#These crowd-pleasing shortbread cookies use ingredients you probably already have on hand and are a crowd-pleaser for the holiday cookie tab

[cutepalefeelings]

Desserts - Butter Cookie - Simple Shortbread Squares

[the-lexi-con]

Simple Shortbread Squares These melt-in-your-mouth shortbread cookies are a crowd-pleasing addition to the Christmas cookie table and use ingredients you probably already have on hand.

[teamd85]

Recipe for Simple Shortbread Squares

These crowd-pleasing shortbread cookies use ingredients you probably already have on hand and are a crowd-pleaser for the holiday cookie table.

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 14: The Crowded Bed

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 13 : Letters and Lallybroch The Balriggan Frasers take a trip to Lallybroch.

‘I could feel her hand on him,’ she whispered. ‘In our bed. Lying there between us, wi’ her hand on him, so he would stiffen and cry out to her in his sleep. She was a witch. I always knew.’” (Drums of Autumn 479.)

     In the kitchen, Jenny was looking at Laoghaire with a knowing smile.  “Well, Laoghaire,” she said.  “Jamie looks well.  He was like a ghost, roaming the halls here at Hogmanay.  But I was watching as he arrived, and he and Joanie were laughing as they climbed off their horse.  I know Joanie is Simon’s, but she nearly looks like she could be his own.”

     Laoghaire smiled mildly.  She was mixing up the crust for Marsali’s birthday dessert, a rich tart filled with fruit and nuts, and she didn’t want to mis-measure any of her ingredients.  Mrs. Fitz had drilled that into her mind, that’s for certain. 

     When yer baking, lass, ye canna be distracted, Laoghaire could almost hear her gran talking.  Making a stew, dinna fash, you can throw in anything in any order, long as you don’t triple the salt.  But wi’ bakin’, the measurements matter.

     When she’d finished measuring, Laoghaire began pinching together the butter and flour, rubbing the ingredients between her fingers until the butter was evenly worked in, and the crumbly mix was ready for adding cold water.

     When Laoghaire had finished mixing up the crust and was pressing it into a ball to roll out, she realized Jenny was standing, looking at her.

      “Laoghaire,” she said.  “You arna happy.  What is it?”

      “Jamie may not be a ghost anymore, but there’s another spirit haunting our marriage.”

      “I ken we like to joke about the faeries, but are ye speaking of a real ghost?”

      “Feels real enough,” Laoghaire responded, but then at Jenny’s confused silence, she continued.  “She’s been dead and gone for 18 years.”  She dusted the counter top with flour.  “Eighteen years, and yet she’s still here.”

      “She?” queried Jenny. “D’ye mean Claire?”

     Laoghaire winced at the name, and nodded.

      “Then ye’ve seen her, wandering about?”  Jenny’s eyes were wide.  She hadn’t told anyone what she had seen at the wedding, the apparition of a dark-haired woman standing between Laoghaire and Jamie as they made their vows.

      “No,” Laoghaire shook her head as she deliberately began rolling the crust as evenly as possible.  She took pride in never having to re-roll her crusts, which would make them tough.  She shook her head again. “No.” 

      “Then what can ye mean, Laoghaire?”

      “I canna explain it.  It was so many years ago at Leoch that I loved Jamie, and she came between us then.  And she might have died at Culloden, but in Jamie’s heart, she’s still alive.  He cries out for her when he sleeps.  He isna mine.”

      “Does he not…” Jenny hesitated.  “Want ye?”

     Laoghaire looked around for children or eavesdropping servants.  Finding none, she continued, “Well, he did, but it felt so wrong.  I was used to Simon’s ways, and Jamie was touching me as if what he did should please me, like he was waiting for something from me. But it wasna really for me.  It was for someone else’s body.  I dinna ken what he’s waitin’ for, and I canna help but think of her.”

     Jenny frowned thoughtfully.  “Well, having only been wi’ Ian, I canna truly understand what ye are saying.  But I guess it might be like nursin’ someone else’s bairn.  I’ve done it before, to be kind, or when the mother couldna make it back in time for the next feeding.  But it doesna feel quite right.”

     Laoghaire folded the thinly rolled circle of dough into fourths, then gently lifted it into the pan, unfolding it again to line the bottom and sides of the tart tin.

     “’Tis not the only thing in marriage, though,” Jenny said reassuringly.  “Are there some things that are good?” Her brow was wrinkled in concern.  She had been an advocate of the relationship from the beginning, and she felt responsible.

     “Oh, aye,” said Laoghaire.  “We are provided for, and I feel safe.  There is money for meat at the market, and I’ve been able to sew a new dress for each of the girls.  Everything that used to be broken is repaired, and the goats and cows have never produced more milk, nor the chickens more eggs.  Our fields are planted, and it already looks like ‘twill be a good crop.”

     Jenny sighed in relief.  “I’m glad to hear it.  And he’s good with the girls?”

     Laoghaire smiled. “That he is.  Reads to them, prays wi’ them at night.  But I just wish he needed me; that he loved me more.”

      “My brother…is a passionate man.  But he’s a man.  I dinna think he knows how to love without touchin, as well.”

      “The girls like it when he pets them, but it isna something I like.  I’m not a cat.”  Laoghaire said irritably, eyeing the well-fed mouser that had wandered in the open door of the kitchen.

      “Is there anything that might make it easier for ye to come together in the bedroom?”  Jenny didn’t ask in a nosy way, Laoghaire thought.  She asked like a friend or sister who wished to help solve a problem. 

     Again, Laoghaire looked around the kitchen, fearful of eavesdroppers.  “Well, there is one thing,” she answered.  “The last time Jamie took me to bed, I had been thinking about us when we were young.  And my…well…down there…it was wet.  When Jamie came to me, it didna hurt like it always did wi’ Simon and Hugh.  And I wondered if there was a way to make that happen again.  I dinna like it when he puts his hands on my body, though, or touches me there.”

     Jenny’s face lightened with understanding.  “Oh, I ken.  Ye can just use an oil.  If you put it on yerself, or he puts on himself, if ye prefer, it makes it easier.”

     Laoghaire blushed furiously.  “But then, well, when I had Joanie, I tore badly, at the front.  And the scars cause it to hurt.”

     Jenny moved in closer to Laoghaire.  “Now, ye will never tell my brother I said this to ye,” she insisted in a serious whisper.

      “Aye,” Laoghaire agreed, nervously.

      “Ye might…”  Jenny struggled to find her words.  “Ye might try it from behind.”

      “Why?”  Laoghaire exclaimed. “And how?”

      “It presses on your body differently.  It might not hit the scar tissue the same.  And how?”  Jenny flushed furiously.  “Stand on the floor, and lean yer elbows onto yer bed.  He’ll figure it out quickly enough.  He’s grown up watchin’ horses; that’s probably how he thought it should be done from the first.” 

     A bunch of chattering interrupted their conversation, to the great relief of both women, and soon they were surrounded by children begging for “just a wee bite” of the shortbread cookies cooling on the counter.

     They had begun their journey at daybreak, and after the long trip and helping with the baking, Laoghaire was quite weary.  She withdrew to the guest room where Jenny had put her and Jamie;  Marsali and Joan would be sleeping with Kitty and Janet.  As she lay on her bed, snippets of memory came to her, moments that changed the course of her life, moments that tore Jamie away from her.

☆☆☆☆☆

     When the shout first came out that the rents party had returned, Laoghaire was incredibly nervous, but deliriously happy.  Her hands were shaky as she untied her apron and rushed to the dull mirror in the kitchen.  She straightened her hair, tying it back neatly.  She pinched her cheeks to pink them, and then joined the procession of clansmen and women, servants and maids, that were heading toward the hall.  Colum would be greeting the returned travelers, and she would be greeting Jamie.

     When she first saw him, her heart leapt. His hair had grown in the time away.  He looked older, more manly, stood more confidently.  Och, he was gorgeous.  She felt it in the pit of her stomach, that deep longing to have him near her.  She hoped they would be able to slip away again.  Surely after several months, he would be eager to reacquaint himself with her body.  She felt her abdomen involuntarily clench inside at the thought of his body, his lips, and his hands on her.  How long would he wait to ask for her hand?…Why wasn’t he looking for her?

     But then she saw that the Sassenach was holding his arm.  When she heard her grandmother’s voice exclaiming joyfully, “They’re marrit !!” she thought she was going to vomit.  Or faint.  Or both.  The blood had drained from her face, and she was breathing shallowly. 

     That witch.  He had married that witch.

     As people began to understand what it meant, that Jamie had married a Sassenach, a wind of whispers began.  “Jamie canna be laird now!”  “Dougal must be happy, but d’ye see the look on Colum’s face?” “Why’d he marry her?  Didna we think he should be with one of the lasses from the castle?”  “I thought I’d seen him with the bonny blonde-haired lass whose beating he took.”

     Shaking with fury, Laoghaire considered the expressions she saw on three faces.  Colum looked grimly angry.  Jamie was white-faced, particularly when Colum acknowledged Lady Broch Tuarach, but not Laird Broch Tuarach.  And the Sassenach looked bitter and annoyed, as if she couldn’t stand for Jamie to be touching her.

     They weren’t happy, that was obvious.  And she was miserable.  Laoghaire couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing.

     The story circulated quickly enough.  The Sassenach had been captured by Captain Jack Randall, the fierce Redcoat captain whose name was feared the Highlands over, and it sounded like he had beaten her.  Good, thought Laoghaire bitterly.  Because Mistress Beauchamp was an English subject, she could be compelled to turn herself in to the British, and Dougal didn’t want her witnessing against him, so he decided to make her a Scot by having her marry a Scotsman.  It was complex, but at least it explained why Jamie would have done such a thing.

     Her quick conversation with Jamie in the hallway left her with more questions than answers.

     But during the wee hours of the night, she began to form a plan.  And the next day, before she could dissuade herself, she had laced up her corset over her bare skin, pulled her cloak on, and with one last look in the mirror, she headed to the river.  She knew she would find Jamie there.

     But it had all gone wrong.  Laoghaire had run blindly away from the river, sobbing and struggling to pull her cloak over her shoulders.  She was mortified, humiliated, furious, devastated.  That witch got Jamie to make a vow, and he was so noble, he was keeping it, no matter how unhappy he was to be married to that cold English bitch.  No matter how much he wanted her.  She had seen it in his eyes, the way he had looked at her body, had put his hand on her willingly, had caressed her with his long, strong fingers.  Why had he denied himself?  How could he deny his feelings for her?

     She couldn’t go to the castle.  She couldn’t risk seeing the Sassenach, or she’d be likely to commit murder and go to prison, so she turned toward the village and home, blinking away the tears and trying to control her sobs.

      “Lass!”  The voice was deep, husky, and gentle.  “Are ye well, lass?”

     Laoghaire wiped her eyes, one with the back of her hand and the other with the heel of her palm.

      “No,” she answered, not yet able to see clearly.  Before she knew what was happening, she was pulled in to a firm embrace, two long arms wrapping around her.  He was murmuring comforting words to her, and when her shoulders stopped shaking, he took her by the arms and held her away from him to look in her eyes.

      “You!” she said.

      “Jamie Fraser’s lass,” he said, smiling.

      “No,” she said.  “He isna mine.  He…is…married!” She burst into tears, and John Robert put his arm about her again. 

      “Now, now, aonan milis,” he crooned.  “He doesn’t deserve such a beauty.  How can he not see what is right before him?” 

      “It’s that Sassenach witch,” Laoghaire managed to blurt out, burying her cheek in his chest again. He was strong, and warm, and he smelled of woodsmoke and herbs. 

      “Aye, I told ye, he isna good enough for ye.”  John Robert said.  He was beginning to walk with her, one arm around her shoulders, in the direction of her house.

     They were passing the tavern, when John Robert stopped her.  “Wait here,” he said.  “I’d like to buy you some tea, but I dinna want to be surrounded by a crowd.  I’ll rent a private room, and you can rest and have tea like a real lady.”

     Laoghaire stood in the street in front of the tavern as she waited, nervously pulling the edges of her cloak more tightly together.  She knew she should keep walking—her house was only a few blocks beyond the tavern.  But John Robert’s handsome face, the way she felt when he held her, and her dismay over Jamie convinced her to remain anyway.  In the future, she would say that she could see where the road was leading, and Jamie’s rejection hurt her so thoroughly that she chose the path anyway

     “Your parlor awaits,” John Robert said, gallantly offering her his arm.   It did seem somewhat strange that he led her into the alley and up a narrow staircase before they entered the prettily decorated parlor, with a tea table and two chairs, as well as a fainting couch.

     “May I take your cloak?” he asked.  Laoghaire blanched.  But then, eyeing him critically, she gently opened the front of the cloak, exposing her corseted torso.

     John Robert gasped.  “Oh, lass.  Did he refuse you?  In all this beauty?”  With no hesitation, he was in front of her, asking permission with his eyes.

     It was what she had wished for with Jamie.  It began the same way, with John Robert pulling her onto the couch to sit on his lap, kissing and caressing her lips and face, stroking down her back.  When he gently pushed the sides of her cloak off her shoulders and saw her bare neck and bosom he was overcome, pupils dark with desire.

      “Mo chraidhe,” he whispered.  “Aon àlainn, my beautiful one.  Ye are so sweet and lovely.”  Swallowing hard, he had gently undone the laces, gasping when he was finished and she was released from the pressure, and her breasts, full and heavy, were revealed.

     He laid her back against the couch, then, and traced the circles of her nipples with his fingertips, then lips, then tongue.  She was breathless, astounded, overcome with the sensations.  This time, when a hand traveled up her thigh, she did not stop it.  When he parted the hair and dipped his fingers into that place, it stunned her.  It felt like she was floating above her body, the sensation so otherworldly. 

      “Are you a maid, lass?” he had asked.  When Laoghaire nodded yes, he had taken one of the napkins from the table and laid it on the couch beneath her.  He had barely disrobed—just unbuttoning the front of his breeks.  And as he entered her, as he gently took her maidenheid, John Robert continued to whisper words of affection, extolling her beauty, assuring her of his undying admiration.

     Traveling the rest of the way home, she had been floating on air.  Jamie Fraser could go hang.  She was going to be married to John Robert MacLeod, who loved her as none other had.  She felt beautiful, desirable, vindicated, hopeful.

☆☆☆☆☆

John Robert MacLeod, Laoghaire thought bitterly.  John Robert MacLeod, the married man from Killiecrankie.

Chapter 15 : By the Ballocks Jenny’s always been good at putting Jamie in his place.