#Dinna fret yourself I’ll remember ye

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

To his extreme surprise, the next few years were in many ways among the happiest of Jamie Fraser’s life, aside from the years of his marriage.

…

Above everything else, he had Willie. Helwater was dedicated to horses; even before the boy could stand solidly on his feet, his grandfather had him propped on a pony to be led round the paddock. By the time Willie was three, he was riding by himself—under the watchful eye of MacKenzie, the groom.

Willie was a strong, courageous, bonny little lad. He had a blinding smile, and could charm birds from the trees if he liked. He was also remarkably spoilt. As the ninth Earl of Ellesmere and the only heir to both Ellesmere and Helwater, with neither mother nor father to keep him under control, he ran roughshod over his doting grandparents, his young aunt, and every servant in the place—except MacKenzie.

And that was a near thing. So far, threats of not allowing the boy to help him with the horses had sufficed to quash Willie’s worst excesses in the stables, but sooner or later, threats alone were not going to be sufficient, and MacKenzie the groom found himself wondering just what was going to happen when he finally lost his own control and clouted the wee fiend.

…

“I shall be leaving tomorrow.” Jamie spoke matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the bay mare’s fetlock. The horny growth he was filing flaked away, leaving a dust of coarse black shavings on the stable floor.

“Where are you going? To Derwentwater? Can I come with you?” William, Viscount Dunsany, ninth Earl of Ellesmere, hopped down from the edge of the box stall, landing with a thump that made the bay mare start and snort.

…

The ninth Earl of Ellesmere had his chin thrust out as far as it would go, but the defiant look in his eye was tempered with a certain doubt as he intercepted Jamie’s cold blue gaze. Jamie set the horse’s hoof down slowly, just as slowly stood up, and drawing himself to his full height of six feet four, put his hands on his hips, looked down at the Earl, three feet six, and said, very softly, “No.”

“Yes!” Willie stamped his foot on the hay-strewn floor. “You have to do what I tell you!”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I…” Shaking his head hard enough to make the red hair fly about his ears, Jamie pressed his lips tight together, then squatted down in front of the boy.

“See here,” he said, “I havena got to do what ye say, for I’m no longer going to be groom here. I told ye, I shall be leaving tomorrow.”

Willie’s face went quite blank with shock, and the freckles on his nose stood out dark against the fair skin.

“You can’t!” he said. “You can’t leave.”

“I have to.”

“No!” The small Earl clenched his jaw, which gave him a truly startling resemblance to his paternal great-grandfather. Jamie thanked his stars that no one at Helwater had likely ever seen Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat. “I won’t let you go!”

…

Without a word, Jamie grabbed the boy by the collar, lifted him off his feet and carried him, kicking and squirming, to the farrier’s stool he had been using. Here he sat down, flipped the Earl over his knee, and smacked his buttocks five or six times, hard. Then he jerked the boy up and set him on his feet.

“I hate you!” The Viscount’s tear-smudged face was bright red and his fists trembled with rage.

“Well, I’m no verra fond of you either, ye little bastard!” Jamie snapped.

Willie drew himself up, fists clenched, purple in the face.

“I’m not a bastard!” he shrieked. “I’m not, I’m not! Take it back! Nobody can say that to me! Take it back, I said!”

Jamie stared at the boy in shock. There had been talk, then, and Willie had heard it. He had delayed his going too long.

He drew a deep breath, and then another, and hoped that his voice would not tremble.

“I take it back,” he said softly. “I shouldna have used the word, my lord.”

…

“Have you really got to go, Mac?” he asked, in a very small voice.

“Aye, I have.” He looked into the dark blue eyes, so heartbreakingly like his own, and suddenly didn’t give a damn what was right or who saw. He pulled the boy roughly to him, hugging him tight against his heart, holding the boy’s face close to his shoulder, that Willie might not see the quick tears that fell into his thick, soft hair.

Willie’s arms went around his neck and clung tight. He could feel the small, sturdy body shake against him with the force of suppressed sobbing. He patted the flat little back, and smoothed Willie’s hair, and murmured things in Gaelic that he hoped the boy would not understand.

At length, he took the boy’s arms from his neck and put him gently away.

“Come wi’ me to my room, Willie; I shall give ye something to keep.”

…

“What’s that little candle for?” Willie asked. “Grannie says only stinking Papists burn candles in front of heathen images.”

“Well, I am a stinking Papist,” Jamie said, with a wry twist of his mouth. “It’s no a heathen image, though; it’s a statue of the Blessed Mother.”

“You are?” Clearly this revelation only added to the boy’s fascination. “Why do Papists burn candles before statues, then?”

Jamie rubbed a hand through his hair. “Aye, well. It’s…maybe a way of praying—and remembering. Ye light the candle, and say a prayer and think of people ye care for. And while it burns, the flame remembers them for ye.”

“Who do you remember?” Willie glanced up at him. His hair was standing on end, rumpled by his earlier distress, but his blue eyes were clear with interest.

“Oh, a good many people. My family in the Highlands—my sister and her family. Friends. My wife.” And sometimes the candle burned in memory of a young and reckless girl named Geneva, but he did not say that.

Willie frowned. “You haven’t got a wife.”

“No. Not anymore. But I remember her always.”

Willie put out a stubby forefinger and cautiously touched the little statue. The woman’s hands were spread in welcome, a tender maternity engraved on the lovely face.

“I want to be a stinking Papist, too,” Willie said firmly.

“Ye canna do that!” Jamie exclaimed, half-amused, half-touched at the notion. “Your grandmama and your auntie would go mad.”

“Would they froth at the mouth, like that mad fox you killed?” Willie brightened.

“I shouldna wonder,” Jamie said dryly.

“I want to do it!” The small, clear features were set in determination. “I won’t tell Grannie or Auntie Isobel; I won’t tell anybody. Please, Mac! Please let me! I want to be like you!”

…

“I baptize thee William James,” he said softly, “in the name o’ the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Willie blinked, crossing his eyes as a drop of water rolled down his nose. He stuck out his tongue to catch it, and Jamie laughed, despite himself.

“Why did you call me William James?” Willie asked curiously. “My other names are Clarence Henry George.” He made a face; Clarence wasn’t his idea of a good name.

Jamie hid a smile. “Ye get a new name when you’re baptized; James is your special Papist name. It’s mine, too.”

“It is?” Willie was delighted. “I’m a stinking Papist now, like you?”

...

“Good.” Jamie reached out and ruffled Willie’s hair in dismissal. “It’s almost time for your tea; ye’d best go on up to the house now.”

Willie started for the door, but stopped halfway, suddenly distressed again, with a hand pressed flat to his chest.

“You said to keep this to remember you. But I haven’t got anything for you to remember me by!”

Jamie smiled slightly. His heart was squeezed so tight, he thought he could not draw breath to speak, but he forced the words out.

“Dinna fret yourself,” he said. “I’ll remember ye.”

— Voyager

Gifs: section1rules.tumblr.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (horse riding)

Gif: smartbitchestrashybooks.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (walking)

Gif: outlanderamerica.tumblr.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (bastard)

Gif: lordjohngreys.tumblr.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (“Mac”)

Gif: pinterest.com, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017 (stinkin’ papist)

Photo: Starz, Season Three, Episode Four, October 1, 2017

Book: Voyager, Diana Gabaldon, 1994

Tumblr: October 15, 2018, WhenFraserMetBeauchamp 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿❤️🇬🇧

WFMB’s Tags: #Outlander #Season Three Episode Four #S3E4 #Of Lost Things #Voyager #Chapter Sixteen #Above everything else, he had Willie #Dinna fret yourself, I’ll remember ye #Jamie Fraser #Willie #William, Viscount Dunsany, ninth Earl of Ellesmere #William Clarence Henry George Ransom #William Ransom #William Fraser 😬 #146 #101518

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

Previously

AO3

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Chapter 4 : An Emergency Appointment

Cure sometimes, treat often, comfort always. Hippocrates

Jamie sat on the hard plastic chair and shifted uncomfortably. The fluorescent strip lighting overhead was giving him a bit of a headache and he was conscious of the mobile in his pocket, silent now, but Jamie knew at any minute it would start chirping away and he would have to talk to his sister.

Wee Jamie, on the other hand, seemed in fine spirits as he sat on the trolley in the little cubicle, curtains partitioning them off from the other Emergency Department patients. “Wot’s ‘at?” He asked his uncle, pointing.

“Hand sanitiser, makes yer hands nice and clean, gets rid of wee germs.”

“Wot’s ‘at?” He repeated, pointing in a different direction.

“Box of gloves, sae the doctors and nurses can put them on when they have tae examine ye… are ye sure ye’re feeling alright? How’s yer arm now?”

“‘S poorly.” Wee Jamie looked down at his left hand, motionless in his little lap. “Ouch… sweetie?” He added hopefully.

Jamie laughed despite his worry. “Ye wee gomerel. Ye never miss an opportunity, do ye? Dinna fret, afore I deliver ye back tae yer Mam, we can get some sweeties. Seeing as she’s goin’ tae shout at me anyways for letting ye hurt yerself, we can just add ruining yer teeth tae the list.”

The curtains parted slightly and a young nurse poked her head into the cubicle. “Mr. Fraser, we’re just waiting for the orthopaedic surgeon on call to come and take a look at your nephew. Shouldn’t be too long now.” She smiled coyly at Jamie. “Can I no’ get ye anything? Tea, coffee, sandwich?”

Jamie smiled politely. “No thank ye. But have ye a wee bit of juice or milk for my nephew?”

“I’m no’ sure he should have that, in case they need tae operate. Let me check”

Jamie blanched at the thought of a possible operation. His nephew was so small, to see him have to go through that would be unbearable. And with Jenny so close to her due date, too.

“Unca, wot’s ‘perate?” Wee Jamie still seemed unconcerned by everything going on around him. Easily distracted, he quickly added to his requests whilst his uncle was in the mood to spoil him. “Chips too an’ sweeties, pease?”

“Aye laddie. Chips and sweeties it is. After we’ve seen the doctor.” Jamie leaned over and planted a kiss on his nephew’s forehead.

The rustling of the hospital’s paperlike curtains took Jamie’s attention away from his nephew. He looked up as the doctor came into the cubicle. His breath hitched in his throat, no... more than that, the expression ‘take your breath away’ had never been so true.

After mere glimpses of her at Rupert’s wedding last month and in the pub less than a week ago, here was the woman who had invaded his daytime thoughts and his nighttime dreams. Her long legs were encased in baggy green hospital scrubs with the matching top camouflaging her curves. Her dark curls were haphazardly tied back in a ponytail, with corkscrew wisps escaping and gently feathering her forehead and cheeks. She was all that he remembered and more. He forced himself to stay calm. This was about his nephew, not him.

Claire’s hand flew instinctively to her hair, trying, ineffectually, to tidy the wild ponytail. She looked straight at the Viking who had captured her imagination at that hotel the month before. And he was here… with a small child. Great, Claire tried to compose her thoughts, pull yourself together, Beauchamp. He’s here, worrying about his child and you’re busy feeling disappointed that he’s already taken. Get a grip!

“Hello.” Claire directed the greeting to the small boy now sucking his thumb. “My name’s Claire and I’ve come to see how I can make you feel better.”

Without removing his thumb, Wee Jamie eyed her up and down before silently passing judgement and snuggling closer to his uncle. Jamie pulled him fully onto his lap.

“ Now, Jamie, that’s no way tae greet the doctor who’s gonna make ya feel better.”

“That’s no matter.” Smiling, Claire pulled up a chair and spoke directly to Jamie. “Well, Mr Murray, I’ve reviewed your son’s x-ray…”

“He’s no my son, I’m Mr...er... Jamie Fraser.” Fearful of Claire getting the wrong idea, Jamie quickly interrupted. “I mean… that is… he’s my nephew… my sister’s laddie. I was mindin’ him today and... weel…”

“Ah, sorry, ok… is his mother on her way?” Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at this welcome piece of news, Claire maintained her professional demeanour.

“I’ve left her some messages, just waiting fer her call. She’s probably nappin’... she’s eight months pregnant, ye ken.”

Fed up with being sidelined, Wee Jamie decided to join in the conversation. “Aye, Mam has big baby tummy, Da says.” He confided.

Claire smiled. “And I’m sure she’s thrilled every time he says that.”

She turned to the computer next to her in the cubicle and quickly pressed a few keys, waiting for the screen to fire into life. “So, would you like to see a picture of the inside of your arm then, Jamie?”

As the x-ray image appeared, Claire began to explain. “So, Mr. Fraser, from the nature of the accident and the pain localised at the base of the thumb, I was concerned that there was a scaphoid fracture of the wrist. But, as you can see,” she pointed at a small white mass on the x-ray. “There’s no fracture there. Which is a relief as that would have needed a cast at best and possibly even surgery. So, we’re looking at a bad sprain, which will get better on its own. Just make sure to rest it plenty, young man.”

Fascinated by the image on the screen, the little lad wriggled in his uncle’s lap and pointed. “Dat my arm?”

Claire nodded. “It’s a picture of the bones in your hand and arm. See, here’s your thumb and fingers…” She leant in as she started to explain. So close, Jamie could almost smell the shampoo of her hair, almost feel the heat from her body. His knee almost grazed against hers in the confined space of the cubicle.

A insistent chirping broke into Claire’s explanation.  

“Sorry,” Jamie shrugged. “This must be Jenny, my sister. I’d better take this.”

In a low voice, Claire continued to talk to Wee Jamie, gently stroking his arm as she named the various bones in his hand and arm. With one ear, she tried to listen in to the conversation Jamie was having with his sister (albeit one-sided).  

“Aye… Aye… Och, ye ken what he’s like with the ducks… He loves tae chase them… Aye… We didna see the tree root… just went flyin’ and put his hand out… it’s no’ bad, just a sprain… Aye… the doctor’s here now… Aye, the orthopaedic surgeon… she says it’s no’ bad… ok...”

Jamie passed the phone to Claire. “Sorry, would ye mind having a quick word with ma sister?”

Claire took the phone. “Mrs Murray? Claire Beauchamp here. Don’t worry, your son is fine. Your brother did the right thing and brought him in to be checked out. There is no fracture, so the sprain should heal itself. Just make sure he rests it… ok… not a problem… I’ll pass you back… Goodbye.”

“Jenny, I’ll see ye in a bit. Jamie and I are goin’ fer a bite to eat… Aye, healthy, I hear ye… no, no chips… bye.”

As his nephew’s lower lip started to tremble, Jamie reassured him. “Dinna fash, lad, we’ll get some chips on the way home. But, shhhh, dinna tell yer Mam.”

Claire pulled her chair back and stood up. “Well, I’d hate to stand in the way of you and your chips, Jamie.” She stroked wee Jamie’s hair briefly. “You enjoy and I hope I don’t see you in here again!” Claire looked at Jamie, trying to keep her professional face together. “Nice to meet you, Mr Fraser.”

Jamie hesitated and looked at his feet. Would it be wrong to ask for her number?  Would I look like a sleazebag, trying to pick her up as she was doing her job, caring for my nephew?

The rustling curtain gave him his answer. She had gone, decision made. Well, at least he knew her name, and where she worked, that was a start.

Jamie stood up and lifted his nephew in his arms. “Come on then, there are chips waiting fer us tae eat them.” He drew back the curtain and headed for the exit. A hand on his arm halted him.

“Sorry tae bother ye.” The nurse talking in a quiet voice seemed familiar to him,  her strawberry blonde hair neatly tied up in a bun. He just couldn’t place her. “I ken the lad’s alright, but, just in case ye need tae consult with the orthopaedic surgeon…” She placed a piece of paper in his hand and walked away.

[italianoutlanders]

Willie ~ You said to keep this to remember you. But I haven’t got anything for you to remember me by! Jamie ~ Dinna fret yourself, I'll remember ye ❤️💔 . https://t.co/o17Ebs32dU #Outlander #Voyager #Outlanderbooks #Outlanderbook #book #Quote #bookquote #DianaGabaldon #dianagabaldonbooks #OutlanderSeries #OutlanderStarz #JamieFraser #Willie #SamHeughan #ClarkButler #Outlanderedit #edit

[jemscorner]

“You said to keep this to remember you. But I haven’t got anything for you to remember me by!”

Jamie smiled slightly. His heart was squeezed so tight, he thought he could not draw breath to speak, but he forced the words out.

“Dinna fret yourself,” he said. “I’ll remember ye.”

     ~ Voyager, Diana Gabaldon

[mibasiamille]

Thoughts on the Geneva storyline so far?

Thanks for your lovely question, anon! I was actually itching to talk about this part of the book.

Upon first meeting her character, I really was not a fan (she is definitely no Claire Beauchamp). She was irritating in the same way that a child who continually asks “Why?” is. But I also respect her, especially her ability not to take no for an answer, even though the situation she is pursuing isn’t at all innocent in its nature. 

Honestly, I can’t help but pity her. Her situation, I feel, compares similarly to that of Mary Hawkins: in an engagement with an old fart that they had no say in. Mary, however, handles the situation differently because of her character (being the meek little girl that she was). I think this is an interesting comparison to make between the two girls since they’re both close in age: Geneva is more headstrong than Mary was, and understandably doesn’t want to bed someone who is almost as old as her father. They both have an air of immaturity that surrounds them like a stormcloud. For Mary, it was more innocent and timid, but for Geneva, it was more of the fiery temperament that comes with being a young woman. 

Additionally, I don’t blame her, either. Her situation is one that she did not choose, and quite frankly if I was to bed a complete stranger that was way too old for me, I would want to lose my virginity to someone I liked (or at least found attractive, which in this case would be Jamie). Plus imagining sex with a person as old as my father, if not older, makes me squirm. *shudders*

In order to save space on the dashboard, I’m going to cut it here, but you can read the rest after the cut-off.

I really enjoyed the questions that Geneva had about sex and virginity and the male anatomy. I was reading a reply someone wrote about Geneva some time ago (I don’t remember who it was), and they mentioned the parallel between Geneva and Jamie when he first took Claire to bed, which I liked. They were both virgins who didn’t know what they were doing, and although Jamie was a lot less gentle with Geneva than Claire was with him, he was still able to suppress himself in a way that it helped her get the feel of how the situation would play out.

All in all, I was a bit upset with the whole ‘virgin has sex for the first time and gets pregnant’ storyline. I feel it’s a bit overplayed and kind of frustrating. (I actually googled stats on pregnancy after the first time, and although it is common, the source also said that “fertility is a fickle thing”, which I think describes my thoughts precisely. Not everyone will get pregnant the first time they have sex. Plus I’m a biology major who wants to learn more on human anatomy and physiology, so the idea of getting pregnant the first time bothers me a bit. A lot of stars have to align in order to make that possible. I guess that’s why it bothered me as much as it did, but I digress.)

I also would like to mention Willie. Like with Geneva, at first glance I didn’t like him, either. But the more I read that chapter, and the farther I got, the more I had grown to like him (at least a bit more than I did before). I also felt more sympathy for him than with Geneva, given that he grew up with no mother or father to watch over him. Plus I think he does see Jamie as a paternal figure, especially when he mentions he wanted to be like him. I cried at the end of that chapter… I couldn’t help myself. It was so adorably written.

Here’s the quote that made me tear up:

“You said to keep this to remember you. But I haven’t got anything for you to remember me by!”

Jamie smiled slightly. HIs heart was squeezed so tight, he thought he could not draw breath to speak, but he forced the words out.

“Dinna fret yourself,” he said. “I’ll remember ye.”

*cries forever*

The thing that bothers me most about my involvement on Tumblr is that I know a lot of the plot points for the later books (sidenote: I knew a lot more about this book than I had originally thought. I did read the first couple hundred pages when s2 ended but decided that I needed to read the series in order, so some of the info I have came from that, but a lot of things I read online). People do a pretty good job blocking spoilers and cutting off explanations before the spoilers are mentioned, but I am one of those people who’s like “Well, I’m going to find out sooner or later, why not sooner?” so I read the opinions of others before I even know what was going on. I know that Willie shows up in later books (and that some people are not very fond of him), so that kind of makes me wonder how he will function in the story later on…

I’m sure that’s more than what you bargained for, but I hope you got some insight on how I felt. I feel like everyone bashed Geneva a little bit too harshly (although I can understand the resentment; she was rather annoying). I guess seeing as I’m a young lassie myself, I see a lot of me in her. Especially her stubbornness.

[writtenthroughtime]

Briste | Chapter 12

Briste | Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11

My father once said that the moment I met the person I was meant to be with, I’d ken it in a heartbeat.

He was right.

My heart and mind recognized her before I was even fully aware of it myself. The first month after the explosion I had dreams of an angel. She had the sweet voice of a Sassenach and the kindest touch. Whenever the pain began to overwhelm me, her voice and touch cut through the agony, replacing it with it peace.

She had spoken to me for countless hours, it seemed, in my haze. She read stories, the news, or just spoke her mind and the wish for me to open my eyes.

“Findings! You make him sounds like some sort of experiment!” A shrill voice had filtered in. That hadn’t been my angel, but I recognized it. Jenny. I furrowed my brow, light and pain began to seep into my consciousness and the dreams became more fuzzy by the second as the beeping of machines and the voice of my angel spoke.

“Can you tell me his name?”

I was even more confused by her statement. She knew my name, didn’t she? My angel had to know. I wanted to scream out to her, but nothing came. I needed to see; I needed to get my angel’s attention and let her know. She needed to know me.

I had opened my eyes and seen the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. The hazy vision of my angel solidified and I finally had features clearly drawn: riotous curly hair, milky skin, and eyes the color of the finest Scotch.

“Mo chridhe,” I had whispered, my voice scratchy and hoarse. Neither my sister or my angel had heard me.

When they did notice me, my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. My angel— Jenny had called her Dr. Beauchamp—gently touched my arm and my skin burned from her touch.

And just as soon as I had a chance to drink her in, she was gone, leaving me alone with my sister. She sobbed and hugged me. Between her sobs, Jenny fretted over me, not leaving me for a moment. It was smothering. I had never seen her this way before. Maybe it was the thought of losing me so shortly after Da and Willie or her ever growing pregnancy messing with her mind, but I didn’t care. It was nice to be surrounded by love and warmth instead of the cold hard fear that had been my constant state for the last four years.

“Who was she?” I croaked when Jenny had finally calmed down.

“Who was who, mo brathair?” She gave me a quizzical look, and rubbed her belly. “Surely ye’ve not already forgotten Doctor Beauchamp, who has been verra dedicated and skilled despite her age?”

I shook my head, feeling myself go dizzy with the movement. “No, not her. I ken fine who the angel is, but the demon. I dinna ken who she is. Can ye tell me, sister? Who was the demon who tortured me when the angel wasna near?”

My voice verged on hysterical, if it wasn’t already there. From the alarmed look on Jenny’s face, I had scared her. She opened her mouth to speak before we heard a loud slam of a door and screaming. I felt what little color was sure to be in my face, drain instantly. The demon was screeching, and at my angel.

“I’ve known James Fraser my whole life and I’d know the look of him anywhere.” The words from the demon floated through the sturdy wood of the door and down my spine like ice. How could she have known me her whole life?

“Jenny?” I began to shake with some foreign emotion that I couldn’t put a name to. We then heard a loud *crack* and the stomping of feet. Five minutes later, my angel and another doctor walked into the room, a smile on his face.

“Welcome back Mr. Fraser! Doctor Beauchamp has told me we finally have an identity for you, and perfect timing with your sudden consciousness. So can you tell me how you’re feeling? Please do not leave anything out. We want to get you back to your best state of being as quickly as we can.”

The conversation flowed and I can’t recall a moment of it. I was too busy stealing glances at the red flushed face of my angel who kept quiet in the corner of my room, and never once approached my bed.

That behavior became her normal towards me unless she had to inspect something under a bandage. The same, kind doctor accompanied her--I really need to remember his name--each round, but she never spoke to me. Her smile did not reach the corner of her lips let alone her eyes, and gradually she began walking with a limp.

My angel avoided my room now. I could feel the depression setting in; I was being abandoned by the angel. The angel whose voice still called to me at night and in my daydreaming states. The voice that gave me hope, now gone.

I grabbed my cane and shoved the IV contraption out the door, then hobbled my way down the corridor in an aimless fashion. My mind so preoccupied by what I might have done to keep her away, and what I could do to get her back, that I nearly missed an argument and a plea. The kind doctor and one I’d never met before strode from a room, the door bouncing off the hinge and slowly swung back open.

“I still say you should tell us who the bastard is that did this to you. I’m not fully convinced this was all done from being clumsy!” the nurse who reminded me of an aunt said exasperatedly, while wrapping a patient's knee. I saw the healed scrapes and gouges, the purple, blue and green mottled bruising that went from shin and above.

My mouth fell open as I took in all of the injuries this woman had endured. My blood pressure rose as I saw more bruising up her arms and shoulders. What kind of person would harm another like this? Was it her boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend? Or someone she had an unfortunate encounter with? Situation after situation crossed my mind, and then my blood simultaneously boiled and drained from my body. Sitting on the bench was not just a patient, but my angel. My angel bruised and hurt. Is this why she started avoiding me? Did someone tell her to stop?

I took a step towards her room and she averted her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck.

“All done Claire.” The nurse patted Claire’s leg and handed her her clothes. “Now I don’t want to see you—oh! Hello my dear, have you gotten lost? Do you need assistance getting back to your room?” She addressed me. I shook my head, my eyes not leaving Claire.

“Claire, my angel, who hurt you? What has happened? Please tell me.” I hobbled my way close enough to her to hold my hand out to hover over hers. I saw a tear slide down her cheek and my composure was lost.

“Angel! A Dhia! Please mo nighean donn, tell me who did this. I’ll protect you. I swear it. I’ll protect you.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry Mr. Fraser, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Shock flooded through me. Couldn’t understand me? Had I lost the ability to speak?

“Could you try English? I caught a little of what you said. I believe that was Gaelic? You said ‘Oh God!’ why? What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Is it your hand?”

She jumped off the table, still in naught but her undergarments, and pulled my lightly bandaged hand to her, inspecting it thoroughly. I looked to the nurse who gave me a knowing smile and a wink.

“Claire, the lad is fine. He asked who hurt you.”

My angel shook her head harder. “I told you before Glenna, no one hurt me! I did this to myself running. It wasn’t intentional I swear.” She looked to me then back to Nurse Glenna. “I’m just, clumsy when running these hills and trails. I’ll be fine. Thank you for patching me up.”

“Weel I’d feel better if you took the chief up on his offer to see a psychologist and work through why you feel the need to injure yourself if no one did it to ye.” She headed to the door and before pulling it shut, said to me, “Ye’ll need leave now, Mr. Fraser. Doctor Beauchamp can walk ye back to your room and ye can interrogate her then. Maybe she’ll be more keen to talk to you.”

With a wink she was gone.

Claire had already pulled her scrubs back on and was reaching for her coat when I grabbed her hand, stopping her. She looked me in the eye, and I brushed a curl away from her face. The tension was palpable. And my only thought was, ‘Would she let me?’