Chapter Text
"Hit me. Do it. Hit me, ye damn bastard."
Big, rough hands seized John’s collar and slammed him against the rock face. The sheer force of Jamie’s anger took him by surprise. He had rarely seen Jamie like this—unbridled, teetering on the edge. The last time had been when John had pushed him too far, provoking him until Jamie lost control, striking out with wild, furious punches. "We were both fucking you!" John had spat then, and it had been too much—for both men.
"Say it. Say ye hate me. I nearly killed ye... I accepted the possibility that ye could die. Say it, damn it!"
Jamie’s trembling figure cast jagged, shifting shadows on the cave walls. His stormy blue eyes locked with John’s icy gaze, unflinching. But John didn’t move. He couldn’t. He stood frozen, his body a battleground of conflicting emotions.
He wanted to hit Jamie. He truly did. Because what Jamie had done cut him deeper than anything he’d ever endured. It was unforgivable. In the immediate aftermath of the attack, John had tried to rationalize it, to summon some strange understanding for the Scotsman’s pain. But that fragile empathy had faded, leaving behind the raw, bitter truth.
Now there was only pain. And loss. And disappointment.
And finally, anger.
It burned hot and fierce, rising in him on sleepless, desperate nights when he didn’t know how to contain it. And here it was now, ignited once again. How he wanted to strike Jamie, to make him feel the weight of it all—to unleash everything inside him.
John’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. He drew in a shuddering breath of the cold night air, his chest rising and falling heavily. But still, he didn’t move. Not an inch.
They stood there, unmoving, two pairs of blue eyes locked in a silent war. Two souls that had once been so close, now separated by an unbridgeable gulf. Around them, the cave walls glistened, damp and alive with the flickering shadows of their quivering forms.
The fire they’d lit earlier sputtered weakly, its dim glow casting long, fractured shapes on the uneven stone. It offered little warmth, as though it, too, had been drained by the tension in the air. Everything felt cold—unyielding and harsh.
The same coldness had followed them all day. They had barely spoken, communicating only when absolutely necessary. When they’d arrived at the cave, it was with grim resignation, both men knowing there was no better option. A storm was closing in, and the path back was too treacherous to attempt.
The realization that they were trapped—forced to spend the night together in this confined space—did nothing to ease the tension. John could see Jamie’s unease intensify with every passing moment, his jaw tightening, his movements restless and agitated.
He watched Jamie in silence, unable to look away. He couldn’t help but think of a cornered animal, desperate for an escape it couldn’t find.
One thing led to another, and what began as a trivial conversation about the night ahead escalated into irritated grumbling, before culminating in an emotional outburst from Jamie. Since then, John had felt strangely detached, as if his body no longer belonged to him. A numbness had seeped in, dulling everything.
It was Jamie who moved first, releasing John and finding his voice again. He stood there, staring at his former friend with a mixture of disbelief and grim understanding.
“Aye... ye cannae do it. Ye cannae hit me,” Jamie said, his voice low but firm. He stepped back, his gaze unwavering. “Ye cannae hate me.” A bitter laugh followed, sharp and hollow. “Of course not.”
Jamie lowered his head, his eyes dropping to the shadows pooling at his feet. For what felt like an eternity, he remained silent, the cave filled only with the distant howl of the storm.
Then, finally, the words came, stripped of emotion and spoken with a cool detachment, as though they didn’t belong to him.
“Because ye love me.”
The phrase hung in the air, strange and foreign. Jamie’s voice carried no warmth, as if he were trying to distance himself from what he had just admitted. These words had never been spoken aloud before—by anyone.
John, on the other hand, was rendered speechless. His mouth was dry, and his throat tightened as he looked at Jamie, who seemed to retreat further into himself with every passing second. Slowly, Jamie turned away, seeking support from the rock wall, and then slid down it as if the weight of his own admission had become too much to bear.
John watched him, feeling the tension drain from his own body, replaced by something far more familiar—a feeling he had spent years trying to suppress. Shame. It settled over him like a heavy cloak, inescapable and deeply tied to the truth he had always tried to deny. The truth about how he felt for Jamie Fraser.
Love.
It had always been love, and yet, for John, love had never brought him anything but pain. He had often wondered why people sought it so desperately, what they found so desirable about it. In his experience, love was nothing but loss and pain.
Jamie’s voice broke through his thoughts, quiet yet steady. “Ye’ve always done that. Everything… everything ye’ve ever done for me or my family, ye’ve done out o’ love.” He lifted his head, his gaze locking with John’s. “Even your marriage tae Claire... ye did it tae protect my family. A final service tae me. I ken that now. I’ve talked tae Claire about it, though deep down, I think I always knew.”
John stood frozen, Jamie’s words cutting through him with precision.
“Because that’s what ye do,” Jamie continued. “Ye protect us.”
A faint sound escaped Jamie, halfway between a sigh and a bitter laugh. John thought he caught the ghost of a smile on Jamie’s face, fleeting and resigned. For a moment, the tension between them seemed to soften, the air growing lighter.
But then Jamie’s expression hardened, and his tone shifted.
“And then there’s ye... ye and Claire.” His voice wavered, thick with tension. His fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling as he tried to contain the storm raging within him.
“Ye said ye both had...” Jamie faltered, the words sticking in his throat. He pressed his lips together, turning his gaze to the ground, as if it might offer him the answers he sought. He shook his head slowly, frustration etched into every line of his face. When he finally spoke again, his voice was bitter, laced with a pain he could no longer hide.
“I wanted tae apologize tae ye. I've wanted tae for a long time. That’s why I asked ye to accompany me on this hunt.”
“I don’t want to hear your apology.”
The words felt hollow, almost lifeless, as they left John’s lips—his first words in what seemed like an eternity. Yet even as he spoke, he knew they were futile. Silence might have carried the same weight. His voice lacked the force he’d hoped for, drained of any real power.
Jamie Fraser looked at him, his expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, John thought he caught something in his eyes—a glimmer of surprise, or perhaps resignation.
“Of course not…” Jamie closed his eyes, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “And I can understand that. What I did was unforgivable. Ye were my friend, and I accepted the possibility that ye could die. Yet your friendship was always… of great value tae me.”
The words stung. Jamie spoke of their bond as though it were a thing of the past. And perhaps it was. They weren’t friends anymore—just two strangers in a cold, unyielding cave. The weight of that realization struck John like a physical blow, and his legs suddenly refused to hold him. Slowly, he slid down the rough stone wall, coming to rest on the icy floor, keeping his distance from Jamie.
“And so it was for me, too,” he said hoarsely, struggling to keep his composure. “At least you’re honest. Calling it as it is. After everything that’s happened, it’s the least honorable thing I expected you to do.”
“Honest…” Jamie let out a bitter snort, the sound echoing off the cave walls. He shook his head, his expression darkening.
“No, I’ll have tae disappoint ye. That honor’s yers, not mine. I’m not honest—not with ye, and not with myself. I’m a bloody…” He let out an unintelligible Scottish curse, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair. His gaze shifted upward, a fierce light returning to his blue eyes, now fixed on John with a challenge.
“If I were the man ye think I am, I’d have been able tae tell ye what I should have told ye a long time ago … .“ He trailed off, his voice faltering. John watched him, wondering what images flickered behind those eyes, what memories weighed so heavily on him.
“If I'd been honest, I should have apologized tae ye a long time ago, John.” Jamie swallowed hard, his tone softening as he continued. “If I’d been honest, I would’ve told ye sooner what a fucking idiot I am.”
His voice broke, and something shifted. In an instant, the fierce confidence vanished, replaced by a nervousness John had rarely seen in Jamie Fraser. His voice grew thin, and his fingers, clenched into fists, trembled as though searching for an anchor.
“If I do this… if I truly and sincerely apologize tae ye … .” Jamie hesitated again, his words faltering. Then he glanced up, pale, his eyes wide and searching. Rarely had John seen Jamie look so vulnerable. Jamie took a deep breath before continuing, his tone bitter and raw.
“If I do that… then I admit tae myself that… he still has power over me.”
His voice dropped lower, thick with resentment. “Even after nearly 30 years.”
The words echoed in the cave, reverberating in John’s mind like a drumbeat. He. Who? Who could possibly still hold power over Jamie Fraser?
It took John a long moment to piece it together. The realization struck him like a physical blow. His stomach twisted, and bile rose in his throat. Slowly, a thought clawed its way up from the depths of his subconscious, forcing itself into the light.
A memory.
"It’s not up to me to tell you about it. He’ll have to do it himself.”Brianna’s words, spoken with quiet gravity, returned to him now, cutting through him like a blade.
She had said this long ago, after John had confided in her about the origins of his friendship with Jamie. He had told her everything—how it began, how it had grown, and how it had unraveled when Jamie lashed out after John had dared to reveal a glimmer of his feelings. He had spoken of the time Jamie had willingly let himself be whipped, knowing full well how deeply it would wound John.
At the time, he had never fully understood why Jamie reacted so harshly—so destructively.
But now… now it was beginning to make sense.
Brianna had said it calmly back then. Her tone was deliberate and trusting, as though she was utterly convinced that the bond between the two men would endure, no matter the chasm that now separated them irreparably.
John had always sensed that something lay beneath it all. It began with Jamie’s violent reaction to his foolish touch that fateful night in Ardsmuir Prison—the haunted glint in his eyes, the raw hatred. That moment had marked the beginning of the end. What could have grown into a tender friendship was shattered in an instant, beyond repair. All because he’d been reckless enough to give in to his desire, to reveal a fragment of his heart—and his soul.
They had never spoken of it again.
Then, years later, there was the encounter in the stables at Hellwater. That same unbridled hatred met him once more, as forceful as a blow. But this time, it wasn’t the hatred that haunted him most. No, it was what he saw beyond it—the pain. And a deep, soul-crushing vulnerability.
“If I could have you in my bed, by God, I’d make you scream!”
He cursed those words. Cursed the heat of the moment that had driven him to say them. Because it was then that he had seen it—the reason for Jamie’s hatred, his pain. It wasn’t just loathing. It was fear. Fear born of something unthinkable. The realization had dawned on him like ice seeping into his veins. That someone had done it. That someone had made James Fraser scream. That someone had… attacked him. Violated him.
John had loved Jamie deeply for so many years. The mere possibility that such a thing could have happened to him tore at John’s very being. The suspicion, vague as it was, had been almost unbearable. Over the years, as they painstakingly rebuilt their fractured friendship, those unspeakable doubts had faded to a quiet shadow in his mind.
And then William had entered their lives.
He would never forget the shock of that moment when Jamie, in exchange for Willie’s care, had offered himself. His body. It had been a staggering proposition—one John had, of course, refused. How could he not? And yet, for all his principles, a faint flicker of regret stirred within him at the memory.
But Jamie’s offer had brought with it something unexpected: relief. Because it confirmed, at least to John, that his earlier fears had been misplaced. Surely, Jamie could never have made such an offer if his suspicions had been true. No man could. Not even James Fraser.
And yet, the unease had never entirely left him. Now, sitting in this godforsaken cave, his worst fears were unraveling before him.
The silence between them was deafening. John had no sense of how much time had passed. The dull glow of the fire had dimmed to a faint flicker, casting weak shadows on the damp walls. Jamie sat with his head bowed, his hands resting heavily on his knees. His breathing was labored, and his gaze remained fixed on the embers, avoiding John entirely.
“Who… did this to you?” John meant for his voice to sound steady, but it emerged as little more than a whisper, barely audible even to himself.
“I should’ve told ye a long time ago,” Jamie said, his voice laced with bitterness that made John shiver.
“Who?” John asked again, his voice hoarse and dry.
Jamie was silent for a long moment, weighing his words as if each one carried unbearable weight.
“His name was Jonathan Wolverton Randall. Black Jack.” The name fell like a stone into the silence. “A redcoat. He’s dead now.” Jamie paused, his tone cool and controlled. “I killed him at Culloden.”
Another pause. Then, as if steeling himself, Jamie continued in a rush, as though afraid he might falter if he didn’t get the words out quickly.
“He wanted me. For years. At first, it was enough for him to inflict pain. He’s the man who nearly flogged me to death. But eventually, that wasn’t enough for him.” Jamie’s voice grew quieter as he lowered his gaze, swallowing hard.
Even in the faint, dying firelight, John could see the whiteness of Jamie’s knuckles as he clenched his fists, the tremor in his hands betraying his composure.
“I was meant tae hang. At Wentworth. But Claire… she broke into the prison. She came tae save me. Only, he got tae her first.” Jamie’s voice hardened, his words clipped. “He held a blade tae her throat. And I knew he wouldnae hesitate. So I gave him the only thing I had left. The only thing I knew he wanted. My body.”
Jamie suddenly looked up at John, his blue eyes searching for support, desperate. But John knew he wouldn't find it with him. He felt paralyzed, numb to the very marrow of his bones. He found it hard to breathe.
“In exchange for Claire’s life, I gave him my word. That he could do whatever he wanted with me. That… I wouldnae fight back.” Jamie’s voice was steady, but his face betrayed the agony behind his words. John remained silent, overwhelmed and helpless in the face of Jamie’s pain.
“We said goodbye. And Claire went free.” A bitter smile ghosted across Jamie’s lips. “But of course, she came back. She and Murtagh… they saved me. The next morning, they got me out of that prison cell.” He paused, his voice growing softer.
“At least… what was left of me.”
The piercing blue of Jamie’s eyes locked onto John’s, an intensity in them that was almost unbearable.
“He tortured me,” Jamie began, his voice rough and brittle. “He was brutal. He made me beg on my knees. And he…” Jamie faltered, the words hanging heavily in the air. Both of them knew what was coming—what needed to be said. It was already there, hovering between them, waiting to be spoken aloud. Finally, in a voice that was raw and broken, Jamie finished.
“He raped me. It lasted all night. He made me… do things that…” Jamie trailed off, his voice cracking. He turned his face into the shadowed recesses of the cave, retreating from the firelight.
John felt his stomach twist painfully. So it was true. Bitter, horrifying truth. He barely dared to look at Jamie, fearing that even a glance would somehow deepen the wound. A muffled sound escaped his throat, the only noise he could manage.
A man. A redcoat.
It explained everything. All the years of silence and guarded walls. Jamie’s fury whenever he was touched, his visceral anger and vulnerability that night in the stables, the invisible wall that had always stood between them. Even the outburst of rage that had almost cost John his life. It all made sense now.
“It was over 30 years ago,” Jamie said quietly, his gaze fixed on the dying fire. “It’s not like I’m not over it. Time helped me… to live with it.” He paused, sorting through his thoughts as if deciding how much more to reveal. When he continued, his voice was softer, almost fragile.
“But in the days and weeks after Wentworth…” He hesitated, his lips curling into a bitter, joyless smile. “All I wanted was tae die. I’ve come close tae death many times in my life. There’ve been moments I even welcomed it. But after what happened in that dungeon…” His voice trembled. “I never wanted it more.”
John’s heart shattered at Jamie’s words. He couldn’t imagine the strength it took for Jamie to share this, to let someone else see the raw, unhealed scars beneath his strong exterior.
“When Claire left the dungeon,” Jamie continued, his voice low and steady, “I thought I could endure whatever he… .” He faltered, the memory too vivid, too real. He drew a shaky breath and pressed on. “I thought I could bear the pain. I’ve survived pain before. But I underestimated Jack Randall. He didn’t just want my body. He wanted my soul. My spirit. And that night…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He held it all in his hands and crushed it.”
Jamie turned his face away again, retreating into silence. His shoulders sagged as if the weight of the memory was too much to bear. John swallowed hard, trying to find the words that might offer comfort. But nothing felt adequate. Nothing could even come close.
“I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice cracking under the strain. He cursed his weakness. “I’m… deeply sorry for what happened to you, Jamie,” he said again, forcing his voice to steady. He ached to reach out, to offer some semblance of solace with a touch. But he knew instinctively that any physical contact would only make things worse right now.
“I should’ve told ye sooner,” Jamie said, his voice resigned. “I thought about it a few times, but…” He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “I couldnae talk about it. Especially not with ye.”
The words struck John like a blow. He wasn’t sure what the blue eyes that turned to him now were trying to convey—accusation, regret, or maybe even a kind of apology. Beneath it all, he saw something unexpected: uncertainty. And a faint glimmer of gentleness.
“Because I’m a man?” John asked quietly. “Or because … I have feelings for you?” The words felt heavy on his tongue, but he had to ask. Jamie’s reluctance, however unintended, had stung deeply.
Jamie’s gaze faltered. “Aye… Probably tae avoid this very conversation.” His unease was evident. Even in the dim light, John could see Jamie’s eyes glinting with something unreadable.
“I guess I was afraid,” Jamie admitted, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that felt foreign coming from him. “Afraid that… ye’d think I held it against ye. That ye’d feel … .” He trailed off, shaking his head. Then his eyes found John’s, steady and searching.
“Ye’re nothing like him, John. Not in the slightest. But the thought that there … are feelings … . There were moments I couldnae handle it. Even though I always knew ye’d never … You could never do that.” His voice broke slightly, and his expression darkened with pain.
“When I hit ye,” Jamie said, his voice rising, laced with self-loathing. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. “That night, when ye told me… .” His voice caught, his rage barely contained. “The mere idea that a man would ever touch me like that again. That you… .” He exhaled sharply, his words faltering. “By God, I wanted you dead!”
John froze at the raw confession, but Jamie’s voice softened almost immediately, broken and trembling.
“But your death is the last thing I’d ever want.” Jamie turned away, his shoulders trembling as he tried to hide the tears threatening to spill.
“Jamie.”
John’s voice was firm, steady now. He refused to let Jamie retreat into himself again. “Thank you for telling me. I know how difficult this must have been for you.” He hesitated, then continued, his voice quieter. “Especially with me of all people.”
Jamie looked up briefly, his gaze empty and defeated.
“As you said,” John continued, “I’m not him. But I am a man. A man who … has feelings for you. Someone who ... could have been a threat to you after everything you’ve been through. I ... understand that now. “ It was painful to express these thoughts. But it was necessary.
“I never wanted tae make ye feel like I would ever compare ye tae him…” Jamies voice was quiet but firm, the words weighted with sincerity. The tears had left pale streaks on his skin. Jamie had never looked at him like this before—utterly hollow, completely defeated. The emptiness in his blue eyes was a stark contrast to the fierce, unyielding man John had always known.
It unsettled him, more than he could say. After everything they had been through, this moment was unexpected—almost unfathomable. How could Jamie trust him enough to let him see this deeply wounded side of himself? To lay bare a vulnerability so profound it felt sacred.
“I know.
A long silence stretched between them. Then Jamie straightened, his voice steady again. “I’ve forgiven him,” he said, his tone distant but resolute. “At some point, I realized that forgiveness was the only way… the better way. But it’s hard. Always hard. Still, he’s gone now. God judged him. And I’m here. Alive.”
They sat together in silence, the flickering firelight casting long shadows on the cave walls, each man lost in his own thoughts.
"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry," Jamie croaked, the words spilling from him over and over. God, he was crying. Silent, steady tears streamed down his face as he looked at John. His gaze was unflinching, defying the vulnerability that came with the tears. He was trying to be strong, even now, but the weight of it all was undeniable.
"I know," John whispered. Taking a deep breath, John tried to push back his own rising emotions, to create some distance from the raw pain that surrounded them both.
"I had thought once... that something like this might have happened to you. That it could explain why you reacted the way you did," John admitted, his words cautious, halting. He searched for the right way to say it but came up short. "Why you reacted... at me," he added simply, his voice tinged with regret.
"Back in Hellwater. God knows what made me say those words to you. Your reaction was... disturbing. I think I knew then—or at least, a part of me suspected—that something must have happened to you." He paused, hesitant to voice the next thought. "I saw the fear in your eyes. I saw the pain—deep down in your soul. And ... I saw myself. Me, when I felt the same."
Jamie looked up suddenly, his blue eyes filled with hesitation and something fragile, as if searching John’s gaze for answers or reassurance. Slowly, he nodded, almost to himself.
"I'm sorry about that," he said sincerely, his voice laced with a warmth that John hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity. "Ye got through it and... put it behind ye, didn’t ye?"
"It was just a mugging, a... quick attack when I was young," John said, his voice soft and measured. "But yes, I got over it. Eventually, I was able to live with it. At first, it felt impossible, but then... it wasn’t."
The two men sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. The truths between them hung heavy in the air, and the shared exhaustion was palpable. Then, unexpectedly, Jamie spoke again.
"The worst thing that night wasnae... that he took me," Jamie began, his voice low, almost a whisper. "If it had just been that—the physical act—then I might have been able tae live with it after a while. But … .“ He faltered, his words trailing off into silence.
John waited, watching as Jamie fought an internal battle. It was written all over his face—the pain, the shame, the weight of what he was trying to say. The silence stretched thin, and with each passing second, John’s unease deepened. What could possibly be worse? The fear churned in his stomach as Jamie’s struggle became almost unbearable to witness.
"You can tell me," John said softly, his voice gentle but firm.
Jamie didn’t meet his gaze. His eyes were fixed on the embers of the fire, his face a canvas of anguish and shame. When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely audible.
"It wasnae just... rape, John. He was brutal... only tae be gentle the next moment. I was exhausted, kept passing out, couldnae think straight. It was all too much—I just wanted it to stop. No more pain, no more... touch." Jamie bit his lower lip until it darkened with a red mark.
His voice grew rougher as he continued, his tone edged with bitterness. "I had given up. My mind had stopped fighting what he was forcing on me. And that bastard knew it. God damn his soul!"
Jamie turned his face away, his body trembling as he fought to contain the memories clawing their way back to the surface.
“At some point that night... he didnae need violence to get what he wanted. He ... seduced me, John. He did... love tae me. And made me... tae feel lust. Even though I didnae want tae.”
Jamie’s voice trembled with shame, and it almost broke John’s heart to see him struggle to get the words out.
“I didnae ken what was happening tae me,” Jamie continued, his voice growing quieter. “I was exhausted, barely in my right mind. Claire ... Claire was there. He kept conjuring her up, constantly talking about her. He gave me hope, only tae rob me of it the next moment. Because there was only him... and the pain he caused me. But I didnae want that anymore. And I was grateful... tae feel something other than that pain.”
“You’re accusing yourself of that? That you ...” John began, but Jamie cut him off sharply.
“That man made me his whore... and I... couldnae stop it from feeling... good. It was like I was consenting tae my own rape. Like I was... going along with it!”
Jamie’s hands clenched into fists, and he stared at John with burning anger—not at him, but at himself. “I couldnae forgive myself for that. Not for a very long time. That’s why I wanted tae die.”
John felt a wave of nausea as the cruel images forced themselves into his mind. The sheer horror of what Jamie described, coupled with the self-loathing he clearly harbored, was almost unbearable.
“Jamie...” John said softly. “Your body reacted... not you. Not your heart. And certainly not your soul. Surely you know that, don’t you? You wanted to survive. Your body just made sure...” His voice faltered as a sudden thought struck him, stopping him mid-sentence. He looked at Jamie with a mix of realization and disbelief.
“Are you afraid that I might succeed, too? Seduce you? Is that it, Jamie? Is that why you’re so afraid ... of me?” The words tumbled out, and as soon as they did, John felt the weight of their implication. Even though the thought initially seemed nonsensical, it didn’t feel foreign.
“No,” Jamie said firmly, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice. “Aye, maybe so...” He ran his fingers through his hair, disheveling it further. His face was a storm of frustration, despair, and exhaustion. “No, John, it’s not like that. It’s not... Ye can’t say it like that.”
Jamie fell silent for a moment, clearly searching for the right words.
“Love has ... many faces,” he began. “I only knew love for Claire. She was the first and only person I loved. With all my heart, with every fiber of my body, and every part of my soul. And then there was Jack Randall. He also spoke of love, and I think... he actually loved me, in his own sick way. That night, he showed me what his love meant. And it almost killed me.
“Then I met ye,” Jamie said, his voice softening. “After Culloden, after losing Claire, after surviving years of loneliness, suddenly there was ye. Our friendship... Ye were the first person who understood me. Who I could talk tae and reveal myself tae in ways I thought were lost forever. Ye showed me respect, and for the first time, I felt like I had a chance tae be who I used tae be.”
A gentle smile softened Jamie’s features for a fleeting moment, despite the deep furrows etched by the anguish of the conversation.
“But then… I understood how ye felt about me. And yet, I didnae understand.” he said quietly. “Fear clouded my mind. That night in Ardsmuir... I was scared. From one moment tae the next, it all came back. Ye, an English governor in a high position ... . Me, your prisoner, locked behind thick prison walls. And in no position tae stop it, should ... should I be attacked.”
Jamie’s words sent a shiver down John’s spine. So his fears were true. Jamie really had expected him to attack and ... abuse him.
“For me, there was just this naked fear,” Jamie continued, his voice raw. “So yes, ye’re right. At first, I was afraid it would happen again. And even worse... what if I felt something like that again? That bastard showed me a side of myself I didnae ken existed. I got through it, thanks tae Claire. She saved me. But Claire... Claire wasn’t there anymore. Instead, everything came back. Everything I’d buried deep inside me. It hit me like a storm, with a force that left me breathless and numb.” Jamie paused to collect himself. His voice was almost inaudible when he spoke again.
“The acrid lavender scent of the oil he used. The stench of damp dungeon walls mixed with blood and... male semen.” Jamie’s gaze passed through John, staring into a void only he could see.
“Nights when the silence of my cell was filled with his whispers. Words of love and affection. My heart was gripped by a coldness I thought I’d long forgotten. Everything came rushing back. The hate. The anger. And the shame.”
Tears shimmered on Jamie’s face, catching the flickering firelight.
“Ye’re nothing like him, John. Nothing. And yet... I was deeply scared. Of ye. And of myself. I couldnae have survived that again, John. And... I didnae ken who ye really were then. That ye could never do something like that. So I had tae end it. I needed distance.”
“The whipping,” John murmured, bile rising in his throat as memories of that day resurfaced. His voice trembled.
“But then ... we found each other again. And I was grateful tae have ye back in my life,” Jamie continued, his tone softening. “Over the years, ye became the most important person in my life, next tae my family. And I didnae question it. I was just ... grateful.”
Jamie’s direct gaze caught John off guard.
“Still, I couldnae completely banish it from my thoughts. Even if I tried. The fear wasn’t that ye’d hurt me anymore. But sometimes, there was a... dull feeling. Very faint. But it was there.”
He sighed deeply.
“But there was so much more. Growing over the years. The friendship we had built up. The closeness we shared. The secrets, our worries, William. Our life together. The bond that connected us.”
“That you were afraid.” John cleared his throat, but it constricted instantly as he spoke. “Of me...” he continued more quietly. “I understand that. If I had been in your place, I wouldn't have felt any differently. My foolish behavior that night in Ardsmuir...” He shook his head. “I suppose it's one of the things in my life I'll regret until the day I die.” Now it was John's turn to search for the right words. He searched his former friend's gaze questioningly.
“Still, I don't understand why you think I could have succeeded in ... seducing you.” A crease formed between his eyebrows as he continued.
“I mean, what Jack Randall did to you, what happened to you, that your body ... reacted. That was something completely different. It was an extreme situation. Not just that I never...well, against your will...I mean... .”
John didn't continue. The confusion in his head made it impossible for him to express a clear thought. But there was something... something that didn't fit. Irritated, he looked up. A disbelieving blue looked down at the Scotsman, who continued to avoid returning John's gaze.
Suddenly John blurted out. “Unless this isn't about ... me.”