This is my first attempt of actually posting something I have written, and quite nervous about the reception of it. I would like to thank Maggie Finson, Morpheus, and many other authors for inspiring me. I would like to also thank all the people who kindly offered their services for editing, and proof reading, and words of encouragement. Finally I would like to thank djkauf for editing this for me. I guess I should state that this a work of fiction and similarities to people living or dead is a coincidence, it also has been inspired by Diane Galbaldon’s series of books and all rights to this story are reserved by me.

I can remember it clearly, as if it was yesterday; maybe it was, it is so hard to tell. Honestly I really can’t say anymore, but I do remember my other life, it wasn’t one of the best, but I am sure it was better than some. My name was Ian MacPherson, a soon to be sixty year old man and my tale starts out on a decision to visit Scotland for my sixtieth birthday. I didn’t plan to visit anyone in particular, although I did have cousins living there, but we never had much contact each other than through my parents and theirs and visits when I was much younger. The aunts and uncles I had known were gone, and so are my parents. I am pretty sure they and I would have found a visit by an American cousin rather awkward. So I decided to do the tourist visit, seeing the famous landmarks and such that I had enjoyed so much in years past.

Ironically I found myself on my sixtieth birthday at the battlefield of Culloden, which was fought on April 16 in 1746, only I was here on that date 269 years later. I remembered clearly my first visit here; I was eight and my uncle filled my young head with all the legends of Bonnie Prince Charlie, the ’45 rebellion and the last stand of the Highland Clans. I stood there remembering the past, and looked out over the moor from the location of where the Highlanders formed their line. I swore I could hear the shouts and cries of wounded and dying men, the thundering of cannons, the volley of musket fire, and the mournful wail of bagpipes. Perhaps the veil between future and past was thin that day, maybe it was an over active imagination. Whatever it was, I would have insisted that I had heard it. I had often wondered how history would have changed had Charles Edward Stuart regained the throne, would history have been better? Or would the outcome of world history be worse.

I glanced at my watch and noticed the time and if I wanted to be in Aberdeen by night fall I needed to get moving. It was getting late in afternoon as it was, and I still wasn’t comfortable driving in Scotland so I knew time was of the essence as I would be overly cautious on my drive across the moors.

Well, just to say I didn’t make it to Aberdeen that night would have been an understatement, because this was the time where my previous life and my new life became intertwined for a brief moment. As I dawdled along on the way to Aberdeen, somehow, and I can’t remember how it happened, I soon found myself lost on a small road not the well-traveled A96. Being stubborn, I wasn’t going to turn around; my male ego just wouldn’t allow it. I figured I would find something that would point me in the right direction. As I drove along I found a sign mentioning Inverurie; stopping I glanced at my road map and found I could pick up A96 there and hopefully still find myself in Aberdeen before night fall. I had always believed that somewhere one of my ancestors truly had pissed someone or something off, because my typical luck reared its ugly head, and the car started to sputter, cough and finally die. I was coasting slightly downhill so I pulled over, and cursed every one of my ancestors, not knowing who to blame. I figured I would have better luck finding a farm somewhere between here, where ever here was, and Inverurie, and started hiking down the road in that direction.

As the afternoon started drawing to a close and what my mother used to call the gloaming appeared, I noticed lights off the road in the distance to the right. I hoped I would find a farm there that might have a phone. So I left the road, climbed a stone wall and started across the moor in the direction of the lights. I soon found myself on a dark moor with a thick mist rising. I found myself stumbling across the moor unable to see more than an arm’s length in front of me. Strangely enough I found myself, from what I could see in the thick mist, in what appeared to be a stone circle. I could make out the shadows of standing stones in the mist and with the recumbent stone which was in front of me having a slight glow and emanating a slight humming noise. As I approached the stone, I heard what seemed to be whispering voices coming from somewhere outside the circle in the mist. As I turned toward the sound preparing to challenge the sound, I tripped over something buried in the gorse of the moor and found myself falling toward the recumbent stone. My head struck the stone, and as I felt myself slipping away into darkness I heard the whispering stop.

How long I was unconscious, I can’t say, other than it was daylight when I opened my eyes. As I tried to sit up, a feeling of dizziness started and I found myself collapsing back on to the ground, not wanting to move. I closed my eyes, due to the bright sunlit morning sky. I felt around my head for an injury, from when I hit the stone and I felt a somewhat sticky mess on the right side of my head, but there was something else different. I continued to feel around my head, and it seemed that I had more hair than I should. I had always kept my hair fairly long, but this was longer than usual. If my hair had changed, what else had? I forced my eyes open despite the glare of the sun tilted my head forward, and looked down towards my feet and noticed my chest had a noticeable change. I had grown breasts!

I blinked, making sure I wasn’t seeing things. Yes, they were breasts, but they seemed constrained by a green woolen jacket. I also noticed there was an ornate silver brooch with a large mounted topaz in the center holding something together. Looking beyond my latest additions I could make out the tips of black leather shoes, peeping out of what appeared to be a dress or skirt that seemed to be made up of beige woolen cloth and something made of a white cotton or linen under that. I decided I needed to stand up. Fighting a bit of dizziness and nausea, I was pretty positive I had a slight concussion, but I knew I couldn’t stay out here. For if I passed out again I could possibly die, I knew I needed treatment and I was going to have to find help myself. I gathered my new wardrobe in one hand and forced myself to my knees, the dizziness tried to overwhelm me but I fought it and stood up.

Fighting the dizziness I decided against all reason to discover what other changes had happened; some of which I was afraid to find out judging by what I had already seen. I seemed shorter, but I wasn’t sure, as there was nothing to gage against that I could compare to. My arms and hands, from what I could see, were definitely a lot more slender than I could recall, my legs were covered by the skirt and my feet were incased in the shoes. I put my hand to my chest and felt mounds of flesh that were encased in the jacket. Under the jacket I felt something stiff and realized it was probably a corset and it was uncomfortable and pushing against my breasts forcing them up. I raised the skirt and my legs, which seemed slender, were encased in what appeared to be black stockings made of fine wool and held up by tied garters, around my thighs. I raised it a little higher reached under with my free hand and was shocked to find out my gender change was complete. I was surprised there wasn’t anything like underwear other than the thin cotton gown under the woolen skirt and the stockings. The basic shock of finding out I wasn’t me anymore brought about another bout of dizziness and I felt myself slipping away again. I fought against it and lowered the skirt and took in the rest of my wardrobe, noticing a disheveled red cape with green and blue stripes. It was belted together with a black leather belt just under my new breasts and pinned together with the ornate silver brooch. When I straightened it out it practically covered me like a coat. Lastly tied to the belt was a leather pouch which curiosity, despite the dizziness, bade me to open. Inside was a small sheathed knife which I recognized right away as a sighn dubh which was used for eating and perhaps protection. Also, I saw a sprig of white heather and several gold and silver coins; whoever I was now wasn’t poor.

All in all I looked like I was ready for the Ren Faire. I looked around to get my bearings, and didn’t see the stone wall I remembered or the road. I couldn’t find the farmhouse whose lights took me away from the road, basically figured out from the layout of the stone circle where I entered and headed back in that direction hoping to find my car, answers and help. I staggered across the moor, struggling with the overabundance of clothes; long hair falling into my face, dizziness and the dull throb of a headache. I did find what looked like it was supposed to be the road, but it wasn’t paved any longer and it wasn’t much larger than a cart path. Just then for some reason an old movie phrase popped into my head and I found myself saying out loud “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”