I'm Sent To Fetch Ye

by ColleenD

Summary:

Okay, this beast has taken on a whole new direction from the one-shot it started off as. I will keep writing on this as long as my muse inspires me. I am open to suggestions and ideas. I am following the series but I have read the first two books (and intend to plow through the rest) so I may work in some ideas from those. I will try to work chronologically but I am following my muse so we will have to see where she takes me. Over time I may reorder the chapters as I can and I will probably rename the work once I come up with something more fitting.

Based on the series written by Ronald D. Moore, original story by Diana Gabaldon (their words in italics).

Chapter 1: Samhain

Notes:

A/N: This chapter takes us back to the very beginning. Series written by Ronald D. Moore (S1E1), Toni Graphia (S2E13), original story by Diana Gabaldon (their words in italics).

“It’s just nigh on Samhain,” Mrs. Baird told the young couple with a twinkle in her eye, “You're both welcome at the festival, of course. Mind you,” she teased, “ghosts are freed on the feast days. They'll be wandering about, free to do good or ill as they please.”

“Of course,” said Claire with a smile, “what would Halloween, Samhain, be without a good ghost story?”

……….oOo……….

It had been two hundred years.  Exactly the two hundred years he had said he would wait.   

“I'll find you. I promise,” he swore to her that fateful day in 1746 at Craig Na Dun, before sending her back through the stones, back to Frank, “If I have to endure two hundred years of purgatory... two hundred years without you, then that is my punishment that I have earned for my crimes.”

Now, with the feast of Samhain approaching he was able to return, even if it was only as a ghost.  Would anyone be able to see him?  Would she see him or sense he was there?  She would not yet know him at this time - Samhain, 1946, just before she came to him.  But their souls were so intertwined that surely she must feel something, shouldn’t she?  It didn’t matter though, at least he would get to see her.

He walked the streets of Inverness but no one seemed to notice him.  He knew she was supposed to be here but he didn’t know where she was to be found.  He wandered through the town looking at everyone, man or woman, in an attempt to find her. 

Claire, he would know by the way that she walked or the tilt of her head or the swing of her arms if he could not see her face.  His mind could recollect everything about her – every detail, every feature, every movement.  He closed his eyes and sighed at the thought.

Frank he knew as well.  Claire had told him that her first husband was the spitting image of Captain Jack Randall and that was a man Jamie Fraser, try as he might, would never forget.  The irony was not lost on him, that the man he had entrusted with the care of his two most precious possessions bore the face of his most loathsome enemy.  It was a bitter pill.

He had determined that his own appearance was that of himself at an age corresponding to Claire’s age at this time.  He was wearing his traditional highlander attire which would have made him look and feel quite out of place here in the twentieth century if he had not already discovered that no one could see him.  No one could touch him either.  People walking toward him would not step aside, they just strode right through him.  Conveniently, this, the ultimate in anonymity, allowed him to observe his surroundings without being seen himself. 

There were many curious things in the twentieth century.   Motorcars for one, Claire had told him about them of course, but he never imagined how fearsome they could be.  The first one he saw came speeding down the road toward him.  Forgetting he was merely a phantasm, he jumped out of the way lest he get struck by it. 

Then there were the airplanes she had described.  At least he assumed that’s what those things were that made a loud noise and flew across the sky without any flapping of wings. 

He spent hours searching through Inverness to no avail until finally he saw it: the storefront with the blue and white porcelain vases on display.  ‘Farrell’s General Store’ was the name of the establishment.  She had told him about that display and her thoughts about owning a vase. 

“Strange, the things you remember,” she had said, “Single images and feelings that stay with you down through the years. Like the moment I realized I'd never owned a vase.  I can still recall every detail of the day when I saw the life I wanted sitting in a window.”

This was it then.  She would pass by this shop today and look at the vases in the window.  Jamie went into the store and stood behind the thin gauze curtain that separated the window display from the rest of the shop.  He would stand there all day if necessary and wait for her to walk by. 

While keeping watch there, as the hours passed, he would occasionally glance around the shop.  Being a general store it sold all manner of things from food and clothes to tools and books.  Every once in a while a patron would walk right through him while browsing the shop’s wares, reminding him of his current lack of tangibility.

Late in the morning an older woman with a young boy came into the store.  Jamie could hear her talking to the wife of the proprietor behind the counter as he watched out the window for Claire. 

“Good morning Mrs. Farrell,” said the woman.

“Good morning to ye too, Mrs. Graham,” was the reply, “And how is young Master Wakefield today?” the proprietress said, leaning over the counter to address the child who could not have been much older than five years. 

“I am very well, thank ye, Mrs. Farrell,” was the boy’s clear and deliberate reply.

“Och, such the young gentleman,” said Mrs. Farrell.  Turning back to the older lady she asked, “What can I do for ye today, Mrs. Graham?”

“I need to get some Oolong tea,” she answered.

“Oh do ye, now,” said Mrs. Farrell with a knowing grin.

“Aye,” replied Mrs. Graham, smiling, “I need it for the readings, you ken.”

At that moment Jamie was distracted by the sudden appearance of a strange two wheeled contraption that sped down the street just outside the window.  A lad was balanced atop it in a similar fashion to riding a horse.  The up and down motion of his legs seemed to provide the propulsion.  ‘Oh!’ thought he with a smile, ‘This must be the thing Claire called a bicycle!’ 

His attention was called back inside the store when he heard Mrs. Graham ask Mrs. Farrell, “Will you be at Craig Na Dun Thursday morning for the ritual?  It is Samhain, don’t forget.”

“Och, aye, I’ll be there,” was the reply.  Jamie realized that they must be speaking of the druid ritual Claire witnessed the morning before she went through the stones. 

Mrs. Farrell excused herself to get the tea.  The lady bent down to speak to the boy, “You wait right here while I go fetch the sugar to make the biscuits.”

The lad nodded enthusiastically in reply.  While his guardian was gone the extremely well behaved laddie looked around the shop, eyeing all the new items on display.  When his eyes fell upon Jamie they stopped.  The boy cocked his head and stared at the tall red headed Scotsman. 

Instinctively, Jamie smiled at the boy.  A broad smile broke across the lad’s face in return.  Then Jamie remembered that he was supposed to be invisible.  He glanced around quickly to see if there was someone else the boy might be grinning at.  There was no one.  How was it that this boy saw him when no one else did? 

By this time the two ladies had returned and Mrs. Graham paid for her purchases.  Turning to leave she said to the boy, “Come Roger, it is time to go.”

Roger, who had been staring at the highlander the whole time, lifted a hand and waved goodbye.  Still in shock at the boy’s acknowledgement of him, Jamie waved back.  Finally, young Master Wakefield turned and followed Mrs. Graham out of the store. 

‘Roger,’ thought Jamie looking after the boy.  He closed his eyes and chuckled as it dawned on him, ‘Roger Wakefield! Of course!’

……….oOo……….

Claire walked down High Street in Inverness on her way back to Mrs. Baird’s Inn.  She was going to freshen up and change her clothes and then meet Frank at the pub for drinks later that evening. 

As she approached Farrell’s General Store she was inexplicably drawn toward the window display.  It showed a myriad of blue and white ceramic vases.  The display was backed by a cream colored gauzy curtain.  For some reason her heart rate started to quicken and her eyes attempted to focus on something seemingly beyond the curtain but to no avail.  She could not see anything there.  Trying to understand why she had felt so compelled to look in the window she contemplated the vases and how and why she did not herself own one. 

‘I'd never lived any place long enough to justify having such a simple thing,’ was the excuse she gave herself. 

Then that strange feeling that brought her to the storefront gave her the sudden desire to obtain what was in there and she thought at that moment, ‘I wanted nothing so much in all the world as to have a vase of my very own,’ for she was convinced the feeling must have had something to do with the vases. 

She turned around to survey the scene behind her as she contemplated whether to enter the shop or not.  Catching the time on the clock tower, however, she realized she must hurry if she was to meet Frank on time. 

……….oOo……….

Jamie stood transfixed, staring at Claire through the window.  When she first approached the glass she seemed to focus on him behind the curtain and then her gaze fell to the display of vases.  She stood there in contemplation for a few minutes and then left.  Jamie exited the store and followed her. 

He instinctively kept his distance so as not to alert her to his presence.  He laughed at himself in chastisement when he remembered that he was a visitant and couldn’t be seen.  At the sound of his laughter, however, his quarry turned and looked back to where he was.  Not seeing anything, she shook her head and resumed her path.  He caught up to her quickly then, with his long strides, and was right behind her when she entered the inn. 

She was greeted cheerily by Mrs. Baird, “Good afternoon deary, how has your holiday been?  Will you and your husband be joining in the festivities this evening?”

“Yes, I am meeting him at Gellions Pub this evening so am here to freshen up.”

“Och, Gellions!  They always have the best music.  I’m sure ye’ll have a wonderful time.”

The mention of her husband gave Jamie pause.  In his euphoria over finally finding her, he had forgotten that she was married to someone else at this time.  He did not follow her to her room as he had originally intended. 

Stepping back outside he went and slumped down on the bench at the foot of the fountain that comprised the square across from the inn.  He had to wrap his mind around the fact that at this point in time Claire was not yet his.  She belonged to another man and if he remained here he was bound to see her happy and in love with that man – that man who wore the vile face his sworn enemy.  He reasoned with himself that he had asked for this.  He knew beforehand what he might see.  Of course, she would travel through the stones to him soon enough.  So he decided to remain and watch her from afar, resolving not to enter her… their bedchamber.  He did not wish to witness what he might see in that place. 

Knowing that she was to meet Frank at the local pub he rose and went there to wait for her. 

……….oOo……….

As he stepped into Gellions Pub he sorely wished he could have a drink of whiskey, but alas…

He wandered around looking at all the things that were new to him.  The most fascinating were the lights.  There were no fires, lanterns or candles whatsoever and yet the room was well lit.  Claire had told him about electricity and electric lights but this was his first time experiencing it. 

Another thing he noticed was the women’s attire – it was scandalous!  The men didn’t seem to dress that much differently from his time.  However, for the women it seemed that it was acceptable to expose shoulders, arms, and legs, and in some cases all three at the same time!  He remembered that Claire had tried to explain to him how this was considered acceptable in her time but for Jamie it was still a shock.  No wonder Claire had looked so scantily clad when she arrived in 1743.

He decided to go look behind the bar and see what new fandangled things he might find there. 

Well, it seemed that spirits were still sold in glass bottles and wooden kegs.  Two hundred years hadn’t made much of a difference in that regard. 

Then he heard it…  a strange shushing sound that seemed to only come when the barman stood in a certain location.  As Jamie approached the spot he saw what could only have been the one thing Claire had talked so often and so wistfully about – indoor plumbing!  At the turn of a simple knob the barman had a never ending supply of water instantly at his fingertips (literally) and the excess disappeared out of sight down a drain.  Wow!  And Claire had said you could have the water both cold and hot.  Sinks, bathtubs, even flushing privies, she had described to him. 

Now THAT was a testament to how much she had loved him.  She was willing to give up such a significant convenience and luxury to remain with him in the 18^th century.  That was true love!

Just then he heard a sound that never failed to make his heart soar – Claire’s laughter.  He pivoted and saw her walk through the pub door.  She was beautiful!  She turned and said something to the person behind her but Jamie was transfixed solely on her radiant face as she walked past the bar.

With longing adoration he said, “Sassenach!”

Her smile fell slightly and she turned and nodded at the barman who just so happened to be right next to Jamie.  Had she heard him and thought it was the barman labelling her as an outlander? 

Finally he noticed her companion – Randall – Frank, that is.  Jamie had to keep reminding himself.  Frank had his hand on the small of her back directing her toward a table.  They sat down together and ordered drinks.

The Reverend came and joined the couple for some time.  After he left, however, Jamie was forced to witness the intimacy between Claire and her first husband.  It didn’t seem to be anywhere near the level of intimacy he had had with her but it still caused him to seethe in jealous misery.  Jamie, the spectre, couldn’t even relieve his stress with drink nor land a punch on that smug Randall face.  He had to keep reminding himself that in just two days Claire would be with him in 1743.  He may be here reliving his adventure but hers was about to begin.

……….oOo……….

After following Claire - and Frank - around for the past day Jamie was happy that evening when he finally saw Claire leave Reverend Wakefield’s house alone.  While the couple was at the manse, the phantom Jamie had felt compelled to remain hidden outside so as not to be seen again by the young lad, Roger.  So when Claire emerged by herself Jamie had to step out from behind the bushes to trail after her. 

On her walk through the town she stopped again to look at the vases in the window at Farrell’s for a brief moment before returning to her room at Mrs. Baird’s.  From the fountain in the square just outside the inn Jamie had been able to determine which room was Claire’s.  He stood there looking up at the building waiting for any chance he might have to catch a glimpse of her. 

Storm clouds moved in as the sun was going down causing the sky to darken quickly.  As night drew on a heavy rain set in, thunder rumbled and lightning lit up the sky.  Confident that he could not be seen Jamie remained standing by the fountain.  No storm short of a hurricane could prevent him from basking in the nearness of his Claire.

A light came on in one of the windows of the inn and soon he saw Claire brushing her hair in a mirror.  This vision brought back so many fond memories for him creating such a flood of emotion that he had to place a hand on the brickwork next to him to steady himself. 

“Excuse me,” he heard a voice approaching behind him say, “Can I help you with something?”

That voice was Randall’s – Frank’s.  Jamie didn’t realize that Frank was talking to him until he arrived at his side.  He immediately turned away, brushed past Frank and disappeared.  Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, marking the end of the highlander’s Samhain sojourn on the earth. 

Notes:

A/N: I found out from trip advisor dot com that Gellions is the oldest pub in Inverness. Their website gellions dot com says they have been there since 1841.
Although the aluminum beer barrel was invented in 1933 after the end of prohibition in the United States (necessity IS the mother of invention: prohibition had put most coopers out of business hence the need for alternate means of storage and transport. Source: beer and brewing dot com), I am assuming they may not have been all that common in 1946 Inverness. Also, googling ‘1940s beer kegs’ results in images of wooden casks.

Chapter 2: Sassenach

Summary:

Jamie and Claire meet.

Murtagh had been separated from his charge during the chaos of the battle.  Although, he could hardly call James Fraser his ‘charge’ anymore.  The child whom he had sworn to protect had grown into a braw, intelligent young man and a formidable warrior. 

'The lad could probably even teach this old coot a thing or two,' Murtagh thought to himself. 

Now, Murtagh Fitzgibbons was more like a companion or even a servant to the young Laird of Lallybroch.  If that was the case, he was quite proud to serve the son of his best friend and the woman he had once loved. 

Murtagh spun in a circle listening to the sounds of the battle and scanning the forest for any sign of Jamie.  Maybe ‘bodyguard’ was a better description of the roll he felt himself to occupy.  He spied two redcoats who looked like they were in pursuit of someone and moved to follow them. 

When the British soldiers seemed to give up on their quarry and turned for the thick of the battle, Murtagh decided to continue on his current path toward the stream in hopes of finding Jamie. 

What he found instead was something else entirely. 

Distinctly he saw the red flash of a British officer’s coat at the bottom of a steep declivity descending to the stream.  He heard the accent of an English woman’s voice shouting, “Get off me, you bastard!”

Next, he could have sworn, he heard the sound of her spitting at the officer.  ‘I hope the lass got him square in the face,’ he thought.  Murtagh smiled, he liked this lass already.

However, his smile transformed into a scowl as he heard the voice that answered.  It was that of the notoriously vicious Captain of His Majesty’s 8^th Dragoons, Blackjack Randall. 

“Ah, the speech of a lady. The language of a whore. I choose the whore,” said Randall.

That did not bode well.  Murtagh didn’t have any idea who the woman was but no one deserved to be in that man’s clutches.  He swooped down from the ledge above them on which he had been lurking, knocking the Captain out. 

Murtagh turned to the woman dressed only in her shift.  Surprised by her appearance to see how far that scoundrel had gotten in his assault of her, he called, “Trobhad!” (Come!).

“What?” she said.

“Trobhad!” he said again, reaching out his hand.

She took it and followed him.  Still confused, she asked, “Who are you? Where are we going? Where are we go…”

She was cut off as Murtagh pulled her behind a tree to avoid more redcoats and put an end to her protests with a hand over her mouth.  Seeing that she was going to continue to be troublesome he used the hilt of his dirk to knock her out. 

Murtagh took the woman and hid until the fracas was over.  He found his horse, which thankfully was not far off.  With his captive? refugee? survivor? (he didn’t know what he should call her) he headed off to the band’s predetermined meeting place. 

The lass woke up just as they reached the cottage.  She did not seem to comprehend that he had actually rescued her as she acted hostile to him.  Throwing barbed insults at him including comments about his foul stench.  However, Murtagh realized that being an English woman in Scotland was probably confusing enough let alone having been attacked by an officer from her homeland yet rescued by a Scot.  Her suspicion was understandable.

Murtagh took her by the elbow and pushed her before him into the cottage.  Silence fell over the highlanders assembled inside and all stared at the scantily clad woman in their midst. 

Murtagh announced, “I found this caileag shassanach (English girl) near Craigh Na Dun.”

One of the other men named Rupert asked, “an do ghoid thu as a leapaidh, a bhalaich?” (did you steal her from her bed, lad?)

“Let's have a look at you, then, lass,” their leader, Dougal, said as he took her by the elbow and drew her closer to the light.

Sarcastically, she replied, “I trust you're able to see me now.”

Murtagh grinned and thought to himself, ‘Now there’s that brazen lassie who spat in Randall’s face.’

“What's your name?” Dougal asked.

“Claire,” the lass replied, “Claire Beauchamp.”

“Claire Beauchamp,” Dougal repeated.

“That's right,” the bold lassie pressed with indignance, “And just what the hell do you think you're- ”

Ignoring her, Dougal turned to Murtagh and said, “You said you found her?”

“Aye,” Murtagh replied, “She was having words with a certain Captain of dragoons with whom we are acquainted.”  He folded his arms across his chest, “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?” Dougal asked, turning to Claire.

Holding her head high she replied, with conviction, “I am not.”

“We could put it to the test,” Rupert offered with a leer.

Dougal turned and stared at him, “I don't hold with rape. And we've not the time for it, anyway.”

“Dougal,” Murtagh added with certainty, “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,” Dougal concluded, “We've got a good distance to go tonight. And we must do something about Jamie first.”

..........oOo..........

Jamie felt like the wind had been knocked out of him (for the second time that day) as soon as the brown haired lass walked into the cottage.  She was beautiful, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild, and a defiant glint in her eye.

She had such a proud bearing despite her lack of proper attire.  She even seemed fearless in her interaction with Dougal.  He was impressed.  Anyone who would even attempt to stand up to Clan MacKenzie’s war chieftain must be formidable indeed.  This woman was unique - a breath of fresh air.

Something instinctual made him stiffen and growl inwardly when he saw how the other men ogled her.  Claire was her name.  He felt a strong desire to stand in front of her, screening her scantily clad body from their view.  He may have actually done just that if his arm didn’t hurt so damn much.

He cringed at the reference to Jack Randall and was pleased that his good friend and lifelong companion, Murtagh, had rescued her from that evil bastard.  Now he had yet one more reason for wishing to kill the British officer.

He knew Rupert was only joking but he nearly leapt out of his chair, dislocated shoulder be damned, at the mention of putting her ‘to the test.’  He was beginning to feel quite protective of the Sassenach.

Having finished with Claire the men moved to Jamie to deal with his injury. 

“Out o' joint, poor bugger,” Dougal said with little sympathy, “You can't ride with it like that, can you, lad?”

“Hurts bad enough sitting still,” Jamie replied, “I couldna manage a horse.”

“I don't mean to be leaving him behind,” Dougal proclaimed.

“There's no help for it, then,” said Angus, “I'll have to force the joint back.”

“Aye,” replied Jamie with no little trepidation.  He did not have much faith that Angus actually knew what he was doing. 

Angus handed Jamie a bottle of whiskey, “Here, lad.”

“Taing dhut!” (Thank you!) said Jamie, taking the bottle as well as a long swig.

Angus had some of the other men gather around and told them to hold the lad.  Just as the highlander was about to force Jamie’s arm back into place, Claire realized his error.

She stepped closer and cried out, “Don't you dare!”

At her outburst the men instinctively drew their blades.

Jamie, however, was delighted to hear her speak out on his behalf, some level of concern obviously laced in her voice.  She came closer with the intent to intervene.

Undaunted, but with a measure of trepidation, Claire ordered, “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.”

Her commanding voice belied such a sense of knowledge and determination that Dougal merely nodded and backed away as did the others, allowing her access to the patient.

As soon as Claire touched his arm, Jamie winced in pain but remained still.  However, his eyes also flew wide at the electric sensation her touch sent through his entire body. 

Claire looked to Murtagh, who stood behind the patient and said, “Hold him steady.”  Murtagh braced himself and wrapped his arms firmly around the lad avoiding the injured shoulder.  

Jamie’s and Claire’s eyes locked.  They stared at each other for a moment.  She felt it too.

She nodded her preparedness at Jamie and he nodded in cooperation.  He felt at ease under her care and for some inexplicable reason, trusted her completely.

Jamie grimaced and hissed as Claire began to lift his arm, maneuvering it into the correct position. 

Looking him in the eye, she told him, “This is the worst part.”

Jamie nodded his understanding.

Claire lifted the arm and in a grinding of bone and sinew as well as gasps and grunts from Jamie, the joint popped back into place. 

He gasped.  “Taing Dhia!”(Thank God!) cried Jamie in immense relief.  Then with an amazed look at Claire he proclaimed, “It doesn't hurt anymore!”

Claire met his eye.  “It will,” she assured him, “It will be tender for about a week. You'll need a sling.”

“You,” she said, looking pointedly at Angus, “fetch me a long piece of cloth or - or a belt.”

“‘Fetch me,’ she says,” Angus chuckled in indignant offense, looking to the others for commiseration.  “Do you hear that, lads?”

“Give her your belt,” ordered Dougal in a serious monotone. 

Glaring at Dougal, Angus reluctantly complied.

Watching her work, Jamie said, “Taking a guess you've done this before.”

Claire nodded, “I'm a nurse.”

Looking pointedly at her chest, Jamie replied, “Aye.”

“Not a wet nurse,” Claire replied with annoyance.  She leaned close, wrapping her arms around him to secure his arm with the belt.  She was so close it was almost an embrace and Jamie trembled in restraint not to reach out and touch her.  Jamie closed his eyes when he smelled her intoxicating scent and breathed it in.

“He mustn't move the joint for two or three days,” she ordered, as she strapped the arm in place, “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,” Claire felt the need to ramble, being so close to the strong handsome highlander.  The connection she felt to him at their first touch was disconcerting to her.  She had never felt that way before.  Not even with Frank. 

When she was done with the buckle she stood up and said, “All right. How does that feel?”

“Better,” replied Jamie, “Thank ye.”

Claire nodded in return and they stared at each other again for another long moment.

“Can you ride?” asked Dougal.

“Aye,” replied the lad.

“Good,” said Dougal tossing him his coat, “We're leaving.”  With a nod toward Claire he added, “She’ll ride with you to help with the reins if you need it.”

Jamie stood and looked down appreciatively at Claire.  She looked away and swallowed nervously as she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for him.

As they stepped out of the cottage Claire looked in the direction of where Inverness should be and asked, “Where is it? Where's the city? It should be visible from here.”

“Inverness?” Jamie countered.  Nodding in the direction of Claire’s gaze, he said, “You're looking straight at it.”

Claire was somewhat shocked and hesitant.  There were no electric lights as far as the eye could see. So as much as her rational mind rebelled against the idea, she knew in her heart she was no longer in the 20th century.

Jamie sidled past her and went to mount his horse. 

Dougal stepped out the door next and came up behind Claire.

“Get yourself up,” he told her.  Then grabbing her arm and leaning in to whisper in her ear he said, “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.”  He helped her onto Jamie’s horse.

Claire was confused and upset again at being treated like a prisoner after the respect she seemed to garner for successfully resetting the dislocated shoulder.

As she settled in place in front of Jamie he started to fiddle with his plaid.

“Careful,” she said, concerned for his injured arm, “What are you trying to do?”

“I'll get my plaid loose to cover ye,” he offered, “You're shivering.”

“Thank you, but I'm fine, really,” she said, trying to brush off his kindness.

Jamie chuckled at her indignance.  The true leader in him took charge, knowing it was what they both needed, and diplomatically said, “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 ye reach?”

Claire reluctantly conceded and reached around to help.

Once they were wrapped up he said, “Ah. Seo a-nis (Here, now). Don't want you to freeze before sunup.”

“Sunup?” exclaimed Claire, “You mean we'll be riding all night?”

“All night,” he confirmed, “And the next one too, I reckon. A fine time of year for a ride, though.”

The leader of this motley band of Scottish warriors called, “Trobhad!” and they were on their way.

With the cold rain drizzling down on them Claire was skeptical that it was a ‘fine time of year for a ride.’  But she figured maybe it was just his sense of humor.  She was happy to have him, as opposed to any of the others, for a riding companion.  He was kind, caring, and charming (not to mention good looking) and made her feel at ease in this disconcerting situation.  She also couldn’t deny the connection she felt toward him when they first touched.  Maybe he could be a helpful friend in her pursuit to get back home.

Notes:

A/N: Scottish translations found at great scot blog (dot) com.

Chapter 3: The Road to Leoch

Claire woke with the back of her head pounding against something hard.  She blinked her eyes open to see the horse’s mane flapping in front of her.  The recollection of her situation struck her at that moment, and she gave a start. 

The words, “Woah, there lassie,” sounded as a gentle deep whisper in her ear, and a relative feeling of calm settled over her.   The strong, soothing arms that had held her on the horse as she slept tightened around her, and she settled back against his warmth.  ‘Jamie,’ she remembered; however, she did not know his surname and would feel more comfortable addressing him formally. 

Although she was pretty sure she was being kidnapped or held hostage by these Scots, her companion was kind and gentle to her.  Of course, she had mended his shoulder but his kindness went beyond gratefulness.  It just seemed to be his nature. 

“I’m sorry,” she said over her shoulder, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Dinna fash yerself,” he said kindly, “Ye need your rest.  My guess is ye had a rough day.”

“You could say that again,” scoffed Claire, “What time is it?”

Jamie squinted looking upwards.  He turned in his seat, trying to determine the location of the sun through the thick highland clouds. 

“I’d say about midmornin'.  We’ve got about another day’s ride ahead of us.”

Claire grunted and fidgeted in the saddle, her legs and feet numb from riding for so long.  It was a bittersweet torture to Jamie whenever she moved like that.  He greatly enjoyed the feel of her wedged between his thighs but it caused him to have an uncontrollable and embarrassing reaction.  He was pretty sure she had noticed because whenever it happened her squirming would stop abruptly.

“We’ll stop soon to water the horses,” Jamie preempted, “You’ll be able to stretch your legs then.  Not used to riding are ye.”

“No,” answered Claire.  She wished to add more, the highlander deserved more than one-word answers from her.  She determined upon something that was true and probably safe to say, “Not since spending time with my Uncle Lamb in Ireland did I ride so much.”

“Och, aye,” he said with a chuckle, “And ye probably spent your time riding in the proper manner of a lady, no doubt.”

Claire decided it was best not to correct him.  Her time with Uncle Lamb, traipsing around the world on archaeological digs, was rarely spent in ladylike pursuits.  She chuckled lightly thinking about that.

“What’s so funny?” asked her companion lightheartedly.

Caught off guard, she recovered quickly, and said with a touch of sadness, “Oh, I was just remembering some of the good times I had with my uncle.”

Catching her note of melancholy, Jamie perceptively asked, “Is your uncle no longer with us?”

“You could say that,” said Claire thoughtfully, “Yes, he is not with us.”

“I’m sorry,” condoled Jamie, “sounds like he cared a great deal for you.”

“Yes, he did,” she replied, “He was a good man.”

……….oOo……….

Jamie was thrilled that she was talking to him.  He could not deny the strong connection he felt toward her and he wanted to know more about her.  He had noticed the gold band on her left hand as she slept and his heart sank – she was married.  But then he reasoned with himself that she might be widowed as she seemed to have been traveling alone and had not mentioned a husband (or anyone else for that matter) who would be searching for her.  It was a terrible thing to hope for, so he pushed that thought aside. 

They stopped at a clearing by the stream to rest and water the horses.  Jamie hopped off the horse first and then helped Claire down with his good arm.  After getting himself a drink from the stream, Jamie watched as Claire took a drink and walked about, stretching her legs and back.  The others were all busy with the horses, but Jamie noticed Dougal watching her too.  The older man stood there with his thumbs tucked in his belt.  He eyed her up and down, lingering on her bare legs (as they all seemed to do). 

Her attire was scandalous indeed but considering whom she had been rescued from it was understandable.  The surprising thing was that she didn’t seem to be ashamed of how she was dressed among all these rough men.  The woman was proud and indomitable.  She was bold and fearless and there was a fire in her eyes.  Yet she was also meek and kind.  Jamie had yet to find a quality that he did not like about her. 

Jamie watched as his uncle’s expression turned from admiration of her form to suspicion.  This bothered Jamie.  Claire was no spy, he just knew it.  However, as war chief of Clan MacKenzie, it was Dougal’s job to be suspicious of newcomers, especially if the one in question was a bold English lassie.  He wondered what his uncle had planned for Claire once they returned to Leoch.  The Laird, Colum, his other uncle, would surely be more diplomatic with her than Dougal would be.  That thought comforted him somewhat.

Jamie decided to approach Dougal and see if he could get a feel for his thoughts on the matter. 

“What do you make of her, Uncle?” he inquired.

“Don’t know,” replied he, “there’s something odd about her.  I’m hoping Colum can puzzle her out.  She say anything to you?”

“Nah,” he answered, not really caring to share with his uncle anything he had learned of her, “the lass is pretty sullen.  She doesna say much.”

Just then Claire approached them.

“Mistress Beauchamp,” Dougal greeted her.

She nodded at him resentfully.  Jamie could tell that she wanted to say something but noted the struggle on her face to keep her indignance at bay.  Instead she took on an air of dignified haughtiness and in her best English accent she said, “I do not believe we have been properly introduced, sir.  With what name am I to address you?”

Dougal surprised his nephew by straightening his tall frame and matching her formality (goaded into proving that he could be civilized too, no doubt).  He replied, “My deepest apologies madam.  Earlier circumstances were not conducive to formal introductions.  I am Dougal MacKenzie, war chief of Clan MacKenzie, and brother of its Laird” and bowing deeply with his leg extended at the proper angle, he added, “at your service.”

Claire curtsied as well as she could in her current attire.  She then turned with a smile and looked expectantly at Jamie.  He smiled back gazing into her beautiful eyes.  He got lost there for a moment before he realized she wanted a name from him as well. 

He cleared his throat with a cough to cover for his tardy response.  However, as he opened his mouth to tell her his name, Dougal spoke instead.  Indicating Jamie with a hand, he said stiffly, “This here is Jamie MacTavish.”

Jamie was taken aback as that was not his real name.  Dougal shot him a sharp look laced with his suspicion of the Sassenach.  Jamie supposed his uncle was right not to use his real name as there was a price on his head, however, he instinctively felt he could trust Claire and had wanted to tell her his real name.  For some reason it felt wrong for him to lie to her. 

Not wanting to be outdone in civility by his uncle he too performed a proper courtly bow.  Her answering curtsey was deeper and more graceful than the one she gave Dougal.  Jamie could hear his uncle’s slight snort at the scene before him. 

Dougal turned to the rest of the group and announced that it was time to move out.  Turning back to the couple, he ordered them to mount their horse.  The entire party was back on the road in less than five minutes. 

..........oOo..........

As they travelled along, a rocky mountain ridge came into view. 

Eying the rocky formation, Claire announced, “I know this place.” In retrospect, she thought to herself, she probably shouldn’t have said anything.  She might get herself into trouble, but it was too late now.

“Been through here before, have ye?” Jamie asked her.

“Yes,” she replied warily, “I recognize that rock. The one that looks like a cock's tail. It has a name.”

“Clach a' Choillich,” Jamie responded with the Gaelic name.  “Cocknammon rock,” he translated.

Tentatively Claire revealed, “The English, they... they used it for ambushes.”  Then realizing that they might currently be in danger of such an attack, she added,  “They could be lying in wait right now.”

Jamie looked about and assessed, “It's a bonnie place for an ambush, right enough.”  Then he called out to his uncle, “Dougal.” He clicked his tongue and kicked his horse to urge him on calling, “Dougal. Dougal.”  Finally catching Dougal’s attention as he rode up next to him he explained to his kinsman in Gaelic what Claire had told him, “The Sassenach tells me there may be an ambush ahead.  Says the redcoats hide out here at Clach a' Choillich for the purpose.”

“Do you believe her?” Dougal inquired.

“Aye,” replied Jamie, glancing at Claire, “she seems too scared to lie.”

Frustrated and angry, Dougal leaned over toward Claire and insisted, “Now, you'll be telling me exactly how and why you come to know there's an ambush up ahead.”

Drawing up her dignity Claire pursed her lips and replied, “I don't know, but I heard the redcoats use Cocknammon rock-”

Dougal interrupted her with a sneer and demanded, “Where did you hear?”

Claire had to come up with something believable and present it with conviction.

“In the village,” she proudly replied.

Dougal looked around making his own assessment. Conceding that an ambush was a possibility, he signaled to his men.  Jamie pushed Claire off the horse, sending her tumbling into the underbrush, hoping to keep her out of harm’s way. 

“Hide yourself!” he told her as he removed his arm from the makeshift sling, clearly intending to use the injured appendage.  As he spurred his horse on with the rest of the highlanders, he shouted a battle cry of “Tulach Ard!”

..........oOo..........

Claire recovered from the fall and looked up to see redcoats stepping out from the trees as the battle ensued.  With her captors now preoccupied she decided this was her opportunity to escape.  She turned and ran away from the fight.

Claire figured the stream would lead her back to Inverness eventually, so she followed it as swiftly as she could.  However, her feet were beginning to hurt.  Her shoes weren’t meant for a cross country trek. 

It was actually nice, though, to be walking.  She had been getting saddle sore.  In retrospect though, it was rather pleasant being wrapped in the handsome highlander’s plaid with him.  He radiated such warmth both of heat and of heart.  She felt quite comfortable with him, warm and protected, and something else…. She couldn’t deny the electricity that sparked between them.  She felt it the first time she touched him.  Then there were the butterflies in her belly whenever he looked at her with those piercing blue eyes.  The sound of his voice as he spoke in her ear and his breath flitting across her skin gave her such goose bumps and sent a frisson of excitement down her spine.  It would often make her squirm in the saddle and she could feel his excitement behind her.  The attraction was definitely mutual. 

Just then a tree branch slapped her in the face and jolted her out of her reverie.  She shouldn’t be thinking about the highlander.  She had to get back to Inverness, to the stones, and to Frank.  She stopped in her tracks when she realized that she did not feel toward Frank what she felt toward the ginger haired Scot and she found the thought of never seeing her new friend again disheartening.  She began to wonder how the battle went and if she should have stayed to tend the wounded.  Would he have used his hurt shoulder and injured himself more?  No! She had to shake herself.  She did not belong here.  The feelings she had for this man were wrong.  She had to get back to her own time, to her husband.

She reminded herself of how Dougal had spoken to her with threats and suspicion.  She had to remember that no matter how nice Jamie was to her they were still taking her with them against her will.  She did not know where they were going or what they had in store for her.  Their leader’s claim that he did not hold with rape and then declaring there wasn’t time for it did nothing to erase that possibility from her mind.  Stealing herself against the highlanders once more, she continued to pick her way along the stream bank redoubling her determination to get away and back to Frank. 

Suddenly, she heard a horse approach.  Looking up she saw the tall handsome highlander and gasped.

..........oOo..........

Thanks to Claire’s tip the rugged band of highlanders routed the British patrol and came away with only a few “scratches.” 

Jamie was bloody and his shoulder hurt but he was more concerned for Claire now that the fighting was over.  He swiftly galloped back to where he had left her but found she was gone.  He returned to the others and, not wanting to get her in trouble, he told them that she must have gotten lost.  Before he could volunteer, Dougal ordered him to find her.  He sped away on his horse down the trail that followed the stream. 

He began to worry when after ten minutes he had not yet come upon her.  This was the only trail around and it followed the stream.  She would certainly get lost if she tried to bushwhack through the forest.  No, he concluded, she was smart.  She would have followed the stream.  Just when he was about to give up and head back, thinking she might be hiding instead of running, he came upon her.  She had covered more distance than he thought she could have.  This woman kept surprising him at every turn.  She is not your typical lassie he decided.   

“Lost your way?” he asked as he jumped off his horse, giving her the benefit of the doubt.  He spun quickly, commanding his horse to stay, then he approached her.  He still had his sword in his hand from the battle.

Having convinced herself once more that the highlanders were up to no good and having resolved to return to Craigh na dun, she was wary again.  However, she could not fight back her nurse’s instincts.

Seeing him wielding the sword in his right hand she said, “I hope you haven't been misusing that shoulder.”  As he drew closer and she noticed the blood on his shirt she stated, “You're hurt.”

“This lot isna my blood,” he said glancing down at his shirt and trying to make light of it, “Not much of it, anyway.”

Claire attempted to run, but Jamie caged her in with his left arm extended and his sword in his right.  

“Dougal and the others will be waiting further up the stream,” he firmly cajoled her, “We should go.”

“I'm not going with you,” she declared vehemently.

“Yes, you are,” Jamie asserted forcefully, pointing his sword at her.

“What,” Claire demanded, looking contemptuously at the point of his blade, “are you going to cut my throat if I don't?”

“Why, no,” he stated somewhat foolishly.  “But...” he skillfully assessed the situation, sizing her up, and concluded, “You don't look that heavy.  Now if you won't walk,” He grabbed her by the arm and stepped close to her.  Artfully taking advantage of the fact that she was continually concerned for his shoulder he added, looking down at her, “I shall pick you up and throw you over my shoulder. Do you want me to do that?”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth and struggled in his grasp.

“Well, then...,” he declared smugly, retaining his hold on her, “I suppose that means you’re coming with me.”  He glanced down at her pursed lips, their faces just inches apart.  He figured a good kiss would go a long way toward wiping that indignant look off her face.  But he had to resist that impulse.  He wanted her to look at him with love, not with the loathing he saw there now. 

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and marched to the horse.  Jamie gave one quick look around making sure there were no redcoats here and turned back himself. 

……….oOo……….

Claire was none too pleased to be going back to the Scotsmen.  She was quiet and sullen the entire ride back.  As they were approaching the others Jamie moaned and grunted with the strain on his shoulder. 

“Serves you right,” taunted Claire, “Probably torn your muscles as well as bruising.”

“Well,” Jamie took her comments in stride, “wasna much of a choice. If I dinna move my shoulder, I'd never have moved anything else ever again.”  He raised his voice as they came within earshot of the other men, “I can handle a single redcoat with one hand,” he asserted with bravado, “Maybe even two. Not three. Besides,” he lowered his voice and spoke in her ear now, giving her that tingle of pleasure once more, “you can fix it for me again when we get to where we're going.”

“That's what you think,” she saucily retorted.

Jamie laughed to himself.  He enjoyed her teasing, for even though he knew she did not like her situation and she was being contrary, he knew it was not in her nature to let anyone suffer if she could help it. 

When they stopped in front of Dougal and the others Rupert toasted her, “Here's to you, lass. For tipping us to the villains in the rocks and giving us a wee bit o' fun!”

The other men joined in with cheers and shouts of “Slàinte mhath!”

Leather flasks of whiskey were passed around.  One came to Jamie and he took a swig.  He offered it to Claire, but she was still feeling bitter so she turned it down.  Jamie, however, knew it was just the thing she needed.

“Have a wee nip,” he suggested, offering it again. He whispered in her ear, “It willna fill your belly, but will make you forget you're hungry.”

Reluctantly Claire gave in and took the bottle.  Expertly she took a long draw and swallowed without so much as a flinch. 

Dougal was impressed with the strong brazen sassenach.  He still eyed her with suspicion though, and eyed Jamie with jealousy.

Chapter 4: Brawling and Fighting and Throwing Yourself Off Horses

Claire could have kicked herself for being so obstinate.  If she hadn’t been wallowing in her own self-pity, she would have noticed the symptoms well before he fell off the horse. 

Jamie was lively and talkative after the battle at Cocknammon rock.  In retrospect, Claire realized this behavior must have been due to the adrenaline rush that typically follows armed conflict.  She wished she had engaged him more at the time but instead she had been sullen and pettish after her recapture.  If she had spoken with him, he might have revealed to her how injured he actually was.  The adrenaline might have prevented him from knowing the extent of his wounds himself.  However, she probably could have deduced the truth if she had just been paying attention.  

Even when his speech began to slur, she merely attributed it to the whiskey he had been drinking.  She should have known that such a big burly Highlander could handle his liquor far better than anyone she’d ever met.  Instead, he gradually grew weaker and weaker with the loss of blood as the time passed.  They had travelled all day and long into the night.  Claire thought that he was just getting sleepy until he began to slip off the horse.

“Stop! Help! He's going over!” she cried.

Jamie slowly slipped off the side of the horse and his large frame hit the ground with a resounding thud.  The others had stopped and rushed over to assist.

“Help me get him up,” Claire said, “Come on.”

Murtagh grabbed Jamie under his arms.  He was the biggest help to Claire and always seemed the most concerned for Jamie.  She guessed that they were good friends or maybe even close kinsmen.

“Lift. Take it easy,” Murtagh said as he helped drag Jamie’s limp body up a nearby incline.

Claire began to search for the wound.  She found it quickly having suspected where it was based on the massive blood stain on his shirt.  She remembered his words, ‘This lot isna my blood, not much of it, anyway.’ ‘Indeed,’ she scoffed to herself.  Typical male – always downplaying their injuries to prove their bravery and stamina. 

“Gunshot wound,” she declared with authority. “The idiot could have said something,” she grumbled as she probed the wound, “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.”

The rest of the men looked on in amazement.  Her medical acumen stunned them.  First she had fixed Jamie’s dislocated shoulder and now she examined the gunshot wound as if she saw such things every day.  Most women would have fainted at the first hint of blood.  They had never met a woman possessing such knowledge and exuding such confidence and authority, especially when she was veritably their prisoner.  She was an enigma.  Even their fearless leader Dougal, whom no one, man or woman, could push around, seemed to defer to her authority in the healing arts.

“Disinfect?” asked Murtagh in confusion.

“Yes,” Claire explained, “it must be cleaned of dirt to protect it from germs.”

“Germs?” questioned one of the other men.

“Just get me some iodine,” Claire turned around to look at them, “Merthiolate?”  No response - just confused looks.  Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed in frustration.  “Alcohol?” she asked, with a touch of sarcasm, certain they would know what that was.

“Oh. Oh, yes. Yes,” many of them answered at once, proud to finally know something that she was requesting. 

Angus handed her his leather flask. “Here you go,” he offered helpfully.

Claire applied the alcohol to Jamie’s wound and he immediately came to with a gasp.  Instinctively he spoke out in Gaelic, “Tha mi gasta (I’m fine).”  His jaw dropped open and he stared up at her in awe as if waking to the sight of a heavenly being.

Claire greeted him with a quirk of her lips and said ironically, “Welcome back.”

“I'm all right,” he replied trying to sit up, “just a wee bit dizzy.”  Again, trying to brush off the extent of his injury but Claire would have none of it.

“You're not all right,” she reproached him, “Didn't you tell how bad you were bleeding? You're lucky you're not dead. Brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.”

There she went a-rambling again.  He had that same look in his eyes that seemed to disconcert her so easily.

It was then that it struck Jamie.  He wanted her.  He had never met anyone like her - her beauty, her boldness, her bravery.  He wanted her more than he ever wanted anything in his life.

“Right,” she said trying to bring herself back to the task at hand.  She turned to the others and demanded, “I need a sterile bandage and some clean cloth.”

The men were completely confused.  They had no notion of hygiene or the necessity to stave off infection.  Ashamed on account of their lack of knowledge, their eyes drifted away from hers and they offered no response to her request.

Claire stared them down and swore in her incredulousness, “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.”

Taking matters into her own hands she tore a strip from her dress to use.  Nowhere near sterile enough but more so than anything else she had seen among this troop of men.

“Hold still,” she ordered her patient and applied more alcohol to the wound.  Jamie winced and flinched in pain. “Easy,” she comforted, “All right. Lift him up,” she ordered Murtagh and they sat Jamie up so she could apply the crude dressing.

The pieces from her 20^th century synthetic dress kept slipping out of her fingers.  This was the last straw in her pent-up frustration with the 18^th century, and she swore, “Come on, you g*ddamn bloody bastard.”

Dougal, having been stunned into silence by her command of the situation and shamed by his lack of education as evidenced by his ignorance of the things of which she spoke, was finally compelled to say something about her foul language, “I've never heard a woman use such language in my life.”

Emboldened by their leader, some of the other men chimed in with such comments as: “Your husband should tan your hide for ye, woman,” and, “St. Paul says, ‘let a woman be silent...’"

Their attempt to take the moral high ground in light of her obvious expertise and intellectual superiority was met with the following abrupt retort from Claire, “You can mind your own bloody business, and so can St. Paul.”

Turning back to her patient she threatened, only half jokingly, “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?” Jamie replied, smiling up at the other men, and making light of the situation in an attempt to save face for them all, “And after I shared my drink with you.”

Dougal, irritated by the ease and cunning with which his nephew handled the situation, re-exerted his authority by giving her strict orders and then storming off. 

“We've 15 miles to go yet,” he said, “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.”

Claire’s hackles had risen at this, and she got up to chase after him, using her well-practiced ‘nurses know best’ voice, she asserted, “He needs rest.”  No response. “Did you hear me?”

Jamie sat up straighter.  Knowing her attempt was futile, he recalled her attention, saying, “Randall,” unwittingly uttering her real name.

Claire stopped dead in her pursuit of Dougal and spun to look at Jamie.  ‘How did he know my real name?’ she thought.  Relief washed over her quickly when Jamie continued.

“The officer ye... ye encountered,” he explained, sitting up straighter.  “He won't give up so easily. He commands the redcoats hereabouts. He'll have sent patrols out in every direction by now. We canna stay here long.”

“You know Randall?” Claire tentatively asked, returning to his side to finish affixing the bandage. “Black Jack Randall, that is?” she felt compelled to clarify (as if Jamie would know her husband).

Jamie hung his head.  “Aye,” he replied, “I won't risk you or anyone else being taken prisoner by that man.”  He looked at Claire and the bandage on his shoulder, “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.”

Desiring to change the subject, Claire said, “Might've well told me you were shot before you fell off the horse.”

“Didn't hurt much at the time,” was his excuse.

“Does it hurt now?” she pointedly asked, looking him in the eye.

Jamie looked at his shoulder and then at Claire.  “Aye,” he affirmed.

“Good,” Claire said with a mischievous smirk.  Jamie looked down with a chuckle and a smile. 

“That's about all I can do,” she added, “The rest is up to you,” another one of her practiced phrases.

Claire stood up as Jamie looked over his bandage.  She offered him a hand to help him rise.  He took it with a smile (as if a wee wisp of a lassie like her could lift his weight off the ground) and stood up.  Although he would have preferred to pull her down into his lap and show her his appreciation in a different way.  Instead he decided to express it with words.

“Thank you, Sassenach. Truly,” he said, looking down at her sincerely.

There was that piercing gaze of his again.  He called her ‘Sassenach’ but it was not with the contempt with which she heard the others speak it.  Coming from him it was more like a term of endearment.  Claire looked up at him from under her lashes and her lips parted. 

Jamie had to fight his strong desire to take her in his arms and kiss those lush lips. 

Claire became shy once more and averted her eyes.  She could not deny the chemistry between them, and she was extremely conflicted. 

“All right, well,” she said nervously, and reverting to her typical (and currently apropos) cognomen for the type patients to whom she usually ministered, “on your horse, soldier.”

Jamie nodded to her and moved toward his horse.  Claire took a moment to watch him go and then followed him.

He helped her into the saddle in front of him and gathered her in closely with his good arm.  Claire had to admit to herself that she enjoyed the feel of his arm around her.  She felt quite comfortable cocooned in his warm embrace. Her cheeks flushed and she was glad that it was still dark out.  It would have been easy for her to fall asleep in this state, however, she was still concerned about his loss of blood.  She did not want him to faint and fall off the horse again.  So this time she figured she would do her best to keep him talking.  In order to not reveal too much about herself, she resolved on asking him questions. 

“So,” Claire began, “Mr. MacKenzie said we have 15 miles to go but where is it that we are going?”

In this manner they continued their journey.

Notes:

A/N: I paraphrased a line from chapter 3 of Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.

Chapter 5: A Far Better End To This Lovely Evening

Notes:

Here I am bouncing back to season 1 again. I hope you enjoy it!

“I’m going to put an end to this,” Jamie told his godfather.  He felt sorry for the young lass whose father was bringing shame upon her in front of the whole clan. 

It had been years since Jamie was last in Leoch, but he remembered the scandal from back then surrounding the death of the girl’s mother. 

‘Fell down the stairs and broke her neck,’ the husband claimed.  But the man had been known to beat his wife.  He enjoyed seeing a woman in pain.  There was no doubt in Jamie’s mind that that was what this was all about.  The man wouldn’t beat his daughter himself, not when he knew well that since his wife’s death the eye of suspicion had been on him.  Instead, he brought the lass to Colum with a trumped-up accusation. 

“What are you doing?” asked Murtagh.

“Dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m gonna do it anyway,” conceded Jamie, “The lass doesn’t deserve to be lashed.  I’m going to take her punishment for her, to save her the shame.”

“But what about your back?” reasoned Murtagh.

“Aaagh, Colum won’t lash me,” said Jamie dismissively, “He’ll let me choose.”

“What, fists?  With your shoulder?” asked Murtagh incredulously. 

“Aye,” said Jamie glancing toward Claire and banking on her compassion that she would tend to his cuts and bruises before the night was over.  He closed his eyes for a moment imagining the tingling feel of her fingers on his skin, the enticing smell of her hair when she was near, and her charming smile that never failed to set his heart racing.

“Do you have a thing for the lass?” inquired Murtagh.

Jamie’s eyes snapped open and back to his godfather, “Who?”

“The lass,” Murtagh indicated Laoghaire.  He shook his head with a measure of disgust.  The thought of Laoghaire when Claire was around… well, there was just no comparison.

“No, not her,” Jamie unwittingly replied. 

Murtagh did not miss the masked inference of this statement.  However, he decided to save that inquisition for some other time.  Instead, he broached the political implications of his godson’s decision.

“You ken you’re sticking your nose into clan business,” Murtagh pointed out.

“And you ken I’m not after the Lairdship of Clan Mackenzie,” Jamie countered vehemently.

“Aye,” answered Murtagh, “but they don’t know that.”  He gestured toward Jamie’s uncles at the end of the hall.

“I’m only doing what I think is right,” replied Jamie.

He turned toward his Uncle Colum on the dais and called out, “Stadadh  a-nis (Stop now)!”

Jamie stepped forward and told Colum he would endure the girl’s punishment for her.  When he finished making his offer to the laird, he turned toward the crowd and pandered, “Agus geall crìochnaich air an fheasgar bhriagh seo (And I’ll promise you a far better end to this lovely evening).”

The girl’s father objected.  He argued that Jamie was not a member of Clan MacKenzie and held no sway in the matter.  Colum replied that he was the grandson of Seaumais Ruaidh (Red Jacob), his own sire and therefore had a right to involve himself in clan business. 

Colum’s word being the end of the debate, he allowed the substitution and let his nephew choose his punishment. 

Jamie said that since it was only Ràibeart (Rupert) he would take dùirn (fists) instead of the strac (strap). 

This was meant to rile Rupert, but the man still felt bad for having to beat up his cousin and good friend.  Torn between pleasing his boss, Dougal, and his desire to go easy on Jamie, Rupert sighed when the latter gave him an understanding nod.  He would perform his duty.  Instructed by Dougal to look to him for prearranged signals, Rupert began. 

Dougal, wishing to inherit the Lairdship when his brother passed, and before Hamish was of age, was fiercely jealous of anyone who might pose a threat to his plan.  The redheaded lad, who stood before him now, was his only real competition.  And here was the young upstart: showing mercy, making jokes, and having the entire clan eating out of the palm of his hand.  Well, thought Dougal, he would make sure the lad was taken down a notch or two.  Rupert was his strongest fighter.   He would enjoy seeing his nephew bleed.

Reluctantly, Rupert gave Jamie his best, administering a bloody nose, a cheap shot to his dislocated shoulder (on Dougal’s command), and finally knocking him to the floor. 

Jamie shook his senses back into place and stood up, Murtagh coming to his aid.

“If ye'd wanted a beating, I'd been happy to oblige ye.” His godfather told him ruefully.

“Aye, but... you might have done some real damage.” Jamie smiled in jest.

“Watch yourself, laddie,” warned Murtagh, “Your uncle is up to something.”

The younger man nodded.  Stepping away from Murtagh and toward his uncles, Jamie, favoring his shoulder, gave Colum a bow and Dougal a wry nod.  He turned back to Murtagh and the two made their way out of the hall.  As they passed Claire, Jamie glanced imploringly at her.  She caught his meaning and made to leave as well, though by a different route so as not to draw attention herself.

Murtagh escorted his young charge to the kitchen and helped him into a chair. 

“I’ll go find Mistress Beauchamp,” he said.  However, just as he got to the doorway the healer herself appeared. 

“Mistress,” he said and bowed in greeting, but she dashed right past him without a word, bent on reaching her patient. 

Murtagh witnessed his godson’s bloody face form a broad smile and his eyes, formerly dulled by pain, brighten at the approach of the comely healer.  ‘Mm, hmm,’ he thought to himself, ‘So that’s how it is.  Well, now, there’s that riddle solved.  And a fine lassie she is.  Just right for the Laird of Lallybroch.’  With that, Murtagh left them alone.

A moment later Mrs. Fitz bustled in.  Claire requested of her some supplies, and she obligingly waddled off to get them. 

After washing her hands and sterilizing a cloth in boiling water, Claire began to tend her patient for the … how many times had she mended him? She had lost track. 

She began with his face and asked, “Why did you do that?  Take that girl's punishment?  Do you know her?”

Jamie thought he might have heard a hint of jealousy in her voice.  He replied, “I ken who she is.” He grunted as Claire pressed the cloth to an open wound.  “Haven't really spoken to her, though.”

“Then why?” she inquired, feeling inexplicably relieved that he wasn’t attached to the girl.

“It would have shamed the lass to have been beat in the hall before everyone that knows her,” he attempted to explain.  “Taken a long time to get over it.”  He grunted again as Claire seemed to be quite adept at finding his most painful contusions.  “It's easier for me,” he clarified, “I'm sore, but I'm nae really damaged.  I'll get over it in a couple days.”

Mrs. Fitz returned then. “Oh, here ye are, lad.  Rinse your mouth with this,” she stirred a concoction and handed him a cup of it explaining, “It'll cleanse the cuts and ease the pain.”  Turning to Claire, the matron informed her, “Willow bark tea, with a bit of ground orris root.  Ground up well.”

“Tapadh leibh! (Thank you),” replied Jamie, sincerely, looking up from his chair at the kind housekeeper.

The old woman’s eyes softened and filled with tears, likely at the remembrance of her lost daughter who suffered at the hands of that man.  “What you did was kindly meant, lad.  Laoghaire is my granddaughter, ye ken?” she added for Claire’s benefit, then, covering her face, turned to leave before her tears fell.

When Claire finished cleaning him up, she instructed him, “You can take that bandage off your shoulder in the next two days.”

A look of confusion flashed over Jamie’s face, “Would it not be easier if you did that?”  He had to admit to himself that he had been looking forward to having her perform that service for him. 

“Yes,” replied she, “but I'll be gone.  I'm leaving with Mr. Petrie tomorrow.”

“Ah,” he said rising to his feet, “I see.  Well...,” he was markedly deflated.  Reluctantly he conceded, “Then perhaps this is good-bye.”

“Yes,” replied Claire, happy to be going home but somehow regretting it at the same time.

A door squeaked in the next room and Claire could see the young girl from the hall, obviously wishing to speak to Jamie.

“I think someone would like to speak with you,” Claire informed him. “Alone,” she added in a teasing voice.  Jamie might not have intended his gallant gesture to be anything more than that, but she sensed the young man would be in need of wife soon and a good prospect was about to present herself to him.  Even though the thought grated on her, she would not get in the way.  She would be returning to her own time and her own husband soon, or so she hoped. 

“Aye,” he replied reluctantly.

“Well,” she said somewhat sadly.  He was the closest thing to a friend she had made here in this time, “good-bye to you, then, Jamie.”

“Safe journeys to ye, Claire,” he pinched out, not exactly displaying the sentiment on his face.

She walked out of the room and he let out a long sigh.  He was now left alone with the young lassie he had so valiantly saved from embarrassment who might now be expecting more from him than he had bargained for.   His feint to impress Claire with his benevolence and receive once again her healing touch, had backfired on him.  Claire was leaving and Laoghaire was standing eagerly in front of him.  Not exactly the ending he had imagined for this evening. 

Notes:

I paraphrased a line from “No Country For Old Men” by the Coen brothers. Scottish translations found at great scot blog (dot) com.

Chapter 6: Claire Remains In Leoch

Notes:

A/N: This chapter was borne of me asking myself ‘when did Jamie find out that Claire had not left?’ and ‘when did he first see her after?’

Murtagh Fitzgibbons walked out of the castle with a smile on his face.  His godson was in love, and he was pleased that the object of the young man’s affection was a bold lass of exceptional character.  She may have been a sassenach, but she and Jamie were well matched in wits and courage.  She was just the type of woman a laird should have at his side. 

Murtagh was enjoying the cool night air, strolling around the castle grounds as he contemplated the future for his godson.  Ellen MacKenzie, the only woman he had ever loved, married his best friend, Brian Fraser.  When they had their second son, the couple asked Murtagh to be the child’s godfather, and when Ellen was on her deathbed, she had requested Murtagh look after the son she was leaving behind.  Murtagh took this promise seriously.  He went wherever the boy went and watched over him like a hawk: always his best friend, always his staunch defender, always looking out for what was best for the lad. 

Now Murtagh had this new development to hold under consideration.  The fact that his godson was in love was just fine.  The problem was the lad was an escaped criminal with a price on his head. 

As Murtagh was contemplating the implications of this, Jamie himself came bursting out the castle door into the courtyard. 

The lad looked frustratingly up at the sky and said, “Damn!”

Murtagh walked slowly up to him so as to alert the lad to his presence first.  “What is it?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Jamie replied dejectedly, hanging his head, and kicking at the stones on the ground.

“It’s just…” Jamie looked up at his godfather, “Have you ever been in love, Murtagh?”

Murtagh let a second or two pass before answering simply, “Aye.”

This surprised Jamie.  “But you never married, what happened?”

Murtagh closed his eyes and said ruefully, “She married someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jamie.

“No,” replied Murtagh with a wistful smile, “It was enough for me to have once loved.”

After another pause, Murtagh said, “So am I correct in assuming you’ve got it bad for some lass?”

“Aye,” Jamie replied. 

“What’s the matter then?  She getting sick of mending your wounds? Tell you to bugger off?” he teased with a knowing look and punched the lad in his good shoulder.

Jamie’s eyes went wide when he realized Murtagh already knew who it was.  But of course, his godfather knew him best of anyone.

“No,” said Jamie, “She’s leaving tomorrow.  The tinker’s to take her back to Inverness, then she’ll be off to her family in France.”  He turned and walked off toward the stables.  “I’m going to bed,” he said over his shoulder as he sulked off.

Murtagh walked into the castle garden and sat on a bench.  Looking up at the stars he said, “Well, Ellen, what am I to do now?”

He gave the night a few minutes to think it over, but an answer never came.  So he attempted to come up with a way to get Mistress Beauchamp to stay. 

There was no way he would be able to convince her to stay.  She was headstrong, once she set her mind to something there was no turning her away.  It would be best if the young Casanova could convince her himself, but the lass had been determined to get back to her family ever since they picked her up. 

No, the only way to get her to stay right now would be to force it upon her, and that would not go over well.  However, ill temper or no, the lass would still be here. 

So Murtagh began to think of ways she could be compelled to stay. 

An ailing patient?  No, she would not feel so obliged for anyone except maybe Jamie and bringing him severe enough injury or illness was precisely the opposite of what he promised Ellen – to defend and protect the lad.

The only way to make her stay was to get Colum to make her stay.  Now there was an idea!  If he could convince Colum that she really was a spy, he wouldn’t let her go.  Aye, that was it.  He jumped to his feet. 

No.  He stopped and frowned.  He could not help his godson by allowing a relationship that had the potential to be something so important, start with a falsehood.

However, he did allow his feet to bear himself forward.  He reasoned that there was no harm in seeing if he could find out what Colum’s thoughts were on the subject.

Returning to the hall, Murtagh found that there were still many clansmen about, enjoying the food and drink.  He noticed Dougal standing off by himself and went to speak to him.  He would likely be able to discover Colum’s opinion of Mistress Beauchamp from the laird’s brother.

Murtagh sidled up next to the war chief and, since he was never one to beat around the bush, he got right to the point, “I hear Mistress Beauchamp is leavin’ us on the morrow.”

“Humph,” snorted Dougal, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looked out over the reveling clansmen, “Not likely.”

“Huh?  Why?” inquired Murtagh.

“Humph,” Dougal snorted again.  “That woman is trouble,” he declared.

“I’d think you’d be happy to get rid o’ her, then,” Murtagh surmised.

“No,” Dougal declared, “Colum’s not likely to let her go just yet.”

“Hmm,” said Murtagh thoughtfully, “So you think she is a sassenach spy?”

“I think there is certainly something she isna tellin’ us,” Dougal stated pointedly.  “No,” he concluded, “she won’t be leavin’ tomorrow.”

After partaking in some more food and drink himself, Murtagh went back outside to pace around in the cool night air while he considered this new development. 

He debated telling Jamie.  The news might bring the lad some relief.  On second thought, however, Jamie, with his kind heart, would probably rush to Claire’s defense and maybe even help her to escape. 

No, he decided to just let things play out and see what the morrow brings.

……….oOo……….

Sleep would not come for Jamie that night for thinking about Claire.  His heart ached so to know that she was leaving.  He couldn’t help but think that it was wrong for her not to be with him, although it made no rational sense.  He rose early and went to work in the stables, trying to keep his mind off her impending departure. 

It was mid-morning when he spotted the tinker’s wagon driving up the road to the castle.  Once it disappeared inside the gates, he led the horse he was working with back to its stall, removed its harness and tack and brushed it down before heading off to clean himself up. 

He had already said goodbye to Claire the night before and he didn’t want to seem pathetic and forlorn by seeking her out again.  Therefore, he intended to catch her seemingly by chance as she rode with the tinker out of the castle yard.  All he wanted was to look on her lovely countenance once more and maybe have her bestow upon him another one of her bright smiles.

“Ah, there it is,” said Jamie to himself as he walked up the road toward the castle.  Mr. Petrie’s wagon was driving through the gate.  However, to Jamie’s surprise there was no one on the seat next to him.  He didn’t think Claire would be within.  He had looked inside the tinker’s wagon on many an occasion and had seen that it was filled to the gills with all manner of tools and things that the man had intended to – well – tinker with.  There would be no room for a passenger in there.  He rounded on the wagon as it passed him by, to be certain Claire was not sitting on the back, maybe she had meant to watch out for him till the last.  But alas, she was not there either!

If she was not with the tinker, where was she?  He ran into the castle and found himself in the kitchen where Angus and Rupert, tankards of ale in hand, were commiserating by the great kitchen fire.  As Jamie pretended to look around for something to eat, he listened in to their conversation.

Rupert was saying angrily, “I thought the job was to end today!”

Angus chimed in with an exasperated, “Aye, now Dougal says we’re on it permanently!”

“Aye,” replied Rupert, “and did you see the right swivet she’s in?”

It didn’t take long for Jamie to conclude from this exchange that the two were talking about Claire.  To learn more, however, he affected a casual interest, grabbed and apple from a nearby table, took a bite and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Ach,” replied Angus, “Colum decided not to let the pain in the arse Sassenach go.”

Rupert, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, added with a sneer, “He’s made her healer of Leoch and installed her in ol’ Beaton’s surgery.”

Jamie moved in that direction.  However, with a hand on his arm, Angus stopped him.  “I wouldna go down there just yet if I was you,” he warned, “Last I heard she was stompin’ around, smashin’ crockery ‘gainst the door, and cussin’ up somethin’ fierce.”

“Aye,” added Rupert, “I’ve ne’er heard a woman with such a mouth!  She e’en makes me blush!”

The two guards burst heartily into laughter at this then proceed to down more of Colum’s ale.

Jamie, however, acquiesced to their advice.  It was enough for him to know that Claire was still at Leoch, and with that knowledge his heart lifted.  He wished to comfort her though, but he realized that she was likely not in the mood for it at present.  He returned to the stables and went about his business with a much lighter step and a small smile upon his face.

……….oOo……….

A few days had passed with not a single glimpse of Claire.  He imagined her brooding might last some time and had resolved to let her be. 

In the early afternoon, Jamie walked into the castle in search of some lunch.  As he approached the kitchen, he heard the sound of glass breaking.  Stepping quickly through the door, in case the situation required his assistance, he saw Mrs. Fitz comforting another woman.

“Oh, Shona,” soothed Mrs. Fitz, “Dinna fash yourself over this.  Go on home now.  Be with your other wee Bairns.”  Turning back to find the rest of the kitchen staff staring, she ordered, “Carry on working.”

“Who was that?”

Jamie knew that voice.  He saw Claire standing near Rupert and Angus.  He stepped back into the shadows to remain unnoticed for he wished to observe the state of Claire’s spirits.  This was the first time he was seeing her since he learned that she was staying. 

“Colum's chambermaid,” answered Mrs. Fitz.

“Is she going to be all right?” asked Claire.  She was always desirous to help people. He smiled broadly.  Happy to see her gloom had lifted and that the kindhearted Claire he knew and loved was presently interjecting herself with concern for the woman.

“Aye, in time,” the housekeeper replied, “Her boy died last night, wee Lindsay Macneill.”

“What happened?” insisted the healer, “Why did nobody come and get me?”

“Oh, miss,” replied Mrs. Fitz, “what ailed wee Lindsay has no mortal cure.  He went up to an eaghais dhubh, he did.”

“Where?” inquired Claire.

“The old ruins of the Benedictine Monastery,” Mrs. Fitz explained, “Folk hereabout call it the Black Kirk.”

“You think somehow the ruins killed him?” Claire asked in confusion.

“'Twas not the ruins, you daft woman,” chided Mrs. Fitz, “'Twas the demons who roam free inside the ruins.  Poor wee soul,” lamented the old woman, “Sickly boy on his best day.  No match for old nick.” She blessed herself.

A young lad appeared through a side door and, stepping up to Claire, he announced in a clear voice, “The Mackenzie requests your presence in his chambers, Mistress Beauchamp.”

“Have you never heard of a comb, you wee gomeril?” Mrs. Fitz spoke familiarly to the lad, tousling his hair.

“Aw, leave off, auntie,” the boy complained, belying his relationship to the housekeeper.

“My nephew, Tammas Baxter,” she explained to Claire, “Lindsay Macneill was like a brother to him.”

“Mackenzie's waiting,” insisted the boy, sad to be reminded of his deceased friend but fearful of punishment if he did not complete his task as summoner for the laird.

“Right,” replied Claire, with surprisingly proper submission.  She probably figured her fastest way to freedom was cooperation with Colum, and Jamie couldn’t fault her for that.

“The medicines are on the step,” she reminded Rupert and Angus, “You can't miss them.”  Then she left the kitchen without ever noticing Jamie.

He sidled up to Rupert and Angus and asked curiously, “What ails ye, that she’s makin’ you take medicine for?”

“Ach,” replied Angus, “We’re no ill!  She just wants us to dispose o’ some ol’ potions and such.” Then under his breath he added, “Be damned if I’m gonna touch the stuff.”

“Me too,” replied Rupert and the two went back to their drinking.

Jamie looked over the two men with marked irritation and decided he would take care of the medicines for Claire himself.

Chapter 7: Colum's Rhenish

After disposing of Claire’s unwanted medicinals, Jamie headed back to the stables to complete his work for the day.  As he passed through the castle yard he was forced to jump quickly out of the way as a very white faced and trembling tailor came rushing out of the castle, ribbons and fabrics flapping in the wake behind him.  The poor man was fretting and mumbling anxiously to himself about the impossibility of having it done by tomorrow.  Whatever that meant.

Murtagh, saw Jamie and joined him for the walk across the meadow to the stables. 

“Saw Mistress Beauchamp this mornin’,” his godfather informed him.

“Oh?” replied Jamie.

“Some ol’ cottar broke his wrist and needed help getting’ to the surgery.  Looks like her ill humor has passed and now she seems hell bent on winnin’ over Colum by mendin’ everybody in Clan MacKenzie.”

“Aye, a good tactic,” replied Jamie, looking back over his shoulder at the castle, “I saw her today too, though she didn’t see me, hard a’ work at her physickin’.  I am glad to see her spirits returnin’ to normal.”

Murtagh had been the first person Jamie went to Saturday morning when he found Claire was staying.  His godfather confessed he had heard something to that effect and was glad for Jamie’s sake that the lass had remained at Leoch.

Jamie had not bothered Claire while she resettled herself, but now, he was itching to speak to her again.  And ‘itching’ was the operative word.  He had purposely left his bandage on so that he could have an excuse to see her alone, and the dressing was beginning to chafe a little.  He would now bide his time until an appropriate opportunity arose for him to ask her for help with it.

A few hours later, much to Jamie’s delight and surprise, Claire came bustling into the stables, medicine box in her hands and Rupert hot on her heels.  She smiled at Jamie, but without so much as a ‘how do you do,’ she insisted, however politely, “I need a horse.”

Someone in the village was in need of her urgent attention, she explained.

Jamie quickly saddled a horse for her while Rupert readied his horse, Peggy, for the ride.

“I’m sorry Colum wouldn’t let you go,” he said quietly to Claire, while he worked.  “Maybe I could talk to him,” he offered hopefully.

“No, it’s alright,” she replied with a sigh of annoyance, “I doubt it would do any good.  I’m sure I’ll get back to my family somehow.”  She changed the subject, “I’m glad to see your shoulder doing better.”

“Oh, aye,” he replied, “Taing dhut (thank you).”

Jamie, done bridling the horse, walked the mare out to the yard for Claire.  Helping her mount was an electric experience.  It was the first time he had put his hands on her since they arrived at Leoch over a week ago.  He hadn’t realized how much he missed holding her until that brief moment when he helped her into the saddle.  He allowed his hands to linger on her waist for an extra moment while they stared into each other’s eyes. 

The moment was broken by the arrival of Rupert on Peggy.  “Are ye ready, lass?  Let’s go get this over with.”

“Thank you,” Claire said, smiling down at Jamie.  “Will you be at the concert tonight?” she inquired, before spurring her horse into action.

“Aye,” he replied, “I’ll see you there.”

Jamie watched them ride off.  Before they had gone too far, Claire turned around and gave him a smile and a wave.

……….oOo……….

Jamie walked into the hall for the concert that evening looking forward to seeing Claire there.  Shaking hands with some of the men he knew, he worked his way toward the benches.  Glancing over the audience he caught the wave of an arm and he smiled.  It was a lithe, feminine arm and it was attached to Mistress Beauchamp.  He quickly waved back and made his way over to her as she slid across the bench to make room for him.  Why she slid toward him, forcing him to crawl over her, he did not know.  He was just thrilled that she wanted him with her. 

‘Drat’ he thought to himself when he saw who was on the other side of Claire.  He had been doing his best to avoid Laoghaire ever since he rescued her from a public lashing.  Now he would have to sit next to the girl. 

“Laoghaire,” Jamie addressed the young lass.  “Mrs. Beauchamp,” he greeted Claire.

“Mr. MacTavish,” said Claire, seemingly a little more jovial than expected in her predicament, “I was just telling miss MacKenzie how beautiful she looked tonight.”

What? Thought Jamie.  Who? Oh, aye, the lass.  “Aye,” replied Jamie, and he glanced quickly at Laoghaire.   Returning his gaze to Claire, he concurred flippantly, “Aye, she's bonny.”

The bard began to play his lyre and sing.

“I don't understand a word,” Claire dreamily declared, “but it's so beautiful.”  She leaned forward and inquired, “Has Gwyllyn been at the castle long?”

Jamie had noticed the cup of Rhenish in her hand but only now was beginning to think she might be tipsy, for why else would she lean so far forward to ask him a question when he was right at her elbow.

“Aye,” replied he, “Many years.  I spent a year at Leoch when I was sixteen or so.  Gwyllyn was here then.  Colum pays him well. Has to.  The Welshman would be welcome at any Laird's hearth.”

A meek sounding voice came from the other side of him, “I remember when you were here before.”  Aye, Laoghaire, he had forgotten the girl was there.

“Mm, do you?” replied Claire, with a sly smile and an encouraging look for the girl.

“You canna been much more than seven or eight yourself,” Jamie said to Laoghaire, then to Claire, “I doubt I was much to see then so as to be remembered.”

“Well, I do remember, though,” averred, Laoghaire, “You were so...” she stopped, cheeks flushing at the thought of what she almost said, then changed her tack, “I mean, do you not remember me from then?”

“No.  No, I dinna think so,” he obliviously replied. “Still, I wouldna even be likely to,” he added standoffishly.  Again, directing his comment to Claire, he explained self depreciatingly, “A young birkie of sixteen's too taken up with his own grand self to pay much heed to what he thinks are naught but a rabble of snot-nosed Bairns.”

Claire elbowed him.  He must be speaking too loud for a concert, so he stayed quiet. 

They listened to the bard again for a few minutes. 

Claire took another sip of her Rhenish. “Mm,” she intoned delectably.

“Colum's Rhenish, is it?” Jamie surmised.

“It's very good,” replied Claire, with a small hiccup, “I've had two... three glasses,” she added with some embarrassment.  “You can have the rest if you like.”

Jamie gladly took the glass, hoping to keep Claire from getting any more drunk. 

“Most folks who drink with Colum are under the table after the second glass,” he stated.

“Are you implying that I'm intoxicated?” she asked, feigning offense, but still smiling.

“I'd be impressed if you weren't.” he responded, raising an eyebrow.

The song ended and the audience burst into a round of applause.  Jamie figured now was his chance to get her safely back to her room before the stupor of three glasses of Rhenish took complete hold over her and she utterly embarrassed herself. 

He leaned in and told her, “This dressing's been chafing me for days.  Would you mind helping me with it?”

“Now?” she asked incredulously.

“Well...”  he cleared his throat.

“Yes, of course,” she graciously conceded.

Jamie downed the rest of the Rhenish and handed the glass unceremoniously to Laoghaire. “Take that back, will you, lass?” he said without so much as a glance at her.  He rose and followed Claire out of the hall. 

They entered the surgery a few minutes later.

“All right,” Claire said, turning to him and steadying herself on the table, “so let's have a look at that shoulder.”

Jamie, feeling bad about his deception, wished to clear his conscience, “Uh, I dinna need your help.”

“Hmm?” Claire gave him a puzzled look.

“I just thought I should see you back to surgery while you could still walk upright,” he said, revealing his altruistic intent.

Claire chuckled embarrassedly, “Oh.  Thank you.  I suppose I did overindulge slightly.  I should have known, though.  If it was really uncomfortable, I imagine you would have just ripped off the bandages yourself.”

“Oh,” said Jamie, taking the opportunity to flirt with her, “I was afraid to.  Thought I'd get my arse skelped if I touched it.”

“Too right,” said Claire drunkenly joining in the banter, “I am the healer, after all.  I'm in charge.”

“Never doubted it,” was his jocular rejoinder.

They both chuckled.

“Really, though,” she said, with seriousness, “if it was bothering you, you should have told me.  I would have taken it off for you the other day at the stable.”

“No,” replied Jamie thoughtfully, “I couldna do that before Alec.”

“Scars,” Claire said with an understanding nod, “You don't want Alec to know you've been flogged?”

“No. No,” Jamie explained as he walked over to lean against the table next to her, “Old Alec knows I've been flogged, but he's not seen it.  To know something like that is... well, it's not the same as seeing it with your own eyes.  It's a bit personal, maybe, is what I mean.  I think if Alec were to see the scars, he couldna see me anymore without thinking of my back.”

“You don't mind me seeing your back?” she pointed out.

“I don't,” he stated matter of factly, “You seem to have a knack for letting me know you feel sorry for it, without making me feel pitiful about it.  Anyway...” Jamie concluded, pushing away from the table, “I should go.”

“Wait,” Claire called out to him, not really knowing why she didn’t want him to leave just yet.  She walked slowly toward him.  Maybe it was the Rhenish talking.  “Let me have a look at that,” she covered nicely.

He stood still, trying not to look at her as she undressed him to examine his wound.  His heart beat faster.  The act seemed much more intimate than a simple medical examination and he was afraid of what he might do with her so close to him.  Their chemistry sparked in the small amount of space between them.

His father had taught him not to take advantage of a lady in her cups and adhering to that rule was becoming harder and harder by the moment (as was something else).

“It's scabbed over nicely,” she said, looking up and catching his eye for a moment before he looked away again, trying to fight his desire.  She went back to her examination.  “There's no drainage.  Take those bandages off in a few days,” she concluded.

Jamie tried to tamp down his rising lust.  “As you say,” he replied with a smirk.

“Good night, Mr. MacTavish,” Claire bade him, shyly.

“Good night, Mistress Beauchamp,” Jamie said to her as he tore himself away from her magnetic pull to leave.  He only looked back once as he climbed the stair out of the surgery.  Claire was still smiling at him with those sparkling eyes.

 

When he was gone Claire let out a deep sigh and slumped against the table.  ‘Well, that was sobering,’ she thought.  She had been desperately trying to get back to her own time, back to Frank.  But whenever she was with the brawny redheaded Scot she completely forgot about her husband.  Guilt washed over her.

She looked about the room.  It was less than a fortnight ago that she and Frank had made love in this very room.  She closed her eyes and tried to recall it: the look in his eyes, his warm hands on her body, every kiss, every caress, every tremor of lust.  Her eyes flew open wide when she realized the man she was making love to in this fantasy was not Frank but Jamie! 

She covered her face in shame, threw herself down on her bed, and cried herself to sleep.

Chapter 8: He Needs A Woman

Jamie walked through the halls of the castle desperately trying to shake the fog lust from his head. 

Claire may have been intoxicated but he found her intoxicating.  He enjoyed every minute of their flirtatious banter and she sure seemed to care for him.  But that was what healers did, right?  They cared for people.  Maybe the affection he perceived her to have for him was the same affection that she would show to anyone in her care. 

As he made his way out of the castle, Jamie ran into Murtagh.

“Where’d ye run off to?” his godfather asked.

Gesturing back toward the surgery, Jamie said, “I was escorting Mistress Beauchamp back to her room before she toppled over in a drunken stupor.  She had a little too much o’ Colum’s Rhenish.  That woman sure can hold her liquor, though.  She had three glasses and could still walk upright.”

“Aye,” Murtagh agreed, chuckling, “The lass is a remarkable lady in many respects.”

“Mmm,” Jamie grunted, distractedly.

“What is it?” Murtagh asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jamie said, “Tonight, when I was with her in the surgery…  Well, it was the first time I felt like she…” He stopped, not liking that tack.  He tried it from a different angle, “I was this close to takin’ her in my arms and kissin’ her, Murtagh.  But my da taught me never to take advantage of a drunken woman.  So, I couldna do it.”

“Aye,” he replied with a nod and a knowing smile.  His godson was an honorable lad, his father would have been proud.

“I just wish I were more certain of her feelings for me when she’s not in her cups,” the young man lamented.

“Ye just need to find a way to get her to show it,” Murtagh counseled.

“Like how?” Jamie eagerly asked.

“Donna ask me!  Hell if I ken what to do.” exclaimed Murtagh, “My one attempt at love ended in failure.”

“I’m sorry, Murtagh,” said Jamie, “I just hope the lad that got her was deserving of her.”

“Aye,” Murtagh smiled at his godson, “That he was.”

“Look,” implored Jamie, “ye’ve got to help me.  Who else am I gonna ask, Rupert and Angus?  The only romantic advice they are likely to give me is whether it is best to use my right hand or my left.”

The two men laughed.  When Murtagh finally caught his breath, he said, “Well, alright, let me see…”  Murtagh thought for a moment.  “Ye could try to make her jealous?” he tentatively suggested.

“Oh, aye,” said Jamie enthusiastically.  After a few moments of thought, he concluded, “That might work, I’ll have to see what I can do.  Taing dhut (thank you), Murtagh.”

“Good luck,” said Murtagh and he gave his godson a good slap on the back.

……….oOo……….

The next day Jamie was busy with the horses and did not see Claire again until the afternoon. 

He had just walked in the kitchen entrance of the castle and was immediately accosted by Laoghaire.  Ever since he had saved her from an embarrassing punishment, she took every opportunity to thank him, always flirting with him and throwing herself at him.  Like all the other times before, he brushed her off as gently as he could, then he proceeded down the hall. 

As he turned the corner near the alcove, he caught sight of Claire.  She was sitting down at a table with a pensive look on her face.  Standing there in the shadows, watching her, admiring her, Jamie wondered what she was thinking about.  She seemed so serious; her face etched with concern.  He knew that look.  It was an expression she held only when she had a medical concern.  He would classify it as aloof care; she cared for the subject, but she wasn’t emotionally attached.  She had that same look on her face when she had first examined his dislocated shoulder.  However, he had witnessed her expression change throughout that whole ordeal into one that seemed to hold a more personal level of concern.  Every time she doctored him after that the look in her eyes grew more affectionate.  He was convinced that she must feel something for him, and that she just needed to be helped along.

Motion to his right drew his attention and he saw Laoghaire admiring him over her labors.  She gave him a coy smile and a shy wave, along with a swish of her hips.  Jamie looked back at Claire, then at Laoghaire again.  An idea came into his head.  Maybe this was his opportunity to make Claire jealous. 

He signaled Laoghaire to come to him.  Her smile broadened and, ignoring her work, she skipped, nay ran, his way.  Once more he looked at Claire, who had yet to notice him.  He caught Laoghaire in his arms and, much to her surprise and delight, he kissed her.  Not wanting to be discovered by anyone else, however desiring Claire to see him, he turned Laoghaire and backed her into the alcove.  She let out a delighted squeal, whereupon Jamie looked up to see Claire watching them.  Laoghaire, awkwardly, pulled him back down for another kiss and he saw Claire turn away, seemingly shocked and embarrassed by what they were doing. 

Jamie heard Angus speak to Claire.  Thankfully, it didn’t seem as though the guard had noticed Jamie and the lass.

“Good, very good,” said Angus, sardonically, “You ken how to obey a man's orders for once.”  “Move,” he commanded Claire, and Jamie heard the footsteps of their retreat.

Jamie didn’t like Angus being so rude to Claire, but at least he knew now that Claire was gone.  He immediately broke off the kiss with Laoghaire.  She was whispering things and trying to pull him back down to her, but he was thinking of Claire.  He wondered how long it would take for his little ruse to work on her.  When might he expect her reaction.

‘Now Claire will feel she has to reveal her true feelings to me or lose me,’ thought Jamie to himself.  He punctuated this thought with a nodding head and a ‘Yes!’

“Yes?” said Laoghaire, “You do want me?”

Uh oh, he must have said the last thought aloud, and Laoghaire assumed he was answering some question of hers.

“Uh, no,” he said sheepishly, as he took Laoghaire by the shoulders and set her away from him.  He had not thought this all the way through.  “Uh - uh,” he stuttered, trying to sound apologetic, “I – I donna ken what came over me.  I – I’m sorry, lass.  I shouldna have done that.”  He abruptly turned and left.  Leaving a very confused, yet still happy, Laoghaire, in the alcove.

……….oOo……….

Jamie entered the hall for supper and found himself a seat next to Murtagh.  Speaking low, so no one else could hear, he told Murtagh what happened. 

“You’re sure no one saw you besides Mistress Beauchamp?” inquired Murtagh.

“Aye,” Jamie replied, “unfortunately though, Laoghaire will be after me even worse now.  Maybe not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but if it works…”

Jamie’s head shot up.  Claire had just walked into the hall.  She spied the empty seat across from Jamie and headed that way.  After sitting down, getting herself situated, and filling her plate, she looked up at him with a devilish grin.

“Your lip looks a little swollen, Jamie,” Claire teased him as she ate, “Did you get thumped by a horse?”

Not wishing to announce, in such a public place, that he had been kissing some lassie, he reluctantly replied, “Aye.”  Her teasing caught him off guard, it was not what he expected.  She was supposed to be seething with jealousy.  He glanced around and saw that others nearby were indeed listening, so he added, “Swung his head when I wasn't looking.”

“That's too bad,” Claire commiserated, mischievously, “Those fillies can be dangerous.”

“Fillies?” inquired Murtagh, who was seated on Jamie’s left, “Alec has you working the fillies now?”

Underneath the table, Jamie pressed his foot on top of Claire’s in an attempt to signal her to drop the subject. 

She recognized the message but wouldn’t take heed.  Instead, she kicked him causing him to jump and spill his drink on Murtagh.

“Hey!” Murtagh exclaimed, “What's wrong with you?”

“I bit my tongue,” Jamie replied visibly upset and angered by Claire, who sat there with a smug look on her face.

“Clumsy dolt,” Murtagh proclaimed.

Jamie rose, and leaning over the table pointedly toward Claire, announced, “I best go see if Alec wants anything else,” and stormed out of the dining hall.

Murtagh slid over so that he was across from the self-satisfied Mistress Beauchamp.  He leaned forward so as to only be heard by her.

“Hey,” he said, and Claire leaned closer to him, “if you're teasing the lad about Laoghaire, if her father or Colum comes to know about it, young Jamie could get more than a bloodied nose.”

Claire smiled around a bite of food, and swallowing it said with a smile, “Like a wife?”

“Maybe,” replied an angry Murtagh, “That's not the wife he should have.”  For in Murtagh’s mind, Claire was already Jamie’s wife, so perfect for him was she.

“No?” replied Claire.

“No,” he repeated firmly.  “He needs a woman, not a lassie.  And Laoghaire will be a girl until she's fifty.  I've been around long enough to ken the difference very well, and so do you, mistress.”

Murtagh got up to follow his godson out of the hall. 

Claire was left with no more appetite for her food and a feeling of shame for the way she’d teased Jamie.

Murtagh was right.  Jamie was a fine upstanding young man.  He was courageous, kindhearted, and honorable.  He deserved a better wife than just some bonny young lassie with stars in her eyes.  Jamie was a born leader and would need a strong woman for his wife, one who was clever, intelligent, responsible, independent, and resourceful, just like himself.  A wife who would support him and help him attain everything he was meant to achieve.  Not one that would always need bolstering from him and would require his constant fawning attention.

As she mused on the type of woman that would be perfect for Jamie, an image of such a woman formed in her mind.  With a start she realized the perfect woman she had conjured up for Mr. MacTavish was herself.   This upset her greatly.  She rose from her seat in the dining hall and headed for the balcony door.  She needed the cool night air on her face to shock her out of her fantasies.  Jamie would need a fiercely loyal wife and that certainly could not be her.  Her loyalties lay with Frank. 

As she forced herself to think about her husband, she was able to admit that she had teased Jamie because she was jealous... not jealous of Laoghaire, jealous of their intimacy.  She missed that kind of relationship, she told herself.  She missed Frank.  She must find some way to get back to him.  Right now, her plan was to win over Colum, so that he would let her go. 

……….oOo……….

Murtagh found Jamie in the stables, furiously brushing down Donas. 

“Ye’re gonna brush that horse raw,” he told the lad.

Jamie halted his farrieric assault on Donas.  He folded his arms on the animal’s back and rested his forehead on them.  “Well, I’m in a right swivet now.”

“Aye,” replied Martagh with a chuckle, “I willna argue wi’ that.”

Turning to face his godfather, Jamie gesticulated violently, “She was supposed to be jealous!  Instead, she’s trying to marry me off to the lass!  That girl is the last person I want for a wife!  This plan was a complete failure.”  Dropping his arms to his sides he hung his head.  Dejectedly, he surmised, “Maybe she doesna even want me after all.”

“Now, now, lad,” Murtagh wrapped an arm around his godson’s shoulders, “Don’t give up yet.  Mistress Beauchamp likes you, that’s plain to see.  Just give it time.”

“Aye, ye’re right,” conceded Jamie, hopefully, “But I’m not gonna meddle with it anymore – just brings on more trouble.  Now, not only do I not have Claire, but I’ve got Laoghaire after me worse than ever.”

 

Notes:

A/N: Okay, I invented a word here. There is not such thing as ‘farrieric’. I wanted an adjective for horse grooming, so I made that up based on farrier, one who maintains horses (especially by shoeing).

Chapter 9: I'm Sent To Fetch Ye

Summary:

This is my idea of how it happened that Jamie was sent, in Dougal’s stead, to get Claire from the Duncan’s. Based on the series, S1E3, written by Ronald D. Moore and Anne Kenney, original story by Diana Gabaldon (their words in italics).

Notes:

A/N: I understand I may have placed some scenes a little out of order. Extra credit to anyone who can name the quote I paraphrased from an earlier Sam Heughan movie.

Jamie was brushing his stallion, Donas, with a handful of hay when Dougal walked into the stables that morning.  Each man greeted the other with a nod. 

“Saddle Brimstone for Mistress Beauchamp,” Dougal ordered, as if the Laird’s nephew were a mere stable hand. “I am taking her to Cranesmuir with me this morning.”  Dougal proceeded to saddle his favorite dapple grey himself.

Jamie moved to do his uncle’s bidding.  Since it was for Claire, he didn’t mind.  He groused, however, at the extra tidbit of information.  He could tell his uncle took an interest in Mistress Beauchamp and he didn’t like it.  That man didn’t need yet another mistress, and to think of him with Claire…  Jamie clenched his fists.  His uncle had a commanding presence and a way of getting what he wanted.  He didn’t like that the man would be alone with Claire for some time today even if it was just on the road to Cranesmuir.  Claire was strong willed but she was still only a woman.  However, he knew his uncle had spoken the truth when he once said, ‘I don’t hold with rape.’  Still, he wouldn’t put it past the man to try to seduce or even coerce her - the thought of which made his stomach churn. 

So it was with a look of steely eyed disdain that Jamie handed Brimstone off to Dougal.  His uncle took the reins without so much as a glance or any sign of gratitude toward his nephew and led both horses out to the stable yard. 

Jamie could see through the stable door that Claire had just then arrived.  Dougal helped her mount the horse.  Jamie’s skin crawled whenever he saw anyone touch her.  As he watched Dougal place his hands on her hips, he added a low growl to his already displeased reaction. 

Changing his thoughts to a more positive vein, Jamie took in Claire.  She looked quite fine in her brown dress with her dark curly hair pinned up on her head, a few tendrils falling down around her face, cheeks flushed with the chill of the morning air.  However, Jamie noted that although her dress was woolen she wore only a fur cowl around her neck for extra warmth.  Not a wise decision for a ride in the Highlands this time of year when the weather could be downright frigid at worst and merely fickle at best.  If she were his, he would take care of her, keep her safe and warm.  Being from Oxfordshire in the south of England she did not ken their Highlander ways. 

He watched them ride off.  She had a good seat and a confident command of the reins.  Beautiful, intelligent, caring, strong, outspoken, stubborn, opinionated, fearless, a good healer, and now, as he could see, a fine horsewoman, were just some of the traits he admired about Claire.

As he resumed his chores around the stables he couldn’t help his mind from wandering to the bonnie sassenach lassie who had absconded with his heart. 

……….oOo……….

Later that afternoon Jamie entered the castle on his way to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Almost as soon as he set foot on the stone flags of the castle corridor he was accosted by Laoghaire MacKenzie.  It had been very unwise for him to kiss her in the alcove the other day.  He was trying to make Claire jealous and it seemed his plan had only backfired on him.  Sure, Claire was visibly put off by the scene, but it didn’t spur her into doing anything about it.  Now, the young girl would not leave him be and he certainly did not want to get entangled with her.   Nonetheless, she trailed after him whenever she saw him, trying to talk to him, to touch him, and get him to kiss her again. 

One evening, on his way to his room, Jamie had spied Laoghaire from a distance standing outside the door to his chambers.  She sprinkled something on the threshold and then stood there tapping her heels together and mumbling something under her breath.  She scurried off in the opposite direction having never seen Jamie hiding in the shadows.  Not really superstitious however, he purposefully stepped over whatever substance it was that she had sprinkled on the floor and made sure to ask the maid to sweep it up the next morning, it was a bit pungent after all.

No matter how often Laoghaire pestered him it was not his nature to be intentionally rude.  He always managed to brush her off as politely as he could. 

As he entered the kitchen that afternoon, with Laoghaire hot on his heels, he came upon Dougal having a discussion with Rupert and Angus.  Jamie perked up immediately because the presence of Dougal, returned from Cranesmuir, meant that Claire was probably around somewhere too.  He glanced around expecting he might see her but to no satisfaction.  Turning his attention to the conversation between the three men he realized they were talking about Claire. 

Rupert and Angus were sitting on the hearth, beer mugs in hand and a keg between them.  Since they were relieved of their watch over Mistress Beauchamp for much of the day, they had taken to their favorite leisurely pursuit - drinking. 

Dougal stood before them, arms crossed over his chest and a stern scowl on his face.  Jamie had to smile to himself.  His uncle’s frosty demeanor surely meant that he had not gotten any… satisfaction, from either Claire or his mistress in Cranesmuir, whomever she may be. 

Dougal’s two subordinates were arguing over which one of them was to go and fetch Mistress Beauchamp from the village where Dougal had left her visiting Mistress Duncan at the Fiscal’s house. 

Angus didn’t want to go because the last time he escorted her to Cranesmuir she forced him to take her to the Baxter’s house so that she could visit the possessed boy, Tammas.  He declared that he refused to be dragged hither and yon by her again, especially if evil spirits were to be involved. 

Rupert complained that Mistress Beauchamp was always asking him questions.  She would never hold her tongue like a good woman should.  He didn’t want to put up with it anymore. 

During this discussion Jamie had been rooting around the kitchen looking for something to eat.  Laoghaire kept following him around chattering in his ear.  He paid no heed to anything she said. 

When Jamie realized that he could make everyone happy with one simple suggestion – well, everyone but Laoghaire – he interrupted their debate with, “I can go get Mistress Beauchamp.”  They all stared at him in silence so he added, “I need to take Donas out for some exercise anyway.”  Never mind that he had already taken the animal out for a good gallop that morning, but they would never know that. 

The three younger men looked at Dougal who threw up his arms and said, “Fine.”  As he walked off to attend to Colum’s bidding, he said over his shoulder, “You should find her at the Fiscal’s house.”

Laoghaire, having gotten the hint for now, retreated to the other side of the kitchen.  Rupert and Angus went back to their drink. 

Jamie glanced down at his clothes and smelled under his arm.  He decided that he did not want to go and collect Claire looking and smelling ‘like a rat that's been dragged through sheep dung.’  He went to his room to clean up.

……….oOo……….

A little while later Jamie emerged from the castle into the afternoon sunshine.  Clear and sunny it may be, however, the wind was sharp and the air was cold.  Remembering how lightly clad Claire had been when she left earlier, Jamie returned to the castle to find her cloak. 

Stepping into the surgery, he glanced around looking for the garment. 

‘Rather dark and stuffy in here,’ he thought to himself. 

He tried to think of ways he could make her living space more pleasant.  There was a fire and plenty of candles were available.  What it really needed was more natural light but there was nothing he could do about that.  This place was like a dungeon or a cell for a hermit.  He would have to see if he could come up with some other way he might brighten her room.  But right now he needed to be off to Cranesmuir. 

He found the cloak and retrieved it from its hook.  Holding it reverently in his hands he glanced around to be sure he was alone then he pressed it to his face and breathed in her scent.  Now even more anxious to see her again, he draped the garment over his arm and strode out the door.

……….oOo……….

There was a knock at the sitting room door.  “What is it?” Geillis called out exasperatedly.  She had her suspicions about Claire Beauchamp and she wanted to hear her friend’s story and maybe get some proof.  Up to this point Claire had been rather stingy with her personal history.  Now on the brink of describing her childhood, the pair were interrupted. 

The door opened and Jeanie, the maid, entered, saying to the visitor, “In here.”

Jamie stepped into the room looking dashing in his finest clothes, a grey woolen tam hung handsomely over his luscious red locks, and a cloak over his arm.  “Mistress Duncan,” he said to Geillis.  Then catching sight of Claire at the window and remembering to take his hat off in respect, he said, somewhat nervously, “Mistress Beauchamp.”

“Mr. Mactavish,” Geillis greeted him flirtatiously.  She had sensed that Claire liked Jamie and so maybe she could get the story out of her yet.

“Dougal was called back to Leoch,” Jamie explained with a nod to Claire, “I'm sent to fetch ye. Brought you a cloak to keep you warm,” he added with some nervous pride in his thoughtful gallantry.

Geillis rose from her chair and came forward to the table.  “Mistress Beauchamp was just about to tell me of her unusual upbringing. I'm sure it's a good story,” she turned away from her guests to pour a glass of wine. 

Claire gave Jamie a pointed look and shook her head ever so slightly so as not to draw the attention of their hostess.

“Why don't you have a glass of port and listen in?”  Geillis added as she held out the glass for him.

Jamie, catching Claire’s hint and always willing to help her out without question, tore his eyes away from her and replied, “Móran taing (Thank you), I would, but we should leave, or we'll get naught but scraps for our dinner.”  His eyes snapped back to Claire, following her every move.

Before Geillis could say anything more Claire jumped in with, “Thank you for your hospitality, Geillis, and for these.” She set down her glass and collected the herbs and things.  She took the offered cloak from Jamie and turned to leave.

“We must do it again,” insisted Geillis, frustrated that she had been foiled in her plans.

“Of course,” replied Claire, somewhat reluctantly.

“Soon,” Geillis added persistently.  She would just have to try again.

The couple nodded to their hostess and took their leave.

In the vestibule, Jamie took Claire’s medicine case while she donned her cloak.  Suddenly struck by his thoughtfulness on her account she turned to thank him but he was already stepping out the door.  She followed him out but before she could reach him her eyes were drawn to the pillory and she became aware once more of the boy nailed there. 

………oOo……….

Rupert and Angus were right.  Mistress Beauchamp did ask tons of questions and expressed her opinions freely.  She also made him take her hither and yon.  However, Jamie was more than happy to oblige her.  He loved the sound of her voice, especially her British accent. 

When she had asked about his strong fingers he instantly knew what she was getting at.  However, he couldn’t help but think of all the various ways in which he could demonstrate for her the capabilities of his fingers. 

He was happy to assist her in freeing the boy from the pillory, he too was no fan of these barbaric punishments.  He was even more thrilled to help her up and wrap an arm around her after she had pretended to faint.  He enjoyed having her in such close proximity.  She seemed to fit perfectly against him.  And the feel of her hand in his, or any time she had touched his skin sent a warm fission up his spine.  Their little ruse to help the boy was thrilling and even fun.  Her compassion for others was boundless and he admired her boldness of spirit. 

When she challenged him to another derring do – a trip to the black kirk – there was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to spend even more time alone with her.

He loved her curiosity and eager thirst for knowledge and he enjoyed her intelligent conversation.  As for all the dragging hither and yon – that just meant that he got to spend more time in her effervescent presence.  It might have been old Nick’s ‘very own kirkyard’ but for Jamie… he was in heaven.

Chapter 10: Brighten Up The Surgery

Notes:

A/N: A continuation from the previous chapter. In cannon based on the series with a few minor alterations. Series written by Ronald D. Moore, Anne Kenney (S1E3), Matthew B. Roberts (S1E4), original story by Diana Gabaldon (their words in italics).

Claire gave an exasperated sigh of frustrated resignation and said, “I'll never get out of here.”

Once again Jamie had been enjoying his time spent with Claire.  However, when he heard these words the smile left his face and his heart sank.  She really wanted to leave.  Was there nothing he could do to make her stay?  He felt deep in his bones - in his very soul, that she was meant for him.  The energy between them whenever they were together was so tangible.  He was certain there were times when she could feel it too.  Her husband was dead.  What did she have to go back to?  He decided that for as long as she remained at Castle Leoch he would keep trying.

……….oOo……….

Jamie awakened one morning, in the same way he did most mornings as of late, thinking of Claire.  Dreams of her were the reason he woke with his lips smiling roguishly and his cock standing up by itself.  He wondered if the day would ever come when he would be able to remedy the latter problem in the most agreeable fashion he could think of.

As he stretched his muscles, his thoughts ran back to the evening the previous week when he dragged Claire, not at all unwillingly, across the room to sit next to him during the concert.  He enjoyed interpreting Gwyllyn’s songs for her.  It gave him an excuse to lean close to her and whisper in her ear. 

He loved to watch the goose flesh rise on her cheek and neck as his warm breath danced over her silky skin.  At least it looked silky to him.  He had yet to touch it but, oh, was it tempting.  He greatly enjoyed the smell of her hair and he often leaned in close enough to feel the softness of her curls against his cheek.  Sometimes he might even witness a blush rise in her cheek or her breath hitch if his lips, ahem, accidentally brushed her ear (his fault or hers he was not always certain).  From his greater height, leaning over to whisper in her ear, he had a nice view of the beautiful swell of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath, moving faster if the words he whispered were those of a love song.

Claire always seemed to enjoy the music but that night she was inexplicably ecstatic after hearing “The Woman of Balnain.”  She even asked some questions when it was over.  She displayed a very childlike excitement.  It was probably just Colum’s Rhenish.  Although, thankfully she had not consumed as much of it then as she had at the previous concert. 

That particular night he had to escort her back to her room while she could still walk upright.  There was a great deal of that tangible energy between them then.  The evening ended with her undressing him – just partially, to check his bandage, of course.  But the feel of her, in such close proximity, removing his neckerchief and unbuttoning his shirt…

Jamie had to forcibly shake himself back into the present at which point he looked down and decided that an early morning dip in the river (yes, it was November) would be necessary before he began his day.

……….oOo……….

There was nothing like a freezing cold bath to shock the body back into reality.  His hair was still wet but he was dressed for the day and his plaid was draped around his shoulders for warmth.  Jamie walked through the woods back to the castle.  On the way he thought about Claire and the wonderful time he had spent with her the previous week.  Unfortunately, his mind finished the reminiscence with the expression of her desire to leave.  He chastised himself then for dwelling on memories when he should be thinking ahead and plotting how to get her to stay. 

What could he do to make her life here more enjoyable?  What would put a smile on her face?  What could brighten her day?  Forcing his mind into this train of thought he remembered the dark and dank surgery where she spent much of her time.  There must be something he could do to enliven it and make it a room more befitting of a lady such as herself. 

Just then he spotted on the forest floor a patch of late blooming flowers: forget-me-nots, their bright blue petals and golden centers winking at him in the early morning sunlight.  He gathered a handful of the flowers and tied them in a bundle with a piece of grass.  Carrying them in his hand he resumed his walk back to Leoch.  As he emerged from the woods however, he realized it would be embarrassing to be caught with the posey by the other clansmen.  They would give him such a ribbing.  So he tucked it gently into the drape of his plaid.  This action, however, did not go unnoticed.

……….oOo……….

Laoghaire had been watching for Jamie to return from the woods.  She always rose early to help out in the kitchens and that morning she had seen him leave heading toward the stream.  She knew he must have been intending to bathe and longed to follow him (what a sight that would be, quite the fine figure indeed!) but she had to attend to her duties in the kitchen.  Her grandmother, the housekeeper, would surely notice if she were missing and no gallant highland warrior would be able to save her from her punishment then.  Instead, she kept stealing glimpses out the window, watching for his return. 

Finally, she saw him emerge from the trees with what looked like a bunch of blue flowers in his hand.  She saw him stop and place the bundle in his plaid before resuming his path to the castle.  He must be bringing her some flowers.  How sweet of him!  He would surely come in through the kitchen door so she abandoned her work and went to wait for him in the alcove.

……….oOo……….

As Jamie approached the castle, he was alarmed to see Claire on a mad dash out of the gates.  Was she seriously trying to escape in that manner?  She wouldn’t get far.  However, just as he was about to run after her in lieu of the guards, a gaggle of bairns burst through the gates in hot pursuit.  Claire looked back at them, laughing (oh, how he loved to hear her laugh). Her followers, led by his young cousin Hamish, he noticed, redoubled their efforts with shouts of “We must catch Mistress Claire” and “The beast is getting away!” 

A broad grin split his face and he began to laugh as well.  She must have heard him for she glanced his way and made a quick spin in her tracks waving in his direction before resuming her run.  He happily waved back.  Hampered by her voluminous skirts, however, the wee hunters were gaining on her.  Jamie watched until they disappeared into the woods. 

He stood there smiling and staring after her for a few minutes.  He didn’t know she had made friends with the children of the castle.  What a kind and loving heart she had.  She would make a wonderful mother, he was sure.  That thought conjured up others that he needed to push aside. 

Jamie was glad that she was having fun, maybe she was finally embracing her fate that she was meant to be here… meant to be his.  He wished he could have joined in the chase; with his long legs and powerful stride he could have caught her easily and then…  He needed to stop having such thoughts or he would have to go back to the river. 

He remembered the flowers in his plaid and realized that now was the perfect opportunity.  While she was gone playing chase he could sneak into the surgery and leave the brightly colored bouquet there for her. 

A minute later he entered the castle and took the corridor past the kitchen to get to the surgery.  However, as soon as he reached the alcove someone grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. 

“Laoghaire!” said he, surprised to see the lass.  He looked about to make sure no one saw him and asked, “what are ye doin’?”

“I was waitin’ for ye,” she said flirtatiously, as she sashayed closer to him. 

She tried to press her body against his, but he maintained his distance, placing his hand protectively over the bundle in his plaid.  She remembered the flowers he put there and stepped back expectantly, waiting for him to pull out the posy for her. 

“Oh.  No lass.  I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, taken aback by her forward behavior, “I-I have somewhere to be.” 

This confused her because she thought he was bringing her the flowers and she wanted to kiss him in return.  Instead, he strode off down the hall. 

Laoghaire was devastated.  If the flowers were not for her then who were they for?  Was there someone else?  Oh, if there was – the wench would pay!  Frustrated and fuming, she returned to her duties in the kitchen, chopping the stew vegetables with a newfound vehemence. 

……….oOo……….

Jamie tentatively entered the surgery, looking around to make sure no one was there.  He found a glass jar and filled it with some water, too bad there was no vase.  He pulled the flowers out of his plaid and put them in the jar.  He placed them in the middle of her worktable and stepped back to admire his handiwork.  Or should he say, ‘God’s handiwork,’ all he did was pick the flowers.

Yes, the little splash of color was definitely an eye catcher in that dreary room.  Claire was sure to notice them as soon as she returned.  Would she like them?  Would she figure out who brought them?  Jamie smiled to himself and left to go get breakfast.  He would be spending the rest of the day away from the castle and would sleep in the stables that night, in order to avoid the gathering and the oath taking ceremony.  After the oaths were done, he would be able to participate in the festivities. 

……….oOo……….

Claire had been inspired by Gwyllyn’s song the other night “The Woman of Balnain.”  Since the concert she had recalled the lyrics over and over again:

I am a woman of Balnain.

The folk have stolen me over again,

the stones seemed to say.

I stood upon the hill, and wind did rise, and the sound of thunder rolled across the land.

I placed my hands upon the tallest stone

and traveled to a far, distant land

where I lived for a time among strangers who became lovers and friends.

But one day, I saw the moon came out

and the wind rose once more.

so I touched the stones

and traveled back to my own land

and took up again with the man I had left behind.

This song had given her hope that she would be able to return through the stones to her own time.  One line, however, kept recurring to her, “I lived for a time among strangers who became lovers and friends.”

As she was returning to the castle after playing the hunting game with Hamish and his pals, Claire’s thoughts returned once more to this line.  She did seem to be making friends here (besides the children) like Mrs. Fitz and Geillis.  Would she find a lover here too?  She closed her eyes and her mind conjured up the memory of strong muscular arms wrapped around her in a comforting embrace.  Her eyes sprang open.  Of course, she shouldn’t think such things!  She had Frank back in her own time.  But the woman in the song had a man she had left behind as well…

As she came down the stairs into her surgery her eye was caught by the little bouquet of flowers on her worktable.  She gasped and launched herself off the last step toward the table to examine the spray. 

However, a few steps into the room, Claire was startled half out of her wits when she heard her friend Geillis say, “I brought the port ye asked for.”

“Christ, Geillis,” she said, as her hand flew to her breast in surprise.

“Mrs. Fitz told me I might find you down here,” her friend said, to explain her presence.

Geillis walked over to Claire at the worktable and handed her the bottle of port.  Claire was staring at the flowers wondering where the colorful offering had come from. 

As she took the bottle from Geillis she thanked her and asked, “Did you bring the flowers as well?” 

“No,” replied Geillis, “they were here when I arrived.”  Noticing the confused look on her friend’s face, Geillis leaned in and teased, “Do you have a secret admirer, Claire?”

“Pardon me?” replied Claire, somewhat defensively, “Do you think that simply because there are flowers here, I have a secret admirer?  Maybe Mrs. Fitz brought them, or one of the children.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Geillis with a knowing look, “Perhaps it might be that ginger-haired laddie.  Can’t seem to tear his eyes from you or keep the smile off his face whenever you’re around.”

“Nonsense,” replied Claire, pretending to busy herself with her herbs so she didn’t have to look her friend in the eye, “I can assure you; Jamie is just grateful to me for tending to his wounds, that’s all.”

Reaching for the flowers, Geillis fingered one.  “Forget-me-nots,” she declared, “how appropriate.  Not only do they symbolize remembrance but also never-ending love.” 

‘Forget-me-nots,’ thought Claire.  She glanced over at them again for confirmation and sucked in her breath.  That was the flower she had returned to the stone circle to find.  Forget-me-nots were the reason that she was here.  Was this some sort of a sign?

Later, after Geillis left, Claire picked up the bouquet of flowers.  The little blue blossoms were bright and cheerful.  They gave off a pleasant, albeit faint, scent and Claire smiled.  As she tried to figure out who put them there, she concluded that Geillis was probably right.  Jamie was the only person thoughtful enough to go to such effort for her. 

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and her heartbeat quickened at the thought of the ginger-haired laddie.  Unbidden, her mind played through some of her favorite memories of him: the smile that spread across his face when he spotted her within a crowd, the warmth of his hand when he took hers and pulled her to a seat across the hall for the concert, the feel of his skin under her fingers any and all of the myriad of times she tended to his wounds, and, of course, his arms wrapped around her when he comforted her that first night in this place. 

A pleasant shiver went all through Claire’s body and butterflies fluttered frantically in her belly.  She felt a strange magnetic draw toward Jamie, greater than any draw she had ever felt toward anyone, even Frank.  Was he the reason the stones brought her here?  Fate seemed to be conspiring to make her stay after all.  Maybe there was some reason she was meant to be here.  Maybe that reason was the tall, ruggedly handsome, red-headed highland outlaw. 

No!  She was out of her own time.  This was not normal.  She had to get back to 1945 – back to – to Frank.  However, looking at the flowers again, she had to admit to herself that the idea of going back to her own time did not excite her as much as the thought of seeing Jamie again.  She shoved that thought aside though and set the flowers back down.  She had built her plan of escape and she intended to follow through with it.  She needed to go about making her final preparations.

Chapter 11: I Hold Myself Bound

Summary:

In cannon, based on the series, S1E4, written by Ronald D. Moore and Matthew B. Roberts, original story by Diana Gabaldon (their words in italics). What Claire and Jamie might have been thinking in the scenes surrounding Jamie’s oath to the MacKenzie.

Notes:

A/N: I had originally published this chapter as a stand alone one-shot but I am adding it in here also as it fits and is a precursor to the next chapter.

“Ye dinna have to hit me so hard. I was willing to come,” Jamie complained to Rupert as they were getting him ready for his oath taking.

“Aye, but I dinna want ye maiming half the clan while ye were makin’ up yer mind,” Rupert retorted.

Just then Willie walked into the room.  “Got the rest of yer clothes, Jamie,” he said, handing over the bundle.

“Thank you,” Jamie replied taking it from the lad.

“Well, that should be suitable for the Laird's nephew,” Rupert said.  “You'll be needing this,” he added passing Jamie the Clan MacKenzie brooch. 

Claire took it instead with a slight flourish of contempt.  She was still angry at Rupert, her ‘shadow,’ for knocking Jamie over the head.  She was fairly certain he did it in an attempt to save face after she had successfully evaded him and Angus that evening. 

"Luceo non uro," Claire read the inscription on the brooch, "I shine, not burn."

“Aye, the MacKenzie motto,” Rupert affirmed loudly.

Shouts of “Aye,” and “Slàinte mhath!” were heard from some of the other men in the room as mugs were raised in salute.

Placing the brooch on the table next to Jamie, Claire said in a low voice, “I'm sorry. I Didn't mean for you to have to stand up for me.”

“Don't fash yourself on my account,” Jamie replied while buttoning the sleeves of his shirt.

“How's your head?” Claire asked him.

“Fine,” he answered, “My sister Jenny says it's harder than an iron pot.” Jamie sighed and picked up the brooch, “I canna wear this. I'm not a Mackenzie.”  Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he dropped the brooch into a box on the table. “Do ye know my motto, lass?  My clan's, I mean?”

“No,” Claire replied, “I don't even know what clan you're from.”

“Je suis prest,” he said with a mischievous glint of stubborn pride in his eye.  “Find a place in the hall,” he told her as he went back to dressing.

Claire walked off thinking to herself, ‘Je suis prest - I am ready, but ready for what?’

……….oOo……….

Refusing the MacKenzie brooch and telling Claire his clan’s motto wasn’t just an act of bravado.  Jamie wanted Claire to know it – he wanted her to know everything about him.  But it was also a pep talk for himself.  Je suis prest – I am ready.  That’s what he said to himself.  He was ready to take on the daunting task in front of him; to face up to his uncles; declare his intentions.  If only he could also declare his heart’s intentions.  He was ready for that too, but he knew she was not.

After Claire had tripped over him in the stables and confided in him her plan of escape he knew he would have to escort her back to the castle and risk being caught.  Now he would have to submit to the oath taking but he wasn’t afraid.  She had led him to it and if that was the case then he was convinced that only good could come of it.  Ever since she entered his life, even the bad things that happened to him turned out good.  He wanted this woman by his side, to be always with him. 

……….oOo……….

Claire got to the hall and found Murtagh.  Just as she reached him Jamie appeared at the main entrance to the hall. 

“Jamie's here,” she indicated to Murtagh. 

Everyone else in the hall noticed the appearance of the Laird’s nephew as well.  An anxious hush fell over the crowd.  Dougal entered the room just then, apparently drawn by the change of atmosphere.  He was rubbing the back of his head where Claire had hit him with the chair.  He noticed Jamie and a dark look fell over his face.

“Why is everyone so tense?” Claire asked Murtagh.

“Shh,” Murtagh shushed her.

The crowd parted in front of Jamie as he made his way toward the other end of the hall.  Dougal also walked forward along the far wall, keeping pace with his nephew. 

“What's going on?” she asked.  

“Shh,” Murtagh said again, grabbing her elbow and leading her away from the crowd.

“Why?” Claire persisted. 

Jamie took his place at the back of the line.  Dougal took his place next to Colum.

“I'll tell ye,” said Murtagh, and he explained, “If Jamie pledges fealty to his uncle, Colum, then he'd be in line to succeed as Laird. He'd be part of clan MacKenzie, d’ye see?”

“Why wouldn't Hamish become Laird? If he's too young, then Dougal?” Claire asked.

“That may be the way the English do things,” Murtagh cajoled, “But clans are tanist. Jamie has MacKenzie blood. If enough clansmen want Jamie to be Laird, then there it would be, and a terrible thing at that.”

“Mr. MacTavish seems like a good choice to be laird,” Claire opined.

“His other uncle, Dougal, might disagree with ye on that point, lass,” Murtagh pointed out, “He's been holding the honor for himself when Colum dies. If Jamie takes the oath, Dougal wouldna let him breathe MacKenzie air for long.”

“So why doesn't he just decline to take the oath?” Claire asked, trying to puzzle this whole thing out.

“Not while he abides at Leoch,” explained Murtagh, “As the Laird's nephew and as a healthy man at arms, he has no choice. If before all, Jamie refuses, the maids would likely be scrubbing the lad's blood from the floor at Colum's feet.”

Claire looks at him in shock, “So no matter what he decides, he winds up dead? Why stay at the castle? Why didn't he just leave if both his uncles would have his head on a pike?”

“The lad's got a price on his head,” Murtagh reminded her, “Would not be long before Captain Randall or the Watch had him in irons. The only safe place in Scotland is here at Leoch, until now. If Jamie had just stayed hidden till the gathering was over, Colum and Dougal wouldna pressed the matter any further.”

“He was leaving the stables to escort me back,” Claire voiced her realization out loud, “Oh, God, this is all my fault.”

“Aye, it is,” blunt as always, Murtagh Fitzgibbons was never one to mince words. 

……….oOo……….

In the meantime the queue of oath takers had moved forward and Jamie, the last in line, was now standing in front of his uncle.

Colum was visibly displeased.  He did not want for this to happen.  There was nothing he could do.  He would just have to see how savvy his nephew could be. 

Jamie stepped forward and took a knee before the Laird.  Colum was staring down at him, stiffly.  Jamie glanced up at his uncle.  However, instead of drawing his dirk for the oath, as the others had done before him, Jamie stood back up.  Both Colum’s and Dougal’s eyes widened at this seeming act of defiance and they looked uneasy. 

Jamie spoke to his uncle, “Colum Mackenzie, I come to you as kinsman and as ally.” 

Colum nodded to his nephew and relaxed somewhat.  He always knew the lad had some acumen.  He did, after all, have MacKenzie blood, if not the name.

The lad continued, louder so that all could hear, “But I give ye no vow.” Murmurs ran through the crowd and the Laird’s eyes widened again.  “For my oath is pledged to the name that I bear.” 

The clansmen began to draw their swords, ready to strike down this youth who deigned to defy their Laird. 

However, Jamie proclaimed his own oath, “I give you my obedience as kinsman... and as Laird.  And I hold myself bound to yer word, so long as my feet rest on the lands of the clan MacKenzie.” 

Uncle and nephew stared at each other for a few moments.  Then Colum reached for the bowl of Rhenish and handed it to Jamie with a smile.  Jamie drank the bowl of wine to the last drop, sealing the oath.  The crowd erupted with cheers and applause.

Claire’s heart swelled and she looked at Jamie with great admiration for how well he had handled that seemingly impossible situation with such grace and diplomacy.  There was so much more to this burly red-headed Scotsman than she knew.  And she felt a strong desire to know more, nay all, about him.

Colum signaled for the celebrations to begin.  The musicians began to play and the dancers took to the floor.  Jamie made his way toward the back of the hall where Claire and Murtagh were standing.  They watched as Jamie approached.  Claire looked at him with an apologetic smile as he drew near.  After all, she had put him in this situation.  She glanced at Murtagh behind her.  As she turned back to watch Jamie, Murtagh shook his head.

Claire smiled a bit sheepishly as Jamie approached.  He smiled and lightly nodded at her.  She returned the nod but he continued past her to Murtagh who, shaking his head, said, “I'm getting too old for this.” 

Claire was disappointed that he didn’t stop to talk to her.  She wondered if he was upset with her. 

Claire’s gaze followed him.  Jamie clasped Murtagh’s shoulder and glanced sideways at Claire then looked down slightly before turning to leave with Murtagh by a side door.  Claire looked him up and down.  She definitely wanted to know all of him.  She was inexplicably drawn to this man.  Before Jamie stepped through the doorway she turned her head away.  He looked back at her, just missing her eyes upon him. 

……….oOo……….

As he walked through the crowd of clansmen toward Claire and Murtagh, Jamie had to fight back the urge to sweep the Sassenach up into his arms, spin her around the dance floor, and kiss her soundly.  Adrenaline was pumping through his veins from the confrontation with his uncles in front of all the clansmen.  His successful navigation of the situation had his confidence and his spirits soaring.  He wanted Claire to soar with him. 

But she was not his, at least, not yet.  So he just smiled and walked past her to his old friend, doing his best to reign in his emotions and keep his hands, and lips, to himself. 

After he stepped through the doorway with Murtagh he paused, allowing the older man to get some paces ahead of him.  He looked back wistfully toward the hall and said aloud, though no one could hear, “I am glad you stayed Sassenach.”  And he meant that.  No matter what it might cost him, he wanted her to stay.

Under good circumstances or bad, Claire Beauchamp always seemed to bring out the best in him.  Whatever may happen to her, he considered his heart and soul held bound to hers forevermore. 

Chapter 12: That's The Business Settled

Summary:

Based on S1E2 and S1E4 - Matthew B. Roberts.

Notes:

A/N: If you are at all interested in my silly propensity for bringing in random quotes from other sources watch out for the one from Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope.

Dougal was infuriated by the reception Jamie received after his ‘oath’ to Colum the night before.  When it should have made all the clansmen hate him it only seemed to raise their level of respect for the youngster.  He had to do something to remove Jamie from the running for the lairdship. 

As he returned to the castle from the hunt the next morning, adrenaline pumping from the thrill of the battle plus the stress and sadness of losing his old friend Geordie, Dougal felt the need to release some of his pent up energy.  The shinty game was just the thing and there was that upstart nephew of his handling the ball with such skill and precision, of course he had taught the boy how to play the game himself.  He threw down his hunting rifle and removed his coat and plaid never taking his eyes off of his redheaded kinsman.  He grabbed the first shinty stick he saw and rushed into the fray determined to take out his frustration in the game and especially on the lad who now seemed poised to take everything for which he had worked so long and hard.

Boy, could that lad take a thrashing and give as good as he got.  Dougal gave him a sound beating but Jamie was a fighter.  He wouldn’t be baited by Dougal but he would never give in either.  He bested Dougal in the end and even though he accepted his nephew’s hand to raise himself from the ground where Jamie had soundly thrown him, he stomped off just as frustrated, if not more so, than when he had initially joined the competition.  The confrontation did nothing to improve Dougal’s chances for the lairdship and only made Jamie look like the better person. 

……….oOo……….

After his successful handling of the oath taking debacle, Jamie was in high spirits the next morning. 

He was planning to go on the boar hunt because Claire would be attending in case her healing skills were needed.  As he walked to the stables to get his horse he was trying to come up with ways he could creditably, but not severely, injure himself so as to be the recipient of her tender care once more, when he heard Murtagh calling for him. 

“Jamie,” said Murtagh, “We need ye for the shinty game.  The MacKenzie men of the castle are linin’ up ‘gainst the men of the village and us Frasers are gonna step in and help them out.  Trobhad (come).” Murtagh beckoned him to follow.

“I was gonna go out for the boar hunt,” Jamie replied.

“Why would ye do that?” asked Murtagh, “Ye never liked those kind of hunts a’fore.  Come on, let’s go, the game is about to start.”

Murtagh was right, he despised these massive boar hunts and he certainly could not confess to his godfather his true reason for wanting to go, so he reluctantly gave in and told Murtagh he would join the game.  He followed Murtagh back toward the castle removing his coat in preparation.

The game was a lot of fun and his team was actually winning when his Uncle Dougal, returning from the hunt, decided to join in.  The man was rather violent in his passion for the game but that was the nature of shinty in the Highlands.  He seemed rather more aggressive toward Jamie, however. 

Upset with himself for being twice caught napping by his uncle, Jamie upped his game refusing to let the man get the better of him again.  He had to tolerate many blows and refused to resort to such violence himself, however, his cooler head prevailed and he bested his uncle in the end.

Jamie was having too much fun and was in too good of a mood to read anything more into his uncle’s aggression than that of extreme passion for the game and the excitement of the gathering. 

After his uncle stomped off like a bratty schoolboy, Jamie, panting to catch his breath, looked up and saw Claire. He smiled and nodded at her.  He was happy to see her but hadn’t realized that she had been watching.  At least he had acquitted himself respectably and with some measure of decorum.  It stoked his ego that she had witnessed it.  Murtagh came up and patted him on the back.  Too caught up in wrestling with Dougal, Jamie didn’t even know if his team had won so he asked Murtagh and the reply was a satisfying ‘Aye’. 

……….oOo……….

Dougal returned to his chambers determined to come up with some way he could remove his nephew short of killing him himself.  After he cleaned up and changed out of his dirty clothes he poured himself a dram of whiskey and sat down to think.  But all that came to his mind was the passing of his friend Geordie.  He silently toasted the man.  The two of them grew up together and had shared many adventures and many bottles of whiskey.  He would be sorely missed. 

He thought of Mistress Beauchamp and how well she had handled that situation.  She was a competent healer and not squeamish in the least.  She must have seen men die before and by violence, he concluded.  She tried to do what she could for Geordie’s body and when that turned out to be futile she did what she could for his peace of mind.  She took him to a peaceful place, and that's all any of us can ask when we pass. 

His mind now turned to his pending rent collection trip.  He was thinking how it might be wise to have a healer such as Mistress Beauchamp along with them, especially one that does well under strain, there's a lot of that on the road.

This led him to considering the other members of the rent party: Ned Gowan, the lawyer, of course, to collect and account for the rents; some well-trained fighters, Rupert, Angus, and the up and coming Willie, for defense; a few others to tend the horses and such.

Then there was the ‘other business’ he was going to attend to.  As he contemplated his strategies in that regard he decided it would be quite useful to have Jamie along.  His fighting skills would be helpful to the rent party in general and his back would be helpful in raising funds for the cause.  But Dougal had an additional purpose in mind…

He would have to get Colum’s permission to bring Leoch’s healer as well as Jamie.  Colum would likely allow Mistress Beauchamp to go but would be against sending Jamie.  Dougal knew his brother had a partiality for their nephew.  He would be afraid the English would capture him or someone would turn him in for the price on his head.  Although Dougal would never hand Jamie over to the English himself, there would be no love lost for him if it happened.  His sword, his back, and the potential of getting rid of him were the reasons Dougal added Jamie’s name to the list of desired rent party companions.

Dougal went to discuss this with his brother.  He tapped lightly on Colum’s door and walked right in.  He always had Colum’s ear. 

Colum looked up from the letter he was writing and putting his quill aside he said, “Ah, brother!  What can I do for ye this afternoon?  Are ye ready for yer trip to collect the rents? 

“Aye,” replied Dougal, “That’s what I’ve come to discuss with ye.”

Colum indicated a chair and said, “Well, have a seat.  What is it?”

“I would like to take Mistress Beauchamp with me.  She did a fine job this morning on the hunt.”

“Aye, I heard about Geordie, I’m sorry,” Colum solemnized.

“Aye,” Dougal replied, “He was a good friend.”

“But Mistress Beauchamp could do nothing for him?” Colum questioned Dougal’s assessment.

“He was beyond saving.  She could have helped with his leg wound but his abdominal wound was fatal.  No, what she did was comfort him in his final moments while I held him.  He died peacefully.  You should have seen her though. She tramped around the hunting ground like it was her second home.  She tended to the injured and was in no way squeamish or faint of heart at some of the worst wounds I’ve ever seen.”

“So you want to take her on the road,” it was a statement, not a question.

“You know the things that can happen out there.  Her skills would be handy to have with us.  She could also treat any of the villagers that are ill.  Your people already love you but sending your healer to them would be an extra kindness.”

“Hmm,” thought Colum, “Very well.  But be sure you have plenty of guards.  Ye’ll need extra with a woman along.”

“Aye,” replied Dougal and seizing the opportunity he said, “That’s why I’d like to bring Jamie.”

Colum sat back at this comment, eyeing Dougal a little suspiciously. 

“He’s a good soldier and gets along well with my men,” added Dougal.

“I don’t like it,” replied Colum, “The lad’s got a price on his head.  You run in to the British, which is likely, or the watch…”

“We are usually forewarned and can avoid any British entanglements, and he can always make himself scarce when need be.”

Colum thought for a few moments then replied, “Let’s talk with him about it after supper.”

Dougal stood and said, “I’ll go inform Mistress Beauchamp.”

……….oOo……….

After Dougal left the surgery, Claire removed her apron and headed to the hall.  She did not want to miss out on her last good meal before hitting the road and, like Dougal suggested, she did not want to incur Mrs. Fitz’s wrath by being late either.  She wasn’t sure what being on the road would be like but it would get her away from this dank dungeon where she felt like she was being held captive.  Maybe she would even find herself near Craig Na Dun.  Ever since her initial escape plan had failed she had been trying to think of another way to get out.  This may just be her opportunity. 

Claire entered the hall.  Colum and Dougal were seated at the head table.  At one of the other tables she saw an empty seat, across from Jamie and Murtagh, and moved to take it. 

“Good evening, gentleman,” she greeted them.

“Aye,” they replied simultaneously.

“Interesting game this morning,” she said, beginning to eat.

“Aye,” replied Jamie, “I don’t suppose they play shinty in Oxfordshire?”

“No,” she replied.  She wanted to tell them that they played football instead but she wasn’t sure if the sport had been invented yet or if they would have even heard of it so far north.  “It didn’t look like some people were playing very fair, though.  Is there a referee or a judge to make sure the rules are followed?”

“Ach, no,” replied Murtagh, “the players take care of the fairness themselves.”

“Yes, I saw what you did to poor Angus in the name of fairness,” Claire replied, giving him a pointed look, “I’m surprised he didn’t show up in the surgery afterwards - must be that damn Scotch pride.  You as well, Mr. McTavish, it looked like Dougal may have reinjured your shoulder.”

“Aye, I guess it was pride for me too, Sassenach,” he confessed.  Then leaning closer to her with a smirk he said, “As much as I enjoy your ministrations, I wouldna want Dougal to think that he beat me bad enough to need a healer.”

“Well,” teased Claire, “You may wish to take advantage of my healing skills today, while I am still here. I am to go on the road with Dougal tomorrow for the rent collection.  So he informed me just before supper.”

After expressing their initial shock at her announcement the pair of Scotsmen went on to explain to her what it meant to be a part of the rent party.  She had hoped to hear that Jamie would be coming along as well but no such information was relayed.  The men did detail the traveling experience, sleeping arrangements, and potential problems.  Claire was grateful for the information as it gave her a better idea of what to pack.  She excused herself when the meal was over and returned to the surgery to prepare for the trip.

……….oOo……….

Jamie was not only crestfallen but quite concerned to hear that Claire would be gone for who knows how long.  His apprehension about his uncle’s interest in her had only increased after she had to beat the man off with a chair the other night.  He didn’t like her going off with that group of men.  Add to it that she was English in a place where that's not a pretty thing to be and he was concerned that some Highlanders, MacKenzie or no, might decide to score one for the Scottish by assaulting an English woman.  He had promised her that she would be safe if he was around.  He held that promise at the same level, if not more so, as the oath he had made to Colum.  Therefore, he was determined to find some way to join the rent party.

He and Murtagh stayed in the hall conversing well after supper was over.  He felt justified in expressing his concern for Mistress Beauchamp to his godfather as he knew the man felt somewhat responsible for her himself as he was the one who rescued her in the first place.  They brainstormed ideas for some time until young Tammas Baxter approached to inform Jamie that the Laird had summoned him.  Maybe this was his opportunity.  Taking his leave of his kinsman, Jamie rose and went to see Colum.

When he stepped into Colum’s room he found Dougal there too.  He greeted his uncles with a bow and awaited Colum’s instructions. 

Colum looked up at him and said, “Well, Jamie lad, I’ll get right to the point.  Your uncle Dougal here would like you to go on the road with him to collect the rents.”

Colum paused and Jamie was on the verge of declaring his hearty assent that moment, but Colum continued, “Now, I am concerned about the price on your head.  A trip like this will give you lots of exposure and you will likely run into redcoat patrols as well.  Dougal suggests that you can make yourself scarce when such problems appear.  You have sworn obedience to me while on MacKenzie lands.  However, as it will be your neck at the end of a rope, I give the decision over to you.  Would you be willing to go with the rent party, or no?”

Jamie pretended to think for a bit.  He had mastered his earlier enthusiasm and realized that he didn’t want to come off as overly eager.  “Red coat patrols can come here just as easily, uncle,” he replied in measured tones, “and with all of the outsiders who come to visit ye I am more likely to run into people from other clans or even foreigners here than on the road.  My Laird,” Jamie said with a bow, “If my Uncle Dougal requires me then, I will go and Murtagh will join me as well.”

“So,” concluded Dougal, “That’s the business settled.  We leave at first light.”

Notes:

A/N: Although modern football (soccer) may be able to trace its roots back to late 17th century England, it wasn’t until the mid-19th century that the rules were standardized (source: English-online dot at, European Football – Soccer). So I am guessing that 18th century Highlanders probably hadn’t heard of it yet.

Chapter 13: A Marriage Proposition

The morning dawned bright with a light mist still hanging over the fields.  After finishing their campfire breakfast, the rent party was packing up to travel on to the next village.  Jamie was joking with Murtagh and some of the other men as they dismantled the tents and packed the supplies from their camp that morning.  His head jerked around when he heard Claire’s voice.

“I'm going to the river to wash,” she announced.

He stood and turned around.  Dougal was sitting with Ned Gowan discussing the rents.  Stepping forward, as did Rupert and Angus, Jamie intended to volunteer as her escort but instead he heard Dougal say in a flat tone, “Let her go.”

“Now, as regards the transactions...,” Ned was saying to Dougal.

The others went back to their work, but Jamie just stood there.  Surprised by their leader’s decision, he glanced back and forth between Dougal and Claire.

Dougal was listening to Ned discuss business, but his eyes followed Mistress Beauchamp.

The lawyer continued, “We’ve been comparatively successful despite the earlier setbacks.”

Claire looked astonished that Dougal did not seem to be concerned about her, but she gladly took her horse and left.  Being away from Leoch like this, she could easily bolt.  Maybe Dougal figured she was too smart for that or maybe he was hoping she would run so he could catch her and feel vindicated.  However, Jamie was suspicious of his uncle’s motives and so he kept an eye on him while he finished packing up. 

Ned quickly concluded his summary of the monies raised for the Jacobite cause and took advantage of the absence of Mistress Beauchamp to inform Dougal of his conversation with her at breakfast the day before.

“I must say, she’s got a good head on her shoulders, and a tongue for argument as well,” Ned opined, “She has figured out what we are really about and tried to persuade me to give up the cause.  She is convinced we are certain to lose, as if history had already been written.”

Dougal grumbled and got up.  Jamie watched him pace around, seething for a few minutes, kicking at anything that got in his way, and occasionally glaring in the direction that Claire had taken.  Then sure enough, he stormed off to follow her.

Jamie was incensed.  Dougal obviously intended to come upon her by surprise, but to what end he did not know.  Jamie didn’t like it one bit but there was nothing he could do about it.  He just hoped that she would not have disrobed for a bath in the river by the time Dougal arrived.  He couldn’t chase after him.  Not only would that draw the unwanted attention of the others, but it would also fly in the face of Dougal’s authority.  That was a line Jamie was in no position to cross.  He turned back to his work with considerably less joviality.  However, he kept a vigilant eye in the direction the two had disappeared and was ready to jump if he heard any sounds of distress. 

Murtagh approached him.  He had noticed Jamie fixated on the track that Claire had taken, followed by that cad of an uncle of his. 

He said to his young friend, “That’s one bold lassie.  She can handle herself, lad.”

Jamie glanced at his godfather and nodded. 

“Aye,” he agreed, “I just have a bad feeling about this and I’m not entirely sure it has anything to do with Dougal.”

……….oOo……….

It wasn’t long after that when Dougal came riding back on his dapple grey.  He was alone.  Jamie was instantly concerned for Claire.  Where was she?  Had she run and was now gone forever?  Or had something bad happened to her?  He did not know which concerned him more.  That evil premonition he had was getting worse.

Pulling up in front of Ned Gowan, Dougal quickly slid off his horse and swore, “That god-damned bloody British officer we ran into has returned with a detachment, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

The men all drew nearer grasping their swords, ready for battle.  Dougal held up a hand and shook his head signaling that violence was not necessary.

He went on, “He questioned Mistress Beauchamp, but she assured him she was our guest and was well taken care of.  However, he insists on bringing her back to speak with his Garrison Commander at Brockton.”

“Then I am going after her,” asserted Jamie, slipping the scabbard of his claymore over his shoulder and heading for the horses.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Dougal stopping him with a hand on his chest, “they would cart you off to Fort William the moment they saw you with your red hair and your muckle size.”

Jamie accepted this and hung his head, still fuming at the audacity of the British Army in questioning Claire’s wellbeing.

Dougal continued, “As War Chief and representative of the laird, I will accompany her.  They are waiting for me back at the river.  I just wanted to tell you that we would be gone for who knows how long.  I ken she wants to get back to her own people, but I don’t trust these redcoats.  No matter how much she defends us, I want to ensure they don’t use her presence among us as a reason to tighten their grasp.  Continue on our intended route.  I’ll meet up with you along the way.”

Jamie noticed that Dougal did not include Claire in his last statement.  That could only mean that he did not expect her to return with him.  Jamie’s heart sank.

However, his desire to protect Claire overrode his self-pity.  As Dougal turned back to his horse, Jamie pulled him aside and, looking him in the eye, said, “Watch out for Randall.  She’s had an unpleasant run in with him once. I wouldna risk her being taken prisoner by that man.  Who knows what he would do with her if he got ahold of her again.”

Dougal looked over Jamie’s expression carefully, recognizing in it something more than just friendly concern.  He nodded and said, “Aye, I understand.  She seems ready to defend us.  I will protect her.” Then he swiftly mounted his horse and rode off.

Jamie did not like it that Dougal was the one going with her.  He still suspected his uncle of wanting Claire for himself, but there was nothing he could do about it now.  Dougal was right, his rank and position will carry more weight with the Garrison Commander.  Jamie would only risk exposure and capture if he went along and for Claire to be seen with him probably wouldn’t do her any good either.

Unfortunately, he also risked never seeing her again.  For Claire, this was her opportunity to get back to her family in France.  He knew how much she desired that.

~~~~~~~~

“At the very least,” Claire said, “I hope I've earned a measure of trust from Colum.”

“Aye,” Jamie replied, “He's taking credit for bringing you on as healer to the Mackenzies. I doubt he'll want to see you leave anytime soon.”  Jamie smiled as this reflected his own sentiment.

Claire gave an exasperated sigh of frustrated resignation and said, “I'll never get out of here.”

 

He remembered from another occasion:

“I need to leave this place,” Claire insisted, “As you so plainly stated, I'm an outlander, just a Sassenach.”  She spit out the word as if it had a foul taste.

“If I offended ye,” Jamie backpedaled quickly and apologized, “I'm sorry, Claire.”

“I know you didn't mean it like that,” she conceded, “It's just... I've been planning this escape for some time, and to have all my hopes shot to hell just in a moment…”

He sympathized with her disappointment but was secretly happy that she didn’t get away.

~~~~~~~~

 

This time she may well be successful in her quest to leave, and without even bidding him goodbye.  He could already feel his heart ripping in two.

……….oOo……….

Jamie spent the rest of the morning brooding about and trying to accept the now inevitable departure of Claire.  Murtagh noticed the change in his companion’s disposition and was fairly certain he knew the reason for it.  He was glad when Jamie had transferred his attentions from that girl, Laoghaire, to Mistress Beauchamp.  She was just the type of woman to be a laird’s wife and perfect for Jamie.  He, too, was sad she was leaving.  He did his best to cheer his friend, but it was to no avail.  Murtagh knew exactly how awful it felt to lose the woman you loved.

Dougal met up with them in the early afternoon and questioned the men regarding their activities while he was away.  He wanted to be certain that none of them, especially his hot-headed nephew, had gone off halfcocked, attacking and injuring the British soldiers.  Ned assured him that they had all remained safely together on their journey. 

“What happened?” Rupert asked.

“The redcoats escorted us to the Inn at Brockton,” replied Dougal. “A travesty,” he said as an aside, “the village is now overrun with British troops, and on MacKenzie land too,” he shook his head in disgust. “The British officers and especially the General were all tripping over themselves to accommodate Mistress Beauchamp, while at the same time being as rude as possible to me.”

Dougal started to laugh, “However, in defense of us Scots, the good lady called them out on their behavior, including the General, and soundly put them in their place too.”

Jamie smiled to himself.  That definitely sounded like his Claire.  His smile faded quickly, however.  He had to remind himself that she wasn’t ‘his Claire’ and not only would she never be but he would probably never see her again either.  He was anxious to hear what was to happen to her.

Dougal continued, “The general even declared he would love to commission her a colonel for her ability to order men about.”

This statement was met with many chuckles and nods of the head from the MacKenzie men.

“They invited her to dine with them while I was happy to wait for her in the tap room.  It does seem that they will provide her with safe passage to Inverness, possibly even this evening.”

Jamie hung his head.  He lost hope at this revelation and his heart was cloven in two.

“However,” Dougal added, “Randall showed up before their meal was done.”

Jamie’s head sprang up, with his nostrils flaring and fire burning in his eyes.

“He recognized me,” Dougal said with a smirk, “eyed me up and down.  I smiled and lifted my mug of ale to him before he stormed off to the General’s dining room.”

Jamie was on the verge of dashing off to Brockton.  His desire to protect Claire, especially from that scoundrel, Black Jack Randall, was strong.  Murtagh discretely wrapped his fingers around Jamie’s arm to still him. 

They listened as Dougal continued, “Not too long after that the inn doors flew open and an injured soldier was carried in.  It seemed some of our countrymen decided to fire upon some redcoats just outside of town, they killed one and wounded two others.  And, well, you know Mistress Beauchamp, she had to come out and help with the casualties.”

Again, a round of nods from the men as hands subconsciously touched wounds she had mended, while Jamie wallowed in thoughts of Claire and her boundless compassion.

“I tried to warn her about Randall, but she insisted she was fine.  She was more worried about us and requested I leave to avoid being blamed for the crime.  So here I am.”

“You can’t leave her there with that madman,” Jamie pressed, stepping forward.  There was more bobbing of heads as the other men stiffened up and reached for swords or defensively crossed their arms over their chests.  Just as they defended her honor at the tavern, they would gladly protect her from any other harm as well.

“I know, I know,” Dougal held up his hands in surrender, “I intend to head back shortly.  After I speak with Ned about a few legal issues that I am afraid might arise.”

The barrister and the war chief then walked off, out of earshot, for their conference.  Jamie and Murtagh observed the two men.  Dougal appeared to ask many questions while it seemed Ned gave lengthy explanations.  The consultation ended when Dougal smiled and clapped the lawyer on the shoulder.  As they walked back toward the others, Jamie heard Dougal say to Ned, “Go ahead and draw up the papers, then.” Dougal looked at Jamie with a triumphant smile, mounted his horse and rode off toward Brockton.  Ned glanced mischievously at Jamie and went to find his legal books.

With arms still crossed, Murtagh leaned toward Jamie and said, “Those two are up to something.”

“Aye,” replied Jamie with suspicion, “and why do I get the feeling it has something to do with me?”

Jamie spent the rest of the afternoon worrying about Claire and speculating with Murtagh about what was going on.  His idleness in the face of her danger was driving him nuts.  He kept an eye on Ned Gowan, scribbling away on his papers.  Occasionally the lawyer would glance up at  Jamie, chuckle and shake his head, then return to his work.  Jamie found this unnerving. 

Toward evening Dougal returned again.  Without speaking to anyone else, he immediately entered into a private conversation with Ned during which he reviewed the documents the lawyer had drawn up.  With papers in hand, Dougal stomped off into the nearby woods. 

He returned a few minutes later empty handed and called Jamie over to where he and Ned were standing.  Murtagh followed as well.

As they reached Dougal’s side, Jamie asked the one thing he was dying to know, “Where’s Claire?”

Indicating the nearby copse Dougal said, “She’s just over the hill there.”

Jamie gave a very perceptible start and visibly had to restrain himself from flying to her that instant. 

Dougal snorted at his nephew’s reaction.  “Seems I guessed right,” he said, mainly to himself.

Placing his hands on Jamie’s shoulders he forced the lad to bring his eyes back to him.  “Here’s the deal, laddie” he said, “Thanks to Randall,” Jamie bristled at the name, “her reunion with her countrymen did not end well.”

“What!?!” asked Jamie.

“Let’s just say, when I reached her, she was doubled over on the floor, gasping for air, and on the verge of becoming reacquainted with her lunch.”

“I’ll kill him with my bare hands!” Jamie exclaimed, nostrils flaring and face reddening.

Dougal shook his head, his hands still on Jamie’s shoulders trying to hold the lad in place, “I had to threaten war to get that bastard to release her to me.  But he ordered me to deliver her to Fort William by nightfall tomorrow.”

“Well, we’re not going to do that!” Jamie insisted, “Murtagh and I will take her and run.”

He turned to Murtagh for confirmation and received it, “Aye, we can survive for a long time in the wild.  We’ve done it before.”

“Jamie,” Dougal interrupted him, “Ned and I have a better idea.”

“What is it?  How can I help?  I’ll do anything,” Jamie eagerly replied.

“Anything?” Dougal asked, with an eyebrow raised.

“Anything,” Jamie emphatically confirmed.

“Good then,” Dougal smugly replied and patted him on the shoulder, “you are to marry her tomorrow.”

Chapter 14: Does Claire Know About All This?

Jamie blinked in astonishment.  “T-t-tomorrow?!?”  he stuttered. 

This was quite the turn around.  All his hopes and dreams, which he thought had been completely dashed only minutes before, were suddenly on the cusp of fruition. 

But wait!  This was not by her choice.  She was not marrying him because she loved him, as he would have hoped.  She would be marrying him because she had to, to save her life. 

Dougal laughed at the rapid transformation of his nephew’s expression: hopeful eagerness quickly supplanted by confusion and maybe a touch of anger.

“Yes, laddie,” Dougal explained, “The only way to avoid turning her over to Randall, to do with as he pleases,” these words were calculated to rile his nephew, “is to turn her into a Scot, then she falls under Colum’s protection.”

“Into a Scot?” Jamie queried with knitted brows.

“Yes, to become a Scot she must marry one,” explained Dougal.  “You,” he emphasized poking a finger into the young man’s chest.

Jamie thought for a moment.  “What does Claire think about all this?” asked he with compassionate concern for the woman he loved.

“Go ask her yourself,” replied his uncle.  Then throwing a thumb over his shoulder he said, “She’s over yonder, reading the marriage contract and weighing her choices - which are few.”

Jamie stepped back, hung his head and placed his hands on his hips.  “So, I don’t have a choice here?” Jamie asked looking back up at Dougal.

“What?” replied Dougal indignantly, “Would you prefer I marry her to one of them?” He gestured to the other men standing just out of earshot.  Jamie’s gaze instinctively followed the direction indicated by his uncle, but in no way was he considering his uncle’s suggestion. 

His rationality had come back to him and he was convinced that Dougal had something up his sleeve.  It was absolutely unfathomable that his uncle would willingly offer him all he ever wanted unless there was something in it for himself.

As if the man had read his mind, Murtagh, who had been present for the entire conversation, motioned his god son aside. 

“I told ye he was up to something,” said Murtagh, crossing his arms.

“Aye, what is it?” asked Jamie, “I canna see it.”

“Ye canna see it because ye donna want it,” replied Murtagh, “All ye want is Claire and I don’t blame ye for that.  Think, laddie - what is it that Dougal wants?”

“I thought he wanted Claire,” replied a bewildered Jamie.

“Aye, he does,” retorted Murtagh, “but there’s somethin’ else he wants more ‘n any woman.”

After a moment of contemplation, Jamie exclaimed, “The Lairdship!” as the realization struck him.

“Once ye are married to a sassenach,” Murtagh explained the obvious, “MacKenzie blood or no, the clan will never have ye as their laird.”

“Ye ken I’ve ne’er wanted Leoch,” Jamie said with disdain, practically spitting out the name. 

“Aye, but Dougal doesn’t ken that,” Murtagh pointed out, “He hates havin’ ye ‘round Leoch.  He was livid after your triumph at the oath taking.  I’m sure he is all proud of hisself for his scheme.”  Murtagh narrowed his eyes in the direction of the war chief.

“Are ye suggesting I turn him down just to thwart his plans?” Jamie questioned accusingly.  Gesturing toward the copse he added, “and send Claire into the vile hands Randall?”

“No!  Of course not,” Murtagh asserted, surprised his god son would ever think that was his meaning. “Marrying Claire is likely to be the smartest thing you’ll ever do,” he quipped, “I just wanted to be sure you kent what Dougal was up to.”

Jamie nodded his head apologetically.  “Taing dhut (thank you),” replied he.  Then after a pause he confessed, “Now I need to figure out what to say to Claire.  Not exactly how I’d hoped to propose to my wife.”

……….oOo……….

Dougal and the others were gathered around the wagons talking and drinking, prepared to move on to the next village.  However, they were awaiting Claire’s decision. 

As Claire’s husband it would be Jamie’s vocation to protect her and care for her and ensure her happiness.  Jamie contemplated Claire’s situation and tried to think of how he could help alleviate her understandable anxiety.  

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two drinking horns and headed off towards the copse.  If he were her right now, he would want a drink.

He found her in the woods and sat down next to her.  She said diffidently, without looking at him, “Dougal wants us to be married.”

“I know,” Jamie replied sympathetically.  She looked up at him, astonished by his nonchalance.  He handed her a cup.

“And you're willing?” Claire inquired incredulously, taking the proffered drinking horn.

“Well,” Jamie replied cautiously, “ye've mended my wounds more than once,” he filled her cup and then his own.  “I feel I owe ye something for all that. Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I left ye to that mad bastard Randall?”  He leaned closer to her and clinked her cup with his.  They both drank.

Claire shook her head.  “But surely a young man like yourself...” she probed, “well, isn't there someone else that you're interested in?”  She did not want him to marry her if there was another girl he preferred instead.

“Oh,” it took him a moment to catch her meaning, “a-am I promised?”  He chuckled, “No. No, I'm not much of a prospect for a wife.”

Claire shook her head at the ridiculousness of that statement.  Jamie would make an ideal husband for any woman.  He was kind, compassionate, strong, intelligent, confident, and, of course, exceedingly handsome.

He continued, “I mean, I've nothing more than a soldier's pay to live on. Then there's the minor difficulty of a price on my head. No father wants his daughter married to a man that might be arrested and hanged any time. Did ye think of that?” 

Claire dismissed the matter of outlawry as a minor consideration, compared to the whole monstrous idea.

Jamie figured he would lay it all out for her, giving her all of the reasons she shouldn’t want to marry him.  But who was he kidding?  He didn’t want her to back out.  Sure, he wished they were getting married under better circumstances, but he certainly wasn’t about to let her marry anyone else.  If this was what was required to save her from Randall then he would do it – gladly.  He already knew he wanted her and he was pretty well convinced that she did not dislike him.  As a matter of fact, they got along rather well and there seemed to be a certain chemistry between them.  He had felt it and he was pretty sure she had felt it too.  Once they were married, then he could work on winning her heart.

“So that's it then,” she conceded, somewhat jaded, “As far as you're concerned, we can just start the honeymoon tomorrow?”

Nodding, Jamie replied, “Aye, whatever suits you.”  Luckily he pulled that off as he intended: sounding more sympathetic to her predicament than displaying the true excitement he felt coursing through his veins at the thought. He rose to leave.

He took a step to walk away but she stopped him with another tentative question, “Well, doesn't it bother you that...” she hesitated, not really wanting to point out the elephant in the room but felt it must be addressed, “that I'm not a virgin?” Her eyes met his.

Jamie looked toward the others, wanting to make sure no one was close enough to hear his reply.  He looked back at her with his own measure of embarrassment. “Well, uh, no,” he humbly confessed, “So long as it doesna bother you that I am.”  Claire blinked in astonishment.  With a quirk of his lips, Jamie leaned a little closer and, in an attempt to make light of the situation with his trademark sense of humor, he added, “I reckon one of us should ken what they're doing.”  Then he walked off toward the others, allowing her time to contemplate this new information.

As he approached the group of men Murtagh caught his eye.  Jamie shrugged skeptically and joined them silently in their wait. 

Not too long after, Claire came walking deliberately toward them, papers in hand.  Jamie hoped she had made her decision and that it would be in his favor.  However, she walked right past him and through the midst of the men, making eye contact with no one.  Without missing a beat, she took the bottle of whiskey right out of Dougal’s hand and kept on walking. 

Obviously, her need for alcohol in this situation was greater than Jamie had thought.

……….oOo……….

Early that evening, with the papers duly signed, the troupe made their way into the village.  They went straight to the local inn and secured accommodations, including a room upstairs for Claire that would become the honeymoon suite the following night.  After settling her things in her room, she made her way cautiously down the inn’s steep stairs and over to the bar in the taproom.

“Whiskey,” she said to the barman.

Looking over her head at Dougal, he received a nod and obliged her with a bottle and a glass.  After the first shot burned a path down her throat, she began to feel somewhat calmer, alcohol induced though it may be.  The more she drank the better she felt.

She took note when Dougal and Ned left the tavern.  Gradually she became aware of raised voices coming from the direction of the stable yard toward which the pair had departed.  She assumed they were speaking with the bridegroom and from the sound of it maybe he wasn’t too pleased with the situation either. 

“Stick to it, lad,” she murmured, and took another gulp.

Sometime later, Claire was dimly conscious of a hand prying her fingers open in order to remove the glass.  Another hand was steadyingly under her elbow.

“Christ, she’s drunk as an auld besom in a bothy,”said a voice in her ear.  The voice rasped unpleasantly, Claire thought, as though its owner had been eating sandpaper.  She giggled softly at the thought.

“Quiet yerself, woman!” said the unpleasant rasping voice.  It grew fainter as the owner turned to talk to someone else.  “Drunk as a laird and screechin’ like a parrot – what do ye expect –”

Another voice interrupted the first, but Claire couldn’t tell what it said; the words were blurred and indistinguishable.  It was a pleasanter sound, though, deep and somehow reassuring.  It came nearer, and she could make out a few words. She made an effort to focus, but her attention had begun to wander again.

……….oOo……….

“We do not have much time,” Ned Gowan explained, standing where he and Dougal had cornered Jamie in the stables, “Captain Randall is expecting Mistress Beauchamp to be delivered to him tomorrow. Now, we are all about to embark on a boat built entirely of paper,” he tapped his portfolio which contained the signed documents, “The letter of the law is the only thing keeping Claire out of Randall's hands.  And so, if it is to work, then we have to follow it to the letter.”  The lawyer went on to explain more specifically, “The marriage must be consummated right away, and witnesses must swear that they were present in the building if not in the room itself.”

A look of shocked horror crossed Jamie’s face and he glanced over at Murtagh who was also present, “Does Claire know about all this?”

“She has no say in the matter,” put in Dougal.

Murtagh crossed his arms and stepped in front of him.  “I thought you didn't want with rape, Dougal,” he chided.

“No rape,” Dougal countered, “Persuasion.”  He pushed passed Murtagh and approached Jamie placing a hand around his shoulders.  “She's a smart lass. She'll see the reason for it in the end, but there can be no secret agreements between the two of ya, you saying that you have when you have not. Besides, I can think of worse things in my lifetime than holding onto that pair of sweet ciochan (breasts), plunging my cock...”

“Yeah, enough!” roared Jamie, offended by his crude words.  Then, squaring his shoulders and looking his uncle straight in the eye, he declared, “If Claire does become my wife, I'll thank you to stop talking and thinking of her like some common whore.”  He stormed off toward the stable yard.

“If?” Dougal said grabbing his arm.  “If?” He confronted his nephew, stepping in front of him. “There is no if about this, laddie,” he said, getting in Jamie’s face, “Now, she took a few blows at the hands of Randall and kept silent, which is a fair sight more than I 'd expect of any ordinary woman. But you know Randall. You know what he's capable of. What do you think'll happen to her if she falls into his hands again?”

Jamie turned away to think.  He knew he couldn’t let that happen.  He may not like the current situation for her sake but marry her he would - to save her from that man.

Turning back to his uncle he said, nodding with resolve, “I'll do it.”  He nodded and then a mischievous smile broke across his face, “But I have three conditions.”

“Ah, Christ,” Dougal swore, turning as if to walk away, and tipping his hand to his underlying plan he exclaimed, “it would be easier if I killed ye both.”

“Much harder to explain,” flipped Jamie, knowingly, “First, we must be wed properly - in a church - before a priest.”

At this, Dougal sighed and called Willie over.  He sent the lad off immediately with the mission of finding the village priest.  However uninvited, Rupert and Angus sauntered over as well to hear the rest of the conversation.

“Second,” he said, while he searched through his sporran, “I want a wedding ring made for Claire - from this.”  He produced a key.

When Rupert and Angus were tasked with this job, Jamie proceeded to give them more specific instructions, particularly that the business end of the key needed to remain intact. 

Turning back to his uncle, “Third,” Jamie insisted, “the future Lady Broch Tuarach deserves a real wedding dress.”  Surprising the other men, and for some mysterious reason, Ned volunteered for this mission.  He had a mischievous grin on his face as he set off to accomplish his task, mumbling something about knowing precisely where to get what was required.  The remaining three stared after him for a moment.

After all was settled, Dougal departed as well to help Willie and secure the church for tomorrow’s ceremony.

Jamie crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame of the stables next to his god father.  A pleased look graced his face as he watched the others run off to do his bidding.

“Looks like Dougal is willing to do just about anything to get you out of his way,” commented Murtagh with a playful jab in Jamie’s ribs.

“Aye,” replied Jamie, “I figured I would take advantage of that while I can.”

Affecting a deep bow, Murtagh teased him, “Is there anything I can do for ye mi-laird Broch Tuarach?”

“Well since you asked,” Jamie said in all seriousness, “Do you think you could find me some decent wedding clothes, including the proper plaid?”

Murtagh smiled kindly at his god son and answered, “I’ll see what I can do for ye,” and he too left.

Jamie turned back into the stable.  He saw to it that the horses were well fed and watered and settled for the night and then he made his way to the taproom.

As Jamie walked into the room, he heard a sound that never failed to make his heart sore – Claire’s laughter.  Smiling, he turned toward the source.  His smile fell however, when he saw the corpulent silhouette of the landlord standing over her, prone on the bar, yelling, “Quiet yerself, woman!”  Not at all pleased, Jamie came up behind the man as he complained to the barman, “Drunk as a laird and screechin’ like a parrot – what do ye expect –”  Jamie interrupted the man, forcefully but quietly, so as not to disturb his fiancé.  “I’ll thank ye not to speak to my betrothed in that manner.”  The landlord apologized profusely and backed away when he turned to see the six foot four, broad shouldered, red headed Scotsman scowling down at him.

Jamie looked down concernedly at Claire.  In her pursuit of intoxication, she had passed out on the bar.  He bent over and whispered reassuring words in her ear as he scooped her up.  He cradled her in his arms and she nestled contentedly into his chest as he carried her up to her room and laid her on her bed.  He stood over her for a few minutes taking in every feature of her beautiful face.  He gently swept some errant hairs behind her ear and bent down to kiss her forehead wishing her ‘sweet dreams.’  After tucking the blankets snuggly around her, he glanced around the room where tomorrow they would spend their wedding night.  He backed reverently away from the bed and out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

……….oOo……….

When Jamie returned to the taproom, he was met by Murtagh and Ned who insisted he come and have a few drinks with them.  Sitting down at a table, they congratulated him on his impending nuptials, and the desirability of his betrothed, and regaled him with advice regarding the performance of his marital duties. 

Rupert and Angus rose from the tavern’s gambling table a little while later and came to join them.  Angus was upset at the loss of a particular round of poker but Rupert forcibly shushed him up before he could get into the details.  They too passed on words of wisdom, peppered with ribald humor, mostly at Jamie’s expense. 

Jamie, however, needing some real advice, bravely confessed his virginal state of ignorance which resulted in even more ribbing.  The young bridegroom took it all in stride. 

The only useful bit of information that Jamie gleaned from the evening’s conversation, and not very encouraging was it at that, was Murtagh’s off handed comment that, “women generally do not care for it.”  As the evening progressed, these words were reiterated in one form or another by Rupert and Ned as well.  This disheartened Jamie somewhat.  He found it depressing that an event that was greatly anticipated to bring immense pleasure to himself was likely not to bring his partner any enjoyment at all. He wondered how he could take delight in the act if the woman he loved did not.  He had to remind himself, however, that it would have to be done to make the marriage legal and keep her safe from Randall.

Notes:

A/N: As some of you may have noticed I relied quite a bit on Diana Gabaldon’s wonderful words here in this chapter. Quotes were taken from ‘Outlander’ the novel, Chapter 13 ‘A Marriage Is Announced’. Again, thanks go to Great Scot Blog dot com for the Gaelic translations.

Chapter 15: PB&J

Notes:

My muse has me jumping ahead here. This one takes place in the timeline of 'Voyager' or season 3.

It was extremely late by the time Jamie arrived back in Edinburgh.  So late, or early depending on how you looked at it, that all of the patrons at Madame Jeanne’s had either gone home or retired for the evening.  Which was all well and good to Jamie, for at least there was no one around to smell his ale-soaked clothes as he trudged through the parlor and up the stairs to his room.  The ‘accident’ at Lord Dundas’ warehouse had shaken him.  However, it had given him the adrenaline needed to finish his task there and make it home before dawn.  Now he just needed sleep.  When he arrived in his room, he peeled off his wet clothes and fell into bed. 

However, he didn’t fall asleep right away as his mind was still too occupied with going over the members of his smuggling crew, trying to decide which one could possibly be a spy for the crown.  It surely seemed that someone among them wanted him dead.  First, the fire, and now this.  He had narrowly missed being crushed by those falling barrels tonight.  He was still trying to decide which of the six men was set against him when he finally drifted off. 

A few hours later, as Jamie was lying in bed, he felt a wisp of air across his face as if something moved nearby.  Fearing it might be his attacker, he slowly opened his eyes.  Instead, his gaze was met with a vision of loveliness - his wife, Claire.  She was laughing and smiling tenderly down at him.  He stared at her in adoration, but he did not move.  He did not reach for her.  He wanted this moment to last as long as it could.  It had been twenty years, but she was just as beautiful as the day they wed.

After some time, however, he could not help himself and arose.  She was like a siren.  The magnetism between them was too strong and he was drawn closer towards her.  He was almost within arm’s reach.  He took one step, and then another.  He heard a sound, a faint roaring.  He took the last step, and she disappeared. 

He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his bed, a cold sweat glistening on his skin.  For a moment he forgot where he was.  He felt around in the bed for Claire but, of course, she was not there.  She hadn’t been there for two decades.  It had been that same dream of Claire that seemed to be coming to him more often lately.  The dream seemed to get more and more real every time.  He blinked away the image of her from his mind, but she would be forever imprinted on his heart. 

Jamie groggily glanced around.  Oh yes, he was in his room at Madame Jeanne’s.  The morning light was growing outside.  It must be almost time to get up.  The serving girl would arrive with his breakfast soon.  However, he didn’t feel very hungry.  The longing in his heart for Claire overpowered any other feeling he might have had at the moment.

Even though he had only had a few hours of sleep he was still obligated to be at the print shop on time.  He rose from his bed and proceeded with his morning ablutions, preparing himself for another day slaving over his printing press.  He was just about finished dressing when his breakfast arrived.  Still unable to eat, however, he thanked the girl and told her to take it downstairs to the ladies of the establishment.  They could all probably use an extra bite for breakfast. 

Haphazardly tying his stock about his neck, Jamie grabbed his tricornered hat and descended the stairs.  As he passed through the drawing room he happened upon Madame Jeanne. 

“Monsieur Malcolm,” she greeted him with a sly smile, “Bonjour.”

“Bonjour, Madame Jeanne,” he replied, neutrally, in practiced French. 

“Oh, let me fix that for you,” she offered, approaching him and intimately reaching up to his neck.  “There,” she said as she finished, “Cannot have you strolling along High Street with your stock half done.”

“Well,” replied he, trying to dispel the cozy domestic intimacy of the moment, “ye have the advantage of peering directly at it.”

“Or perhaps it takes a woman's touch to do things properly,” she said flirtatiously.

“I'll no argue that matter,” he replied with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“A wise man,” she teased.

Jamie turned to leave.  He stepped out into the morning sun and pulled the door shut behind him.  As he strode down High Street, on his way to the print shop, he nodded greetings to his fellow Dunediners.  Passing the local baker’s shop, he caught a whiff of the sweet-smelling aroma and his empty stomach grumbled audibly.  Just then the baker’s boy exited the shop, loaves of bread under his arms and a basket of rolls and pastries in his hands.  Jamie stopped the lad and gave him two pence for a one penny roll.  With a big grin the young lad pocketed the extra and went on his way.  Jamie ate the roll as he continued down High Street. 

When he reached Carfax Close and was about to cross, he had to stop for a drayman’s cart to pass.  In its wake was a strange looking – leaf, was it?  A draft blew the ‘leaf’ up and it landed smack in the middle of Jamie’s chest, right over his heart.  Covering it with his hand, Jamie grabbed ahold of it to take a look.  Examining the object, he found it to be some sort of clear baker’s wrapper - maybe?  He lifted it to his nose and detected a nutty sweet smell and something that reminded him of – Claire.  This thought caused him to give the thing a curious look.  After a long moment he stuffed it into his sporran, intending to inspect it again later. 

He continued down Carfax Close and as he approached his print shop a smile spread across his face.  He was proud of the business he had built here for himself in Edinburgh – both licit and illicit.  He stopped to admire his sign, licking his thumb to rub a spot of mud off it.  He climbed the stairs and entered the shop, ready to start his day. 

……….oOo……….

Claire stepped off the coach in Edinburgh at the end of the Royal Mile near Holyrood house.  She was very hungry, having passed many hours in the coach since her early morning breakfast.  Now that she was away from the scrutinizing eyes of her fellow travelers, she found an open bench and sat down to rest and enjoy the last of her stash of journey cake: Peanut butter and jelly on white bread.  She pulled it out and carefully unwrapped it.  It was considerably the worse for wear, but it was delicious.

As she enjoyed her sandwich, Claire reminisced about all the times she made such fare for Brianna’s lunch box.  Not wishing to dwell on those memories, she began to take in her surroundings instead.  She had been here before, twenty plus years ago, but not much had changed.

She swallowed the last rich, sweet bite of her old life, and crumpled the wrapper in her hand.  Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, Claire let the bit of plastic film fall to the ground.  Wadded up, it rolled a few inches on the cobbles, crinkling and unfolding itself as though alive.  The light wind caught it, and the small transparent sheet took sudden wing, scudding over the gray stones like a leaf. 

The draft of a set of passing wheels sucked it under a drayman’s cart; it winked once with reflected light, and was gone, disappearing without notice from the passersby.  Claire wondered whether her own anachronistic presence would cause as little harm.

The final step of her journey was now ahead of her, so she got up.  Catching the attention of a passing baker’s boy, she said, “Pardon. I'm looking for a printer. Uh, Mr. Malcolm... Alexander Malcolm.”

The boy’s face screwed up in thought and then relaxed, “Aye, just down the way and to the left. Carfax Close, madam.” And hitching his loaves up under his arm with a nod, he plunged back into the crowded street.

Claire walked deliberately down the street looking for Carfax Close.  The further she went the more excited and nervous she became.  When she found the close she was looking for, she stopped to appraise her appearance in a nearby shop window.  Her cheeks were flushed from her walk in the cool air, but her hair was mussed from the long ride in the coach.  Tucking a few strands back into her bun she decided it would just have to do.  She took a deep breath and stepped under the archway of the alley and entered Carfax Close. 

A group of boisterous children ran past her as she emerged on the other side of the arch.  She turned to watch them in their playful zeal.  When she turned back, she saw it: “A. Malcolm Printer and Bookseller.”  Her grin broadened as she approached the sign.  Tears welled in her eyes as she reached out and touched the “A.”  Jamie was here, she could feel it in her bones.  She looked up the stairs to the door, took a calming breath, lifted her skirts and climbed. 

……….oOo……….

Jamie had just finished printing the latest seditious pamphlet he had been commissioned to do.  Age had not been kind to his eyes, so he had to reach into his sporran for his glasses.  As his fingers absently searched for the spectacles, they stumbled upon the curious wrapper he had stuffed in there earlier.  He pulled it out along with his glasses so that he could examine it more closely. 

It was certainly very odd – like paper that you could see through.  It was smooth and somewhat sticky.  He brought it to his nose to smell it again.  It smelled of bread, he was certain, some sort of fruit, and a distinctly nutty smell that he couldn’t quite place.  And there it was again, that faint smell that reminded him of Claire.  Tucking the item back in to his sporran, he closed his eyes and let the memories of her wash over him. 

The daydream began: Claire stood there in the balcony of the print shop, smiling lovingly down at him.  She looked like an angel dressed in blue with her hair pinned up and a halo of light around her.  Jamie was awestruck by her beauty.

The rowdy shouts of children at play in the street tore him out of his reverie.  He shook his head and rubbed his eyes to clear away the images in his mind.  He mentally chastised himself for letting such fanciful thoughts take up so much of his time.

Sliding his spectacles on he went back to the task at hand: scrutinizing his latest printed pamphlet.

A few minutes later he heard the jingle of the bell upstairs and the clattering of the shop door as it shut. He figured it was Geordie, finally returned with the ash.

“That you, Geordie?” he called out, “Took you long enough.”

No response, that was odd, Geordie was usually quick with a defensive retort, as well as much louder upon his entrance into the shop.  He must be upset at being sent out on an errand so early.

“Where'd you go to get the ash?” Jamie goaded, “All the way to Glasgow?”

Still no response.  Something in the air shifted.  Jamie stopped reading the words on the page and perked up his ears.  There was that smell again – Claire.  That wrapper must have left some of the scent in the air.  And then he heard it and he couldn’t believe his ears.

“It isn't Geordie,” came the melodious voice with the English accent he hadn’t heard in twenty years, save in his dreams, “It's me... Claire.”

Sassenach!?! His eyes came away from the page and his jaw sagged.  He slowly turned.  His mind must be playing tricks on him, he concluded.  There she was, just like in his dream, standing at the balcony, dressed in blue with her hair up and the daylight streaming in through the window behind her.  She smiled down at him with joy and apprehension and tears filled her eyes.

Was he dreaming again?  He could not decide.  Then slowly the vision went black and he fell with a thud to the ground.

Notes:

A/N: Dunedin comes from Dùn Èideann, the Scottish Gaelic name for Edinburgh.

Chapter 16: PB&J Revisited

Notes:

A/N: I am still in the process of reading all of Diana’s wonderful books and while reading Bees I came across the companion scene to my chapter ‘PB&J’ and just had to incorporate it into my story.

After settling the “wee buggers” once more for the night and admonishing them with a stern look, and a shake of his finger not to wake their granny again, Jamie stole out of the room to return to Claire upstairs. As he passed the kitchen, he caught sight of the small bundle he had placed on the top of Claire’s herb cabinet earlier during dinner. He stepped into the kitchen to snag the parcel he had stashed there for her later enjoyment.

The homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were a big hit for dinner that evening. Claire had gone to great lengths to glean the peanuts from the garden and grind them into peanut butter with her mortar and pestle. It was all for the children, of course - but he knew well how much she enjoyed the sticky nutty confection herself. Jamie smiled inwardly as he carried the purloined treat upstairs for his wife.

Claire was sitting on the edge of their bed, brushing her hair. Oh how he loved her curly silken locks, a little gray now with age, but every hair just as precious to him as the day they wed.

“Here Sassenach,” he said and handed her the delicious peanut butter sandwich made on fresh baked bread and spread with blackberry jelly, wrapped in a linen towel from the kitchen.

“Ya didna get your fair share at supper,” he said smiling at her. “You were too busy filling all the wee mouths. So I put one aside for you on top of your herb cabinet. Recalled it just now.”

Claire took the bundle and raised it to her nose. With eyes closed as if in ecstasy, she inhaled deeply.

“Oh, Jamie, this is wonderful,” she crooned in gratitude.

He made a pleased Scottish noise and proceeded to pour her a cup of water. She would need it to wash down all that thick sticky peanut butter and chewy grainy homemade bread. Then he sat down on the bed to watch her eat.

She reveled in every sweet bite and made noises of such bliss and satisfaction that Jamie was beginning to find himself quite jealous of that sandwich.

“Did I ever tell you that I brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with me when I came back through the stones?”  Claire confessed.

“No ya didn’t. Why that?” he inquired, always interested in any story his wife might have to tell.

“Well,” mused Claire, “I think it was because it reminded me of Brianna. I made her peanut butter sandwiches so often for her school lunches. She had a Zorro lunch box with a little thermos in it.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows, “Zorro? A Spanish fox?” Claire’s reminiscences of the future always brought a certain level of confusion for him.

Claire made a dismissive motion with her hand.  “I’ll tell you about him later,” she explained, “You’d’ve liked him.”

Licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers, (Jamie was now becoming jealous of those fingers) she gave him a saucy wink and continued, “I didn’t take a lunch box though. I just wrapped my sandwich in a piece of plastic.”

Jamie kept his eyebrows raised and asked, “Like the stuff Mr. Randall’s spectacles were made of?”

“No, no,” Claire waved her hand again. “More like,” she thought for a moment, “like the transparent cover on his book,” she said with decisiveness. “That’s plastic too but lighter, sort of like a very light transparent handkerchief.”

This sparked a long forgotten memory for Jamie.  He sat up straighter and asked, “Like a clear baker’s wrap, maybe?”

“Yes, precisely,” she agreed.

Claire’s face took on a far off look, she said, “It was when I came to Edinburgh, looking for A. Malcolm, printer.” She flashed him an adoring smile. “I was feeling light headed with fright mostly, so I sat down, unwrapped my sandwich, and ate it. I thought then that it was the last peanut butter sandwich I’d ever eat. It was the best thing I ever ate, and when I finished it I let the bit of plastic go. There was no point in keeping it. In my mind’s eye I could see it now the fragile clear plastic crumpling, unfolding, rising and scudding along the cobblestones lost out of time. I rather felt the same way,” She seemed a little choked up and had to clear her throat.  “Lost, I mean. I wondered then whether someone might find it and what they might think of it. Probably nothing beyond a moment’s curiosity.”

Jamie stole a suspicious glance toward his sporran which was sitting on the bedside table. He knew it was no longer in there, in fact, he had completely forgotten about the crinkly clear baker’s wrap until this moment. Little did he know at that time it’s presence, smelling of bread, nuts, fruit and – Claire, heralded her arrival. Gone had that memory been – overwritten by the subsequent, welcome, life altering event almost immediately following. But Jamie remembered that for him it was more than a moment’s curiosity. If Claire had not followed quickly on its heels it would have become a prized possession of his.

He shook his head to clear it, looked loving at his wife and murmured, “I daresay.”

Spying a smear of jelly at the corner of her mouth he leaned in to kiss her and lick it off at the same time enjoying a kiss that was sweet in more ways than one. Recalling her confession of vulnerability he pulled away from her and added reassuringly, “But then you found me and you weren’t lost anymore, I hope.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not,” she replied emphatically resting her head on his shoulder and reveling in his comforting presence.

He let out a sigh of contentment, reminded once again of how blest he was to have her with him, and kissed her forehead.

“The bairns are settled Sassenach, come to bed wi’ me, aye?”

Chapter 17: Miracle Worker

Notes:

A/N: I am reading Bees right now and, inspired by Claire’s healing of the stillborn twin, I thought to do a revamp of the changeling scene from the first season of the series. Here goes…

Claire and her friend Gellis were enjoying each other’s company as they strolled through the forest in the early morning hours. Claire had been contemplating all that she had seen and learned: Gellis performing that ritual, a summoning she had called it, that looked surprisingly similar to the druid dance she and Frank had witnessed at Craigh na Dun; Her friend’s revelation that Dougal, and not Arthur, was the father of her child; and finally, that Dougal and the Duke of Sandringham were coconspirators of the Jacobite cause. Only a minor consideration was her original purpose in seeking out her new friend: finding out why she sold Laoghaire that ill wish.

 

While sifting through all this new information Claire heard the sound of distant crying.

 

“What was that?” Claire asked, stopping to look around.

 

Gellis stopped as well turning her head and looking as well. “Nothing,” she replied, nonchalantly.

 

The sound came again and Claire insisted, “No, listen.” More crying was heard, “It's a baby.”

 

Claire started moving in the direction of the crying.

 

“Claire,” Gellis reached out a hand to stop her friend. “That's a fairy hill. That baby is no human child. That's a changeling,” she insisted.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Claire asked with mounting frustration.

 

“When the fairies steal a human child away,” Gellis explained, “they leave one of their own in its place. Ye know it's a changeling because it doesn't thrive and grow.”

 

“That's just superstitious nonsense,” Claire was getting annoyed.

 

“Claire, if ye leave a changeling out overnight in such a place,” Gellis said, “the wee folk'll come and take it back and return the child they have stolen.”

 

“They won't,” Clare insisted, “This is not a changeling. It's just a sick child. And it might very well not survive a night out in the open. I have to go.”

 

“Ye go yerself, then,” Gellis declared, “and good luck to ye.”

 

The distant baby began to cough. Gellis turned back toward Cranesmuir as Claire quickly followed the direction of the sound.

…….oOo…….

 

Jamie woke with a smile on his face. The previous night’s activities were absolutely fantastic. Make-up sex was great, he decided. With desire blooming at these thoughts, he groggily turned over and reached for his wife.

 

However, when he found her spot cold and empty he sat bolt upright while his desire (ahem) rapidly went down. His anxiety at the absence of his wife was immediately assuaged when he spied the note Claire had left for him on her pillow.

 

“Gone for an early morning walk in the woods north of the foothills near the village. See you at breakfast. Yours, C”

 

Jamie threw off the blankets and jumped out of bed. He didn’t like the idea of Claire off in the woods by herself. He had heard rumors of strange happenings in that area of the forest near Cranesmuir and this being the full moon made it all that much worse.

 

He dressed rapidly and headed to the stable for his steed, Donas. The ride to the village was short , however, the direction “north of the foothills” encompassed a broad area. He spent some time searching before he came across Mistress Duncan walking back toward the village.

 

“Mr. MacTavish,” she greeted him as he rode up to her.

 

“Mistress Duncan,” replied he with a bow of his head, “have you seen my wife?”

 

“Yes,” she replied, looking concernedly over her shoulder. “She went to the fairy hill. A changeling must’ve been placed there last night.”

 

“Och,” he replied with a nod, “and Claire couldn’t resist helping the wee bairn. Thank ye kindly, Mistress.” Before he could spur Donas on again, however, she laid a hand on the horse.

 

Looking him in the eye, she warned him, “You need to talk to your Sassenach wife. She seems to come from a place much different than here. She does not understand our Highland ways and may well end up getting herself into trouble.”

 

Jamie nodded his thanks and rode off toward the fairy hill.

 

…….oOo…….

 

Claire struggled her way up the slope getting more and more desperate as the sounds of the baby’s cries ceased. Tired and breathless, she crested the top of the hill and cast about frantically looking for the babe. She spied a bundle in the fork of a large tree. Rushing over she scooped the swaddled infant up in her arms. The child was not moving, not breathing.

 

“Oh, God. Oh! Oh, God!” Claire sat down on the ground, clutching the baby to her chest.

 

“Oh, you poor child,” she declared, tears beginning to fall.

 

“I'm sorry,” she cried and rocked with the dead child pressed to her chest, “I'm so sorry.”

 

Claire did not hear the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

 

“Sassenach,” her husband said gently as he arrived at her side.

 

“I came up here when I heard crying,” she forlornly explained, “I was too late. The baby was already gone. They just left it out here to die.” With red, tear filled eyes, she looked at him imploringly.

 

“Aye.” He squatted down beside her, “Aye, I know. Ye have a kind heart, Claire, but ye have no idea what ye're dealing with.”

 

Tentatively he reached to take the babe out of her arms, “Seo (here).”

 

“No!” she cried, “No!”

 

Then she tore the infants clothes away from its chest and placed her hand on the bare, cold skin. She held her breath and waited – but nothing came, no heartbeat, no flutter of life. Claire dropped her head so that her forehead rested on that of the child and her hair fell like a curtain around them.

 

Jamie wrapped an arm around his wife and the two prayed for the dead child. “Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”

 

If Claire hadn’t had her eyes closed in prayer she might have seen it – a faint glowing blue light emanating from her fingertips still resting above the child’s heart.

 

Giving her shoulder a squeeze, Jamie encouraged her, “Come. The sun is rising. The parents will be returning soon.”

 

Crying softly, Claire handed the child to him and he placed the bundled bairn back into the tree. He turned away just in time to miss the slight fluttering of the babe’s eyes and a tiny intake of breath.

 

Jamie held out his hand and helped his wife to her feet. He led her away toward Donas explaining, “Been looking all over for ye, ever since I woke up to an empty bed and found yer note.”

 

“Sorry,” she said.

 

“Och, donna fash yerself,” he replied, “I met Geillis Duncan on the road. She told me where ye were. It's dangerous to be out here alone, Sassenach.” He lovingly admonished her.

 

She stopped before allowing him to lift her onto the beast and looked at him incredulously, “Don't tell me you believe in fairies and changelings and all that?”

 

“It's not about what I believe,” he explained with compassion, “These people... they've never been more than a-a day's walk from the place they were born. They hear no more of the world than what Father Bain tells them in the kirk on a Sunday. For the parents of that child, it might comfort them a bit to think it's the changeling that died, to think of their own child healthy and well, living forever with the fairies.”

 

Claire fell into his arms for a comforting hug. “Take me home,” she implored.

 

…….oOo…….

 

Claire heard the cries of an infant echoing through the castle long before the knock came at her surgery door. Before Claire could answer, however, Mrs. Fitz threw the door open and with her usual bustle, ushered in a young couple and their infant child.

 

“Mistress Beauchamp, och, I mean McTavish,” Mrs. Fitz corrected herself, “I’m still not used to you being married to young Jamie! God bless the two of ye.”

 

Claire smiled and nodded to the elderly woman who had become a dear friend to her.

 

Gesturing to the couple behind her, the housekeeper introduced them, “This is me second cousin, Robena Donaldson and her husband. Or maybe ye are me third cousin,” Mrs. Fitz commented with a frown, turning back to look at the woman, “och, never mind,” she waved the thought away with a flick of her hand. “They need ye to check out their wee one, Mistress.”

 

Mrs. Fitz reached toward the bundle in her cousin’s arms and gently pulled the blanket away from the child’s face. With an adoring smile she said, “She’s a beautiful lassie.”

 

The housekeeper bustled out of the room as quickly as she had come in, leaving the young parents with Leoch’s healer. With a broad smile Claire invited the parents to place the child on her examination table. She drew in her breath when the babe was revealed to be the very child she had held in her arms that morning. Lifting the child in her arms she quickly schooled her expression and inquired, “Is there anything the matter with the child?”

 

Robena looked tentatively at her husband and he gave her a smile and a nod. With her face full of wonder and hope, she explained, “The bairn was born braw ‘bout fortnight ago. She turned sickly last week and we knew then ‘twas a changeling. Last night we took it to the fairy hill hoping the fairies would bring our little lassie back. When we returned to the hill this morning…” here she turned into her husband’s embrace and started to cry, overwhelmed with relief and happiness.

 

Wrapping his arms comfortingly around his wife, Mr. Donaldson finished the story for her, sporting a broad smile himself, “we found our braw lassie returned to us.”

 

Robena had regained her composure and added, “We came to tell me cousin and she insisted we bring the bairn to you.”

 

Claire, was amazed. What had happened? She was certain the child had been dead. Could merely the warmth of her touch or maybe her prayers have saved the child?

 

Fighting back joyful tears of her own, Claire examined the child. She checked all her vitals and for developmentally appropriate reactions, finally giving the little girl a clean bill of health – close to miraculous after having spent a chilly night out in the woods. Wishing to overcome the couple’s superstitious bent, however, Claire went on to explain to them what ailments to watch out for in a child so young and insisted that they bring the girl back if they have even the slightest concern. “Now that your child is back, let’s not tempt the fairies to take her again,” Claire suggested.

 

Happily agreeing to the advice of the renowned healer of Leoch, Caileag nam Mìorbhail “The Lass o’ the Miracle” as Mrs. Fitz had dubbed Claire, the mother re-swaddled her child and the couple departed for home.

 

“Miracle worker” indeed, thought Claire.

Notes:

A/N: Italicized words were from the series Episode 103 “By the Pricking of my Thumbs” care of transcripts (dot) foreverdreaming (dot) org. Gaelic translations are from greatscotblog.