All language subtitles for Outlander - 1x01 - Sassenach.480p.WEB-DL.UAR.en

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
in 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.

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.

I 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?

I do know this: 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 Skye.

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 Skye.

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 that
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
such 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, um...

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

Yes.

"The earth went over Odhran'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
to begin 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.

Well, 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?

Well,
I think it's fair to say Mrs, uh...

Mrs Baird will be kept appraised
of any renewed attempt to start a family.

- 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.

I don't believe it.
What are you doing?

We'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'd've often found
a 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.
- Ah, yes. Very thoughtful.

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, from what I can gather,

Castle Leoch was the ancestral home

of the... Laird of the Mackenzie clan

until midway through the 19th century.

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. Intelligence.

Overseeing spies
and running covert operations.

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

- Really?
- Mm.

I would say that's probably a hearth.

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.

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 him.
- 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.

Yes, I was beginning to wonder.

It appears "Black Jack" commanded
the garrison at Fort William

for... 4 years or so.

Seems to've 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."

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 is... this person here...

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.

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

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

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.

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...
'tis a bit different for a woman.

To be polite about it?

Your husband isn't 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
've 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!

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...

- I 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.

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.

But what I didn't know at the time

was that Tomorrow
would prove less important...

than Yesterday.

Jesus h. 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!

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...

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.

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, uh...

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 or...

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 if 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 everything would work out.

That reminds me, I, um...

I want to set an alarm.

Mm-mm, no.

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.

So, according to local folklore,

these stones were carried here
from Africa

by a race of Celtic giants.

I wasn't aware that
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.

I was an unwelcome voyeur

to something ancient and powerful.

Wait for me.

I've forgotten something.
I'll be here in a minute.

Claire, someone's coming.

Come on.

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.

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?

What is his name?

- Frank.
- Frank what?

Frank Beauchamp. He's a teacher.

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

Trobhad!

- What?
- Trobhad!

Who are you?

Where are we going?
Where are we go...

- Take your men over there!
- Help m...!

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 ye, 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

- did 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'd.
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.

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

Hurts bad enough sitting still.
I couldn't 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.

This is the worst part.

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 2 or 3 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 ye.

- Can ye 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 yerself up.

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

And should ye try anything else,
I shall slit your throat for ye.

Do you understand me?

Gimme yer foot.

Give it to me.

Careful. What are you trying to do?

I'll get my plaid loose to cover ye.

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?

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.

Trobhad!

You see up there?

I know this place.

Been through here before, have ye?

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 yer way?

I hope you haven't been
misusing that shoulder.

You're hurt.

This lot is'n' my blood.

No 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
yer 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, ye 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.

Easy now.

Gunshot wound.

The idiot could have said something.

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, yes. Yes.

Here ye go.

Welcome back.

- I'm all right, just a wee bit dizzy.
- You're not all right.

Can't you tell
how badly 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.

Your husband should
tan your hide for ye, 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 ye.

We've 15 miles to go yet.

Five hours at least, if no seven.

We'll stay long enough for ye
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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