#I ran a magnet around inside and out of the piece I was sewing and did not find the missing piece

[tj-crochets]

Giant bat update: it may or may not have a shard of needle in it somewhere (in case this breaks containment: this is about a giant bat plushie I am sewing not a real bat lol)

[ladygloucester]

A Common Enemy - The Getaway

Previously…

When he opened his eyes, instantly knew something wasn’t right. In the middle of the night, a soft pinch in his leg had brought him back from sleep. Ready as he was for anything and everything, the last thing he could imagine was happening. Slowly, that brown haired woman had crawled into his lap, and her head was resting against his belly, on his thigh. He couldn’t help it. His fingers carefully caressed her curls, disarrayed around her head and so silky to the touch. Tentatively, his hand almost decided to rest by itself on her arm, and it was welcomed with a sleepy smile. His lips drew another one of his own, before easing himself back to sleep.

But that was different. Sun was about to come up and the camp would soon wake up, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. The cape was discarded by his side, but no sight of the rope or any other thing missing. His brow furrowed, trying to figure out which way she had go. Getting on his feet without making a sound, he looked for footprints, hints, a trail. It was easy to spot. Almost looked like she wasn’t trying to hide it. And she was… walking, not running.

What the hell, Sassenach…

Concern started to get a grip on him. What if she got lost? Or if someone took her? A cold sweat began to form a thin layer on his forehead, despite the morning cold. The footprints were irregular. It almost looked like she was… looking for something? There were some here and there, and then a few around a bush before heading back to the main trail. He was about to call her name when he heard her.

It was a low hum, but full of musicality. Jamie sighed, leaning back on a tree while observing her, completely unaware of his presence. She was singing to herself an old tune, and he was close enough to figure out the words.

‘Pray let me alone,

     I have hands of my own;

Along with you I will not go,

     To hear the fond tale

     Of the sweet nightingale,

As she sings in those valleys below;

     For I am afraid

     To walk in the shade,

To walk in those valleys below,

To walk in those valleys below.’

     ‘Pray sit yourself down

     With me on the ground,

On this bank where sweet primroses grow;

     You shall hear the fond tale

     Of the sweet nightingale,

As she sings in those valleys below;

     So be not afraid

     To walk in the shade,

Nor yet in those valleys below,

Nor yet in those valleys below.’

His heart was pounding hard in his chest. She wasn’t the best singer, but there was something extremely appealing about seeing her without being noticed. Seeing the drizzle curl her locks, her hands white as a dove’s wings fluttering around the bushes. The delicacy of her fingers tearing out stems and flowers. The aplomb that covered her actions, deciding whether that plant was correct or poisonous. It was hypnotizing.

It took him a while to figure out what she was doing, until she turned around with her skirt slightly pulled up forming a precarious basket full of herbs. But the sight of him suddenly startled her and her hands dropped the cloth, and with it, the precious load it was carrying.

“Holy Mother Mary!” Claire’s hands flied to her chest, as if trying to keep her heart inside her chest. Jamie lifted his hands apologetically and hurried up to her, kneeling and picking up the herbs she just dropped. “There’s nothing here for a heart disease,” she mumbled, still trembling from the scare.

“Sorry there, Sassenach. Wisna my intention at all…” Jamie truly looked distressed for having startled her.

“How long have you been there?”

“Errr…” A blush took over his face, furiously, as he searched for words. “Not long, no. I was worried, woke up and ye weren’t there. For a moment I thought something happened to ye.”

They finished collecting the herbs back in her skirt and stood up. Claire looked at him curiously, and tilted her head.

“You didn’t think I ran away?”

“Only for a second. Before I found your trail. It was… weird.”

“Well, I was looking for something we could use on that wound,” she pointed at his thigh. “I didn’t like the look of it and wanted to…” This time it was her turn to blush. “Well, you’ve been really attentive (for a captor, at least) and I just wanted to pay you back.”

His eyes pierced hers, blue as the Scottish sky on those rare days when the clouds laid away. There was something magnetic to them. Even though the situation was far from ideal and she should be more afraid than anything, Claire couldn’t help it. She trusted that redheaded highlander that took off his cape to keep her warm and was ready to fight one of his own to protect her. Jamie broke their gaze and stood up, offering his hand to help her up. Even with the years of sword fighting and hard work, his palm was soft, and his long fingers encased hers with tenderness, slightly caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Better go back before Dougal wakes up. He willna be happy if we’re missing. But before…“ Jamie unsheathed his sgian-dubh from his boot and swiftly cut the rope around her wrists.

“Ye dinna need it, Sassenach. You’re my prisoner, ken? I trust ye not to run into the wilderness and end up eaten by wolves.”

Claire rubbed her sore wrists, grateful to feel the blood circulating back into her hands. They were stiff and where the rope had been tighter, achy scabs were forming.

“I’d thank you if I knew why you’re keeping me prisoner. I’m no one. No one that matters, at least,” she muttered.

The camp was still quiet when they returned, and the embers of last night’s fire still crept in the stone circle. Claire kneeled by it, produced a pot with some water from a nearby canteen and set it over the fire, rekindling it with small blows. Soon the flames timidly crackled and the water started to smoke. Breaking the low hem of her white underskirt, she threw the cloth in the pot and let it boil.

Jamie observed her every move as if a wizard of some kind was about to perform a trick on him. There was something to her manner, the way she moved her pale hands, with skill and not an ounce of self doubt, that he found fascinating. Patiently, he waited sat by the tree while she prepared a concoction with the herbs, and when the steam of the result filled their nostrils, Claire took the pot and kneeled beside him. Then, doubt appeared for the first time as her gaze took turns between his eyes and his thigh.

“Mind if… if I…“

“Suit yerself, Sassenach.” Jamie’s smirk lifted one corner of his mouth, while he pushed aside the folds of his kilt. The skin underneath was red and purple, and blood had dried round the wound.

With a sigh, Claire took the dirty bandage and slowly tore it from the wound. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, when she finally discarded it. The gash was deep, but the edges were smooth and she could sew it up in no time… if only she had the means to do it. Frowning, she extracted the cloth from the aromatic pot and after wringing it out, she started to pat the wound cautiously but with a firm touch. The dried blood and the dirt needed to go if he wanted to keep the leg from rotting.

“I assume you don’t have needle and thread, do you?” Her voice came with confidence and resolve, and Jamie arched an eyebrow.

“Look in my pouch.”

Claire turned her head to look at him and the surprise in her features made him smile. She grabbed the small leather sack he was offering and started to go through the things it contained. The sudden show of trust made her blush as she realized those probably were his only possesions. A big iron key, beautifully engraved, a small wooden snake, soft to the touch after the years of erosion, charms and polished stones, a piece of blue crystal… Finally, tied by a small leather ribbon, she found a big curved needle and some thread. Relief took over and she let out a content sigh.

“This will probably hurt. I’ll try my best, but please, do not move,” Claire advised with a serious tone that instantly reminded Jamie of her sister, and how she patched him up whenever he hurt himself. That memory clouded his eyes for a second and stole his voice, so he just nodded to her improvised nurse and diverted his gaze.

Puzzled by this unexpected change of demeanor, Claire blinked and turned back to his task. After cleaning it, the wound had a much better appearance. Air filled her lungs deeply, before sticking the needle into the tender flesh. The leg stayed still, but corner of her eye she saw the pain pursing his lips. She vowed to herself she’d do it as fast and painless as she could, and in just a few minutes, the wound was properly sewn, patched and cleanly bandaged.

Claire let herself finally sat down after the tension escaped her shoulders. It was different than other times. She was used to screams, and tears, and complains, but that highlander had just hissed once when she hit a particularly painful spot, and stoically stayed silent and still through the whole deal. His hand went straight to the bandage, as if to check if it was secured, and bend the knee to test it before standing up and offering his hand for her to reciprocate.

“Sassenach, I have to admit. Ye have good touch.”

Jamie decided to keep Claire’s little ramble to himself. Telling Dougal she had escaped under the noses of eight grown up highlanders wasn’t going go earn her any sympathies. And she needed every single one of them. Her status as a Sassenach, an English woman, and to top it all, Jack Randall’s servant (or so she said) wasn’t a pretty thing to be. While they were packing up the camp, Jamie’s eyes often wandered back to her. She was sitting by their tree, classifying the herbs she had collected and tying them up. A cloud of displeasure settled on his brow. She could’ve escaped and yet, she stayed and assisted him.

When they all climbed up their horses, Jamie helped her ride in front of him again. With one arm solidly wrapped around her waist, he spurred his stallion and followed the group. When the rest of the men had passed by them, Jamie came closer to his ear and his breath made her skin shiver.

“Mind what I told ye? No running through the woods or wondering around to pick up herbs. For now, and until Dougal says otherwise, ye’re comin’ wi’ us.”

“Coming with you, where?”

That damned stubborn highlander wouldn’t give her a single clue. Her questions were answered with silence or, in the best case, with another question redirected back at her. She got fed up and rode without a single word, trying to stay as straight on the horse as possible. But when the hours grew long, she slowly crouched back until her back rested against his chest. There was a strange comfort to it, feeling his wide body behind her, allowing herself to place her head against his neck… It was something she had never experienced before.

Jack was completely opposite of this man. Where he met her with coldness, here she felt warmth. His distant behavior diverged from this closeness. Jack’s lean finesse against Jamie’s muscular build. His black, sleek hair instead of wild, vivid red curls. If she could, she’d bet there weren’t two men more different than these. But still, she belonged to Randall. And for all she had managed to know him in the last two years, he wasn’t going to let go of her easily.

Two years already…

No. Randall wasn’t going to give up his favorite toy. Love wasn’t a part of their relationship. Submissiveness wasn’t an option. It was survival. She had tried to fight back. To resist. But when she realized the consequences were worse than the suffering he was inflicting her in those moments, she learned to survive. To lower the head. To look in the eye only when required to. To bury her defiant attitude, her curious soul, her nonchalantly demeanor in a dark, deep place where they never crawled back.

She thought of escape everyday. At least, for the first months. But without family, without friends, that was being a real prisoner.

Here? This is a walkabout.

A snide blew from her lips at the thought, and she felt Jamie’s chest move behind her.

“Never kent oaks were so waulie.” She could feel his chest rumbling with the deep, rich tone of his voice.

“Oh, didn’t you? With those tiny acorns, tingling in their branches, don’t they remind you of anything?”

“Weel, never… Sassenach!”