#also might fuck around with skin tones shes a wee bit too light

[trixibebe]

Excited to formerly introduce my Yakuza OC! ^^ Couldn't wait to be cringe on main

OC: Kornélia (nickname: Kori)

Nationality: Hungarian

Age: early 30's

Occupation: translator at Ichiban Holdings (formerly a secretary at Majima Constructions)

Affiliation: Ichigang (current), Tojo Clan (former by proxy)

Weapon of choice: the tanto she got from Majima, who also taught her the stance

Partner: Tianyou Zhao (current), Goro Majima (former)

[tellerford13]

MO ASTOR CHAPTER 44                                            

Disclaimer We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.”

The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC

We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us.

                                                          A/N: AND. WE’RE. BACK! We appreciate your patience, heading into the show require a wee bit more work on our end as well as dealing with some hard hits from the real world. All that being said, we’re hoping to be able to stick to our weekly postings. So HERE WE GO!                                                  MO CHAPTER 44

Jax

“Girls are still at yer old house,” Chibs explains, blowing smoke out from his cigarette.

“I’ll relieve the prospect after I stop by the hospital.”

“Going to see the lad?”

I wince under his censure. Chibs doesn’t have to say a word to get his point across.

Everything that needs to be said is visible in his eyes.

“Naw. Gonna set his mother straight.”

Chibs grunts.

“What?” I snap.

“I didnae say a word.” He shakes his head, takin a deep inhale.

“Yeah, ya don’t have to,” I mutter, spinning on my heels and taking off.

Clay’s just got finished giving me shit about Mom telling him I hadn’t seen Abel.

No one stops to consider it might be too much for me.

I’ve gotten so used to people leaving, I keep them at a distance.

I also have a lot of shit on my plate, and I can’t afford to drop the ball.

They want me to put the club first but don’t stop to look at what the cost might look like. I’d rather be dealing with the fucking Mayans than this family guilt trip shit.

Clay attempting to keep me in line by holding Abel’s hospital bills in my face was a low blow. But I’ve come to expect that shit from him.

There’s not enough time in the world to stop me from being furious with Wendy when I reach St. Thomas.

I’m glad Tara is nowhere to be seen.

I got my hands full with one crazy ex.

Wendy looks like death warmed over.

Ratty bleached out blonde hair, sallow skin, and dark circles that lend to her skeleton impression. What the fuck did I ever see in her?

Another lost soul who needed an anchor, so she didn’t drift off the deep end.

It worked for a time.

I should’ve ended it when it stopped, and she relapsed the second time, instead of ignoring her like she’d go away on her own.

She looks up and starts to cry when she sees me.

Stepping in, I ignore her hysterics.

I’ve grown immune to them.

“You need to get help, Wendy,” I say, trying to soften the irritation in my tone.

“I know, I know— But it’s not what you think. I was doing so good, Jax. I love my baby. Even with us being fucked up.” She shakes her head, wiping at imaginary tears.

“So the meth fairy shot you up?”

She looks down at the bed, and I tense.

Her lack of eye contact’s always been a tell-tail sign she’s hiding shit from me.

“Start talking now, Wendy.” I growl.

“I thought he loved me. That he didn’t care I was having your baby. I was wrong. All he wanted to talk about was you and the club. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t.” She shakes her head, speaking as if she’d forgotten I was even there.

Walking over, I grip her bedrail to keep from gripping her arms and shaking the answers out of her.

“And.” I ground out.  

“He forced me to shoot up Jax! H-He Said I was going to tell one way or the other!”

Well for Fuck’s sake!  

“Son of a bitch. What did you say to him, Wendy?”

She shakes her head.

“I- I don’t know. The doctor said Abel’s getting stronger. He said maybe they would fix his belly. Maybe tomorrow morning.” I shake my head at her attempt to change the topic.

Now I have to worry about what the Nords know on top of everything else.

“They’ll do everything they can.”

I won’t hope. That’s a dangerous thing I can’t afford to do right now.

“My lawyer said they might file criminal charges. Fetal abuse. I got stuff back at the house in the stash drawer.”

“Jesus Christ.” I scoff, shaking my head.

It never ends with this bitch.

“You expect me to bring it to you so you can get high too?” I growl.

“No, I told you…” She whines.

“I didn’t even want to do it, Jax. You have to believe me. Just if they find that shit, they’re gonna put me away.”

“Might be the only way you’ll get clean,” I state honestly.

Plus, her outta the picture might make all the women in my life a lot happier.

“You own the house, Jax. I’d hate to see this blowback on you.”

The truth of her statement dumps over me like a bucket of cold water.

“Yeah, of course.” I chuckle dryly.

Now there’s another fucking mess I gotta fucking clean up.

It never ends.

Fuck, I need to find the shit before the girls do. I don’t want them anywhere near that shit, let alone touching it.

“Jax, wait. Please, please, Jax!” Her whining falls on deaf ears as I leave the hospital behind and hit the road.

Pulling up into the driveway, I gesture for the grunt to leave as I enter the house that never felt like a home.

I watch briefly as the girls pitch things into garbage bags, spraying and scrubbing down furniture.

It hits me in the heart and the gut.

The three women I love most are here together, doing what they can to make this shit show more tolerable.

I clear my throat. “It’s almost midnight.”

They all stop, startled by my appearance before glancing up at me with tired expressions.

“The place is a goddamn pigsty.” Ma huffs, picking up all the clothes laying around.

“Cleaning was never her strong suit. But it didn’t look like this last time we were here.”

Mom glances over at me.

Sitting on the desk next to the half wall that separates the living room from the wall, I look over at the girls working in the kitchen and dining room.

“What are you doing here?” Mom asks, continuing her almost frantic cleaning.

“It’s my house,” I offer, pulling my riding gloves off.

“No, it’s your property. There’s a big difference,” J corrects walking into the living room with another trash bag.

Lee meets my gaze, studying me with those blue lasers that always see everything I want to hide.

I look away, unable to keep my secret in the face of her worry-filled expression.

“You know what I mean. I don’t want you to see it this way,” Ma says as she continues to straighten and organize.

It’s her way, always in action to run from her emotions.

“You guys don’t have to do this.” Guilt hits me.

They’re over here cleaning up the mess I made.

My stomach clenches.

“Look, we just want it livable,” Lee says walking into the living room with an empty hamper for the clothes.

Her words should be soothing, but that’s the last thing I want right now.

“I’ll buy some decent carpet. Cigarette burns are everywhere.” Mom mutters, continuing to pick up Wendy’s mess. “Mom.” I try to grab her attention, but she continues to mumble and clean.

“Make this shit-hole a home for your son.”

Something in me snaps at the mention of Abel.

“Mom, For chrissakes, stop cleaning!” I bark.

J steps in front of her.

“Oh hell no. You don’t get to talk to her like that! Not when we’re here helping your ass out. Trying to clean up the fucking trail of mess you left behind. Like always!”

I flinch.

“Jax.” Lee shakes her head.

The disapproval is visible in her blue sapphires.

“He’s not gonna make it.” I let my worries fly out of my mouth.

The girls gasp, circling around me.

Lee grabs my hand, squeezing tight.

“W-What are you talking about?” Mom asks.

“What happened?” Lee and Journee ask in that twin sync way they have.

I exhale and shake my head.

“He was born with half a stomach and a hole in his heart. He’s gonna die—.”

My head is rocked to the left, and my side is on fire from mom’s slap and baby sister’s wicked pinch.

I think the little bitch drew blood and broke the skin.

But it’s Lee letting go of my hand that hurts the most.

“Don’t you say that! You’re the only one this boy’s got! You don’t believe he’s gonna live, you might as well go and kill him yourself.” Mom snaps, glaring at me as she speaks her truth.

Turning from me, she walks over to the table and grabs the joint and lighter sitting in a bowl.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles half-heartedly, lighting up the joint as I make my way towards her, cautiously.

My eyes catch Lee’s disappointed blues.

“You gotta go see him, Jax,” She says gently, stepping towards me.

Even through my pain, I hear Lee’s voice, but I can’t gather the guts yet to do what she’s asking me.

“I can’t.” I admit honestly.

“Why? Because he’ll break your heart? It’s called being a father,” Mom says, after blowing out her deep inhale.

I place my hand up on the half-wall, resting heavily against it.

“For how long? A day? A week?” I spit the words circling around my head out like poison.

Mom sighs, and nods to me to come take a seat with her.

I release my own sigh, and glance back to see the girls going back to cleaning but staying nearby.

Wiping at some crumbs on the table, I sink into the chair, exhausted.

Mom takes another hit from the joint before offering it to me.

I look up at her gratefully, taking a deep inhale as she takes a seat across from me.

“You know, you were born with that same heart defect as your little brother.”

She reaches across the table and gently knocks at my chest.

“You seem pretty sturdy to me.”

Her tone has changed to something a little softer and I can’t help but give her a small smile.

“I came through hell. Landed on my feet…your father was hit by a goddamn semi, dragged 178 yards...and that bastard lived for two more days. Tellers do not die easy.” She says with a proud smirk.

I snort.

“No, we just die bloody.” I say honestly.

I’m not sure that’s better.

“That’s the Irish in us,” Ma says without missing a beat.

The storm ends, and I turn to glance up at the girls.

“I’m sorry.” I mouth the words.

Journee scowls, and Lee shoots me a sad look that makes my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

I need to get out of this moment.

“When you and dad hooked up, he ever talk to you about his vision? About what he wanted from the club?”

The girls look at me, and I nod.

Mom fidgets with the joint in her fingers before shrugging.

“His vision was— you know, what it is. A brotherhood. Family.” She offers me the joint.

“And running guns? He want that?” I keep on her, needing to get to the bottom of how we came to this position.

“He never talked about that. Why?” She eyes me for a moment, before standing from the table.

“I found a box of his old shit in the storage unit. There’s, like, pictures and journals and... Things I never knew about him.” I shrug.

“What kind of things?” Journee asks, pausing her cleaning.

“It seemed like his original idea for the MC was something simpler. You know, social rebellion. He called it a Harley commune. It wasn’t outlaw. It was real hippie shit.” I say with a slight smile.

It’s not hard to imagine my laidback father wanting that.

I take another hit of the joint, watching as Mom sighs and tosses her head slightly.

I can see her brimming with nervous energy.

I know she doesn’t like to talk about dad.

“We had a lot of bright ideas back then. We were kids. Your father became a man. Men take care of business.” She says, but she isn’t looking at me when she speaks.

“Yeah, we do.” I answer, blowing the smoke out of my nose.

“You should get home, Mom. Finish cleaning tomorrow. Lee and I will lock up.” I say as mom turns to look at me while Journee looks from me to Lee.

“You good?” She hugs Lee, who whispers something in her ear.

Mom walks over and frames my face for a moment.

“Night mom.” I say as she bends to press a kiss to my cheek.

“Night baby.” She whispers squeezing my hand before walking past me.

“Hey,” I nod at Mom. “Have her stop by the club. Your old man misses you.” I say, standing from the table.

Baby J steps closer and tugs me down to her.

“Do not fuck this up, Jaxass. Remember everything you have to lose.”

I nod my head.

“I hear you.”

She pats my cheek.

“Good.”

“Ok, darling.” Mom sounds exhausted.

It’s easy to forget sometimes she’s still only human.

“Good night, mom. Night Baby J.”

“Good night, baby.” Ma blows a kiss before grabbing her stuff.

“See you tomorrow, bro. Remember what I said.”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Lee. I’m always a call away,” Baby J says, ignoring me as she walks up and kisses her.

I glance over to see Mom’s already out the door.

That’s new.

I guess they’re done giving a shit.

“I love you too, Nee.” Lee calls out.

They walk out, and I go to the drawer Wendy mentioned.

“What are you doing?” Lee asks, following me over to the stash drawer.

“Saving us a whole lot more trouble.” I remove the gun, syringes, and bags of smack.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lee screeches angrily.

“Obviously not mine.” I mumble, tucking the gun into the waistband of my jeans as I walk over to the bathroom.

“Why are you covering for her? It’s like enabling.” She says as I flush the baggies away.

“Cause it’s my damn house, Harley. Imagine how much the law would love to find that shit and charge me.”

She crosses her arms and nods.

“So, you sweep in and rescue her. She has no consequences?” She follows me back to the living room.

“She’s lying in the hospital half dead right. I’m pretty sure she’s paying.” I snap, turning to look at her.

“So you could go see the Junkie bitch, but not your son?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Explain it to me, then. Cause what I see is the one solid parent Abel has turning their back.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit, and you know it. That kid is going to have more love than most kids get in a lifetime.”

“Maybe. But it won’t make up for an absent father.” She pokes her finger at my chest.

I roll my eyes, fighting back the urge to growl.

“You already labeling me now? Don’t let your past mingle with my future. I’m ain’t like Wally, and you know it.” I swipe her hand away, shaking my head.

“No. But I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a junkie mother and a father who couldn’t’ be bothered,’ She whispers.

Her past pain bleeds into her blues, tugging at my heart strings.

Fuck.

I turn back to face her, bending slightly to catch her eyes.

“I get that, but it’s not the same, Lee. I just—my head is spinning, and I need to be grounded before facing him lying there like that, okay? It ain’t about a lack of love.” I run a hand through my hair, blowing out a deep breathe.

“You’re a Father now, Jax. You can’t keep things on the backburner anymore.” She steps forward, and I open my arms.

“I don’t want to fight, babe.” I say sincerely.

“So, let’s not fight.” Her tone doesn’t match her sentence.

I know she wants to keep talking about this and shit it’d be easier if she knew what went down with Wendy, but I’m ain’t about to add gasoline to that fire.

So I’ll keep this close to my chest for now.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, just needing us to be okay.

“Anything, other than ignore him Jackson.” She throws her hands up in the air.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll go see Abel tomorrow.” I say, knowing it’ll make her happy.

“Yeah?” She whispers.

Her eyes light up, and I nod.

Fuck she’s got me wrapped around her finger don’t she?

“Yeah.” I swallow my pride and my fear.

I can’t control if I lose my son, but I can keep Lee.

“You’re right. I’ve been putting things on the back burner I should be handling. I want to be the kind of man my father was.” My throat clogs.

“This ain’t it.”

She steps into my arms and I hold her tight.

“I see him in you all the time Jackson. You just need to learn how to channel him and block out all the other bullshit thrown at you.” Wrapping her armss around my waist, she rests her head on my chest.

Inhaling the citrus scent of her hair, I let her ground me.

We’re in a fucking hurricane right now.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep our heads above water.

Tara, Wendy, Abel, Mayans, Nords, it’s all coming at us at once.

I can’t even catch my damn breath.

“Talk to me.” Lee tilts her head up, propping her chin on my chest as she turns those cerulean lasers up to lock onto mine.

Her anger’s faded, but I can see the steely determination in the depths of her electric blue eyes. She expects me to keep my word.

“That’s why I’m here.” She pushes gently.

I don’t even know where to start.

We’re in the middle of a powder keg, ready to explode.

The less she knows, the better.

Once you add her own issues with abandonment into the situation, I know rational thinking goes straight the fuck out the window.

“I don’t want to talk babe. I want to feel something other than worry and stress. I need you, Lee.” I whisper, pressing our lips together.

“Then have me, Jackson.” Her tone is husky but demanding.

She fists my hair and crashes our kiss together again.

I grip her face in my hands and dominate the kiss.

Tilting my head slightly I deepen our kiss and slip my tongue into her mouth, exploring the playground I already have memorized.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I crush her frame against my chest.

The mint of the gum she’s been chewing makes my tongue tingle as the addicting scent of spicy citrus fills my nostrils. Blood rushes to my cock, slowly hardening against her. She pulls back to suck in air, and I move my hands down to her hips. I don’t want her to be even an inch from me right now.

I press forward, moving her back towards the half-wall and the desk.

Lips lock and teeth gnash as our hands work in tandem, stripping each other of our bottoms.

Unbelted and unbuttoned, my jeans drop down my hips, weighted heavily by the items always attached.

I shove down the leggings she’s wearing and lift her up from the ground.

She wraps her knees around my waist as I hold her weight with one arm, clearing the small desk and positioning her against the half-wall.

Her fingers tug at my hair, turning my head to keep our lips connected.

I growl as my hardened cock strains against the confines of my boxers.

Her wet heat sears me through the thin cotton, painting my boxers in her fragrant juices.

“Fuck. you’re so wet, baby.” I groan, grinding against her slick folds.

“Always for you.” She whimpers, reaching into my boxers to pull my cock out.

“Shit.” I hiss as her warm fist wraps around me.

Precum leaks from my tip, and she uses her thumb to smear the sticky liquid down my cock.

“Fuck I love you.” I groan as she pumps me before lining me up with her hot entrance.

“Fuck me, Jackson. Claim me as yours.” The neediness in her tone causes the beast inside me to roar to life.

“Mine,” I growl, thrusting into her without warning.

She gasps, arching her back.

I bend down, sucking the skin of her neck into my mouth.

She whimpers, turning her head to the side to allow me more access.

I stay still, basking in being completely surrounded by her and losing myself in the taste of her skin.

I suck harder, wanting to leave my mark and let everyone know she’s claimed.

“Jackson.” She gasps, clenching her muscles around my cock.

I groan at how fucking tight she feels.

Biting her neck, she whines and rolls her hips towards me.

I slide back just slightly, desperate to remain inside her for as long as possible.

I roll my hips instead of sliding out.

“O-oh.” She moans, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and hugging me closer to her.

The wood creaks with the movement, and my hands move to her thighs to support her weight.

“You feel so fucking, good baby.” Lee moans as I continue to rotate my hips inside her.

I mix it up with a rhythmic back and forth but never out of her.

This is my pussy, and the only people allowed to play in here are J. Tellers.

The quick flash image of my baby sister making my girl come has me groaning loudly and thrusting deeper.

“Fuck baby, just like that!” She cries out, clenching around me.

Her back arches, and her body trembles.

“Shit, Jackson, I’m close—so fucking close.” She gasps, rocking her hips towards me erratically.

My cock grows impossibly hard as I near mine.

I bite at her collarbone, leaving my marks all over her neck.

No one will ever doubt this woman is claimed and claimed fucking well.

“I’m yours, baby,” I whisper against her lips, letting her know this claiming goes both ways.

“And you’re fucking mine.” I hiss, rotating my hips so my cock can hit that spot inside her that makes her shatter.

“YES!” She cries out, fingernails digging into the back of my neck as her pussy locks down on me like a fucking vice.

“Fuck.” I groan, falling headfirst into my own release and shooting my hot load deep inside her.

She hugs me close as I rest my weight on my forearms against the wall, trapping her between them and struggling to catch my breath.

Lifting my head, our eyes lock, and I’m lost in the soft glow of her electric blues.

“I love you so much, Harley,” I say, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips before I slowly ease out of her.

“Mmm, love you too.” She mumbles against my lips.

“I’ll love you even more if you get me a towel.” She blinks up at me with hazy eyes and a satisfied smile.

I bend down to pull my boxers and jeans back up.

Shit, the thought of my cum swimming around inside her could make me hard again.

I know she’s got that thing in her arm, but damn if I don’t love knowing she’s marked by me, inside out.

“Leave it,” I whisper, smirking as I help her stand.

Her eyes widen, shocked by my request.

“Really?” She asks as I drop to my knees to pull her leggings back up her legs for her.

I nod, standing back to my feet and pulling her close.

“You told me to claim you. Nothing says claimed like my seed swimming around inside you.” I slip my hand down the front of her leggings and cup her pussy.

The heat radiating through the thin, wet material has me biting my lip.

She whimpers.

“And what about you, Jackson?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Are you claimed?” She asks, confusing me with her line of questioning.

“You tell me?” I ask, tucking some loose strands from her messy bun back behind her ear.

“I thought so…” She runs her knuckles down my cheek gently.

Suddenly she’s pinching my chin tightly, tilting my head down to meet her gaze.

“But then I see, Tara Fucking Knowles is in town, and you don’t look all that shocked to see her.” The fury flames in her eyes once more.

Fuck. Shoulda known the calm would only last a few minutes.

I sigh, shaking my head.

“Shit. We really talking ‘bout this now?” I ask, stepping back.

“Fuck yes we’re talking about this! Why didn’t you fucking tell me, Jackson! I do not like being blindsided!” She pushes at my chest and steps away from me.

“How long have you fucking known? How long did you plan on keeping it from me? And why, why the hell didn’t you fucking tell me!” She pushes at my chest again.

“Lee, I’m sorry, aight? I was gonna tell you the other night when we went out for our ride, but then the Mayans blew up the warehouse, and Wendy ODing threw us right into the middle of it before I had a chance.”

I step towards her cautiously, slowly moving to grab her hands.

“I only found out that morning. I just wanted to get some us time in before I told you-“ I begin.

“Why?” She asks in a defensive tone, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Cause I know how you feel ‘bout Tara, and I just wanted us to be solid-“

She slides her hands out from mine and steps back.

Something deep inside growls at the thought of her stepping away from me.

“Why wouldn’t we be solid, Jackson? Should I be worried we’re not solid now that SHE’s back?” I can hear the accusations in her tone, and I don’t like it one damn bit.

“Nah Fuck that, Harley. Her being back don’t change shit ‘bout us.” I step to her, gripping her hips in my hands tightly.

“I think I just fucking proved that,” I growl, nodding towards the clatter of shit on the floor from our early escapade.

“You think I’m going to accept the scraps you used to give other women? Takes more than a quick fuck against a wall to make me feel secure.”

“Don’t say shit like that when you know it ain’t fucking true!” I yell before I can catch myself.

Her eyes widen, but I don’t see an ounce of fear in them.

“I fucking love you, Harley Grazer! Tara ain’t nothing to me but an old ghost, you fucking hear me!” My fingers grip her hips so she can’t step back from me again.

“That bitch is the past. You and I are headed towards a future. I ain’t gonna let that gash get in the way of that by gettin into your head.”

This is my fault.

I let her pull me from my girls and my family once before.

But I’m gonna make it damn clear it ain’t happening again.

I struggle to calm myself.

I can’t blame her for being cautious.

I release a shaky breath, trying to force some sanity back into my brain before I start to demolish the whole fucking house.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. My plan was to tell you after our ride before everything went to shit. I only found out that morning.” I loosen my grip on her hips but still hold her to me.

She’s holding tense but not trying to stepping back.

I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face when she continues to glare at me.

“I mean it, Harley. I’m sorry I let that shit get away from me, but I need you to trust me when I say I got no love left for her. S’far as I’m concerned, she’s my son’s doctor, that’s it.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me.

My heart clinches when she remains stiff and doesn’t melt against me the way she usually does. “Can we be okay now?” I ask, desperate for things to be right between us.

I can’t fucking handle one more damn thing right now.

Her fingers fist my hair as she tugs my hair back slightly to grab my attention.

“Don’t keep shit like that from me anymore, and we’ll always be okay, Jackson.”

My stomach knots as I think about the bombshell Wendy dropped on me in the hospital.

I should tell Lee, but I don’t know if I have the fucking energy to go through another argument right now.

I wrap my arms tighter around her waist, squeezing her to me as I collapse against her for a moment.

One thing at a time.

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

AO3

Previous

Thanks for reading so far... A slightly longer chapter than usual, hope that’s ok?

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and encouragement

Chapter 21: A Spurious Misapprehension

There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Jamie sat in the conservatory, fingers drumming against the arm of his chair, waiting for the call to connect. He needed to get something clear in his mind.

“Hello, Isobel? It’s Jamie here, Jamie Fraser.”

“Oh, hi Jamie. Hope you’re ok. Sorry for rushing off the other day. I just felt it was possibly for the best.”

“No, dinna fash, I understand. It’s jes’, weel, before Geneva arrived, when I introduced ye tae Claire, ye seemed a wee bit confused. I ken Geneva had told ye about the bairn, but did she no’ tell ye anything else?”

“All she told me was about the baby, and that you’re the father. She said she had told you and that you were supportive. She never mentioned a girlfriend. In fact…”

Jamie urged Isobel to continue. “Go on, Isobel, what?”

“Now don’t get mad, she didn’t actually say this, but I got the impression that it was only a matter of time before you and her, well, became an item again.”

“I told her straight away about Claire, ye ken. Geneva did suggest tae me that we could try again, but I told her clearly that Claire was ma future.”

Jamie could hear Isobel’s sigh through the phone.

“I have no doubt you did, Jamie. But since when has being told no ever stopped Geneva? You and I both know how much she gets, and has always got, her own way. Privilege of being the favoured child, I guess. I wouldn’t know. Anyway, Claire seems really nice. I’d like to meet her properly.”

Jamie was touched by Isobel’s initial reaction to Claire. “She is and ye shall. We can sort something out. I get the feeling we will need tae keep in regular touch anyway over the next few months.”

“Agreed. Oh and one more thing, Jamie. Geneva’s now told Mummy, who plans on making frequent visits up here during the pregnancy and is planning a prolonged stay when the baby is born…”

Jamie instinctively clenched his fists, nails digging in his palms, and grimaced.

“I can tell you’re pulling a face even over the phone!” Isobel continued. “Mummy wants to be involved. Perhaps she feels Geneva’s the only one who’s likely to give her grandchildren. She’s always seen me as a bit of a non starter in that respect.”

“Nay, Isobel, any man’d be lucky tae have ye.”

“Oh, yes, I’m just fighting them off. Bye Jamie. Speak soon.”

*************

It was another glorious day in the heatwave that Glasgow was experiencing. Claire longed to be outside in the warmth, strolling around the park, enjoying an ice cream or perhaps a slushie. Instead she was being led, patiently it must be said, around chilly air-conditioned department stores by Geillis. She only had herself to blame.

When she happened to mention to Geillis that she was Jamie’s plus one at his friend’s wedding, Geillis immediately took charge of the situation, promising her an outfit that would ‘have all eyes on ye, and fer all the right reasons.’

Claire would have been happy to browse several internet sites, with a glass of wine in hand, and order a few outfits. She could then have tried them on in the comfort of her own bedroom before making her decision and returning the unwanted items. But she knew how much Geillis loved this - the shopping, the style advice, even down to helping with makeup. And, Claire had to admit, Geillis did have a pretty good knack for this type of thing.

So Geillis systematically moved from rack to rack picking out dresses that she thought might be suitable for the occasion.

“What do ye think ye’ll fancy tae wear, Claire?” Geillis asked over her shoulder as she carried on flicking through the rows of hangers.

“Well, G, it’ll be the first time I’m meeting some of Jamie’s friends, so what I really want is a dress that says classy, understated elegance but that also says sexy and that Jamie finds irresistible.”

“Plus it also has tae say ‘in yer face, Geneva’.”

“Really, G, that thought never crossed my mind.” Claire giggled. “She’s not even going to the wedding.”

“But there will be friends there who’ve seen Jamie wi’ Geneva in the past and nay doubt you want tae make a favourable impression. Make them think our Jamie’s gone fer an upgrade.”

Claire bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure about that. Honestly, when I met her after the scan… you should see her. Immaculate, sophisticated, not even dressing for comfort now she’s pregnant. And no hint of a bump. If it were me, I’d be hitting the Jaffa Cakes as soon as I knew I could get fat without being judged.”

Claire’s voice cracked a little. Geillis stopped and turned round to her. Her hand poked through the armful of dresses that she held and squeezed Claire’s.

Claire continued. “But not just that, you should have heard her. It was all ‘Jamie and I’ and ‘we’ and ‘us’. Like they were the couple.”

“But ye ken, that’s all in her head, do ye not? Ye have nothin’ tae worry about. Jamie is no’ Frank, who was a git on a epic scale. That relationship has left ye wi’ these insecurities and feeling that ye’re no’ good enough. But ye are… and I ken it… and more importantly Jamie kens it too. Dinna think that he will treat ye like Frank did. Alright?”

Claire nodded with a small smile.

“So, let's go try these dresses on and whichever dress says ‘who the fuck is this Geneva anyway’, that’s the one ye buy.” Geillis smiled sweetly at the woman browsing the racks next to them, who was visibly shocked by the casual profanity.

******

Claire stood in the changing room in her bra and panties waiting for Geillis to pass her the next dress to try.  Every one so far had looked good on the hanger but each had something not quite right - too short, too long, too baggy, too tight. Geillis’s hand appeared in the doorway, passing another dress to Claire.

“G, this is red. I’m not really sure about red.”

“Actually, I think ye’ll find this colour is oxblood. Jes’ try it on and let me see.”

Claire looked at herself in the mirror before stepping out of the changing room to show Geillis. Quite a simple dress, really. A red, no, oxblood, sheath dress with black lace overlay, the v-neck gave the merest hint of cleavage, the above the knee length highlighted her long legs, while the cut of the dress accentuated her curves without clinging. Claire loved it and she loved Geillis for choosing it.

Claire stepped out of the cubicle. Geillis wolf whistled. “Wow, Claire, this is the one. And I think ye ken that too. Ye jes’ need yer high black shoes and I’ll lend ye ma black clutch bag and pashmina.”

She leaned forward and looked at the store label. “And it’s on sale too!”

Claire peered down at the label. “That’s the sale price? Gosh, I’ve never spend that on a dress before!”

“Dinna fash, Claire. It’s an investment.”

“Investment in what?”

“In yer future, Claire. Money well spent.”

*************

Claire applied her lipstick and blotted it carefully for the fifth time. She gently patted her hair, feeling the unfamiliar carefully styled ringlets, so different from her usual unruly curls. She put her shoes on and smoothed her dress over her hips as Jamie’s knock reverberated through the flat. With a final glance in her bedroom mirror, she headed for the front door.

Claire was unprepared for the vision on the other side of the door. Whilst she had glimpsed him briefly in a kilt, Jamie, looked incredible close up. His kilt was predominantly red and dark blue with touches of green. The dark blue carried through to his jacket, waistcoat, and tie, worn with a crisp white shirt. The red of his hair blazed in sharp contrast to the dark tones of the jacket. At the front of his kilt he wore a simple black sporran, unadorned save for a silver clasp.

She reached out and stroked his hip, enjoying the roughness of the wool on her fingers. He appeared even more masculine in the kilt than in trousers. Or perhaps, Claire thought, it was the confidence that he exuded in this traditional attire, as if this was what he was born to wear.

Jamie watched as Claire moved her hand over the woollen fabric. He had never seen her dressed up like this. Much as he loved her jeans that showed off her luscious arse so well, this dress tantalised him, revealing hints of her body: the swell of her breasts, the curves of her waist and hips, her long legs encased in sheer black…

He drew closer to her, pressing her against the wall. “Are those stockings ye’re wearin’?” he asked.

Claire nodded. “Yes.”

“And…” he lifted a hand and traced a line with his finger from her chin, down her neck to her breasts, gently cupping one before continuing his path down to her stomach. His hand rested there, just above the pubic mound. “... do ye have yer panties tae match? Are they black and lacy?”

“Perhaps... something for you to find out later.”

“Dinna be saying that, Sassenach. How am I goin’ tae concentrate on the wedding, when all I will be thinkin’ about is when I can have ye alone and naked, save fer yer stockings and mebbe those shoes.”

Jamie nuzzled her neck, breathing in the light floral fragrance she always wore. His warm breath against her skin sent shivers over her body. Her hands crept around his kilt to hold his buttocks and pull him closer. He moaned slightly before pulling away.

“Sassenach, ye canna be doing that tae me now. How am I goin’ tae get through this when jes’ the thought of ye is making me sae hard?”

“Thank goodness for your sporran then, hiding all evidence. Shall we go?”

“Aye, suppose we must, ye cruel temptress.” Jamie sighed.

“Jamie…you’re being a true Scot, aren’t you?”

Jamie looked quizzically at Claire before he realised what she meant. A grin spread across his face. “Aye, I am.”

“Now how am I going to concentrate on the wedding, knowing that under that kilt it’s just you?”

Jamie kissed her cheek before pushing her out of the door. “Guess this afternoon is going tae be hard work fer the both o’ us, then.”

*************

Jamie stood next to a large pink and white flower arrangement as Claire ‘nipped to the bathroom, while she had chance’. He noticed that the hotel air conditioning thankfully was functioning very well as his woollen jacket, waistcoat and kilt was not an ideal outfit for this unusually warm day. It was not, however, helping with the heat in his groin which had been building up ever since they drove from Claire’s flat to the hotel. Just the sight of Claire next to him, crossing her legs and the rasp of her nylon stockings made him feel like he would burst into flames on the spot. Christ, he thought, it’s goin’ tae be a long, long day.

He spotted the rotund figure of Rupert coming over to greet him.

“Jamie, lad, it’s been a wee while. Sorry ye werena at Angus’s stag do, it was a rare old pub crawl. I dinna think I’ve ever seen Angus sae shitfaced. He doesna remember how he got home nor why his underpants were in his pocket!”

“Aye, I’m sorry I missed it, but it couldna be helped. I had a bit of urgent business tae attend tae up at Lallybroch.”

“Weel, we ken ye said that, but then when I was talking tae Angus last week, he reckoned it was that he didna get permission tae come from Ge…”

Jamie felt a light touch on his arm as Claire joined him and Rupert. He smiled down at her, still feeling a reciprocal tug in his nether regions.

“Rupert, can I introduce ma girlfriend Claire tae ye?”

As Claire held out her hand to Rupert, there was no mistaking the look of confusion on his face. He quickly recovered and shook her hand.

“Hello, Claire. Very nice tae finally meet ye. So, remind me, how long have the two o’ ye been together, now?” Rupert looked between the two of them.

“About four months, give or take.” Claire answered.

“Och, the things I could tell ye about our Jamie here. It would fair make ye blush.” Rupert teased.

“Dinna be saying that, man. Ye’ll be putting her off me.” Jamie put his arm round Claire and drew her closer. “Anyway, I ken Jenny and Ian are savin’ us seats, so we’d better all head in, eh?”

As Jamie and Claire moved across to the function room, he was aware of the look in Rupert’s eyes, tongue sticking out slightly, moving his fingers, clearly doing some calculations.

******

With the dinner and formal speeches over, the wedding guests all started to relax as the alcohol continued to flow. Belts were loosened, shoes slipped off, ties undone and buttons unfastened.

Jamie and Ian both sat with their jackets off and shirt sleeves rolled up. Jamie rested one hand on the back of Claire’s chair, while the other held a glass of whisky. Claire sipped her red wine, her carefully applied lipstick long since worn off, her hair reverting back to its usual wild curls.

Jenny leant her elbow on the table, eyes glazed, her fingers wrapped tightly around a half-full wine glass. Ian gently tried to prise the glass out of her hand.

“Dinna do that, Ian Murray. This is my first real drinkin’ for nigh on a year and I dinna mean tae stop jes’ yet.”

Ian smiled apologetically. “Are ye no’ sure ye’ve had enough?”

Jenny stared accusingly at her husband. “Nah. I spent the best part o’ the morning tied up tae a bloody milking machine so Maggie doesna have tae have my alcohol-y milk. So I’m goin’ tae bloody enjoy myself.” She turned to her brother. “And it was ye, James Fraser, who drove me back tae drink wi’ yer news, so ye canna lecture me either.”

And with that she reached over for the bottle and topped up her glass of wine.

Jamie caught the eye of John making his way across the room.

“Hello, John. Jes’ come fer the evening do, then?”

“Yes, I’m here with my brother. He’s gone to the bar for drinks.”

“John, this is Claire.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Claire. I’ve heard so much about you from Jamie.” John pulled a chair up.

“Nothing bad I hope.” Claire smiled.

As Claire and John talked, John watched Jamie out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t think he had ever seen Jamie like this, the constant need to watch Claire, or touch her, insignificant yet incredibly intimate gestures such as the way he pushed a rogue curl behind her ear or lightly ran his fingers down her forearm. Claire was the same, as she rested her hand on his thigh or rubbed his back between his shoulder blades.

John’s brother, Hal, appeared carrying two gin and tonics. He greeted Jenny and Ian warmly before directing his attention to Jamie.

“Jamie, how the devil are you? I heard…” Hal stopped suddenly as he registered the closeness between Jamie and Claire.

“Hal,” Jamie growled. “This is my girlfriend Claire. Now can ye please tell me what is wrong. I’ve had Rupert, Angus and now ye stammerin’ around.”

Hal stared meaningfully at Claire.

“Hal, Claire kens all my secrets and I do mean all, so come on, tell me.”

“It’s just I bumped into Geneva the other week and she told me the news… about the you-know-what and she, well, kind of inferred that you and she might be… you know. Sorry Claire.” Hal smiled apologetically at Claire and continued. “She didn’t exactly say that but somehow managed to give me that impression.”

Jamie smacked his hand on the table, causing guests on neighbouring tables to look up. “Shite. Hal, the truth is, aye, Geneva is having a bairn and it’s mine. It happened afore I met Claire. I’m no proud of it, but it is what it is. Claire and I are verra much together and that willna change, bairn or no’. So whatever Geneva had led ye tae believe, that’s no’ true. And I must explain that tae Rupert too. Sorry Claire, I have tae find Rupert now and sort this out.”

Jenny, who had been resting with her head on Ian’s shoulder, half asleep, suddenly roused. “Claire, come on. I need tae dance, its ‘Night Fever’. Ye canna beat a bit of Bee Gees.”

Grabbing Claire’s hand, Jenny stood up and dragged Claire to her feet.

Laughing, Claire bent over to kiss Jamie’s cheek. “You go, talk to Rupert. I’m fine. I’m going to boogie on down.” She joked.

Claire had forgotten how much she enjoyed to dance. There hadn’t been a lot of it with Frank. He had once classed Claire’s dancing as an ‘act of public embarrassment’ which had made her stop that activity pretty quickly. But now, as she shimmied and twirled around with Jenny, she realised that her real friends would never think of her as an embarrassment.

A few songs later, Jenny was obviously flagging. Ian escorted her off the dance floor, saying their goodbyes en route. As Claire started to wander back to the table, an arm snaked around her waist, halting her.

Jamie pulled her to his chest. “Will ye dance wi’ me?” He asked.

She wrapped her arms round his neck and nodded. As if by magic, the song changed to ‘You’re The First, The Last, My Everything’. Jamie’s hands stroked up and down her back as they swayed in unison to the music.

“Did you ask for this song?” She asked, pulling away slightly.

“Aye, I may have done. I want ye tae know ‘tis how I feel. We’re goin’ tae ignore any stupid rumours. Ye are ma first, ma last, ma everything.”

Claire reached up and kissed his mouth. “I love you.”

Jamie smiled. “And can we ring fer a taxi, please? I’ve been thinking about ye in yer stockings all day and I dinna think I can wait much longer.”

Claire pushed her hips into his. “I’ll go and get my bag.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Two)

Notes from Mod Bonnie 

This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? 

Links to past installments:  (One) 

(Two)

“May I help you with that, Jenny?”

Jenny didn’t answer; she didn’t even bother to raise her eyes as she arranged the tea, bannocks, butter, and preserves between us on the study table.  I wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t said more than two words to me since we’d entered the house, nor had she allowed me any opportunity to walk about and reminisce. The sounds of whispers and laughter had echoed through the hall even from the first moment of entry, but my sister-in-law had left me no opportunity to investigate the other occupants of the house—would I know any of them, I wondered? She’d marched me into the study in a way that offered no room for protest and bade me sit while she went to fetch the tea (the best teapot, I noticed; not the one used for family). 

No, I wasn’t at all surprised, at this point, given my reception in the dooryard, not by any any of it  — only hurt. 

Talk to me, Jenny….just TALK to me… 

She didn’t speak, but I did catch her watching me with a laser-sharp focus as I lifted a bannock and took a small bite, not from hunger, just for something to do; and I could have sworn those eyes flared with — surprise? confirmation? 

Whatever it had been, the next moment, it was gone, hidden once more behind a mask of boiling control, intent upon this soulless hospitality. So intently, pointedly was Jenny focused, in fact, that she didn’t even notice when the study door opened behind her. 

She was younger than Bree, but not much; perhaps sixteen or seventeen. I certainly had never laid eyes on her, but I knew her at once. That dark, curly hair; those warm, honey-brown eyes! Even in that brief instant in which our eyes met, I felt such a strong rush of affection, the lump in my throat made it hard to smile at her; but smile I did. My niece. 

And to my astonishment — not to mention, relief that someone in this house might not despise me—she smiled back; warmly, not taking those bright, questioning eyes off me, even as she gave a cursory knock and said. “Mam? D’ye need–?”

Jenny bolted like a startled deer, that frigid calm vanished in a second. In one fluid motion, she turned to the door and lunged into my line of sight, barking, “Out, Janet!” No, not into my line of sight: into her daughter’s….to keep me from view. “Out,” she snapped again. 

A very unladylike curse from the daughter, a “NOW!” from the mother, and the thunk of the heavy door snapping closed, trapping me inside once more. Stunned, I managed a nervous laugh, to stammer in the direction of Jenny’s back that the girl was more than welcome to come in and share our tea. While eager to meet this young Janet Murray, I was still more desperate for another person’s presence, ANY person, to ease the tension in the room.

…and exactly one blink later, I realized in panic that Jenny had whirled to face me, that she had said something at the exact same moment, and that her EYES —

I should have been able to match her; Claire Beauchamp was not of the wilting violet genus; but Jesus H Roosevelt CHRIST, that look had me absolutely terrified as I asked her to repeat herself. 

“I said…” Each word was slow and distinct; a hammer blow nailing me to the pillory. “Where. have. you. been?”

My thoughts, my explanations, they turned to vapor under her gaze, and I could do little more than gape up at her from my seat. 

“You’re clearly no’ deid, as we were told.“ She was blazing, a snake coiled to strike.  “And you’re no’ a fetch.”

I didn’t know what a fetch was, but it didn’t seem like something one would want to be.“No,” I confirmed, carefully, waiting. “I’m not.”

“Then, where in God’s name have ye been these twenty years, Claire?”

“Abroad,” I answered at once, relieved, recovering my composure enough to scrabble at the story I’d rehearsed on my long ride from Inverness. “I’ve been abroad,” I said, more confidently. “Working as an apothecary in the Colonies.”

She gave a soft, vicious laugh and turned her eyes upward for a moment. Then, she struck. “Had a *pleasant* life, have ye?”

The bite was bad enough, those fangs; but they had poison in them, too, coursing through my body, a promise of slow, creeping pain. 

“Jenny,” I murmured gently, rallying myself into calm as I set down my teacup. This wouldn’t be easy. “I do understand how this must seem; but please, listen—”

“No, you’ll listen to me.” She was absolutely lethal with quiet fury, and didn’t blink once as she spoke in a low, rapid hiss. “Many’s the thing that’s been whispered of ye, before and after the ‘45. That ye were a spy that brought the English down upon us—that ye caused the great famine—that ye were a filthy witch or a hoor or both — ” 

I tried to interrupt but she silenced me with a shaking finger and a basilisk glare. “But of all things, of ALL things, Claire, I would have gone to my grave swearing that ye loved my brother more than life itself.”

“I did.” RAGE had boiled instantly up in me and the accusation. “I DO.”

“Love doesna do what ye did to Jamie,” she spat, disgust manifested in every pore. “LOVE doesna allow a man to think the very heart of him has died — doesna let him go on living as an empty shell for near twenty years.”

No, it bloody well doesn’t, Jenny. 

The strain of this tug-o-war of emotion was too much for my heart — my physical, frantically-beating heart. From bewilderment to terror to fury, I felt exhaustion and stress in every muscle and bone, the fatigue in every pumping of that poisoned blood  — and now, shame. 

If only I’d looked. If I’d looked sooner…not expecting to find him alive, but to honor his memory. Damn me to hell for it, I should have LOOKED.

I wanted to shrivel up and fade from existence, but Jenny would not have it. “Ye didna see him come back from Culloden, Claire,” she was saying, practically towering over me in my seat. “Ye werena here to drag him back from the brink.”

“I couldn’t be—” 

“—But long after the wounds healed, the GRIEF kept Jamie near to death,” she seethed. “The pain ye caused him, Claire?—the agony of needing YOU, only you, and knowing ye gone forever? It was there on his face, in his bones—every day since—” she leveled a finger at me, “—since ye LEFT him.” 

“I did NOT leave him.” I was on my feet, wanting to wrap my hands around her throat. “Jamie was dead. For twenty years, I’ve thought him dead and in his grave, so you can shut your damned mouth about matters of which you don’t know one bloody — ”

“Oh, I think I ken the way of things just fine,” she sneered, not shrinking back one bit before me. “Ye kent well the disaster to come — dinna deny it, for ye told me to plant the damn potatoes, did ye not? You KNEW—and so ye arranged a better life, a life less destitute than the one we —” 

“Jamie SENT me away, Jenny.”

 My teeth were gritted hard, the war between indignant rage and tearing guilt wracking through me. “I begged him to let me die with him that day — BEGGED him; but he wouldn’t allow it, said it was his duty to die, and that I had to go on without him, had to go far away. And it KILLED me, Jenny.”

I could smell my own sweat, could smell the salt and tang and fear in it as I tried to hold myself together, to say, “If Jamie’s been a shell for twenty years, well, so have I.” 

She said nothing, but faced me down with the same fury. 

“Every single day, I have grieved and I have wished — have cursed the Bonnie  fucking Prince Charlie and his fucking war that slaughtered my husband and left me to go on without him — ”  

“Only he wasna slaughtered. Jamie survived, and his own WIFE didna even bother to come back to check if— “

“He MEANT to die,” I shouted, hoarse and desperate, hoping volume would drown out the shame screaming in my ears. “Jamie MEANT to let himself be killed! He didn’t leave me any room for doubt on that point; you know precisely how he is.” 

I was shaking uncontrollably. “I stayed away for twenty years because that was how I could bear it; the only way I could BEAR to keep on living. But as soon as I learned that he’d survived, I came. I gave up EVERYTHING to come find him, because Jamie was — is — everything to me.” I shook my head, seething. “And to have you stand here and accuse me—” 

“Did ye think I was dead, Claire?”

Her voice had gone suddenly light; conversational, as though she had merely asked if I’d like more jam. With a shock, I found that I recognized that practiced, calculated calm, those razor-sharp meanings cloaked so expertly in cordial tones. Colum MacKenzie, manifested here in the niece who had never met him; the spitting rage of the past minutes subsumed in something deeper; something far more lethal roiling beneath the skin. A wildcat prowling. 

At my silence, she smiled a cat-smile, shrugged, and looked around the room, her hands palm-up as if in mild curiosity. “And what of Ian? Did ye assume he’d died also? Along wi’ your wee nieces and nephews? Your wee Fergus? Remember them?” 

“Of course I do,” I whispered, that avalanche of shame continuing to crash all around me. 

She nodded, considering, almost amiably. “I dinna recall getting any letters or messages betwixt folk letting us know that ye might be thinking of us.” Her voice went hard with every word, each syllable distinct as her emotions started to break through that MacKenzie wall. “Nothing from ye, not even to ask had we yet starved to death in the famine you kent was coming.”

“Jenny…” My control broke and I was weeping before her. “Oh, Jenny…”

And as I stared pleadingly into her face, her own dam shattered, and I was utterly run through to find that the emotion pent up behind it was not merely rage — it was grief, too. 

“Did ye think ye meant nothing to us, Claire? To me?”

Jesus…

There came a terrible, stricken sound in her throat as she tried to speak through the torrent, as she stared up at me with tears in her eyes as her face contorted. 

“Even if Jamie… had been gone—If the Lord had seen fit to—to take him on that accursed field…. “ She took a step toward me, not in threat, this time. “…did it truly never cross your mind that there would be joy in us knowing that you at least had lived?”

“Oh, Jenny.” I crossed the distance between us and clutched her tight, holding her so hard I thought she would snap; but she held me, too, her head pressed tight into my shoulder, the both of us falling apart together.  “Jenny…Jenny…I’m so sorry…”

God as my witness, I had mourned for her; for Ian, the children, for dear Fergus. They had been my family, and knowing the pain and hunger and grief they would face in the years after Culloden, without Jamie to watch over them — For Jamie, I’d had to live with only grief; for those remaining at Lallybroch, I’d borne twenty years of fear. 

“I’m so sorry….I can’t— It’s—” I kissed and touched her hair as we swayed, as I grappled for how to explain—how to give some kind of acceptable reason for why I hadn’t been able to get word—  “It’s so much more complicated than you—”

I almost fell on my backside as I flew backward, my shoulders screaming with the sudden, violent assault as Jenny pushed me away with both hands, eyes once again wide with disbelieving fury as she repeated the word. “Complicated?” 

“No, that’s not —” I silently cursed myself. “Please, just let me — ” 

“How dare you,” she whispered, shaking her head, the tenuous bridge that had sprung up between us now plummeting back down into the gorge below. “How. dare. you.” 

“Jenny,” I pleaded as she turned her back to me, her entire frame shaking. “Jenny, listen —” 

“I’ve heard enough.” 

I reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, to beg her; but then lowered it again, and squared my shoulders: face this, Beauchamp. 

“I love your brother with my entire heart, Jenny Murray. I left because he made me do so; and I came as soon as I learned he had survived.” A deep breath; a whiff of pine through the window giving me a sort of bracing strength. “There was a good reason that I couldn’t come — couldn’t write to you — and I will do anything, everything to explain why, in time. I swear it to you.”

Silence. 

“But first…please….I have to see Jamie.”

Silence.

“I know he’s been working as a printer, in Edinburgh. All I ask is for you to confirm that he’s still there, and —” 

“He’s marrit, Claire.”

My first week as an active-duty battlefield nurse, I was assigned overnight duty in the convalescent ward. 

There were still emergency surgeries and intensive cases from the recent battle going on, leaving me the only one that could be spared to watch over those who needed no urgent treatment; those who were still mortally wounded—but for whom nothing more needed to be, or could be done. Determined to perform my duties well, I’d walked between the columns of beds in that wretched, foul-smelling tent, changing bandages by lantern-light, giving water to those that could swallow, and comfort where I could. 

There was one man — Robertson, his name had been….He’d received horrific burns over a vast percentage of his body, and his moans of pain and panic were the heartbeat of that long night. Nothing I did, nothing I offered, nothing I said could soothe him —he just kept moaning, groaning, crying and whimpering like an animal…and staring up at me with one wild eye through his bandages. I’d been so chilled by that sight, by that man—who became not a patient to me, but a haunting. 

I’d avoided him, eventually, stopped going to his bedside, even when his groans were at their most agonized—and the shame of that….It was like being pursued by wild dogs. I’d busied myself with other patients; busied myself with re-rolling bandages; busied myself with absolutely anything to keep from focusing on those anguished, pitiful moans; anything to keep out of that brown, pleading stare. 

And there came a time in the night when his moans tapered —and then ceased entirely, with one…final….whimper….and even then, I didn’t go to him. I spent more than an hour telling myself that Mr. Robertson had fallen asleep at last, and wasn’t it a relief that the poor man had found some solace in somnolence at last. 

I’d known —I’d KNOWN that he was dead—and yet I was too afraid to acknowledge it, to go to his bedside and confirm. 

I’d cowered, refusing to face the agonizing truth

knowing that once I learned it, the truth—

not my fantasy, not my coping mechanism, but the TRUTH—

I couldn’t ever be the same.

Nothing could ever be the same. 

“When?” My voice was a husk. A form.“To whom?”

“Does it matter?”

I was silent.

“He’s got a wife,” Jenny said, quiet, but slowly, carefully, so I wouldn’t miss a single word. “A home. A new life.” 

The fabric of my skirt was rough and comfortless in my grasping hands. 

“…And two wee lassies that love their Da.” 

Da. 

Something within me popped—a thread, maybe, one of many clumsy things that had been holding my heart together. I’d come back so blithely sure of myself; brimming with the anticipation of bringing Jamie news of that one child of his blood—To give him hope — to give him JOY. 

Not just two children….two daughters. 

What would news of another girl—one he’d never met—never would meet—even one conceived of the deepest love — mean in comparison to that? To having held his own little girls in his arms? 

It would mean something…but not enough. 

“Is he happy?” 

My words were a choked bark of a thing; hurt and anger and longing as I hauled on those threads, forcing them to hold. 

Jenny didn’t answer. 

I was standing. I needed to know. “Is. He. Happy?”

If somehow this new life of his wasn’t blessed —If even despite the girls, the marriage was damaged, maybe —

“Aye,” Jenny said at last, meeting my eye with frank hardness. “Happiest I’ve ever seen him.” 

Happier even than with you.

And just like that, the raw seams of my heart—so crude, so fragile, those threads—split open, the remnants fluttering into the shadows.

“You should be on your way,” Jenny was saying, “without delay, before you’re recognized and word travels.” She didn’t want me under her roof even for one night. It was written in every bone and muscle of her as she moved to the door.  “I’ll be off to have Mary pack up food for your journey.”

“Please, might I — ” started to beg, then shut my mouth. 

She turned, tight-lipped, impatient. “What is it ye need? A fresh horse?”

“Only paper. A quill.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.” 

I held out my hands in surrender. “I’ll go, Jenny,” I whispered. “I’m going, at once, as you say. I swear it. I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.” My entire body hunched before her, pleading. “But for mercy’s sake, let me leave him my last words.” 

She stared; but something stirred in her eyes. 

“He won’t know where I’m bound,” I swore, panting with the effort to hold back the tears. “I’ll be long gone before he reads it. Please. Please, Jenny.”

I stared at the blank parchment for a very long time.

I made plans — I let my mind run rampant, schemes for how I would reach him, how I would FIND him in Edinburgh. Jenny didn’t bloody need to know. Jamie would WANT to see me! No matter what his sister — He had loved me first — He would want — he was —

Happier 

even than with you.

I wept

…letting all the heartbreak wash out of me onto that page, 

drop by drop, 

my fingers wrenching in my hair,

until the page was damp with grief.

No future here. 

Not for you. 

Not with him. 

And a long time after that, I wiped my eyes. 

I wrapped something tight and impenetrable around my heart

Then wrote what needed to be said, what I needed him to know. 

My hand did not shake. I did not let a single tear blur the ink.

I would be strong for Jamie. 

He had been strong for me. 

I would not take anything away from him.

About a week prior EDINBURGH 

“Uncle, please, please, PLEASE can I stay?”

“Ian, for the last time,” he said over his shoulder, paying the tavernmaid for the stores and nodding his thanks, “your Mam will up and geld me if I harbor her wee fugitive; and fond as I undoubtedly am of ye, lad, I’m no’ yet willing to lose my parts over it.” 

“But we dinna have to keep it secret-like!” Young Ian insisted, bouncing on his toes like a toadling. “Ye can write to her! Tell her you’re taking me on as apprentice in the print shop! She’ll be fashed that I left, aye, right enough—but she canna object o’ermuch to me learning such a valuable trade, not wi’ her own brother watching over me!”

Not for the first time, that day, Jamie wavered.

Ian saw it and redoubled his pleading. “Come onnnnnn, Uncle Jamie, PLEASE?” 

There were two important reasons that his whole being screamed at him to grant Ian’s wish, to let the boy stay on….but both were selfish; deeply so; and if he truly loved this lad, the nephew who was like a son—the only son he’d know, henceforth— it was his duty to show him the ways of honorable men. 

…even as joyless as honor tended to be. 

He jerked his head toward the door. “Get out to the stableyard, Ian. It’s past time we were off.” 

“Uncllllllllle!” the boy groaned, running both hands through his hair, distraught. “Ye can tell Mam ye gave me a good beating for it before taking me on! Hell, ye can GIVE me the beating, and I willna make a yip!”

Jamie repressed the twitching corners of his mouth, keeping up his show of stern reproach. “On wi’ ye. It’s time to get ye home.”