?

Oh, and we have those, for sure.

I'll show you to your room.

Before the war we were inseparable.

But for the next five years,

we saw each other a
grand total of ten days.

It's not without its charms.

Beats an army tent and a cot in the mud.

Indeed.

When the war ended, we both
thought things would return

to the way they once were, but they hadn't.

Gosh.

So much for marital privacy.

Do you think the sound carries?

Um...

I think it's fair to say
Mrs. Baird will be kept

appraised of any renewed
attempt to start a family.

Ahem.

- Lazybones.
- Hmm?

You'll never manage the next
branch in your family tree

if you don't show more industry than that.

Oh, really?

What are you doing?

Come on.

Mrs. Randall, what am I to do with you?

Right.

What are you doing?

You're gonna break the bed.

You know, one of those things
I used to try and remember,

lying in my cot was the
sound of my husband's laugh.

I couldn't conjure it no matter what I did.

Couldn't hear it, even though I'd heard it

a million times before.

It's the strangest thing.

I know.

I used to, um...

I used to sketch this.

- My hand?
- Mm-hmm.

Well, the lines, really.

Why, exactly, I'm not sure,

but I had a very clear memory
of this... this pattern.

Made little doodles everywhere.

There was, um...

A brigadier once dressed
me down because I drew it

in the margin of a report for the minister.

Yeah.

Claire.

Shh.

Happy?

Yes.

Frank's passion for History

was another reason for
choosing the Highlands.

You see up there?

Up on top there, that's Cocknammon rock.

And in the 17th and 18th centuries,

you would have often found
British army patrol up there

lying in wait for Scottish
rebels and brigands.

Can you see how it commands the
high ground in every direction?

It was a perfect position for an ambush.

Not that I minded.

I was raised by my Uncle
after the death of my parents.

- Uncle Lamb was an archaeologist.
- Ah, yes.

So I'd spent the balance
of my formative years

traipsing through dusty ruins,

and various excavations
throughout the world.

I had learned to dig
latrines and boil water,

and do a number of other things

not suitable for a young
lady of gentle birth.

Uncle.

Oh, yes. The very thought.

Frank's newfound passion was genealogy.

His personal genealogy, that is.

Mine was botany.

I'd developed a keen interest

in the use of plants and
herbs for medicinal purposes.

So what I can gather,

Castle Leoch was the ancestral home

of the laird of the MacKenzie clan

until midway through
the nineteenth century.

Hmm.

Here, take a look.

In a way, burying himself
in the distant past

gave Frank an ability to escape the recent.

While I was in the army,

Frank had served in London in Intelligence,

overseeing spies and
running covert operations.

See, I think this
might've been the kitchen.

- Really?
- Mm.

I would tell that's probably a hearth.

Yeah.

Strange.

I have no evidence that my
ancestor visited this castle,

but it was within his
operational sphere, so...

It's just possible

that he walked these very halls.

He'd sent dozens of men behind
the lines on secret missions.

And most never came back.

He didn't talk about it very often,

but I knew it preyed on him.

It won't open.

Oh, come on.

Three, two, one.

What do you think this was used for?

From the lack of proper
lighting and ventilation,

I would say...

Province of the castle hermit?

Perhaps a troll or two.

I don't think trolls live in pairs.

Solitary creatures, they.

More's the pity.

All this...

And no one to share it with.

You'll get dirty.

You can give me a bath.

Why, Mrs. Randall,

I do believe you've left
your undergarments at home.

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes, I found hir.

Oh, indeed. Let's have a look.

"Him"?

- Is it... is it Walter?
- No, darling, Jonathan.

Jonathan Wolverton Randall. Finally.

Captain of dragoons in the British army

- and your direct ancestor.
- Exactly.

Otherwise known as "Black
Jack," a rather dashing nickname

that he probably acquired
while he was stationed here

in the 1740s.

The reverend has found a
series of army dispatches

that mention the captain by name.

- Oh, how exciting.
- Mm. It is.

Good to see all your sleuthing
over the past week has paid off.

Hmm.

Yes, I was beginning to wonder.

It appears black Jack

commanded the Garrison at fort William

for four years or so.

Seems to have spent quite a bit of his time

harassing the Scottish countryside

on behalf of the crown.

Well, he was hardly alone in that endeavor.

The English were deeply unpopular

throughout the Highlands
in the 18th century.

Well into the 20th, it would seem.

I distinctly heard the
barman in the pub last night

refer to us as "Sassenachs."

Well, I hope you didn't take offense.

It only means "englishman," after all.

Or at worst, "outlander."

Mm.

I've brought you a wee bit
of refreshment, gentlemen.

I brought but the two cups,

for I thought perhaps Mrs. Randall

might care to join me in the kitchen...

Yes.

- Yes, absolutely.
- Thank you.

See you later.

This person here...

Mm.

Ah, it's been so long since
I've had a good cup of oolong.

Aye.

I couldn't get it during the war.

It's best for the readings, though.

Oh, I had a terrible
time with that Earl grey.

The leaves fall apart so fast

it's hard to tell anything at all.

So you read tea leaves, then?

Like my grandmother taught me.

And her grandmother before that.

Drink up your cup. Let's
see what we've got there.

Well?

Am I going to meet a tall, dark stranger

- and take a trip across the sea?
- Could be.

Or could not.

Everything in it's contradictory.

There's a curved leaf,
which indicates a journey,

but it's crossed by a broken one,

- which means staying put.
- Hmm.

And there are strangers there,
to be sure. Several of them.

And one of them's your husband,
if I read the leaves aright.

Show me your hand, Dear.

Odd.

Most hands have a likeness to them.

There are patterns, you know?

But...

This is a pattern I've not seen before.

Oh.

The large thumb, now, means
that you're strong-minded

and you've a will not easily crossed.

And this is your mount of Venus.

In a man, it means he likes the Lasses.

But it is a bit different for a woman.

To be polite about it,

your husband isna likely
to stray far from your bed.

The lifeline's interrupted,

all bits and pieces.

The marriage line's divided.

Means two marriages.

But...

Most divided lines are broken.

Yours is...

Forked.

I suspect your ancestor had a patron.

A prominent and powerful
man who could protect him

from the censure of his superiors.

Possibly, but it would have to
have been someone very high up

in the hierarchy of the day to
exert that kind of influence.

The Duke of Sandringham.

- The Duke of Sandringham.
- No, no, no.

Hold on, wasn't sandringham
a suspected jacobite himself?

Aye, you know, I believe you're right.

And the Duke died under
very suspicious circumstances

just before the battle of...

None of that, none of that.

Stand away before you
do some permanent damage.

We're getting somewhere at last.

I'm really glad to hear it,

but I think I shall take my leave.

Oh, so soon?

Yes, I, uh... feel a bath is in order.

Aye, of course.

Well, I hope you'll join us
for Samhain tomorrow night.

What, the pagan festival?

Reverend Wakefield, you do astonish me.

Well, I love a good ghost story

as much as the next fellow.

Right.

Take your time, darling.

But do try to get home
before the storm breaks.

I will.

Mm.

I'd never put any stock in superstition.

And my catholicism was nominal at best.

However, I couldn't shake the feeling

that Mrs. Graham's words
had the ring of prophecy.

The war had taught me
to cherish the present

because tomorrow might
not ever come to pass.

What I didn't know at the time
was that tomorrow would prove

less important than yesterday.

Jesus *** Roosevelt Christ.

Excuse me.

Can I help you with something?

Frank, I was hoping to
have the whole place lit up

by the time you got back.

Darling?

What's the matter?

Frank.

Hmm?

You look like you've seen a ghost.

I'm not at all sure that I haven't.

When he pushed past me,
he was close enough that

I should have felt him brush
my sleeve as he passed, but I...

I didn't.

And then I turned around to say something,

and he'd gone.

He just vanished.

That's when I felt a chill down my spine.

Hmm.

Did you have many scots in
your charge during the war?

Yes. Was quite a few.

There was one in particular.

He was a Piper in the third seaforths.

He couldn't stand being
stuck with a needle.

Was...

Right.

What is it, exactly,

that you're asking me, Frank?

When I saw that chap staring up at you,

I thought he might be someone you'd nursed.

Someone who might be looking for you now.

To reconnect.

To "reconnect?"

It wouldn't be unusual.

It wouldn't be surprising if you'd...

Sought some comfort.

Are you asking me...

- If I've been unfaithful?
- Claire...

Is that what you think of me, Frank?

No, darling, no. No.

All I meant was that even if you had,

it would make no difference to me.

I love you, and nothing you could ever do

could stop my loving you.

Forgive me. I...

Forgive me?

Of course.

Sex was our bridge back to one another.

The one place where we always met.

Whatever obstacles presented themselves

during the day or night,

we could seek out and find
each other again in bed.

As long as we had that,

I had faith that everything would work out.

That reminds me, I, um...

I want to set an alarm.

- Mm-mm,
no. - Mm?

I thought we weren't
setting alarms on this trip.

I want to see the witches.

Must I ask?

Apparently there's a
circle of standing stones

on a hill just outside the village,

and there's a local group who
still observe rituals there.

Well, they're not actually witches.

This lot are meant to be druids.

Sadly I don't think they'll be
a coven of devil worshippers.

Well, it's a pity.

Can't imagine anything I'd rather do.

Liar.

Where will we be watching this spectacle?

A place called Craigh na Dun.

Mm-hmm.

So according to local folklore,

these stones were carried here from Africa

by a race of Celtic giants.

I wasn't aware that the celts
made a lot of trips to Africa.

Only the giant ones.

Is that Inverness?

Yes, it must be.

Someone's coming.

Is that Mrs. Graham?

I think it is.

The reverend's housekeeper's a witch.

Not a witch. A druid, remember?

They should have been ridiculous.

And perhaps they were.

Parading in circles on top of a hill.

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.

Hm.

Wait for me.

I'm caught on something.
I'll be there in a minute.

Claire.

Someone's coming.

Come on.
- Shh.

We should go.

What have you got there?

Mm, I'm looking for that plant.

I think it's a Forget
Me Not, but I'm not sure.

Why don't you pop back and get it?

I was considering it.

Would you care to go with me?

Oh, darling, I'd love to,

but I've got an appointment
with the reverend.

He found a box of materials last night.

Bills of sale from Black
Jack's quartermaster.

That sounds terribly exciting.

You're laughing at me.

Never.

Shall I meet you for dinner later?

Yes.

- Love you.
- Love you.

Come here.

Once, traveling at night,

I fell asleep in the
passenger seat of a moving car.

Lulled by the noise and the motion

into an illusion of serene weightlessness.

Then the driver took a bridge too fast.

And I woke to see the world

spinning outside the car windows,

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.

What?

When confronted with the impossible,

the rational mind will
grope for the logical.

Perhaps I had stumbled onto
the set of a cinema company

filming a costume drama of some sort.

Aah!

But there was no logical reason

for actors to fire live ammunition.

Frank?

What the devil are you doing?

You're not Frank.

No, madam, I'm not.

Who the bloody hell are you?

I'm Jonathan Randall, esquire.

Captain of his majesty's eighth dragoons.

At your service.

Who are you?

My husband's expecting me.

He'll come looking for me if
I'm not back in ten minutes.

Your husband. What's his name?

- Ah!
- What is his name?

Frank.

Frank what?

Frank Beauchamp. He's a teacher.

Well, it's a pleasure to
meet you, Mrs. Beauchamp,

a teacher's wife.

You must think me the fool.

You'll be well advised to tell me

exactly who you are and why you are here.

Madam, you will find my
patience is not infinite.

Get off me, you bastard.

Ah, the speech of a lady.

The language of a whore.

I choose the whore.

Druid!

- What?
- Druid!

Who are you?

Where are we going? Where are we go

Take your men over here!

He...

I wanted it to be a dream,
but I knew it wasn't.

If nothing else, my erstwhile
savior fairly reeked of Odors

too foul to be part of any
dream I was likely to conjure up.

Let's have a look at you, then, lass.

I trust you're able to see me now.

What's your name?

I decided to continue using my maiden name.

If they intended to ransom me,

I didn't want to lead them back to Frank.

Claire. Claire Beauchamp.

Claire Beauchamp.

That's right. And just what
the hell do you think you're

- you said you found her?
- Aye.

She was having words with a
certain Captain of dragoons

with whom we are acquaint'.

There seemed to be some
question as to whether

the lady was or was not a whore.

And what was the lady's
position in this discussion?

I am not.

We could put it to the test.

I don't hold with rape.

And we've not the time for it, anyway.

Dougal, I've no idea
what she might be or who,

but I'll stake my best
shot she's no a whore.

We'll puzzle it out later.

We've got a good distance to go tonight.

And we must do something about Jamie first.

Escape was my chief concern.
But I had no idea where I was.

And trying to find the road

back to Inverness in the gathering darkness

felt like a fool's errand.

Out o' joint, poor bugger.

You can't ride with it
like that, can you, lad?

Hurts bad enough sitting still.

I couldna manage a horse.

I don't mean to be leaving him behind.

There's no help for it, then.

I'll have to force the joint back.

Aye.

The wisest course of action would have been

to keep my head down,
my mouth shut, and wait

for the search parties Frank
must have called out by now.

Here, lad.

Hold him.

Don't you dare!

Stand aside at once.

You'll break his arm
if you do it like that.

You have to get the bone of the upper arm

in the correct position before
it slips back into joint.

Hold him steady.

Ah...

This is the worst part.

Gah!

Bah!

It doesn't hurt anymore.

It will.

It will be tender for about a week.

You'll need a sling.

You.

Fetch me a long piece of cloth or a belt.

"Fetch me," she says.

Do you hear that, lads?

Give her your belt.

Taking a guess you've done this before.

I'm a nurse.

Aye. Not a wet nurse.

He mustn't move the joint
for two or three days.

When you begin to use it
again, go very slowly at first.

Stop at once if it hurts.

And use warm compresses on it daily.

All right. How does that feel?

Better. Thank you.

- Can you ride?
- Aye.

Good. We're leaving.

Where is it?

Where's the city? Should
be visible from here.

Inverness?

You're looking straight at it.

There were no electric lights
as far as the eye could see,

so as much as my rational
mind rebelled against the idea,

I knew in my heart I was no
longer in the 20th century.

Get yourself up.

You be sure to stay
close to the rest of us.

And should you try anything else,

I shall slit your throat for you.

Do you understand me?

Gimme your foot.

Give it to me.

Careful. What are you trying to do?

I'll get my plaid loose to cover you.

You're shivering.

Thank you, but I'm fine, really.

You're shaking so hard
it's making my teeth rattle.

The plaid'll keep us both warm,

but I canna do it one-handed.

Can you reach?

Ah.

Don't want you to freeze before sunup.

Sunup?

You mean we'll be riding all night?

All night.

And the next one too, I reckon.

A fine time of year for a ride, though.

Druid.

You see up there?

I know this place.

Been through here before, have you?

Yes.

The 17th and 18th centuries,

you'd have often found a
British army patrol up there.

I recognize that rock.

The one that looks like a cock's tail.

It has a name.

Cocknammon rock.

The English, they...
they used it for ambushes.

They could be lying in wait right now.

It's a Bonnie place for
an ambush, right enough.

Dougal.

Dougal. Dougal.

Now, you'll be telling me exactly

how and why you come to know
there's an ambush up ahead.

I don't know, but I heard the
redcoats use Cocknammon rock...

Where did you hear?

In the village.

Hide yourself!

Lost your way?

I hope you haven't been
misusing that shoulder.

You're hurt.

This lot isna my blood.

Not much of it, anyway.

Dougal and the others will be waiting

further up the stream.

We should go.

- I'm not going with you.
- Yes, you are.

What, are you going to
cut my throat if I don't?

Why no?

But...

You don't look that heavy.

Now if you won't walk,

I shall pick you up and
throw you over my shoulder.

Do you want me to do that?

No.

Well, then...

I suppose that means your coming with me.

Serves you right.

Probably torn your muscles
as well as bruising.

Well, wasna much of a choice.

If I dinna move my shoulder,

I'd never have moved
anything else ever again.

I can handle a single
redcoat with one hand.

Maybe even two.

Not three.

Besides, you can fix it for me again

when we get to where we're going.

That's what you think.

Here's to you, lass.

For tipping us to the villains in the rocks

and giving us a wee bit o' fun!

Have a wee nip.

It willna fill your belly,

but will make you forget you're hungry.

Stop!

Help! He's going over!

Help me get him up.

Come on.

Lift. Take it easy.

Gunshot wound.

The idiot could have said something.

It's a clean exit.

I think the round's gone
straight through the muscle.

I don't think it's serious,
but he's lost a lot of blood.

It'll need to be disinfected
before I can dress it properly.

Disinfect?

Yes, it must be cleaned of
dirt to protect it from germs.

Germs?

Just get me some iodine.

Merthiolate?

Alcohol?

Oh. Oh, yes. Yes.

Here you go.

Welcome back.

I'm all right, just a wee bit dizzy.

You're not all right.

Can you tell how bad you were bleeding?

You're lucky you're not dead.

Brawling and fighting and
throwing yourself off horses.

Right, I need a sterile
bandage and some clean cloth.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

Hold still.

Easy.

All right. Lift him up.

Come on, you goddamn bloody bastard.

I've never heard a woman
use such language in my life.

Hm. Your husband should tan
your hide for you, woman.

St. Paul says, "let a woman be silent..."

You can mind your own bloody
business, and so can St. Paul.

And if you move so much as a single muscle

while I'm tying this bandage,
I will bloody throttle you.

Ah. Threats, is it?

And after I shared my drink with you.

We've 15 miles to go yet.

Five hours at least, if not seven.

We'll stay long enough for
you to stem the bleeding

and dress his wound, no more than that.

He needs rest.

Did you hear me?

Randall.

The officer you... you encountered.

He won't give up so easily.

He commands the redcoats hereabouts.

He'll have sent patrols out
in every direction by now.

I canna stay here long.

You know Randall?

Black Jack Randall, that is?

Aye.

I won't risk you or anyone else

being taken prisoner by that man.

If ye canna fix me up well enough to ride,

you'll be leaving me
here with a loaded pistol,

so I may determine my own fate.

Might've well told me you were shot

before you fell off the horse.

Didn't hurt much at the time.

Does it hurt now?

Aye.

Good.

That's about all I can
do. The rest is up to you.

Thank you, Sassenach.

Truly.

All right, well, on your horse, soldier.

Castle Leoch.

I'd been here with Frank two days ago.

Or was that in the future?

How could I remember something
that hadn't happened yet?

So far I'd been assaulted, threatened,

kidnapped, and nearly raped.

And somehow, I knew that my
journey had only just begun.

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