Outlander follows Claire Randall, a nurse zapped back to 18th century Scotland. There she falls for young Highlander, Jamie Fraser. Outlander dives into love, war, loyalty and time travel. Claire and Jamie tackle their relationship amid a dangerous political mess. It is like a history lesson, but with more kilts and less boring stuff.

Meet the villains from Outlander

Horrocks

Okay, Horrocks — petty little redcoat with a taste for small cruelties, the sort who tightens a strap just to watch someone flinch. He’s smug, officious, and somehow always in the right place to ruin someone’s day, but also weirdly proud of his uniform like it’s his personality (which it kind of is). There’s a streak of cowardice under that swagger, and you can almost see him practicing a threatening phrase in a mirror. Honestly, he’s the kind of villain you love to hate because he’s so reliably obnoxious.

Richard Brown

Richard Brown reads like a stiff, entitled landed type who thinks rules are for other people — polished manners, shallow charm, zero empathy. He keeps up appearances at all costs (crisp coats, proper bow), but there’s a rotten core of self-interest that slips out in the worst moments. He’s boring in the way the worst bullies are boring: predictable cruelty disguised as decorum. I swear he probably collects monogrammed handkerchiefs and bad decisions.

Geneva Dunsany

Geneva is that glittering socialite with a smile like a weapon — flirty, fashionable, and occasionally petty, but not deep in any honest way. She’s manipulative in a soft-lipped, silken kind of manner, more inclined to gossip and social damage than outright violence (though she can be poisonous, subtly). There’s an air of performance about her, like she’s always auditioning for a better life or a new admirer. Also, random thought: she’d absolutely own a ridiculous hat that everybody pretends not to notice.

Le Comte St. Germain

The Comte is all lacquered charm and cultured menace — suave, erudite, and unnervingly inscrutable, like a person who reads too many philosophies for comfort. He’s the kind of aristocrat who slips dagger-edges under velvet gloves; you’re never sure if he’s an ally, a patron, or plotting something elegiacally cruel. Loves salons, obscure wines, and saying things that sound profound while probably being sinister. Honestly he gives “I have a secret” energy nonstop.

Duke Of Sandringham

Duke of Sandringham is pure entitled aristocracy — pompous, vain, and convinced his station excuses his worst impulses. He has a booming laugh and a taste for spectacle (horses, hunting, overblown dinners), but he’s also petty and vindictive when someone crosses him. There’s a layer of hypocrisy so thick you could slice it, though he’ll smile and clink a glass like nothing’s wrong. Also, he probably says “my dear” with suspicious frequency.

Laoghaire MacKenzie

Laoghaire is a tornado of jealousy and hurt, messy in the best soap-opera way — furious, wounded, and disastrously reactive, but not just a cartoon villain; she’s heartbreak in human form. She oscillates between spiteful schemes and flashes of genuine vulnerability, which makes her unpredictable (and tragically human). Sometimes she seems petty and loud, other times you catch a glimpse of someone who was never given a happy ending and it’s awful. Oh, and she absolutely keeps some ridiculous talisman or charm that she swears works.

Geillis Duncan

Geillis is fire and fascination — brilliant, unnerving, and intoxicating, like someone who reads the stars and makes them do her bidding. She’s charismatic and dangerously clever, convinced she’s right even when that rightness involves downright dark decisions. There’s a manic streak under her calm scholarly surface, and she can be both warm and terrifying in the same breath. Also she probably hums old songs while stirring dubious potions, because of course she does.

Lionel Brown

Lionel Brown feels like Richard Brown’s younger, squeakier echo — spoiled, cowardly, always trying to mimic confidence and failing spectacularly. He’s petulant and self-important but cracks under pressure (usually with a high, surprised sort of squeal), which makes him more laughable than fearsome. Still, he’s useful as a twerp antagonist who ratchets up social awkwardness and petty harm. I imagine him fussing with gloves he doesn’t need and looking offended when things get real.

Stephen Bonnet

Oh man, Stephen Bonnet is deliciously awful — charming as a fox and twice as murderous, swaggering with tattoos and terrible jokes while doing horrible things. He’s a criminal with a grin, utterly amoral, and frighteningly skilled at using charm as a weapon; you never know when his smile will turn into violence. There’s a seductive unpredictability to him that makes him the worst kind of thrilling antagonist. Also, for no reason, I feel like he whistles sea shanties when he’s alone — creepy but fitting.

Captain Jack Randall

Captain Jack Randall is the nightmare in uniform — refined, icy, and sadistic with a polished cruelty that’s memorably chilling. He’s obsessively cruel (like, Jason Bourne-level fixation but in a much worse way), hides horrible impulses behind manners, and takes a perverse pleasure in breaking people’s wills. There’s an elegant, almost cultured veneer — he sings hymns quietly, wears immaculate boots, and then does something monstrous — which makes him all the scarier. No subtlety: he’s the kind of villain you loathe and can’t stop thinking about.