#balfeheughlywed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bee-kathony · 6 years ago

Text

ONCE UPON A TIME | CINDERELLA AU

Inspired by the beautiful moodboard created by the talented @balfeheughlywed

Once Upon a Time there was a beautiful girl named Claire Beauchamp, she was strong, independent and kind. She lives in the Kingdom of Lallybroch, ruled by King Brian Fraser, his son James Fraser is a young, sharp and handsome lad, unsure of his responsibilities. Claire's world shifts when her Uncle Lamb announces he is to be married. This is a tale of family, strength, kindness.... and love.

Chapter 1 | First Impressions

The wind blew across the field, making Claire’s unruly curls fly over face, momentarily blocking her vision. She had been sitting under her favourite tree all afternoon, the same tree she often had dreams of. In her dreams, she saw a beautiful woman smiling down at her, brown hair cascading down her shoulders and tickling her skin. Claire remembered a young man too, he must have been her Father, Henry.

Claire knew that in these dreams, these people smiling down at her were her parents but she could barely remember them. They had died when she was very young, on their way to visit Claire’s Uncle Lamb when they were caught in a terrible storm, their carriage had run into a fallen tree and turned over several times, crashing down the side of a mountain.

She had been with her Uncle Lamb ever since. He often told stories of her parents when she asked him to. Claire never wanted to forget where she came from, who she was.

Claire tucked her legs against her chest and folded her arms around her knees. She didn’t want to go back to the house just yet. Soon her Uncle would come looking for her, to bring her back to reality. The reality that her Uncle, her guardian, her only family… was getting married.

Quentin Lambert Beuchamp, her Father’s brother, was a passionate man. He enjoyed digging things up in the ground, discovering their origins and the history surrounding those objects. His day to day life was as a Merchant, selling those artefacts he found from town to town, often leaving Claire to herself.

Claire didn’t mind being on her own, in fact she preferred it. They lived in a quaint house that was plenty big enough. It was the house that she was born in, her Uncle had moved in when he became her guardian. They had a small garden and collection of animals like chickens, one cow, two goats and two very lovely horses.

But Claire’s favourites were the little mice that ran throughout the house. Most people would think mice simply vermin but Claire had grown to think of them as friends, as odd as it sounded.

Animals were her first love, if you treated them with kindness then they reciprocated in turn. Her uncle was marrying someone that on first impression she saw no trace of kindness in. Jonathan Wolverton Randall was his name. She always knew that her uncle had an eye for the lads but never thought he would marry a man. Claire had no objections of course but this man… there was something quite off about him. Not to mention his children that came along from his first marriage, the twins.

Laoghaire and Alex Randall, the two most annoying and self-possessed humans to ever walk this earth. Claire had just celebrated her twentieth birthday, she was finally not in those awkward teenage years. Laoghaire and Alex were just seventeen, obnoxious teenagers indeed.

“Bloody children that’s what they are.” Claire’s first meeting with the twins was not altogether a pleasant one. They had stepped out of the carriage both wearing the most vile and obscene pieces of clothing Claire had ever seen. She put on her brave face and greeted them, welcoming them into her home.

They tossed their bags at her feet, assuming she was the maid. She had stared down at the bags and when she didn’t pick them up, Laoghaire turned on her, “Ye better pick up those bags lass or my daddy will have ye out of this house, lookin�� for somewhere else to work.” Her eyes were wicked, her tongue most foul, and Claire didn’t like her one bit.

“I’m not the maid… I’m Claire, your new sister.” She had stuck out her hand in greeting but Laoghaire and Alex turned to each other and burst out laughing.

“This girl? Our sister?!” More laughing and Claire had begun to grow frustrated and a bit embarrassed.

“Well your outfit…” Alex looked her up and down, taking in Claire’s simply frock made of pale blue linen. “Is atrocious, no wonder you mistook her for a maid!” He laughed to Laoghaire and turned back to Claire, “As long as ye’re dressed like a maid, ye best pick up our bags and take them inside.”

Claire had treated everyone with kindness and in return she received the same. It wasn’t in her nature to be feeling what she felt know, hatred.

How could she live in that house and put up with those two? Not to mention her new step-uncle. Jonathan Randall was a man of few words, he was British, like her and her uncle, an officer of the King and apparently quite the charmer.

Her uncle did look happy, that was what mattered right?

Just as she suspected she saw her uncle walking to where she was. He didn’t say anything as he approached her but sat down beside her, sighing as his joints popped and cracked on the descent.

“Ah Claire, my sweet Claire.” She rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his elbow.

“I know you’ll grow to like them, first impressions aren’t always correct.” In this case Claire wasn’t too sure about her impressions of them changing anytime soon.

Claire looked up at her uncle then, “I love you, you know that. You always told me that my mother was the kindest woman you had ever met.”

“Yes she was. And she gave that same kindness to you my dear.” He placed his finger under her trembling chin. “Don’t worry my child, I know that this is difficult for you. Having it just been the two of us for so long now. But I do think it will be nice for you to have Laoghaire and Alex around to keep you company.”

“If you say so uncle.” Claire smiled and Uncle Lamb gave her hand a gentle pat and she stood from her spot, reaching her hands down to help him up.

They began the short walk back to the house, the Autumn sun shined behind them, creating a peaceful glow on the house.

It was anything but peaceful when they arrived inside. Laoghaire and Alex were screaming at each other about wardrobes being too small and there not being enough room for all their shoes. Jonathan Randall was in the sitting in the lounge, ignoring all the commotion and reading a novel, obviously used to all the racket.

“What on earth is going on?” Claire asked, looking at the chaos that had exploded in the form of colourful clothing and wigs strewn about all over her bedroom.

“Well ye’re room is the biggest ye ken, Alex and I always share a room so we moved our stuff in here.” Laoghaire grunted as she picked up a pile of Claire’s clothes and dropped them in the hallway.

“But… this is my room. The only other room is-“ Claire groaned inwardly.

“The attic lass.” Alex smirked, tossing yet another audacious piece of clothing on his bed.

“Ye best get all ye’re stuff out of the hall Claire, Daddy doesna like a mess.” Claire sighed, she must show them kindness if she expected to receive an inkling of it in return.

“Yes of course.” She smiled and left the room, careful not to trip on her belongings scattered on the floor. A reflection down the hall caught her eye and she walked over to it.

It was her Mother’s hand mirror, one of the only things she had that was hers, lying broken and shattered. Claire didn’t cry often but a tear slid down her cheek as she bent down and picked up what was left of her Mother.

She held it gently to her chest and shut her eyes tight. “It’s okay Beauchamp, you’ll get through this.” Claire took several deep breaths and returned to pick up the few remaining earthly possessions she owned.

Her Uncle Lamb, she saw was now in the lounge sitting beside Jonathan Randall, holding his hand and smiling. She wiped away her tears and walked to the end of the hall, opening the door that led up to the attic.

It didn’t take her long to arrange everything, while it was quite dusty and there wasn’t much in the way of decoration, soon it was suitable enough. Her bed, her books and her friendly mice were really all she needed.

Claire didn’t return downstairs that evening, she thought she wouldn’t be missed in any case. She rose early the next morning, waking with the sun.

As she walked through the halls and down the stairs, she heard no sound. Everyone was still asleep, nothing was demanded of her so Claire went to the small stable that housed their two horses.

She saddled Brimstone, her favourite and set off into the woods surrounding the house, eager to escape with her own thoughts.

Claire loved how the air whipped across her face, it always helped to clear her mind whenever something troubled her.

She rode towards the sun, slowing down to a trot when she reached the river and continued to follow its path.

Brimstone snorted and neighed as they turned past a corner of trees, “What is it girl?” Claire stroked her mane, trying to calm the horse down, “What do you see?”

Claire spotted the root of Brimstone’s agitation, another horse was tied to a tree, it’s owner no where to be found. She clicked her tongue and brought Brimstone to a halt, leaping off and tying her next to the other horse.

The owner of the horse couldn’t have gone far she thought. Claire walked through the trees and down a small slope that led to the river. When she looked up she spotted him. A tall red haired man, drinking from his hands as he dipped them in the running water.

She stepped forward and her foot met a branch making a ‘crack’ sound. The man leapt to his feet, pulling out his sword and brandishing it in front of him making Claire take two steps back. She tripped on a rock wedged in the ground and fell on her bottom.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” She exclaimed, her hands going to her now sore bottom.

The man slid his sword in its hilt and ran over to her, crouching down to her level, “I’m sorry lass, I didna mean to scare ye” He laughed, amused with the situation. “I wasna aware of anyone else bein’ in this part of the wood, it was ye that gave me the first fright.” He held out his hand for her to take and she looked from his hand to his eyes.

Claire saw his face for the first time. He had a strong jawline, a straight nose, a bit of scruff on his cheeks and neck and the most gorgeous ocean blue eyes. He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place him. Claire forgot her words as she looked into his eyes and he laughed again.

“C’mon lass, let me help ye up.” The man now reached for her hand and she shook her head, trying to collect herself. Claire was brought to her feet and swayed a little, unsteady on the uneven ground. The man’s hands immediately went to her waist to hold her upright and she felt a spasm of energy run through her body.

“Sorry” He said and removed his hands, holding them in fists now at his side, almost like he was afraid to involuntarily touch her again.

“Thank you.” Claire finally managed to speak. “And I’m sorry I snuck up on you like that, I saw your horse and came to investigate who it’s owner could be.”

“Aye, it’s my horse, Donas, I heard the river and needed a wee drink.” He smiled again, he was absolutely beautiful Claire thought.

He said something but Claire was too distracted by the way his mouth quirked up on one side to hear him.

“Sorry what did you say?” Claire blinked several times. She really must get better at concentrating.

The man smiled, his mouth doing that thing again which made her stomach do somersaults.

“I said, do ye live around here? I can tell by ye’re accent ye’re not from Scotland… a Sassenach.” He called her a Sassenach, often a derogatory word meaning ‘English person’ or ‘Outlander’, and not always the nicest thing to say to someone she thought.

“Meanin’ no offence to ye of course lass.” He said quickly once he saw the expression on her face.

“It’s alright. I take no offence to the word.” She actually liked the way he said it, his Scottish accent was like the bird song, sweet and musical. “And yes… I live just back there a ways” Claire pointed behind her, it was quite a ways actually and she had better be getting back before the household realised she wasn’t there… if they realised she was gone at all.

“Do you live near here then? I don’t normally see people when I come here to ride.” Claire put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the rising sun.

The man shuffled back and forth on his feet, he seemed a bit nervous. “Och, no. I live more in the city I suppose.”

“You suppose? You mean you don’t know where you live?” Claire tried to suppress a laugh, this man was becoming more and more interesting.

Aye, I ken where I live,” he laughed and ran his hand through his curly red hair, “I do live in the city, in Lallybroch.”

Lallybroch, it was the where the palace was, the King Brian Fraser and his recently late wife Ellen, the Queen, had ruled over the kingdom all her life. She had been into the city quite often, going with Uncle Lamb to help him sell his artefacts or pick up a few new books from the local bookseller.

“Which area do you live in? I go into the city quite often, would I know it?” Claire asked, the man’s cheeks blushed crimson red which she found odd but also charming.

“Aye, you would know it.” He didn’t say more, but suddenly turned and walked up the slope, Claire followed and saw another man come riding from the opposite direction.

“Who’s that man? Do you know him?” She asked and pointed in the direction of the stranger.

The red haired man cursed in Gaelic and untied his horse, mounting it easily and guided his horse back to the path. “Aye, he… works for my Father.” The man said unsurely.

“Your High-“ the stranger said to the red haired man but he interrupted him all too quickly, “It’s Jamie, Jamie! It’s Jamie!” He rushed out, stopping the other man from continuing his sentence.

The other man chuckled, “Well then… Jamie. Ye’re Father has asked me to come and fetch ye. Ye have…” He looked over at me, barely visible behind Jamie on his horse, “some important business to attend to.”

“Aye, I suppose I do. Fine Murtagh, I’m comin’.” The man, whose name I now knew was Jamie turned back to look down at me, his smile as bright as ever. “I must leave Sassenach, duty calls. Will I see ye here again?” He looked hopeful, almost childlike.

Claire blushed, her hands untying her horse from the tree as she spoke, “Perhaps I shall see you in the city some day.”

The other man suddenly laughed and then began coughing causing Jamie to glare at him. “Aye lass, maybe ye will.” Claire climbed on Brimstone and grabbed the reigns, pointing the horse in the direction of home.

“Sassenach!” James called before she raced off, “What’s ye’re name, ye know mine is Jamie…”

“Goodbye Jamie…” She smiled coyly and clicked her tongue, her thighs pressing against the horse beneath her and began riding in the opposite direction of Jamie.

She dared a glance back and saw that he was watching her, his mouth agape. “Sassenach!” He called out to her once more but she was too far away to respond.

If she ever saw that strange red haired man again, she promised to tell him her name but for now she kept that to herself, the only part of herself that she felt she owned anymore.

#claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #his royal highness #claire fraser #fairytale #cinderella au #balfeheughlywed #incredible moodboard #cinderella #outlander fanfic #mclairefras #once upon a time fanfiction

258 notes · View notes

thelallybrochlibrary · 4 years ago

Note

any fic where jamie and claire have an affair (besides lovers in a dangerous time)? i love this kinda of plot, thanksss!!!

Hi Anon,

We’ve found a few fics that fit what you’re looking for! We’ve included LIADT on this list just in case anyone was looking for that link as well.

Back To You by balfeheughlywed

Lovers In a Dangerous Time by @sassenachthroughtime

Mint & Thistles by @ladyviolethummingbird

The Surrogate by Reneeyanceywriter

Fandom, let us know if there’s any that we’ve forgotten!

#outlander #outlander fanfic #asks #author: balfeheughlywed #fic: back to you #author: sassenachthroughtime #fic: lovers in a dangerous time #author: ladyviolethummingbird #fic: mint & thistles #author: reneeyanceywriter #fic: the surrogate #librarian: julia #Anonymous

35 notes · View notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years ago

Text

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.), Part XXVII (A Tale’s End)

I would have walked away from this story (forever) a very long time ago if it weren’t for the constant and unwavering support of @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed. They have held my hand through this – through my tantrums, through my protestations that I didn’t know what I was doing, and through the times I begrudgingly admitted that I actually like the end of product. This story is dedicated to them and to their friendship. This has been a ride, and writing it has been an endurance contest. My gratitude to everyone who has read this, liked it, reblogged it, favorited it, or sent me a message. This is the end. I hope you enjoy. xx.

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.) Part XXVII: A Tale’s End

Claire’s limbs were leaden, and yet she rose from the bed.

Fraser’s sleepy noises (ones she teased sounded Scottish) were missing, and his long, even breaths had risen from bed with him.

In the absence of his noises, it was quiet, too quiet.

The scent of him (sage and clove) was like a mislaid memory (an empty space where it had been tucked against her nape), and the duvet was cool when she flopped one arm over into the bedding.

She already knew that Jamie was gone.

She rose and slipped into her dressing gown before making her way down the hall. Her feed had carried her down the halls on many nights, her arms clutching their colicky bairn and tracing a path that she had hoped (usually in vain) would soothe her.

She did not bother to flick on a single light switch.

In London, the underbelly of their home was always in motion. The clamor of it all made her mind whir, her eyes rebel in the night to focus on the ceiling, and her fingers clutch to insomnia.

At Balmoral, the quiet was like another layer of skin, and the stillness went to the center of her bones.

Scotland.

It was here that Claire had demanded they spend their one-week honeymoon before setting off on a tour of the Commonwealth’s various holdings.

It had been in Fraser’s cabin that they spent their one-week honeymoon, her body feeling like the crescendo of a symphony under his hands and lips. Idly tracing the conch-shaped curve of his bared hip bone, Claire wondered aloud whether the walls of the cabin would keep their secrets. Turning his new wife gently onto her back (“my Queen” – a breathless, almost-whimper on his lips) and rising over her, Fraser had touched her belly and kissed the space between the clotheslines of her clavicles. Breathlessly, he asked her to commit that when they spoke, it would only be truth.

There was room for secrets, but no lies.

She had agreed, just as breathlessly, and he held her hand as he kissed down her body, glancing up her sternum before closing his mouth over her.

It was here that Claire had demanded they spend their first months as a family of three.

On the same bed from which she had just risen, she had given birth to an heir.

It had been the last thing on her mind.

They had been married for six months.

With Jamie’s hand crushed in hers, and his sister mopping sweat from her forehead (a bond she quietly conceded once reminded her of her own sister), their baby came into the world.

With a final push, an immense feeling of relief flooded her. She felt light, like her body was no longer being twisted in opposite directions by a molten-hot vice, as though the weight of an entire kingdom was not bearing down on her pelvis.

The relief was short lived.

Claire’s arms quaked under the effort of pulling herself fully upright. She breathed for a moment, trying to keep her inhalations even.

The part of her that was relieved was rapidly giving way to a gnawing panic.

Brows furrowing as the umbilical cord was clipped, her eyes darted from Jamie to the doctor who had attended the birth and back again.

“One final push,” the midwife who had been there throughout her labor said, stepping in as the doctor turned away.

“Ye did it,” her husband breathed, only tearing his eyes from his wife’s face to look at the silent bundle in the midwife’s hands.

“No…” Claire breathed, the weight that had been bearing down on her lower half suddenly in her chest, expanding and contracting, wheedling its way into the space between her bones and her organs. “No.”

“A nighean–” Jamie started, but she shook her head.

“Tell me it’s okay. That the baby...”

He said nothing, his hand closing over the cap of her shoulder as he craned his neck.

His breaths were short, dry, shallow.

Her voice was imploring as she snapped, “Jamie. I can’t… if the baby is… tell me that-”

And then the wailing came.

A desperate, fevered, cold yowl that sounded almost inhuman. It would not stop, and she prayed that it never would as long as it meant that their baby (mysterious, puckered, purple, blood-covered) would suck in breath after life-sustaining breath.

“The bairn…” Jamie started, immediately fading away as his voice cut.

“She’s just fine, mam,” Jenny laughed, gently moving a soft cloth over the birth-slicked baby. Claire had nodded, still feeling the nagging tug of uncertainty in her belly until she saw the bundle move from Jenny’s arms to Jamie’s.

She lowered herself back to the pillows stacked behind her back, sighing and thanking God.

Julianna Alexandra Elizabeth Faith, the heir apparent and tiniest member of the royal House of Beauchamp, was perfect – ten fingers, ten toes, button nose, cap of jet-black hair, earlobes with skin as soft as velvet, and the smallest bow of a mouth.

She barely heard the words that followed.

Blood.

The commands.

Back up.

The pleas.

She has to be okay. Ye dinna ken, she’s everything.

Their perfect daughter had torn her spectacularly, and just twenty minutes after giving birth in their bedroom, Claire was transported to the hospital, where she went into surgery for hours and stayed for six nights.

It was behind her now, left in some small hospital retrofit to make way for a postpartum queen. What remained was Balmoral – the place where she could ensconce herself in the history of her lineage as she wrote the history of her own family.

She could live here in Scotland.

As a wife.

As a mother.

As a woman, above all else.

Try as she did, she never felt that way in London.

The easiness of this place. The way that it felt like home, even though her accent was a reminder that it had not always been her home.

On this night, a little over six months after the birth of Julianna, she heard Jamie before she saw him.

His voice was low, a mix of Gaelic and English. All of his words blurred together.

As carefully as possible, she toed the door open another inch and leaned against the doorframe.

“She’s a braw one, yer mam.” He was shirtless, but shrouded in a plaid on the chaise at the center of the sitting room just outside their suite. Flames popped and crackled in the hearth, small bursts of sparks spiraling up and up as the fattest log broke in two. “Ye should’ve seen her, laborin’ wi’ ye. She’s a fearsome thing, ye ken. Ye didna make it easy on her, refusin’ to come out… she was so set on meetin’ ye.”

Claire mopped away the stinging in her eyes with the hem of her robe.

“I didna ken if I could love something as much as I love ye, mo chridhe, but seein’ ye, it’s as if a piece of my own heart, my brain, and my wame lives outside me. I felt it the moment yer mam told me that ye were in her belly. Above all, I kent I must protect ye both, and I will. Until the day I no longer draw breath.”

Claire’s own breath was coming ragged now, listening to him. She had not expected to feel so different in the aftermath of the easy pregnancy and long labor.

To feel as though her emotions were like a balloon on the end of a long string, floating high above her head at all times. As though the slightest breeze could shift them, change her entire existence.

“And someday, when ye’re no’ a bairn, we’ll share wi’ ye how ye surprised us, a leannan.”

Julianna let out the quietest coo that made Claire’s thighs and fingertips tremble. She wanted to take her baby in her arms, to have her close, to take comfort from the fact that her soft limbs were still warm, that her heavy head was held firmly in place by an increasingly-strong neck.

Out of hand, the doctor had dismissed the ebbs and flows of these moods as baby blues. Jamie, in turn, dismissed the doctor with no slight amount of outrage, demanding that someone with “the sense the good lord gave a turnip” help his wife.

That the fog was not imagined. The sense of isolation she felt, even when surrounded by people, was not a matter of someone just being around for her more. The feeling of disconnection from their baby was not a function of being Queen.

Sticking a finger into the doctor’s paunch, Jamie had hissed that the Queen (“my fucking wife”) would not be so dismissed, that if he refused to help, they would find someone who could, who would.

Jamie was a hands-on father, and she was grateful for it. Even with all of the help her status (their shared status) could bring, he made himself present. He rose with her in the night, brought her warm compresses when she shed tears over engorged breasts and cracking nipples. He changed diapers with little more protest than a wrinkled nose at the spectacular streaks of shit that would somehow paint themselves up their daughter’s spine. And he did what he could in the darker days just to be near, even if it meant holding Claire’s hand in the dark and wiping away her seemingly sourceless tears.

But the fog had started to lift, the haze in Claire’s eyes becoming less impenetrable.

Just weeks earlier, she said she was ready to ride again.

And they did.

They picnicked at night, after dark when the baby nurse had assured them she was quite alright.

He plucked roses from the garden to tuck behind her ears.

They stole kisses with her back gently pressed against trees or with his on a picnic blanket, her rounded hips cupped by his hands as she tentatively reintroduced the friction of her body to his.

And one evening a few nights later, when he had looked away for only a minute before turning back, his wife was slipping free of her blouse, her curls wild and her smile wide as she unclasped her bra.

That night, with the sounds of summer as the backdrop and the late-night-Scottish-dusk just descending into dark, they made love in the stables, their bodies joining for the first time in months. He took his time, asked her again and again if she was sure, if she was ready. When she winced, he stopped. She shook her head, then nodded with a sigh as he began to move inside of her with an almost-exquisite tenderness. They were cautious with each other, circumspect, as though either might be broken by a hurried touch or indelicate mouths. Utterly besotted by one another’s bodies and the way intimacy felt familiar, comfortable, and lived in.

At the scene in front of her, just days after their reconnection, Claire swallowed hard, silently begging her eyes to dry out. She had shed enough tears in the last six months to last a lifetime.

“Ye wanted to be in our wedding, so ye nested yerself early in yer mam’s belly, ye fierce wee thing. We’ll show ye the pictures. The day I married yer mam is the happiest day of my life... second only to the day that I met her…” At that, Julianna let out the lowest little whimper of a cry, and Jamie tut-tutted for a moment, then continued, “Her fat arse was leanin’ over the gate in the stable, and I couldna stop smiling.”

“Hey,” Claire breathed in feigned exasperation, stepping fully into the room. “My arse was not that fat, and I quite enjoyed our wedding day. Also, I’ll thank you not to teach the heir to the throne such things.”

“I kent ye were there,” Jamie said as he looked over, humming. “I have a hunter’s senses for yer presence, a nighean.”

Claire pursed her lips, rolling her eyes as she strode the rest of the way across the sitting room. Carefully, she took the bundle from his arms. “I think this wee girl’s nighttime garbling, and our resultant insomnia, are enough to dull even the most astute tracker’s senses.”

Jamie lifted the edge of his plaid, allowing Claire to slip in beneath its warm folds. She centered herself between his legs, leaning against his bare chest as she carefully slipped one bare breast through the neckline of her robe. Jamie’s hand rested loosely on her waist, his fingers flexing for just a moment as Julianna’s lips parted then closed around Claire’s nipple. Claire stiffened for a moment, then relaxed backwards into his chest. Julianna left one soft palm to rest just above Claire’s heart.

Closing her eyes, one hand cupped behind Julianna’s head and one on the baby’s soft bum, Claire whispered, “Tell me about the wedding. What would you tell her?”

“Our wedding?”

Claire opened her eyes and craned her head back just enough that he could see her roll her eyes. “Whose wedding do you think I want to hear about?”

“Jenny’s maybe?” he posited, eyes crinkling at the corners as her shoulders bounced with hardly-contained laughter.

The baby’s mouth slipped free and an impressive stream of milk sprayed her cheeks. Jamie and Claire’s laughter was cut short by the soft, threatened grumble of their bairn. It was a precursor to a cry from the suddenly quite-crabby Julianna. With the baby gently mopped up, and returned to her middle-of-the-night suckling, Jamie began to recount the wedding day. By then, Julianna had one eye half-closed, the other lazily roving around in an utterly useless attempt to focus on something as she fed.

“I didna expect ye to look the way ye did. I kent ye’d be beautiful, of course, but I thought somehow ye’d be someone else’s bride, ye ken? That ye’d be dolled up for a ceremony. A queen prepared for a royal wedding – no’ for our wedding – but there ye were. Ye were as bonnie as I’d ever seen ye… as bonnie as I thought I’d ever see ye. At least until I saw ye like this… wi’ our bairn at yer breast, and Christ, I dinna ken what I did to have such a rare woman love me.”

She felt warmth flood her cheeks, the tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. Bloody Scot. “You looked pretty handsome yourself in that uniform that I knew you did not want to wear.”

A long hum came from him, the vibration beginning low in his chest and making her own body vibrate.

The wedding was not the ordinary royal nuptials in ways that went even further than the fact that she was carrying the heir to the throne.

The dress she wore was light, modern, and cut just right to conceal their secret. Together, they had carefully wrapped it in tissue and tucked it away at his cabin. So it wouldn’t end up in some stuffy museum with a bland placard, she explained as she rose on tiptoes to push it to the back of a closet.

They married in candlelight, with a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the gardens at Balmoral in her hand.

She wore Jamie’s ring, and for some reason she was not at all surprised when her hand did not tremble as he slid it over her knuckle and let his fingers linger on the band for a moment. Her own voice was low as she slipped a band of gold down his finger, whispering the words back to him that he had said to her.

I give you this ring, James Fraser, as a sign of our marriage and mutual trust, our love and our promise to care for one another over all others.

The papers could scoff all they wanted, muse over what a slap in the face it was to the Commonwealth she headed. To give away power, a piece of her divine right.

Nevertheless, she gave herself to him, just as he gave himself to her. She had done it long before that moment, long before the promise concluded.

This day. All of the days we have remaining.

Julianna grunted, released, and whimpered the start of a gut-wrenching, milky cry before latching on again with only the slightest encouragement. This time, both of her eyes closed and her hand fell to a tiny, balled fist above her brows.

“She has a tooth coming in,” Jamie whispered, his hand slipping up Claire’s arm and coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Trust me,” Claire murmured. “I can feel the bloody thing.”

Claire allowed her eyes to close, her attention somehow equally split between her husband’s even breathing and the gentle suckling at her breast. She felt Jamie tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her temple.

“Ye’re a braw queen, mo nighean donn, but ye’re more than that. Sae much more.”

She wet her lips and turned her head, slowly shifting the now-sleeping bundle in her arms. “Is this what you thought it would be, Fraser?” There was no tentativeness in her voice – it was as though she already knew the answer, but just wanted to hear him say it. “Your life here... with me?”

Humming, his hand skimmed down her upper arm, cupped her elbow, and then found its way to her fingers. His palm covered her hand, and his fingers brushed the narrow expanse of their baby’s lower back.

“Ye helped me come back to life, Sassenach. All that time after the war, I was dead. I didn’t ken it then, but I loved ye then. Before I met ye.”

Running a finger along Julianna’s cheek and tucking her breast back into her robe, Claire whispered, “I loved you both before I met you. You brought me to life, Fraser. I always will love you.”

Fraser shifted, his stubbled cheek against hers as he wound an arm around his queen’s waist and drew her closer.

“So long as my body lives, and yours—we are one flesh,” he whispered. The magnolias at Balmoral smelled like zested citrus and honey. The scent was in the air along with the smoke from the fire Jamie started. Julianna cooed quietly and nestled her face against Claire’s breast, her lips having gone slack. “And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours. Claire—I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.”

Claire closed her eyes, the feeling of his rising and falling chest against her back and that of their baby on her own chest.

This was her beginning.

The End

#;mod Kate #Her Royal Highness Modern AU #jamie x claire #thank you to anyone who has read this xx #fin.

403 notes · View notes

outlandishcraziness · 5 years ago

Text

Doing their jobs

You know, Cait & Sam are just doing their jobs. They paid their dues and came up thru the ranks to follow their career interests. Now it’s paying off for them: Nominations, awards, recognition, fame, fortune, respect, opportunities. It’s taken awhile and hasn’t been easy. For a minute, imagine their thrill when they landed plum lead roles in a cable series with a built-in fan base of thousands, with recognized industry producers and directors. They were both single, living away from family where they grew up. Sam moved back to Scotland where his mom and brother lived and where he was raised. Cait moved across the Irish Sea from her previous home, before living elsewhere and in LA, to a Gaelic country in the UK. They had meaty roles and lotsa opportunities to show off their acting abilities. They worked for Sony and Starz and had access to PR, agents, publishers, stylists unlike before. On top of all this, the stars aligned. They may have resisted the cliche of falling for the other romantic lead at first. Eventually there was no denying how deeply and strongly they felt for each other. When they were in their bubble together, fireworks exploded. The were also in the midst of a media cyclone with the popularity of Outlander’s first season. They helped each other stay strong and grounded. They slowly merged families, friends, fundraising, causes, interests, free time, previous connections and work friends. They shared their loves for the environment, children, animals, traveling, art, film & theatre, adventure, music, foods. They were both in their 30s and shared dreams of travel, health, wealth, and children. Somehow, Sam & Cait created magic on screen and gave us glimpses of a personal relationship built of love, respect, and fun affection behind the scenes too. We all ate it up. IMO nothing has changed. Focus on the love. Focus on the positive magic these two create. It’s palpable. The rest is all BULLSHIT. We are the loyal followers who have reveled in their connection from early on—we see it, we respect it, we get it. The Narrative is annoying, but it isn’t directed towards us. “I suggest you ignore it.” It’s business, plain and simple. SC are for sale to the highest bidder and they’re dealing with it in the best way they can. They’re both developing other businesses, other interests for both financial and personal freedom. Once their obligations to Outlander end, we will get a glimpse of a liberated SC (and maybe their wee secrets). Not naive here, Ladies, it’s just business. I don’t take any of the BS seriously or personally. Peace 💕❤️💗💋

@denise-alwaysuselove @balfeheughlywed @mama-tumblz @diggsydogsquee @widchadidcha

#outlanderfans #outlanderforever #outlander #outlanderartistry #outlanderstarz #dragonflyinamber #outlanderseason3 #outlander art #outlander starz #caitriona balfe #samheughanfans #samheughan

535 notes · View notes

three-drink-amy · 5 years ago

Text

Impossible

This is my one shot for the One Quote, One Shot Book 2. I’m so glad that @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed continued this! Thanks, ladies!

My quote is: I bristled a bit at this. I had been feeling a trifle nervous myself over the general revealingness of the dress, the fashionable sketches the seamstress had shown me notwithstanding. But Jamie’s reaction was making me feel defensive and thus rebellious.

The promise I’d made to Frank was still fresh in my mind. My entire being rebelled against the idea of a life without Jamie, but here I was. He’d sent me back and I had to keep the promise I’d made to him as well. Our child needed a good life. I had to remind myself too many times that I was doing this for my child, for the last remaining piece I had of Jamie.

I walked to the window of my room and saw Frank burning my 18th century clothes. What I’d worn as Jamie held me for the last time ever. What had been my proof of where I’d been for years.

Frank glanced up at me, giving me a look that all but said “I’m doing this for you.” No matter how much he tried to tell me this was the right choice, I just wasn’t there yet. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to that point.

That night, I still slept in my own room. Frank was my husband here, but he was not my husband in my heart. As I laid there, willing sleep to find me, I silently wept. I yearned for Jamie, for the comfort of his arms around me. The comfort of feeling safe, no matter the conflicts around us. I missed my husband, but no one in this century could understand that. I was grieving with my entire being, but I wasn’t allowed to show it.

I knew I needed sleep. Getting rest was important for my unborn child. My mind flitted to my other child. Faith. Perhaps she had finally met her father. He promised me that he would find me in the next life. I had no doubt that he would find our child as well. I almost felt comfort knowing that they were together. He had Faith, I had our second child.

The world was just too unfair to have let all four of us be together.

In sleep that night, they came to me.

I walked down a hazy corridor. It looked like a hospital. The same hospital I’d been in a week ago. I wandered down the hall, looking in empty room after empty room. I wondered why I was there. What was the significance of this hallway? As I got close to the last of the doors, a small red-headed child peeked out of the door.

I froze as I stared at her. Red curls covered her head. She wore an odd frock for a baby of nearly two years. A large smile crossed her sweet face as she looked up at me.

“Mama!”

I gasped as she looked at me with such intensity. She knew for certain that I was her mother. My mind jumped to the memory of the baby I’d held with red hair dusting her head. The baby I’d held who’d already passed on before she’d even been born. Her eyes held mine as she stood firm in the doorway.

“Mama,” she said again, seemingly trying to tell me more this time.

I knelt down in front of her, reaching my hands out to grasp her arms. “Yes?” I asked.

“Da here.”

“What?” I tried to understand her meaning. “What do you mean, Darling?”

Her head inclined toward the room behind her. “Da! Da here!”

I glanced over at the bed. The curtain was pulled to provide a modicum of privacy. All I could see was the patient’s feet. Looking back at the child in front of me, she nodded at me.

“Da!” she said again.

A knot of anticipation formed in my stomach. I stood up and walked slowly further into the room. My steps were slow, moving me at a glacial pace. I thought I knew what I’d find, but I didn’t want to be wrong.

I gently pulled back the curtain. A familiar mop of red hair shone against the stark white pillowcase. I gasped so loudly that I woke.

I sat up, shaking my head, clutching my chest. It had felt so real. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. I tucked my legs up, curling around them. My head rested on my knees as I sobbed. More than ever before, I wanted Jamie’s arms to come around me and tell me that this was the dream. He was here and I was alright.

But he wasn’t here. I was alone.

Well, not completely alone.

“I promise, whatever happens you’ll never be alone again,” he’d promised me. In a way, he’d been right. It just wasn’t the way I'd imagined. The way I yearned for at the moment.

My hand laid against my stomach. It was still flat. Aside from the knowledge that our child was there, you’d never know. I racked my brain for prayers Jamie used to say. I needed this child to survive. We both did. I needed this child.

When I woke up the next morning, I realized I’d cried myself to sleep. Slowly, reluctantly, I rose from my bed and dressed. It was such a fast process again. And yet, I missed the layers. I never thought I’d miss the corsets, the shifts, multiple layers that sometimes restricted movements. Right now, I’d give anything to have them back. It would mean I still had Jamie.

Brushing a hand down my front, I took a deep breath and left my room. I descended the stairs slowly, not entirely wishing to start my day. But I knew that if I didn’t come out of my room, Frank would likely come find me.

As I walked past the Reverend’s office, I heard Frank’s voice. I glanced in to see Frank on the phone. He was making travel plans. My stomach turned. I wasn’t ready to leave Scotland.

Closing my eyes, I moved away from the doorway to the office. An inviting smell lured me toward the kitchen. As I got closer to the room, I could hear Mrs. Graham talking to the Reverend.

“I think we should show it to her,” she said. I froze, knowing almost for certain her referred to me.

“There’s no reason to assume that she knows anything about this,” Wakefield replied.

“But what if she does? They canna say who this person is. What if she knows him?”

“What if she doesn’t and ye just stir up painful memories for her?”

Mrs. Graham huffed. The sound of dishes clanking together echoed from the kitchen.

When Reverend Wakefield spoke again, his voice was softer this time. “She just gave up on her delusion. She just agreed to resume her life with her husband. He’s making plans for their new life as we speak. There’s no reason ye need to bring it up.”

Mrs. Graham sighed. “Alright. I’ll no’ say anything to her.”

“Thank ye.”

Deciding that I’d eavesdropped enough, I walked into the kitchen. They both looked up at me. Mrs. Graham flashed me a kind smile. Reverend Wakefield looked uneasy as he shuffled around papers on the table. He shoved the newspaper under his plate. I wondered if whatever they were hiding from me was in today’s paper. I’d almost forgotten how quickly news travelled in these days.

Mrs. Graham set a plate of food in front of me at the table. “Do you know who Frank is on the phone with?” I asked.

“I believe he was trying to secure some plane tickets to Boston,” Wakefield informed me.

I nodded, silently acknowledging.

“Did ye sleep well?” Mrs. Graham asked.

For the first time this morning, I reflected on the dream from the night before. Not feeling like I could expand upon that, I lied. “Of course!”

She smiled back at me. “Good.”

My mind lingered on those images though. The small child in the doorway of a hospital room. Faith, no doubt. And Jamie, unconscious in a modern hospital bed. It was a painful image. Tormenting. My hands started to shake as I replayed it all.

I reached out for the juice in front of me, but my shaking hands knocked it over. The beverage quickly ran, spreading across the table. I jumped up, as did Reggie, both of us scurrying to sop up the juice. Moving his plate out of the way, the newspaper fell to the floor beside him. Mrs. Graham rushed over with a towel, effectively cleaning up the mess.

I bent down to pick up the papers that had fallen to the ground. My knees gave out and I collapsed on the floor as a familiar set of eyes stared up at me from the paper. I moved everything out of the way, wanting to get a better look. The picture looked just like the one they’d taken of me. Fear, confusion, and a pervasive feeling of sadness were clear, even in a grainy black and white picture in the paper.

I gasped loudly, clutching the paper tighter. Mrs. Graham looked over at me. “Claire, are ye alright?”

I ignored her questions. My mind was reeling too fast to make any sort of explanation. It wasn’t possible. He was 200 years in the past. No doubt, laying dead on a battlefield. How was his likeness captured and printed in a modern Inverness newspaper? There was just no way.

My eyes finally tore from the paper to look up at the other two. They both had questioning looks on their faces. Mrs. Graham looked a bit righteous while Reggie almost looked afraid. “What is this?” I asked. My mind wasn’t ready to read the article that might just tell me.

Mrs. Graham bent down until she was at my level. “Do ye know this man?”

“What is happening?” I pressed. I couldn’t tell her who I thought he was until I knew for sure.

Wakefield sighed, his hand covering his face. Mrs. Graham looked more sympathetic. “After ye came back, Claire, people started to wonder where ye’d been, ye see?” I nodded. I hadn’t told my story to anyone but Mrs. Graham and Frank. Though Frank had surely told Reggie. “With yer disappearance at the stones, and then turning back up on a road coming from there, well, people were curious.” She took a deep breath before she continued. “Well, someone went back to Craigh na Dun, wondering if something had really happened there. As they got to the top of the hill, they found this man laying in the center of the circle.”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. I stared back down at the picture, noting the fear again. It was him. But how?

Mrs. Graham continued. “According to the article, he was very gravely injured and they took him to the hospital.”

“He was injured?” I cried.

She nodded, an unsure look crossing her face as she took in my expression.

I jumped up, feeling true motivation for the first time since I’d come through the stones again. “I have to go.” I clutched the paper in my hand, stomping toward the front door.

“What? You can’t go!” Reggie called.

“I have to.”

“Why?”

I turned around and held out the picture for them. “Because this man is my husband.” Reggie went a bit white, glancing back toward his office where Frank was. On the other hand, Mrs. Graham smiled, almost triumphantly.

“I’ll take ye,” she offered.

Reggie protested more as the two of us ran from the house. We were in her car as he still called to us. I couldn’t be stopped. If it was possible that Jamie was here, I was getting to him, no matter the cost.

She drove slower than I would have. Perhaps that was safer. I felt desperate, wishing all other cars were off the road. Could it really be possible? Could he really be here? But how?

I remembered begging him to come with me. He’d told me his destiny was on Culloden Moor. But how was he in the newspaper in 1948? I wanted answers. And more than anything else, I wanted this all to be real.

When we got to the hospital, I ran from the car. My shoes were still a bit unfamiliar to me. I tripped slightly, catching myself on another car.

“Ye might want to slow down,” Mrs. Graham advised from behind me. I waved my acknowledgment, slowing down only slightly.

We raced to the front desk. I slammed my hands down on the desk, stopping myself. “Where is he?” I don’t know why I thought that was enough. The nurse looked at me in utter confusion. “The man they found at the stones. The unnamed man. Where is he?”

A doctor standing behind her turned his head at my outburst. “Ma’am, I’m afraid that’s no’ information we can be sharing.”

I flattened the paper on the desk, showing it to them. “He’s my husband! This man from the paper, he’s my husband. I need to see him!”

“Yer...husband?” The doctor asked. I nodded insistently. His eyes narrowed at me. It was clear the moment he recognized me. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we canna let ye go see him.”

I groaned loudly. “Look, I know quite well you think I’m crazy, but I’m not. That man is my husband and I need to see him. I know you recognize me. I was the woman that was here just last week after being found out there too. Which means that I know what I’m fucking talking about. That man is my husband and I demand that you tell me where he is.”

The doctor looked at me, scrutinizing me. He shook his head to himself. “I’m sorry. I know that you believe this to be true, but I’m afraid I can’t let you see him.” He walked away, still shaking his head.

Tears were swimming in my eyes. I wondered if anyone would stop me if I simply started going room to room, looking for him. My cheeks were growing wet as Mrs. Graham’s hand patted my shoulder. I shook my head, trying to decide what to do next.

“Room 233.”

My head whipped over to the nurse behind the desk. “I’m sorry?”

She looked both ways before looking at me again. “The man in the paper, the one you’re looking for. He’s in Room 233.”

My tears flowed faster as I reached across the desk and grabbed her hands. “Thank you! Oh my goodness, thank you so much.”

She nodded kindly, squeezing my hand. Her head tilted toward the right, telling me which way to go. I was off before she could tell me again, Mrs. Graham following in my steps. I found the right room quickly — even if it felt like a hundred years. Pausing, my hand hovered over the knob.

“Go on,” Mrs. Graham encouraged. I looked over at her and she shot me a bright smile, nodding for me to go in.

“What if it’s not him?” I whispered. My stomach tightened, my heart racing. “It’s impossible for him to be here.”

She grabbed my hand, gently taking the paper from me. Holding it up to me, she showed me the picture. “Is this him?” I stared at the face looking out at me. I knew those eyes, that hair, that face.

“Yes.”

“Then go on.”

I took a deep breath, nodding, somewhat to myself. My hand turned on the knob and the door was opening, even if my mind seemed a step or two behind. The scene when I entered was just like my dream. A pulled curtain. Only feet visible. I prayed the rest of the dream followed — that I’d pull back the curtain and it would really be him.

I crept closer, a strong wave of anxiety taking over me. I wanted to turn back. I couldn’t be disappointed if I never looked. Turning back, I looked to Mrs. Graham for help. She stood out of the room, just past the doorway. I knew what she was doing. She was giving me space.

“Can you look?” I whispered.

“But I don’t know what yer man looks like.”

“Just look and see if he looks like the man in the picture.”

She shot me a look, but agreed nonetheless. Walking forward, she went past me and moved around the curtain. I held my breath. She came back around and nodded to me. “It’s the man from the paper. He’s asleep, but it’s him. I’m sure of it.”

I breathed out a sigh, though I didn’t know if it was anxiety or relief. Mrs. Graham left me alone again. Laying a hand on my stomach, I reminded myself — not all alone. My hand shook as I reached for the curtain. Gently, holding my breath, I pulled it back. I vaguely heard the scratching sound of the rings against the bar. But my eyes had locked on the man in the bed and nothing else mattered. I stumbled forward, crying out loudly. My hand clapped over my mouth as I stared down at him.

“How are you here?” I asked his unconscious form. I bent down, grabbing his hand. Furrowing my brows, I decided I wanted proof that it was him. Looking over my shoulder, I checked that the coast was clear before pulling down the neck of his hospital gown. A soft gasp echoed from me as I spotted the scar from the gunshot wound I’d patched up the day I met him. I looked next at his hand — the one I’d mended after Wentworth.

Tears were fully flowing from my eyes as the impossible laid in front of me. I sat on the edge of his bed, clinging to him, fully afraid that he’d disappear. Or worse, that I’d wake up.

I sat there for a long time, simply staring at him. My hand drifted up, grazing his cheek.

Slowly, his eyes started to flutter open. Deep blue eyes stared up at me. He wasn’t focused yet. I wondered how long he’d been here, how conscious he’d been. Now, I wished a doctor could tell me the extent of his injuries. Sooner than I expected, his eyes started to focus on me.

“Claire?”

I smiled widely, tears leaking from my eyes again. “It’s me.”

His face contorted, closing his eyes. Hands came up and covered his face.

“Jamie,” I tried. His hands came down and he looked at me. “I promise you I’m here.” I squeezed his hand and he jumped a little. His eyes locked on my hand over his.

“Sassenach?” Disbelief was clear on his face.

I reached my hand out to brush the hair from his face. “Jamie, I’m here. I’m real.” I choked out a watery laugh. “Though I don’t know how you are.”

“Ye’re real?” he asked, shock in his voice.

“I’m real.”

His hand I was holding turned and clenched mine tightly in his. The other hand lifted weakly off the bed, trying to touch my face. I could tell he had very little strength as it fell back to the bed. Grabbing his other hand, I lifted it for him, cupping it to my face. He gazed at me in wonder, his thumb stroking my cheek.

“Mo nighean donn.” He sobbed slightly, tears streaming down his face. “But ye went back.”

I nodded, closing my eyes and forcing more tears out. “I did. But, Jamie, look around. You’re in the 20th century.”

His eyes moved around the room, suddenly remembering where he was. “Aye. So that’s where I am, then?”

“How long have you been here?”

Jamie shook his head. “I dinna ken exactly.” His eyes drifted closed as a pained look covered his face. “Someone found me and started yelling. I was verra confused as to what was happening. They moved me from the hill into some carriage or such.”

“A car?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Well, I dinna ken. I was in and out of it a lot.” A dark look crossed his face. “Rather like my transfer to the abbey.” I nodded, not needing to acknowledge any more of that time in our past. “Then I was here, though I didna ken where here was, exactly. Even barely conscious, they asked me all sorts of questions I couldna answer.” He chuckled to himself. I almost swooned at the sound. “I kept wishing ye were here to answer them.”

I squeezed his hand. “I’m here now, my love.”

He shook his head in awe as he stared at me. “I thought I’d ne’er see ye again, Sassenach.”

I swallowed harshly. “I know.” My hand cupped his face.

Jamie took a deep breath. “Next time I came to, I was here, in this bed. I’m still no’ so sure where I am.” He smiled broadly at me. “Though I dinna care, so long as ye’re here.”

“Well, I can tell you where you are. You’re in a hospital in Inverness.” I looked behind me before continuing. “In the year 1948.”

His eyes went wide. “They worked,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

He paused, breathing in and out deeply. “I was spared,” he told me in a small voice. My eyes widened. “I went back to fight, as I said I would.” I felt my face fall. His hand held mine tighter. “It was as ye always said it would be.” I looked down, unable to hold his gaze. He swallowed before continuing with his story. “I was on the battlefield and...well, I was hurt.”

My head flew back up. “Where?” Hands moved across his body, trying to find his injury.

His hands stopped mine. He brought them up to his lips, kissing the backs of my hands. “I think I’m alright. Either that, or I died and this is heaven.”

“Jamie.”

He pulled the blanket back and his gown up, revealing the massive cut across his thigh. I let out a small cry, my fingers hovering above the mark.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.”

I could see where the modern surgeons had no doubt tried to fix his leg. Suddenly, I turned to the end of his bed, reaching for his file. I scanned it all, reading all they’d done to save him.

“What is that?” he asked.

“It tells me all they’ve done to treat you.” I was looking specifically for something to treat an infection. I released a small “aha” when I finally found it. Penicillin. Last doctor’s report had shown healing. My heart soared. I put the file back where I found it and turned back to him. “What happened next?”

He reached for me. I scooted closer, putting both my hands in his. “Rupert found me,” he continued.

“He wasn’t mad?” I recalled his face as he’d seen us standing over Dougal’s body. My head shook at the memory.

“He told me he wouldna leave me there. So he took me and there were many of us gathered in a small barn. But eventually the British found us.”

My breath caught as he said it. I knew he was alive and in front of me (unless it was just a dream) but I was somehow still scared for him. He told me the rest of the story of how he was spared due to the debt owed by the boy he’d let go near Carryarick. The cart they’d started to send him back to Lallybroch on had taken off, but quickly, the driver had stopped to relieve himself. Taking advantage of not being terribly far from the moor and not being truly on their way, Jamie convinced the driver to take him to the stones instead.

“He was verra confused, but it was closer than Lallybroch and I dinna think he wanted to be caught wi’ me,” Jamie explained. “He all but carried me up to the stone circle and left me there.”

“Why?”

He stared at me for a moment. “I kent I wasna going to live. And I didna want to die in the back of a cart, being hauled off like swine. I wanted to go peacefully where I could feel close to ye.”

I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes again. “Jamie.”

“I was right by the middle stone. I was weak, so weak, but I reached my hand out and I touched it, just thinking of ye. I didna think it would work. That wasna why I did it, really. I just...I wanted to feel like I was wi’ ye.” He was getting choked up. “I felt like I was proper dyin’, even worse than my leg was doing. But then when I looked up, I was in the same place. Until the strangely dressed men found me, I had no inclination that anything had happened,” Jamie explained. I leaned forward, cupping his face in my hands and pressing my forehead to his. “I just wanted to see ye again,” he whispered.

“I know what you mean. It’s taken every ounce of strength I’ve had to not run right back to find you,” I informed him.

“Ye were right to stay here,” he replied. “Tis what’s best for ye.” A few emotions crossed his face in rapid succession. Joy. Disbelief. Worry. I knew what was on his mind before his hand moved to my stomach. “Tis best for the bairn.”

I laid my hand over his, pressing it further against me. “But you’re here now.” He glanced up at me. “So now, I can accept that.” I smiled at him. For the first time it occurred to me what his presence here could really mean. We could be a family. Just like we’d always wanted.

My emotions were building within me. Tears had varied between a steady flow and a slow trickle, but they’d always been leaking from my eyes. Suddenly, unable to hold back anymore, I leaned forward and hugged him to me. My arms wrapped around him tightly, like I was afraid he’d disappear. Truthfully, I was a bit afraid.

He was weak, but his arms came around me and held me back. I could feel his soft sobs as we held each other, as we held a recaptured future.

Slowly, I pulled back. “I’ve spent a bit over a week back here and I’ve been trying to imagine a life without you.” A sob cut me off.

“Sassenach,” he whispered, running his thumb along my cheek.

“I couldn’t do it, Jamie. I love you too much. I didn’t want to imagine it. People kept pushing me back toward my old life, but it wasn’t what I wanted. Or worse, what I needed. I need you. You and me. And our child. That’s all I need,” I promised him.

“That sounds like a dream,” he agreed.

“But it doesn’t have to be a dream anymore,” I reminded him. “You’re here. We’re in the same time. And we can be a family. We can have all we ever wanted, Jamie.”

His inner conflict was clear on his face. “This isna my time.”

“You helped me when I was out of my depth in the 18th century. Do you not think I’d do the same for you?”

He didn’t answer, but he looked a bit thoughtful.

I grabbed his hands again, squeezing tightly. “Jamie, if you go back, you’d be a wanted man. A traitor to the crown. If they find you, they’ll kill you.” His brow furrowed. “But if you stay here, we could be together. We could be safe. Our child could be raised by both of us. We could be a family. We...” I cut myself off, taking a deep breath. “We could be happy.”

Jamie opened his mouth to reply but I talked over him.

“Please, just think about it. You still have to heal, so you have time before a decision has to be made.”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. I started to question it all — our marriage, the depths of his love for me, the supposedly unbreakable bond between us. What if I had it all wrong?

“Claire,” he rasped. “Ye ken I want all that. I want nothing more than that.” He looked up at me, a vulnerable expression on his face. “But I dinna ken how to be in this time. I dinna want to make yer life harder or our bairn’s life harder.”

I shook my head. “You must know that I would take a hard life with you over an easy life with anyone else.” I let out a breath. “But, I promise you, it won’t make it harder. Living without you — that’s what would make my life hard. Growing up without a father — that’s what would make our child’s life hard.”

Jamie’s face hardened a bit. “But ye have a life here — one I dinna fit into. What about…” he sighed, “What about Frank?”

“I chose you over him once before,” I reminded him. “What makes you think I wouldn’t do so again? Jamie, I’m carrying your child. If you’re here, why would I raise them with anyone else? You are my life, Jamie. You’re my home. And maybe this home isn’t lost anymore.”

Tears glistened in his eyes again. “Ye’d really want me here?”

I didn’t know if words would be enough to reassure him. Instead, I pressed my lips to his desperately, trying to show him what I meant. A similar desperation radiated from him as he held me closely, returning the kiss.

I broke away, resting my forehead against his. “It’s you and me, you hear?”

“You and me,” he repeated. “And our family.”

I let out a soft sob. “Exactly.”

And in that moment, it all clicked together. The future we thought we’d given up was back in our reach. It would take some figuring out, but I knew we could do it. The misery I’d felt in the last week was nothing compared to the elation flowing through me as I laid my head against Jamie’s shoulder while he held me. Neither of us could let the other go.

The first time I willingly released him was when the doctor came in to check on him. I thoroughly interrogated the man to get a good indication of Jamie’s health. He informed me that they’d cleaned and stitched his wound, giving him regular doses of penicillin to prevent infection. He was starved (which I already knew he would be) and they were trying to slowly build back up his nutrients and rehydrate him. The doctor seemed optimistic, even if he thought Jamie’s leg would take a long time to heal. I didn’t care so much — neither did Jamie — so long as it would, in fact, heal. I could see the thought of an amputation like Ian’s floating in Jamie’s eyes.

I hated that Jamie wasn’t my patient. That he was under someone else’s care. But this doctor seemed to know what he was talking about, as well as care about Jamie’s outcome. I didn’t care for the doctors who’d treated me upon my return. But this one, I liked. As long as he told me I wasn’t going to lose Jamie again, I was good with him.

Jamie was exhausted and I could tell. I encouraged him to sleep and promised I wouldn’t leave. Once he was fully out, I finally remembered Mrs. Graham. She was sitting in a chair just outside the room.

“I’m so sorry!” I cried, walking halfway to her. She jumped up and met me in the middle. “I forgot.”

She smiled at me kindly. “Ye have nothing to be sorry for, my dear. So it was indeed him?”

I returned her smile, nodding. “It is. It still feels impossible, but it’s him.” We walked back into the room together when I felt an almost magnetic force pulling me back to him. I took the chair next to his bed and held his hand as he slept. I started to weep when I saw the corner of his mouth pull up into a smile in his sleep. “I’m still half convinced this is a dream.”

Mrs. Graham shot me a sympathetic look. “I’m awake, and I can promise ye it’s no’.”

I looked from Jamie and back to her. Finally putting it all together, I told her about my dream from the night before. I shook my head as I got to the end. “It was almost prophetic.”

“Ye were close to leaving Scotland, were ye no’?” I nodded. “He’s been here for days, Claire. Perhaps yer child was really reaching out to ye. Making sure ye found each other again.”

I gaped at her. “You really believe that?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I think there is something that brought ye to him before. And I’d be willing to bet that same something brought him to ye this time. Fate. Destiny. The universe. Who knows? But something wanted ye to find each other. That’s what I know.”

“Thank you,” I choked out.

She squeezed my shoulder. “Ye’ve been given a gift, Claire. I ken just by looking at ye that ye’re no’ about to squander it.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m certainly not.”

She took a seat in the other chair in the room. We sat there quietly for a while, absorbing the peace in the room. Jamie slept soundly, no doubt feeling more at ease than he had in a very long time. I almost felt like I could sleep myself.

A loud set of footsteps sounded through the hall. It grabbed both of our attention. We glanced at each other before looking toward the door.

“Claire!”

My eyes went wide. Frank. In my haste to see Jamie, I’d forgotten all about him.

“Claire! Where are you?”

I was jumping out of my chair to run out to the hall when he stormed past the room. He caught sight of me and froze. I moved to my right, trying to block Jamie from view as much as I could. His eyes landed on him anyway.

I walked forward, sliding the curtain behind me. “Frank, I think we need to talk.”

“Who the hell is that?” he demanded, pointing to the curtain.

I took a deep breath. As I prepared to tell him the full truth, Mrs. Graham rounded the curtain. “I think this is a conversation for another place.”

“I agree,” I replied.

“Claire, you need to tell me what the hell is going on. And right now. I think I’ve been very understanding lately, but enough is enough.”

I was frozen. I didn’t know how to explain it well enough to Frank. It was quite clear he didn’t believe where I actually was when I’d disappeared. With Jamie here, my explanation was even flimsier.

“Claire?” A different voice called my name. My heart clenched. It was a situation I desperately wanted to avoid.

I saw the anger in Frank’s eyes a second too late. He stormed over and threw back the curtain. It wasn’t Frank I was looking at, though. It was Jamie.

His face contorted, fear taking over quickly. I ran to his side, stepping between him and Frank. “It’s not him,” I promised. “He was dead, remember?” Jamie’s eyes didn’t leave Frank. “Look at me.” He didn’t. “Jamie, look at me!” Reluctantly, he moved his gaze to me. “That’s not Black Jack. That’s Frank.”

“Black Jack?” Frank asked.

I looked briefly over my shoulder. “I told you about my encounters with that horrendous man.”

“Claire, what the hell is going on here?” Frank demanded again. I saw Jamie stiffen at Frank’s tone. His good hand clenched into a fist. I laid my hand on it, trying to ease his mind. I left my hand over his, turning to look at Frank.

“Frank, I’m afraid I won’t be able to go to Boston.”

“Excuse me?” He nearly laughed as he said it. “You promised me.”

“I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to do that anymore.” I knew he needed an explanation, but I wasn’t sure how to do so.

“Because of him? This is him, huh?”

“It is.”

Frank glared at me. “You said you were in the 18th century.”

“I was.”

“You said he was dead in the Rising.”

“I thought he was.”

“Then what the fuck is he doing here?”

“I saw it in the paper today. They found him at the stones. Just like me,” I told him.

“So what about your whole story of sending you back for a better life?” Frank questioned.

“Aye, I did that.” I turned to look at Jamie. He was glaring at Frank. “I ne’er thought the stones would work. But they did and I’m here.”

Frank let out a disbelieving laugh. “You promised me, Claire. You came back to me. You promised me we’d raise the child together. As ours.” I felt Jamie’s hand tighten against mine.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I have to break that promise.” He shook his head at me. “I can’t leave him.”

“You can. I was your husband first. Send him back to his own time and keep your damn promise.”

“Let me rephrase that, then. I won’t leave him. I’ve made this choice once before, Frank. You or him. And it was him. Making that choice again, it’ll be the same result. I choose him. I’m having his child. I wouldn’t have even come back, Frank. I’m sorry, but this is my choice.” I felt bad being so blunt, but nothing and no one was going to separate us again.

“Were you lying then? I knew the time travel was a lie,” Frank accused.

“It wasn’t a lie!”

“Look at this!” Mrs. Graham cried, drawing all of our attentions. “Look at what they found him with.” She presented the room with Jamie’s personal effects. His bloodied kilt. His ruined shirt. His sporran, full of 18th century tokens. “Goes rather well wi’ what they found Claire wearing, does it no’?”

Jamie and I both stared Frank down, daring him to contradict us.

He shook his head. “Claire, you’re my wife.”

“That’s the problem, Frank, because I’m his wife too.” I held out my hands, both rings showing. I swallowed thickly, touching the gold ring. Two fingers closed around it, carefully pulling it from its place. I walked closer to Frank. Holding it out for him, I waited for him to hold out his hand. “Frank, take it.”

“No. I’m not giving in that easily.”

“Frank, you’re fighting for something you already lost. I’m sorry, but I can’t go back to the life we had. I think you know I only agreed to go back because I felt I had to. That I felt I had no choice. We made sense to me at some point, but that point is over. We’ve spent years without each other. Do you really want me to be married to you because you forced me to be?”

He stared down at the ring in my outstretched hand. I could see how angry he was as his head shook. Finally, his hand grabbed the ring almost violently. He shot a look past me to Jamie. “You goddamned bloody bastard,” he spat. With one final look at the room, he stomped away. Mrs. Graham walked out after him. I suspected she was making sure he was really leaving. I closed my eyes, breathing out a sigh of relief.

I turned back to Jamie, reaching a hand to his cheek. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, seemingly stunned. “All that time,” he breathed. I leaned closer to him. “Every time we encountered him. He looked...he looked…”

“Yes, he looked like Frank,” I finished for him.

“How did ye…”

“That wasn’t necessarily a good indicator, but they were different,” I promised Jamie. “Very different.”

“Are ye sure, though? About yer choice.”

I sat down on his bed again, taking his face in my hands. “When you left me at the stones the first time, I felt perhaps a bit conflicted. I wanted to be able to tell Frank what happened to me. But not enough that I wanted to go back to tell him. I wanted to be with you more than anything in the world.”

“More than hot baths,” he reminded me with a grin.

“Exactly,” I agreed, remembering the perks of the 20th century that I’d shared with him as we rode to Lallybroch that first time. I leaned in to kiss him quickly. “But this time, this time is different. He knows what happened. He knows the choice I’m making. And more than ever, I’m sure of my choice. You are the man I love, James Fraser.” I took his arm, laying our wrists together. “Blood of my blood.”

He smiled, leaning his forehead to mine. “And bone of my bone.”

* * *

I didn’t want to leave for the night. My arms were resting on the side of the bed, my head leaning against Jamie’s side. His hand stroked my hair, lulling me into the sweetest stupor. We were sitting in a comfortable silence. It was comforting enough just to be together. In the short time we’d been apart, too many painful memories had formed. Neither of us felt quite strong enough to spend all our time discussing them. I wasn’t sure Jamie would ever feel comfortable discussing them, except abstractly.

“Ye should go home,” Jamie whispered as my eyes started to flutter closed.

“I don’t have a home here.”

“Well ye must have been staying somewhere,” he reasoned. “Ye look exhausted, Sassenach. Go back and sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Jamie sighed. “Why?”

“Well, for one, I was staying with Frank’s friend, so I don’t really think I’ll be very welcome there,” I informed him. I took a deep breath as I thought of my other reasons. “But also, if I go somewhere else, I’m not sure I’ll believe that this wasn’t a dream. I’m scared if I wake up without you…”

Jamie nodded, his hand smoothing back my curls. “I understand. Truly.” His eyes met mine and I could see the sincerity there. “I just want ye to get some sleep. Ye need to sleep somewhere nicer than this.”

“Up until the past week or so, I was sleeping in a rebel army camp,” I reminded him. “This feels like a five star hotel.”

His brow furrowed at my comparison, but he pushed on. “Exactly. Ye were in terrible conditions. Ye need to be in a bed or such. Somewhere comfortable. What about the bairn?”

I rolled my eyes. “Jamie, I’m not going.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. Well come over to my right side.” He started scooching in his bed, closer to the left side. I watched him, unsure of what he really meant. Once he was in place, he patted the space next to him. I smiled, walking around the bed and laying down in the spot he created. His arm came around me, holding me close. “Go to sleep, a nighean. I’ll be here.”

“What if a doctor comes in and wants to send me home?”

“I’ll start pitching a fit and they willna ken what to make of it,” Jamie teased.

I picked my head up to look at him. “That sounds like a good plan.” He chuckled, his eyes regaining a bit of the sparkle they once had. His head came down, meeting me for a short kiss. I snuggled in closer to him, knowing almost for certain, I was going to get the best sleep I’d had in awhile.

* * *

Miraculously, no one tried to kick me out. When I woke, Jamie was asleep next to me, his arm still around me. I had been right. I wasn’t sure I’d gotten a night of sleep that good since we’d left Lallybroch to meet the army.

I stayed where I was in Jamie’s hospital bed, far too comfortable in his arms to move. My mind was moving quickly though, jumping from thought to thought like a frantic trapeze artist. It was going to be up to me to make sure we had a future in this time. I felt confident that the two of us were strong enough to handle most things. We’d already proven that many times over. But Jamie was out of his depth here. I made a silent list in my head of all the things I needed to figure out. Money. A place to live. Jobs. Clothes.

The first thing to do was make sure Frank hadn’t cleared out my account with my inheritance from Uncle Lamb. From the stories Mrs. Graham had told me, it seemed Frank held out hope that I’d return. One call could answer that question.

The next thing to do was find clothes. I didn’t have very much and I didn’t particularly want to return to the Reverend’s manse. Jamie would need modern clothes most desperately.

Finding a place to live was going to be difficult, but imperative. Maybe Mrs. Graham could help me come up with some options. I got the feeling that she had the lay of the land in Inverness.

I felt confident that I could likely get a job as a nurse again. I still had the skills — had perhaps even advanced them in my time away. I had been acting as a full surgeon in my years in the past. That was at least one part of my life I’d kept up with. Hopefully some doctor or hospital would need a nurse.

I was going to do all I could to make sure that Jamie didn’t regret staying in this time. We only had so many months to get our lives together before we were bringing another one into it. By my estimation, it would be around November. It was still April, so we had plenty of time. Theoretically. A lot was up in the air. I hoped our “we’re strong enough” attitude stuck around in the 20th century.

I felt Jamie start to rouse next to me. Looking over, I relished the familiar sight of him waking next to me. His eyes opened and he smiled at the sight of me. “Good morning,” I greeted.

“Aye, a good one indeed.”

I laughed. “How are you feeling?”

He leaned over and placed a kiss against my shoulder. “The best I’ve felt in a long time.” I glared at him, wanting an honest report. “I’m alright. Haven’t ye spouted the magic of modern medicine to me before? I’m fine.”

“You better be,” I replied, raising one eyebrow at him. He grinned, bringing me in for a kiss.

Now that he was awake, I felt the need to start my errands. I needed to get as much done as I could before he got released from the hospital. I wasn’t sure how long they’d keep him. Perhaps talking to the doctor was another thing to add to my list. I pulled myself from the bed, giving Jamie the whole space back.

“Okay,” I said, turning back to him. “I have some rather important things I need to do today. So, I am going to go do that, but I’ll come back, okay?”

Jamie nodded. “Alright. What are ye doing?”

“Well whenever you get out, you’re going to need clothes. Clothes that aren’t disgusting and torn.” He seemed unsure. “Look, it’s going to be a lot of change, but I promise, I’m going to help you through it. And I know —”

“Ye did it for me,” he replied. “I can do it too.”

My head tilted to the side as I looked at him, a smile spreading on my face. “Yeah, I did. At least you won’t have to wear a bloody corset.”

Jamie laughed, his head falling back against his pillow. “Thank goodness for small mercies.”

I walked closer to his bed again, running my hand through his hair. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Jamie nodded to me. “Alright. Be careful.”

I kissed him softly. “I will. You too.”

* * *

I stood in the middle of several racks of clothes, feeling utterly lost. I thought of Mrs. Fitz, who’d fashioned me in 18th century garb when I was new to Leoch. She’d made damn sure I was dressed sensibly for the Gathering. I thought of Jenny, too. She’d provided me with extra pieces when needed. A spare shift, an extra corset. It was what I had always imagined having a sister was like. But as I stood in front of 20th century clothes, I felt confused. I’d worn them for most of my life, but the last few years had fundamentally changed me. I thought back on the clothes I’d brought with me to Scotland originally. They were smart, sensible options. I always thought I looked good wearing them. But as I stood in the middle of a clothing store, nothing called out to me. Not even pieces I’d have worn before.

I decided to find Jamie clothes first. That would be easier. It was always easier for men to dress, no matter the century. They could wear a kilt and let their knees show, but good lord, if a woman did… Or now, they still had more freedom than the women did. Of course, that applied to more than just clothes. I shook my head, trying to refocus. I grabbed a few pairs of pants and several different shirts. A couple of blazers seemed like a smart choice as well. I eyed a hat for a moment before I decided to leave that up to Jamie.

“Do you want me to keep those at the front for you?” a kind saleswoman asked me.

I glanced at her, feeling thankful. “Yes, please.” I handed her the large bundle I’d acquired. I still needed to look for clothes for myself. I watched a woman who was browsing near me. It had been a couple of years since I’d left. Normally, fashion wouldn’t change all that much in that time. But I had to wonder if the years since the war had changed it at a faster pace. I looked back and forth between various outfits. The old Claire would have easily picked something and left. I didn’t know why I was having so much trouble.

The saleswoman from before walked by me again and I stopped her. “Excuse me.” She turned to look at me, a smile on her face. “I was hoping for some help.” She nodded, encouraging me to continue. “I know this might sound odd, but I’m just not sure what will suit me best anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and I saw a lightbulb go on. She took a step closer to me. “Are ye the woman from the paper?”

My eyes closed as I nodded.

“Is it true? That ye were wi’ the faeries?”

I breathed out a laugh. The woman’s intent face stared back at me. “More or less,” I replied. “I...was gone for awhile and the clothes I wore before just don’t feel right on me.”

She shot me a sympathetic smile. “I’m more than happy to help you, ma’am. Come right this way. We have a personal shopper in the back.”

“Oh, I don’t know that I need that.”

She waved me off. “Nonsense, this is exactly what she is for.” I was guided back to some room just off the main one. I saw two women talking closely as we entered the room. The saleslady cleared her throat and both women looked over. She put her hand on my shoulder. “I have a customer who is looking for some help. She’s…” she leaned closer to them, “...the woman from the paper.”

They seemed to know exactly what that meant as their eyes went wide. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss…”

“Claire,” I answered. The world knew me as Claire Randall, but I wanted to be Claire Fraser. Giving only my first name seemed easier.

“What seems to be the reason ye’re needing help?”

I cleared my throat, trying to decide how to answer. “I believe you know at least a bit about me. About my...disappearance. And when I came back...well, my clothes just don’t seem like me anymore. I’ve changed a bit, you see. I was hoping to find some pieces that are a bit more fitting to the woman I am now.” I watched as they appraised me for a moment. “I’m sorry, this is ridiculous. I’ll just go grab some things and be out of your hair.”

“No, don’t!” one of them called. I turned back. “This is exactly what we like to do.”

The saleslady left me with the other two and they asked me a bunch of questions I didn’t know how to answer about what I felt comfortable in, colors I liked to wear, fabrics that spoke to me.

The personal shopper — Martha, I think — introduced me to the other woman with her. She was a seamstress who worked in the store. The two women were very interested in finding me pieces I wanted and felt like myself in.

“People often think clothes are just clothes,” Martha said. “But it’s so much more than that. It’s how you express yerself to the world. And for many years during the war, we didn’t get very many choices in how we expressed that. But we’re starting to again. So, I am glad ye’re trying to listen to what you think fits for you.”

The seamstress pulled a sketch of a dress for me and, shockingly, I was sold from the moment I looked at it. It almost reminded me of the clothes I used to wear in Paris. Granted, it had several less layers and would have been considered incredibly inappropriate to wear then. But my eyes locked on it and I could picture myself in it — as Claire Fraser again. With their help, I walked away with several new outfits that I felt good about and a smile on my face.

Before I went back to the hospital, I stopped and changed from my sensible skirt and jumper I’d been wearing since the morning before. The dress was a big change, both in general dressiness and amount of skin showing. But for the first time in quite a while, I was starting to feel in charge of myself again. The war had taken more from me than my home and the people we’d lost. Wearing the dress made me feel daring again and I liked that. I put my coat back on over it, covering up the lower neckline and the straps that only covered a fraction of my shoulders. Compared to the clothes I’d worn in the 18th century, it was even less than a shift. But I liked it and felt like myself again.

I walked back into Jamie’s hospital room, bearing the purchases from earlier in the day. He lit up as I entered again. “Ye’re back!”

Putting the bags down, I walked over toward him, kissing him lightly. “I am. I had a productive morning too.” He nodded at me. “I got us both some new clothes.”

“Ah, good.”

“They’ll keep you in that gown until you leave the hospital, but it’s here when you need it.” I felt a nervous energy run through me as I started unbuttoning my coat. Jamie’s eyes followed me as I slowly stripped off my coat, revealing the new dress beneath it.

“Christ, Claire. What is that?”

I bristled a bit at this. I had been feeling a trifle nervous myself over the general revealingness of the dress, the fashionable sketches the seamstress had shown me notwithstanding. But Jamie’s reaction was making me feel defensive, and thus rebellious.

“It’s a dress,” I said as if it was obvious. “This is how women dress nowadays, Jamie.”

“It barely covers anything.”

“Well I rather liked it,” I replied, hoping for a casual tone. “I liked the way it looked on me.”

“Ye can see everything.”

“No you can’t.”

“Is this really how women dress these days?” Jamie asked, one brow raised.

“Sometimes. I’ll admit this is a bit fancier than everyday wear, but I wanted to put it on. The dress I was wearing when I met you — that you believed was a shift — was a common outfit to wear,” I informed him. I was feeling vulnerable and a bit disappointed. I knew it showed much more than typical 18th century dress, but I hoped Jamie would just appreciate the way I looked in it. My arms came up to cover myself a bit. “I suppose if you find it that abhorrent, I’ll just go change into something else.”

I reached for my coat, wanting to cover up more. “Sassenach, wait.” I paused, but didn’t turn to him. “Come here.” I looked over at him. “I’m sorry. Ye told me that it would be a lot of change and I need to remember that.” He reached his hand out to me. Reluctantly, I put my hand in his and let him pull me closer. “Tis a pretty dress, it’s just...less than I am used to. That’s all.”

“I know. And I should have kept that in mind. I just…” I breathed out a sigh, trying to explain it to him. “I just put it on and felt like I used to, rather than how I’ve felt since I got back — since the war started, really.”

His face fell. “I’m sorry for making ye feel bad.” He sighed. “Ye ken well I dinna always react well when I feel powerless.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “That’s not true. You were more or less powerless most of the time we were together. When you were a fugitive or when we were at the mercy of the war.” I reached up and cupped his face. “I wasn’t allowed to show any confusion or hardships I faced when I arrived in your time. In order to survive, I had to blend in. But you have me. I’ll not let anything bad happen to you. And anytime you feel a bit lost or confused or overwhelmed, I’ll be here to help.”

“I love ye, mo nighean donn,” he said. “And I promise ye, I’ll do my best to get used to all the changes.”

“You will,” I reassured him. “And I promise you that I’ll try not to throw big changes at you. Give me a moment and I’ll go change.”

“Dinna change,” he told me, holding onto my wrist. “Ye look — pretty doesna quite seem like enough.” I smiled, ducking my head a bit. “And if ye say that it’s no’ indecent, then I believe ye.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know it has a lot less layers and such,” I said, looking down at the dress. He nodded in agreement. I leaned closer to him, a devious look in my eyes. “But you know, that means it comes off a lot faster.”

Jamie’s eyes went comically wide. He crushed his mouth to mine, holding me close. I chuckled against his lips as he continued to kiss me. I returned it in kind, as my hand rested at his neck. It couldn’t go anywhere. We were in a hospital and Jamie was still too weak. But feeling that spark within me again was an amazing feeling.

I pulled back before someone walked in. Encouraging him to scoot over again, I sat in the space beside him, leaning into his side. His arm came around me as I asked him how his day had been so far. We sat there talking and I informed him of the progress I’d made today.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I noticed that he was asleep again. Pressing a kiss to his temple, I moved gently from the bed. I was almost in the chair when someone stopped in the doorway, clearly looking for me. Shooting a look over my shoulder at Jamie, I walked out into the hallway.

“Frank? What’s going on?”

“I was getting ready to go back to Oxford,” he told me. “I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind.”

I looked down at my feet. “I’m sorry, but no. I haven’t changed my mind.”

He was quieter today. “So it’s him, then?” He shook his head. “Do you think if you’d have come with me you would have been happy?”

My shoulders rose into a slow shrug. “I don’t know, Frank. I...I think probably not. I’d have put on a good face, but no, I don’t know that I would have been.” I hated the pain on his face. “I never wanted to hurt you. I hope you believe that. I just changed. We both did. The war changed us.”

“Do you think you could have forgotten him in time?”

I glanced over my shoulder to look back at Jamie’s sleeping figure. I shook my head. “That amount of time doesn’t exist.”

“Where will you go?” Frank asked.

“I’m not sure. For a bit now, I think we’ll stay here in Inverness.”

He nodded, not really meeting my gaze. “I never got rid of your things. I’ll send them to Reggie and you can get them from him.”

My hand reached out, but fell before I touched him. “Thank you, Frank.”

He looked up at me, pain clear on his face. “I love you, Claire.”

“I know.” He wanted me to say it back, but I couldn’t. Not meaning it the same way I had years ago.

With a final nod, he started to turn. “Goodbye, Claire.”

I leaned forward, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Goodbye, Frank.”

He walked away from me and I watched for a moment. Then, I turned back and resumed my place at Jamie’s side. His hand was sheltered in both of mine as I finally felt truly at peace.

Frank had gotten the truth of my disappearance — whether he accepted it or not. Jamie wasn’t dead, but was miraculously in my time and with me. He was going to live. We were going to be together and have our child.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I finally focused on how everything had taken shocking, but beautifully welcomed turns. For the first time since I’d met him, I didn’t have a question in the back of my mind of when or if I’d lose Jamie. He was here. And whole. And, blessedly, mine. That was all I’d ever wanted.

* * *

I walked through the orchard of death, a white shawl around my shoulders. He was there and I could feel it. But would I get there fast enough? There was no child to guide me to him this time. I had to find him on my own. In a pile of bodies, I saw my beloved. His eyes stared up at a starless sky. Bending down, I whispered to him, “Jamie, are you alive?”

His eyes continued to stare skyward. He didn’t say anything back.

I woke myself with a gasp. My hands went to my face, feeling wet cheeks. I breathed rapidly, trying to sort through my dream. The room was dark and suffocating.

Suddenly, a hand was at my back, rubbing in soothing circles. “Sassenach, are ye alright?”

Turning to my right, I saw him. He was still alive. He’d made it to my time. Made it to me. A soft, choked sob ripped from me as I threw myself at him. My arms wrapped around him, clutching him close. He pulled me in closer, holding me securely against him.

“I’m here, a nighean. Ye’re no’ alone. I’m here,” he cooed. “It was just another dream.” I nodded against him. “Was it the battlefield again?”

“Yes.”

He moved back from me only for a moment as he turned on the lamp next to him. Taking my hand in his, he placed it over his heart. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he reassured me that he was there, alive and well. I hated how the dreams plagued me. They’d been peppered across the few months we’d been back together.

“Ye’re no’ alone,” he whispered again.

And whether it was in response to my rapid heart rate or just to prove that I really wasn’t alone, the child within me kicked. I gasped softly, placing a hand on my belly. Grabbing Jamie’s hand, I put it there too, waiting and hoping for another kick. His eyes widened as he felt it too, a smile growing on his face. He leaned down and placed a kiss against my stomach, whispering quick words to our child.

“None of us are alone,” he said, looking back up at me.

“Exactly. And we never will be again,” I declared.

Jamie leaned forward, kissing me softly. “Exactly.” He reached to turn the lamp back off. “Now, let me hold ye as ye fall back asleep. Perhaps it will keep the nightmares at bay.”

I followed his suggestion, rolling on my side. His arms came around me, cradling my belly and securing me in his grasp. My eyelids quickly grew heavy again. I scooted back into him, getting as close as possible. I had vowed to never take his presence for granted. As I fell asleep, I felt the rightness in the world. For Jamie was with me. And that was enough.

#one quote one shot book 2 #outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #my writing

377 notes · View notes

magnoliasinbloom · 5 years ago

Text

12 Months

One Quote One Shot #2

AO3 :: Before

Thanks to @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed for organizing all of this - you are rockstars.

August

The heat is unbearable. They sleep with sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed, too hot even for the weight of cotton. Jamie sleeps without a stitch on, but Claire, growing sensitive about her body and her ever-expanding stomach, chooses one of his t-shirts. No matter how he tries to convince her that she is just as desirable now as she was when they first met, Claire is shy about the silvery lines crisscrossing her skin, the fleshiness of arms and legs.

The small oscillating fan they managed to fit in the corner of their bedroom moves lazily, blowing fresh air but not enough for a pregnant Claire. A drop of sweat trails from her temple down her cheek, but she is gone with sleep, oblivious to the world, snoring lightly. It’s nearly dawn; slanted bars of streetlight land on Adso’s sleeping form in front of the fan.

Jamie couldn’t say what had woken him; perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it was that feeling of things left undone. They have only several months left before the baby arrives; between getting ready for the bairn, his practice, and Claire’s job, there’s always something coming up. He thinks about rising for a drink of water, then decides it’s too hot to leave the relative coolness of their bedroom for the stifling air of the kitchen. Instead he turns his attention to Claire.

She lies on her side, one hand tucked beneath her head. Her curls are spread in a riot on the pillow, the shirt rucked up to her hips. He adores the way her lovely round arse (now rounder and plumper than ever) fits perfectly into the hollow of his thighs. She stirs suddenly, turning her head, her eyes opening sleepily to find his gaze on her. Claire presses closer to him, despite the heat.

She hears him whisper, “Mo airgeadach. My silver one. In the dark, you are white and silver; mo nighean donn is lost to the night.”

The light is growing stronger, and he spends a long time just looking down at her face, stroking it from temple to chin, drawing his thumb down the line of her throat and out along the wing of her collarbone. “God, I do love you,” he whispers, as though to himself.

“I know,” she mumbles. “I love you too.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #one quote one shot book 2 #jamie and claire #12 months august

245 notes · View notes

thebeautyis · 6 years ago

Note

New name, who dis??

#balfeheughlywed #asks

18 notes · View notes

wafflesetc · 5 years ago

Text

One Night

A one quote, one shot for book 2! A special thanks to @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed for putting this together. I want to *formally* apologize for not posting this on my original date, but I guess it is better late than never. Thank you to everyone for the warm welcome back into the writing fold, I hope you all enjoy this little one-shot.

Why I had let Geillis convince me to go out on a date was one thing. Why I had let Geillis to go out on a date with a man from a dating app called Tinder was a whole other issue I was not quite ready to fight. (Why had I allowed her?)

Rationally deep down I knew I had secluded myself. I was nearing three years since I had broken off my engagement. Three years since I had last even shared a piece of myself with a man. I had given Frank Randall all of myself while losing pieces of myself in the process.

I had been a nurse making her way through med school when he got a job at a highly esteemed university. I had given up my medical school dream and moved to another country for him. Six months into adjusting to my new life in Scotland, I had come home to find another woman in my bed. With my fiance.

Hastily packing my bags and running to my friend’s I thought my life and my career were over. Slowly over time, I had taken step after step to regain who I had been before my relationship. I applied back to medical school, finished my remaining classes, and earned a spot in a highly esteemed residency program. During the past three years, I had dived back into my studies and patients. Forgoing many social activities with friends, let alone trying to even find it within myself to date. But after months and months of a stubborn Scot pestering me, I caved.

Now sitting at the pub, I was reminded of all the turmoil that came with going out on a “first date.” Tale as old as time, it was the same again and again- broken hearts searching for their next beau, the man who just wants to get into someone’s pants on that particular night, or the man who couldn’t stop talking about himself. Somehow I had found a man who I suspected checked all three of those stereotypes tonight. And I couldn’t be bothered.

He was somewhere between telling me about that girl that had broken his heart and how this was his first step in getting back into the “dating realm”, but he had long lost me when he couldn’t stop talking about himself.

I swirled the amber fluid in my tumbler, staring down at the contents.

“And she got right back with the man. I tried to tell my mate that it would happen, and he encouraged me to try this app….” His voice was subdued. I could barely hear him above the other ramblings at the pub, “And it led me to you…”

Here it came, the invitation back to his flat. I could sense the sexual frustration oozing from him.

“It’s rather loud in here,” Suddenly his voice was confident and seemingly entertained, as if he just knew I was going to say yes to going home with him when I couldn’t even remember his name. “Would you like to take this back to my flat?”

I took the last swig of my whisky. “You are a rather lovely gent, but I had to admit… I didn’t want to come on this date nor do I even recall your name. I begrudgingly came to appease a friend of mine. I’d much preferred to have spent my night studying for my boards than be here over some shallow conversation when you are just trying to get in my pants for the night.” I set the glass firmly on the table. “So no, I would not like to take this back to your flat. There is a young blonde at the other side of the bar that has been admiring you all night, why don’t you try your luck with her?”

I could hear the nameless date choke on his breath. I smiled at him as he stood, taking his coat, and quietly pushing his chair in, slithering away like the slime that he was. Feeling empowered, I raised my glass to the bartender nodding my head, motioning for a refill on my beverage. He nodded back mouthing at me, “Just a minute.”

It was then out of nowhere, I felt a hand on the small of my back.

“Care for some company, Sassenach?” I could hear the thick Scottish accent and feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. I was in no mood to tell off another man.

“If you didn’t just hear me I told off the last man that I was with. I’d rather not have to do it to two men tonight.” At least I was being honest.

“Ye dinna even wish to hear me out, then?” He walked across the table and I took stock of his features. Even in the dimly lit bar I could tell that he was tall, built like a rugby player, and had the most Scottish head of red hair I had ever seen. But there was something in the way that he spoke to me, a playful banter, a confidence, and a gentleness all that the same time that I couldn’t quite shake.

“I have a feeling even if I tell you no, you will still let me, ‘hear you out.’” I quipped my best attempt at a Scottish accent.

“Ye are a witty one, are ye no’ Sassenach?” He took the empty seat across from me while the bartender set my drink down.

“I’d be more inclined to be witty if you were to tell me what Sassenach means.” I reached for the glass but the Scot was quicker snatching it before I could grab it. He attempted a wink but it was the farthest thing from a wink I had ever seen.

I could feel the blush rising in my cheeks, the damn man had already gotten me to smile.

“Ah so ye do smile.” He took a sip of my whisky. “Sassenach is a Scottish word, it means outsider. Ye are in Scotland and ye have an English accent.”

“I get it, I’m an outsider here, then?”

“Aye ye are.” He slid the drink across the table. “One that seems to have been set up on a date that ye dinna want to go on.”

“How did you know that?” I reached for my drink and took a sip as I watched him shake his head in amusement.

“I was sitting at the table behind ye, doing the same exact thing.”

“And what might that be?” I took another sip and raised my brow at the mysterious man in front of me.

“Being on a date that I dinna want to be on. My date couldna start talking about herself and yer date couldn’t stop talking about himself. Seems like they should have been on a date with one another.”

“I see.” I took a breath.

“I can sense that ye have a lot to say if given the chance and I wanted to give ye the chance.” He reached for my glass again, this time brushing his fingers over mine sending chills down my spine.

“Well, with my story and luck, I think it is safe to say that I am going to hell tonight for how I just treated that man.” I tried to quip my best sarcasm, but there was something about this man that made me want to open up to him.

“Between hell now, and hell later, Sassenach,” he said, his speech measured and precise, “I will take later, every time.” He reached for the drink, taking the last sip.

“I’m Jamie, Jamie Fraser. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He stuck his hand out and waited.

“I’m Claire, Claire Beauchamp.” I placed my hand in his knowing full well, my world was about to be changed forever.

#Outlander #Outlander fanfic #Outlander Fanficiton #One Shot One Quote #Jamie x Claire #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #myfic!#have some un beta'd garbage :)

217 notes · View notes

thelallybrochlibrary · 5 years ago

Note

I am looking for a fic where Claire is Laoghaire's new college roommate and meets Jamie. They fall in love, he breaks up with Laoghaire, Jamie and Claire end up together. I cannot find it! I think there were two parts.

Hi there @32374smanwdg!

It sounds like you’re looking for Back To You by @balfeheughlywed. You can find Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and the adjoining ficlets here.

Happy Reading!

#outlander #outlander fanfic #asks #fic: back to you #author: balfeheughlywed #librarian: julia #32374smanwdg

41 notes · View notes

saint-hildegard-of-bingen · 5 years ago

Text

Nizhóní (Nee-zhon-ee) One quote one shot book 2

So much gratitude to @balfeheughlywed and @notevenjokingfic for their work and efforts organizing this one shot one quote. My story is set in the beautiful southwestern US, an area where I spent four years studying and working with the Navajo. I am indebted to them for teaching me many life lessons. When I most recently visited the southwest, in October 2018, I felt inspired to write an OL fanfic set among the multi-layered beauty and culture of northern New Mexico and Arizona. The photos are (1) the area where I imagined this story taking place (you might spot me in the photo), and (2) the beloved Navajo woman who taught me about weaving (photo used with her permission). I extend special thanks to my dear friend @notevenjokingfic for her beta expertise! My assigned quote is in bold italics near the end of the story.

She knew it could happen. She just never believed it would happen. What young woman imagines herself newly pregnant and widowed at age 25?

But that is indeed the reality Claire Beauchamp Randall found herself in, shortly after she and her husband Frank became homesteaders in the New Mexico territory, in 1872. Frank’s death came suddenly, following an accident that occurred while he was cutting down a tree. Unbeknownst to him, the tree had several dead branches, one of which broke off with the first swing of his axe, knocking him forcefully to the ground. He never regained consciousness, and Claire surmised he had suffered an injury to his brain.

Screaming and running, she had no idea how she arrived at the nearest homestead. Out of breath, and barely able to get the words out, she fell into the outstretched arms of her neighbor. Glenna and Charles Fitzgibbons, the Scots couple who befriended her from the day she and Frank arrived, brought her into their home and she poured out the whole story. While Frank never warmed to them, Claire knew from the first they were the kind of neighbors one always hoped to have; they were reliable, generous, friendly, and they knew everyone in the area, having arrived in New Mexico territory fifteen years earlier.

Several hours later, Claire felt strong enough to return to her homestead. While Glenna helped her prepare the body for burial, Charles dug the grave. Glenna had done this before, and her gentle strength enabled Claire to bear her jumbled thoughts and emotions.

“Claire, are ye thinking of returning tae England?” Glenna asked, her loving and compassionate voice reminding Claire of how grateful she was for such a friend.

“I have nothing there, really,” Claire starred off into the distance, her gaze settling on the red rock cliffs in the distance. “You know my parents and uncle are gone, and I have no other family. I do not even know what kind of life I would have there. And travel would be difficult for me with a baby coming. I have enough money to live on for now.” She spilled her heart out to Glenna, grateful to finally share her fears and anxieties with someone. Relief mixed with fear, sadness mixed with a sense of resignation.

So it was that just 2 years after arriving in the U.S., a mere 6 months after reaching Santa Fe following an arduous journey by covered wagon, and 3 months after settling on their land situated on the border of the New Mexico and Arizona territories, Claire found herself alone on the frontier.

When Frank made the decision for them to emigrate, they joined the unprecedented number of immigrants drawn to a new life in America, lured by the dream of economic prosperity and vast tracts of unspoiled land. While initially she found the idea of homesteading in the West foolish and reckless, after they arrived in western New Mexico, Claire relished the wide open spaces, endless horizon, and the landscape that seemed as though it was painted by a divine artist.

Frank wanted to make a name for himself, and he found prospects for doing so in England diminishing as he alienated himself from family, friends, and associates. Having read anthropology and history at Oxford, he initially imagined himself as a professor, but after hearing tales of the Indian Wars in the American west, and having a distant cousin who had joined the homesteaders, his sense of adventure led him to purchase tickets for the journey across the Atlantic.

That he only told Claire about it after the fact gave her heightened awareness of his total lack of regard for her preferences, feelings, and aspirations to further her work as a nurse and midwife. Having trained at St. Thomas Hospital and the Nightingale Training School for Nurses in London, Claire once imagined herself spending years working alongside the renowned staff at St. Thomas, even perhaps becoming actively engaged in the education of young nurses and midwives. But Frank’s decision to emigrate closed the door on her dream.

And now he was dead.

She faced the truth of her aloneness. While for some this truth may have felt harsh, for Claire it was an awakening of all she had hidden away in her heart. The previous day, Glenna and Charles visited and offered to take her to the trading post in Arizona. While there was a closer trading post in New Mexico, they preferred Fraser’s Trading Post in Arizona, telling Claire of their high regard for the proprietor, James Fraser, a Scotsman who was known far and wide for his kindness and fairness to the homesteaders, as well as to the Navajo and Apache.

“Come with us, Claire. It will do good to be away from here for a few days, to see a bit more of the area, and to learn your way there.” Eventually, Glenna persuaded her to join them. “Ye will be amazed at the variety of items at the trading post. Everything ye want and need, and then some!”

They left early the next morning, the journey to Fraser’s taking about four hours. When they arrived at midday, Claire noted how beautiful and orderly the Trading Post appeared, situated as it was along the southern banks of the Pueblo Colorado Wash.

“I have yet to see so many people in one place since we left St. Louis,” Claire reflected. “Is the whole territory here?”

“It seems Mr. Fraser attracts traders from as far away as California,” Charles informed her. “Folks seek out Fraser for his fair prices, as well as his uncanny ability to find whatever it is ye need. I have yet to leave the trading post disappointed.”

As she climbed down from the wagon, Claire noticed a tall man striding towards them, his air of confidence and warmth obvious even at first glance.

“Glenna, Charles, ’tis good tae see ye. And ye’ve brought a friend…” Jamie’s voice trailed off as his gaze settled on Claire. Even after a long ride through the dust and heat, her beauty captivated him.

Before Glenna or Charles could make proper introductions, Claire reached out for Jamie’s outstretched hand. “Claire, I’m Claire Randall.”

“Nizhóní,” Jamie said quietly, not realizing Claire overheard the word she assumed was Navajo. It dawned on Jamie that this was the widow of Frank Randall, the Englishman accidentally killed a few months earlier. “Mistress Randall, I extend my deepest sympathies. Ye’ve suffered a great loss.”

“Thank you, Mr Fraser.” Claire realized they were still clasping each other’s hand, and reluctantly pulled away, but not before she noticed the color of Jamie’s eyes, a shade of blue like the ocean.

Glenna broke the awkward silence, asking Jamie about news from Scotland.

“Well, ye ken the news is always about 3 months old by the time it gets here, but my sister has given birth to her second bairn, and the farm is doing well, so they cannae complain.”

The three Scots conversed amiably, and as they walked into the trading post, Claire found herself drawn in by Jamie’s attentiveness to everyone and everything going on around him.

As they moved through the various rooms of the store, Claire noticed the Navajo women effortlessly working their looms. By now, Navajo weavers were well known throughout the territory for the beauty and quality of their rugs and blankets.

One of the weavers caught Claire’s eye and smiled, the kind of smile that immediately puts one at ease. “I am Haseya.”

“I’m Claire. I have never seen anything quite as beautiful as your weaving.”

Haseya’s gaze rested on her work, as she reached for another strand of wool to add to the loom. She explained the design as well as the significance of the various colors. As Haseya talked, Claire knew Jamie was hovering nearby, and she felt uncharacteristically happy. She had not known happiness for such a long time, so the feeling startled her. Before she even realized it, she found herself asking Haseya about learning how to weave. The Navajo woman clasped Claire’s hand, and motioned for Jamie to join them.

“I have a student weaver,” Haseya stated in the direct, yet soft, manner characteristic of the Navajo.

Jamie’s heart leapt, as he realized Claire would be a frequent guest at the trading post. He knew that it was quite uncommon for a Navajo weaver to teach weaving to a non-Navajo, but Haseya was known to have great wisdom and insight, so he surmised she realized Claire needed something to actively engage her senses.

So it was that Claire became an apprentice to Haseya, learning all aspects of rug making, from carding and spinning the wool, to the intricacies of the patterns, to mixing the various plants and herbs used to make colors for dying

She traveled from the homestead to the trading post twice each month, initially making the journey with Glenna and Charles, but eventually felt comfortable making the trek alone, much to Glenna’s dismay.

“I will be fine, Glenna. I have to learn to make my way, and I want to learn as much as I can before the baby comes.”

Glenna acquiesced, realizing the futility of arguing with Claire. Her journeys through the red rock cliffs and wide canyons gave her a sense of peace and contentment. Rather than being fearful about traveling alone, she relished the time to think. While the baby was always foremost in her thoughts, Jamie Fraser was never far from her stream of consciousness. Each trip, she spent three or four days working side-by-side with Haseya, who, unbeknownst to Claire, was considered by the Navajo to be their most skilled weaver.

After working with Haseya during the day, Claire found Jamie waiting for her most evenings, eager to talk about the comings and goings at the trading post, but even more eager to hear about her progress as an apprentice weaver. “I dinna ken how ye do it, Claire. Keepin’ the colors straight, and the patterns bein’ so complicated.”

“Once you get the image of the pattern in your head, it is fairly simple. And I find that weaving is all encompassing. While I am weaving, I’ve no thought about what will become of me, or the baby. And I suppose I am grateful for that…” Claire’s voice trailed off.

Jamie smiled and reached for Claire’s hand. “My mam always quoted scripture to us, and one of her favorites was ‘Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?’”

Over the next few months, each evening during Claire’s visits, they walked and talked, oblivious to the late hour, sharing stories of days gone by, gazing up at the stars, comfortable with the occasional periods of silence. Claire shared her hopes to eventually resume her nursing and midwifery work, maybe working with the Navajo and Apache, as well as caring for the homesteaders.

“I ken ye well enough, Claire. You can do anything, and quite well, I might add.” He held her hand, accustomed as they were by now to being close to each other.

She found herself blushing at Jamie’s kind words. She was not accustomed to being praised. With Frank, there was near constant criticism, and disregard of her wishes.

Jamie reluctantly walked her back to the cabin she used during her visits, and almost before he realized it, he found himself saying, “I know ye havena been widowed so long, but life is different out here, and I ken propriety isna what it might be in England or Scotland. I would very much like to kiss ye, Claire. May I?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Claire turned toward him, her face lit up as though they were in bright sunlight. Frank never asked if he could kiss her. He always assumed that he was in complete control of their relationship.

“Yes, Jamie Fraser. Yes!”

And they both hoped and prayed that this was the first of a lifetime of kisses.

The next morning, while working in the weaving room, she told Jamie and Haseya that she would not be making the trek to the trading post for several months.

“I reckon the baby is due in about a month.” She felt her heart break as she watched Jamie’s face. “What else am I to do, Jamie?”

He felt as though his heart had been pierced with a sword. He interrupted and asked her to walk with him to his home. She had been there a few times, visiting in the parlor, but she sensed his uneasiness and anxiety as they walked toward his front porch.

“Jamie, what is it? You know you can say anything to me.”

He took her hands in his, raising them to his lips and gently kissed each one.

“I’m honest enough to say that I dinna care what the right and wrong of it may be, so long as you are here wi’ me, Claire. I know it may not be proper to marry to ask you so soon after Frank’s death. But will you have me, Claire? Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

As she looked at him, she felt as though she was holding heaven in the palms of her hands. Her gaze turned toward the grassy field stretching between his home and the trading post. In her mind’s eye, she saw curly headed children running and playing, screeching with laughter as Jamie chased after them. She saw herself nursing a red-headed newborn as Haseya sat next to her, dying wool. She saw all of it, all of the beauty and joy of a life spent by Jamie’s side.

“Yes, James Fraser. Yes, I will marry you.”

1 Month Later

Claire sat up in bed, carefully readjusting her curly haired baby girl, all of three hours old, already suckling at the breast. Haseya and the other Navajo women had attended her during the birth, and now, certain that she and the baby were healthy, they bid their farewells, assuring Jamie someone would be back in the evening to check on Claire and the newborn.

He settled in next to Claire on their bed, carefully enfolding her and the baby in a loving embrace. That Frank was the bairn’s father was of no consequence to him. He and Claire would raise the child, and Jamie knew that he was the child’s father, in every way that mattered.

“What name are we going to give her?” he asked, his eyes brimming with tears. Now that the bairn was finally here, he was grateful Claire had come through the labor and birth without any complications.

“There’s a word I have heard you say many times, but I’ve never asked what it meant,” Claire replied. “And it is not one of the Scots terms of endearment you use.”

“Hmm, well, I ken ye must mean Nizhóní.”

“Yes, that’s the word. What does it mean?’

“It means beautiful.”

Now it was Claire’s eyes that filled with tears, remembering Nizhóní was the first Navajo word she had ever heard Jamie speak.

“I want us to name her Nizhóní. Nizhóní Elizabeth Fraser.” Jamie pulled them closer, his wife and his bairn, gently stroking the face of the miracle who had just come into their lives.

And life was indeed beautiful.

#one quote one shot book 2

219 notes · View notes