#he seriously buys Jamie and sometimes Claire anything they ask for

[starkoftheshire]

Lord John is Jamie’s sugar daddy. There. I said it.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 41: The Birds and the Bees

Chapter 40

Read on AO3

Claire spent far too long holding onto Jamie and Fergus for dear life, but it seemed to her they were equally as reluctant to let each other go. So they swayed together, saying nothing, just breathing each other in. At some point, they pulled away, though they all still touched somehow; Jamie and Claire’s hands laced together, Fergus’s hands on Jamie and Claire’s shoulders, Jamie caressing his son’s cheek.

His son.

Christ...his heart felt fit to burst.

“Yer mam tells me ye’re a fine brother,” Jamie said hoarsely. “Ye take good care of our wee lass.”

“Aye, I do,” Fergus said, nodding. “I have always loved her. I can’t remember what it was like to not have her.”

“Oh, and she’s always loved you,” Claire said, caressing his other cheek. “She looks at you like you’ve hung the stars.”

“Knowing you, ye’ve told her ye have,” Jamie teased, and Fergus broke into a teary grin.

“There is...so much to tell you…” Fergus shook his head. “So much I have said to your grave, in my head, in my prayers...but you have not really heard any of it.”

“I’m here now, laddie. There’ll be many years to come fer ye to tell me all of it.” Jamie caressed the boy’s face with both hands, and Claire took the cue to step away for a moment.

“Such a handsome lad ye’ve become.” Jamie’s voice was rough with emotion. He tilted Fergus’s head so that he could press a kiss to his forehead, giving him every ounce of fatherly affection he had held back for eight years.

It’ll never be enough, Jamie thought miserably.

“To bed wi’ ye now, son. I’ve a few things to discuss wi’ yer mother.”

“Aye. Catching up to do.” Fergus elbowed him playfully, and Jamie snorted.

“Fergus!” Claire exclaimed, aghast. She really didn’t know what she expected; she should have known the little imp would make some lewd comment as such. She gave a light tug on one of Fergus’s curls. “Really!”

“Sorry, Maman,” he said, but he winked at Jamie.

“Incorrigible.” Claire gave Fergus a shove. “Both of you.”

“Bonne nuit, Maman.” Fergus bent down to plant an exaggeratedly sloppy kiss on Claire’s cheek, and she rolled her eyes through it all, giving his head a shove as he started strolling away.

“Goodnight, Papa,” Fergus called over his shoulder, then disappeared out of the dining room.

Claire crossed her arms, leaning into her hip, only to be surrounded by Jamie from behind.

“Papa, is it?”

“Hm.” Claire smiled warmly, leaning into him gratefully. “He called you that sometimes, especially when he was little. I told him to call me Maman straight away, and I suppose he...he thought when you came back, you’d be Papa.”

Her voice trailed off until it was a breathy whisper.

“I don’t think he realized at first. That you...wouldn’t. Come back.”

Jamie pressed a reverent kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her greedily.

“I think perhaps it hurt him too badly to call you that after a while.” Claire’s throat tightened painfully. “I think it was...easier to reconcile losing his Milord than it would be to lose a father.”

Jamie hummed thoughtfully, sadly.

“But no matter what he called you, you’ve always been his father, Jamie. Just like he said.”

“Aye.” He tightened his grip on her. “I ken.”

They swayed in silence for a while, savoring the warmth of each other’s living bodies, the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

“This Governor…” Claire said after a while. “The man who...got you your freedom.”

“What about him?”

“He really did so out of...complete selflessness? He expected nothing in return?”

“Aye,” Jamie confirmed. “He’s a good man, Sassenach. As I’ve said.”

Claire shifted in his arms so she turned around to face him. “Tell me the truth, Jamie.” She looked him in the eye. “You didn’t...offer. Did you…? Like...before?”

His grip on her shoulders tightened, and her breath hitched in her throat. Perhaps he’d been sparing her before during dinner, not wanting to upset her in front of the entire family.

“Jamie.” Her voice was firm, yet it wavered.

“I did, Claire.”

She felt like she’d been punched in the throat, kicked in the stomach. Jamie had to tighten his grip again to keep her from slipping to the floor, her having gone weak in the knees.

“How could you...how could you do that…? How could you put yourself through that again…?”

“He didna accept, Sassenach.”

“After all that we -- ” She refocused her bleary vision on his face, and she saw the truth in his blue depths. “What?”

“I offered my body to him, and he didna accept.”

A few silent tears dripped down Claire’s face as she gawked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I knew that he was partial to men by the way he spoke of a friend of his that he’d lost at Culloden. This friend always made his way into conversation when I spoke of you. Didna take much thought to put it together.” Jamie’s tone was attempting to be impartial and indifferent, but Claire could see the struggle on his face.

“I...I feared him, ye ken,” Jamie said, averting his eyes shamefully. “Knowing what I know of him now, I’m ashamed to admit it. But I feared what he was. After the things that bastard put me through.”

Claire ran her hands up the length of Jamie’s arms so that she could rub his shoulders soothingly.

“He kent who I was from the beginning, ye see. His brother told him of the lie he’d told about Red Jamie, and he knew I was no Alexander Malcolm,” Jamie went on. “He managed to have private audience wi’ me to tell me as such. Somehow the game of chess came up in conversation. And before I knew it, I was playing chess wi’ the man who held me prisoner.

“There were...rumors. Lord Grey’s predilections were no secret. I beat a fellow prisoner so senseless I almost killed him when he so much as implied that the Governor was...rogering me behind closed doors.”

Another tear slipped over Claire’s nose, and she wrapped her arms around his middle, kissing his sternum, as if to give his heart the strength to go on.

“He could have, Claire. He could have had his way wi’ me. He could so easily have been another Randall. He had every means necessary to get away wi’ it.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No. Never so much as asked. I could feel the way he looked at me...like I always felt the way you looked at me. So I knew that he...wanted me. But he never had me. I thought maybe he was afraid of the shame his fellow officers could have brought upon him.

“But then...the prison was being closed, all the prisoners sold as indentured servants to the colonies. I...I nearly went mad, Claire. The thought of being so far away from ye, veritably sold into slavery, no means of ever getting back to ye...I was desperate. So our last meeting...I offered.”

“Jamie…”

“I begged him to have his way wi’ me to buy my freedom. Those other men...they’d lost everything in the rising. They were dead men walking. But I...I had something to hold onto fer eight years...and I was about to lose it. I’d rather have suffered any indignity than face the thought of being parted from ye forever. So I told him. I told him I was at his mercy.”

“You damned fool!” Claire whispered miserably into his sark. “How could you offer such a thing…?”

Jamie actually chuckled. “John may as well have said the same thing. He seemed more than offended that I thought he’d even consider. He laughed, even. ‘That I should live to hear such an offer,’ he said.

“Then, Claire...I swear I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. He told me he’d already pulled the strings to grant me my freedom.” Claire pulled away to look up at him, having heard his voice become hoarse with emotion. “I was prepared to whore myself out and he...he’d already given me the greatest gift wi’out expecting anything in return.”

“Oh, love…” Claire caressed his face. “As much as I want to bloody throttle you for even putting yourself in that position...I am relieved that this man wanted nothing to do with it.”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell ye, Sassenach. He’s a good, honorable man. He did all he did fer me out of...friendship.”

Claire was so overcome with relief that she kissed him soundly, and he eagerly responded.

“I wish I could thank him,” Claire said softly. “For...for all of it.”

“Ye can,” Jamie said. “Part of the agreement of my release was that he makes regular visits to the estate to ensure I remain a loyal subject to the Crown.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “The story he gave was that I was a puir cotter forced into fighting upon threat of harm to my wife, that I couldna fully be blamed fer my actions. As Mister Malcolm, of course.”

“Bloody hell,” Claire exchanged. “He completely bent over backwards to set you free, Jamie.”

“Apparently that family takes a debt of honor quite seriously.” He tenderly kissed her forehead. “So now, Lord John Grey, former Governor of Ardsmuir Prison, is to check in once a quarter wi’ the derelict Alexander Malcolm wherever he has decided to find work. Which just so happens to be as a farmhand at Lallybroch estate.”

Claire shook her head in disbelief. “And nobody finds it suspicious that the redheaded Mister Malcolm has decided to settle down on Red Jamie’s family land?”

“If they did, John would have a thing or two to say about it,” Jamie assured. “He’s got his superiors fully convinced that I’m exactly who I say I am. Red Jamie has been dead fer eight years in the eyes of the Crown.”

“It’s unbelievable...what about all the Redcoat Captains that have been harassing us for years? They’re convinced I’m the traitorous English wife, that Brianna is your demon offspring…”

“Those officers willna be around much longer if John has anything to say about it.”

She shook her head again. “It’s like he’s waved a magic wand and made all of our troubles disappear.”

“I dinna ken about magic wands, Sassenach,” Jamie clasped his hands on the small of her back, pulling her closer. “But it certainly feels as if all is right in the world again.”

Claire kissed him gratefully, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“Once a quarter, hm?” she said between kisses. “You’d better tell Jenny that.”

Jamie grunted in annoyance in the back of his throat. “Dinna speak of my sister while I’m kissing ye like this, Sassenach.”

Claire laughed a bubbly laugh that melted into a delicious moan, and Jamie swallowed it as his tongue probed the inside of her mouth. The kiss deepened, and Claire began feeling dizzy, every inch of her coming to life in a blazing fire.

“Mummy?”

They pulled away from each other like they’d just been burned, and Claire choked on a startled gasp.

“Hello, darling,” she stammered, her voice thin and high pitched. She could feel the heat of Jamie’s blush radiating off his body. “Is everything alright?”

“Fergus already gave me my kiss,” Brianna said. She was standing in the doorway in her nightgown and bare feet, holding Jehu in both arms. “I waited for you to come in, but you didn’t. So I came to find you.”

Claire forced a light chuckle, leaving Jamie’s side to kneel in front of her. “I’m sorry, lovie. Your Da and I were talking about something important.”

“Talking?” Brianna challenged, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Yes, well…” She threw a glance back to Jamie, who looked like he was trying not to burst with laughter. “We were talking. We got a little...off topic.”

Brianna blinked mutely at her, and Jehu licked his own nose and gave a little snuffle.

“You know that...married people kiss, don’t you, Brianna?” Claire said.

“Aye,” Brianna said, almost sounding offended that anyone would ask such a thing. “Auntie Jenny and Uncle Ian kiss at midnight on Hogmanay. But they dinna look like that.”

Jamie did make a noise, then, a veritable snort, and Claire shot him a dangerous look.

“Right, well…” Claire made a mental note to tease Jenny about the absurdity of her niece only witnessing affection between her aunt and uncle one time out of the year. “At Hogmanay, there’s a whole room full of people. Kisses in private are just a little bit different.”

“You weren’t kissing in private, Mummy. I was right here.”

Jamie laughed out loud.

“For Christ’s sake, Jamie!” Claire snapped over her shoulder, but as she turned back to Brianna, her facade melted away, and she started laughing as well.

“What’s funny?” Brianna demanded.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Claire said. “We’re not laughing at you, I promise. Your father is a ridiculous human being.”

Brianna looked back and forth between both of her parents as if trying to decipher what the joke was, but came up short.

“I promise we’ll be more careful about being private next time. Alright?”

“Alright,” Brianna agreed, but her brow was still furrowed skeptically.

“Let’s get you to bed now.” Claire stood. “Would it be alright if...if Da joined us to say goodnight?”

Brianna looked around Claire at Jamie, then back up at Claire, and she nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Claire turned Brianna around by the shoulders and began gently pushing her along. Jamie was upon them almost immediately, no longer laughing at all.

He was joining his wife to put their daughter to bed.

It was beyond anything he’d ever dreamed he’d have.

He followed behind Claire, who trailed behind Brianna as she bounced up two flights of stairs, muttering in nonsense-Gaelic to Jehu, who panted with contentment in her arms. They reached her bedroom, and Kitty sat straight up in bed when they arrived.

“Sorry, Kitty,” Claire said. “We’ll be out in a bit. Go back to sleep.” Claire crossed the room to kiss her forehead and gently push her back into her pillows. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night, Auntie.” Kitty pulled her blanket up to her chin, and then looked around Claire. “G’night, Uncle Jamie!”

She was attempting a whisper, but addressing her long-lost uncle that had come to be somewhat mythical in her young mind was far too exciting, so it came out hoarse and just a bit too loud.

“Aye,” Jamie said awkwardly, waving at her. “G’night, lass.”

She giggled a bit, pulling the blanket up higher, under her eyes. Brianna put Jehu down and he settled in at the corner of her pillow as he always did. Brianna climbed in after him, and Claire sat on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Jamie and took his hand, and he slowly crouched down beside the bed so that he was level with Claire.

“It’s been...quite an exciting day, hasn’t it?” Claire said, and Brianna nodded. “I know it’s…a lot to process, your father being here. Are you doing alright?”

Brianna nodded again. “I’m fine, Mummy.”

“Alright. If you ever have any questions, or you’re feeling uneasy, you can talk to me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Good girl.” Claire cupped her cheek. 

“I’m, uh...I’m here fer ye to talk to as well, lass. If ye like,” Jamie said hesitantly. “Ye dinna have to, of course. Only if ye’re comfortable.”

“Alright,” Brianna said warmly. “I like talking to you, Da.”

Jamie laughed softly, feeling warmth spread from head to toe. He squeezed Claire’s hand tighter, and she reciprocated. “I like talking to you too, m'annsachd.”

“Good.” Brianna nodded curtly, and both of her parents chuckled.

“Alright. Kisses,” Claire said, leaning in with puckered lips. Jamie’s heart felt fit to burst watching them peck each other lovingly on the lips. “Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“Love you.”

Jamie thought Brianna might just nestle into her pillow, but she turned to look at him expectantly. He chuckled again, feeling tears burning behind his eyes. He cupped the back of Brianna’s head and pressed his lips reverently to her forehead, breathing her in, cherishing her.

“Goodnight, Brianna.”

“G’night, Da.” She pecked him on the cheek, and Jamie squeezed Claire’s hand so hard he thought it might fall off. Claire kissed his cheek as well, cupping the other one lovingly. The three of them sat there for a moment, just taking each other in, just being. Jamie watched as Claire tenderly brought Brianna’s blanket up higher and brushed her hair back.

“We’ll see you in the morning.”

Brianna smiled sleepily, and Jehu nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Claire stood up and began walking out of the room with Jamie’s hand in hers, but was met with resistance. She turned back around, her heart breaking at what she saw.

Jamie could not take his eyes off of Brianna, whose eyes were now closed. His hand was hovering over her hand, trembling like a leaf. It came down to rest on her curly head, and he exhaled with a heavy shudder, closing his eyes. Claire crouched down beside him, and then she paused, hearing him whisper in Gaelic. He was praying over her.

Claire rested her cheek on his shoulder and listened to the soothing tones of his prayer, wrapping her arms around his bicep and stroking him soothingly. His prayer ceased, and Claire looked up at him.

“She’ll still be there tomorrow, love,” she whispered.

Jamie nodded tearfully, swallowing so that Claire could see his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Look,” Claire whispered, cocking her head toward Brianna.

“She smiles in her sleep,” she said. “Just like you.”

Jamie let his fingertips trail down her face, his touch light as a feather, and his pointer finger brushed over the corner of her upturned lips. Her lip twitched at the contact, the smile widening, her head unconsciously turning toward his touch.

“I could watch her sleep fer hours…” Jamie whispered hoarsely.

“I know. I always felt that way when she was a baby. I still do sometimes.”

Claire gave him a moment in silence, waiting until he was ready. He cleared his throat after a moment, and then crossed himself. Claire gave his hand a squeeze, grounding him, giving him the strength to get up and leave his daughter’s side.

“She’ll still be there tomorrow,” Jamie said, confirming it.

“She will.”

With a curt nod and a visual sweep of the room (as if double checking for danger as an ingrained behavior) Jamie made for the door, gently pulling Claire behind him. Claire shut the door as quietly as humanly possible, and when she turned around, she was immediately and abruptly met with Jamie’s hands on her face and his lips on hers. She whimpered in shock, but then melted into him, threading her arms around his neck. He probed her lips with his tongue and she greedily accepted, whimpering again, this time for a much different reason.

Jamie pulled away far too quickly, and Claire was breathless.

“What was that for…?”

“Fer creating that beautiful child.”

Overcome, Claire kissed him again. “You created her too, Jamie.”

“Oh, aye, I’m well aware.”

He swallowed her again, and Claire felt that unmistakable hardness against her hip. Something ignited within her, something left dormant for far too long. She lapped at the inside of his mouth, becoming desperate. She pulled herself ever closer to him, and she had to physically restrain herself from gyrating her hips to relieve the pressure building between her legs.

Jamie abruptly pulled away again, his lips -- swollen and pink from Claire’s assault -- quirked into a smug grin.

“Not here, mo nighean donn.”

He took her hand, kissing it chivalrously, as if he hadn’t just had his tongue down her throat, and then he pulled her behind him toward the stairs.

Every step on the staircase had Claire’s heart hammering faster and louder. Every step was a step closer to her bedroom, a place where she was absolutely certain of what was to come. By the time they reached the bottom, she could hardly feel her legs, and the floor felt like it was tipping beneath her. Her mouth was dry, swallowing was painful.

Jamie paused at the door, turning back to grin at her before opening it and pulling her in after him. Claire was trembling from head to toe, most of all her hands, and she attempted to steady them on the door. She deliberately took longer than she should have to close the door, terrified to turn around and find what awaited her.

She knew he’d be looking at her with fire in his eyes, and she knew she’d be powerless to resist him if she didn’t slow down. Her heartbeat was pulsing in her temples, and she was warm. Everywhere. She took a deep, stuttering as she pushed the door shut, steeling herself for the conversation that they needed to have before anything continued.

Christ, she was terrified.

[betweensceneswriter]

Stuck in the Classics-Chapter 12: Laird of Lallybroch

The Basics: All I did was watch DVDs to relax in the evening.  How did I suddenly end up in the 17th and 18th centuries?  How do I get out of here?  And what if I don’t want to leave?

Various Fandoms–Pride & Prejudice, Emma, Outlander, Sense & Sensibility, Turn.

The Whole Thing on AO3

Laird of Lallybroch: Amy discovers that she’s not in Claire’s body--she’s in Jenny’s.  And Jenny is pregnant.

    Now this I did not prepare for, I thought, as I heaved my pregnant self through the opening in the wall and began wending my way through the gravestones toward Jamie. I could see his head and shoulders towering above the massive stones, and for a moment I considered silently exiting the cemetery and buying time to recall the conversation between Jenny and Jamie.

    He wouldn’t stay here forever, though, and I thought I could probably wing it.  As I approached Jamie, he had his back to me.  I watched as he reached his hand out and rested it on our father’s gravestone.

    You don’t get to be attracted to Jamie on this trip, weirdo, I thought to myself as I tried to wrap my brain around the new scenario.  He’s my brother, he’s my brother, he’s my brother, I chanted inwardly as I approached, admiring the straight strength of his back, the broad span of his shoulders, the curl of his hair, the way the gathers and folds of the kilt emphasized his—hey, now!

    At the sound of my approaching footsteps or perhaps just the wind, Jamie turned slightly.  When he caught sight of movement in his peripheral vision, he jerked, then seemed to be catching his breath as he stood there.

     “Jenny,” he said, his back still to me.  “Ye gave me a start.”

     “Did you expect to see ghosts in the graveyard?” I asked.  He chuckled slightly.  But he wasn’t looking at me.

     “Jamie—I…”

     “Jenny—I…” We spoke at the same time, then stood and just looked at each other in hesitant embarrassment for a second.

     “Let me speak first, please,” he said.  Since I wasn’t quite certain what I would say if I went first, I willingly acquiesced.

    Jamie reached into his pocket and drew out a bag that made a jingling metallic noise as it moved.

     “That’s the rent,” he said, holding it out toward me. “From the tenants.”

     “Thank you, Jamie.” I said, looking at him and then at the bag as I took it from him.  His eyes were penitent and humble.

     “And I thought perhaps I could speak to Rabbie’s aunt, so…”

     “It’s all right,” I responded.  “She can’t really take him on.  This will be a good place for him.”

     “I was wrong not to consult you, and I’m sorry for it,” said Jamie.  “Truly.  I hope to do it different in the future.”

     “And Jamie, I shouldn’t have questioned your judgment on your first rent day as Laird Broch Tuarach.  Especially in front of your wife.”

     “A’graidh,” he responded.  “It was arrogant of me to step in as if you have not been mistress of Lallebroch for the last four years.” Jamie shook his head and I put my hand on his arm to comfort him, but he continued.  “Father died, I was gone, and without hesitation, you took over in our absence.”

    He scanned the horizon, taking in the extent of the rich Fraser lands.  “You have become a capable mistress.  You’ve run the farm and maintained the estate.  If you had not shown such strength and wisdom, Janet, there would have been nothing left for me to be laird of.”

     “Jamie,” I interrupted.  “Now it’s my turn.”

    Despite the contrast between his height and her diminutive size, I could see that Jamie was cowed by his sister.  And though he was the one with red hair, she had a temper to rival his.  He smiled, but showed me that he would wait and listen to me.

    I looked past him to Brian Fraser’s gravestone.  I couldn’t believe I was there, in this place with Jamie.  I moved forward, tracing our father’s name with our fingers.  I began to remember Jenny’s arguments; I began to feel her sadness and guilt and desperation.

     “After you were taken to Fort Williams, and after father died, there were years when I blamed you for his death,” I began quietly.

    Jamie’s blue eyes signaled both his confusion and his concern as tears began to fill my eyes.

    “I heard that Captain Randall had flogged you, and that seeing it is what killed Father.  And I ken you, Jamie.  You fly off the handle at the slightest offense.  You have a way of sayin’ and doin’ things in the heat of passion that you wouldna say or do otherwise.  And I thought surely you must have done something to offend Captain Randall.” Jamie stepped forward, though whether he meant to object to my reasons or to ask forgiveness, I couldn’t tell.

    A sudden flood of images from the show filled my mind, things I often found myself skipping on rewatching because they were just too painful to see.  The deep stripes across Jamie’s back, dripping with blood.  The possessed anger on Black Jack Randall’s face as he sought to break Jamie.  And Brian--Jamie and Jenny’s father--tortured to death by seeing his son in such a state.

     “But Jamie, when I saw the scars on your back, down at the mill pond…what fury would create such scars?  Randall must have been beyond angry.”

    Jamie couldn’t look at me, but he glanced over as he said, “You dinna fash yerself about it anymore.”

    I remembered then that the tug-of-war of this conversation was between two siblings who both felt responsible for their father’s death, and it was my turn to pull.

     “It’s my fault, Jamie.  It’s my fault that Randall beat you thus, and it’s my fault that Father died.”

     “You dinna ken what yer saying,” said Jamie, half in frustration, half in bewildered impotence to stop me.

     “But Jamie, I do.  When he took me upstairs, I humiliated him.  I laughed at him and mocked him.  If I hadna; if I had just let him do what he wanted to do, he wouldna have been so angry, and then father wouldna have. . .”

     “Mo Chridhe, no,” said Jamie, folding me into an embrace, pulling me tight to his body.  “Don’t,” he said, kissing my forehead and patting me on the back.  I could smell him, could feel myself melting into him, and had to calmly remind myself who I was in order to keep from reaching up to his face for a kiss.

     “I did anger Randall at Fort William,” said Jamie.  “And I’ve spent the last four years of my life blaming myself for Father’s death because of it.”

     “But now you know the truth?” I cried, imagining the pain of these two siblings kept apart for years, each blaming themselves for their father’s death.

    Jamie laughed and kissed me on the forehead again.  “Aye, I do.”

    I pulled back from him, and he brushed a loose strand of hair off my forehead.

     “I know it’s not yer fault.  Nor mine, either.  There’s a devil in that man that no one can influence.”  Jamie held me by the shoulders so he could look into my eyes.  “The only one responsible for putting Father’s in his grave. . .” he said seriously, “Is Jack Randall.”

     “Aye?” he said, seeking my agreement.  I nodded.

     “It does trouble me, though,” said Jamie, “Knowing ye went wi’ him to save me.  Knowing he might harm ye.  I would have gladly died to spare yer honor.”

    I mimicked the jut of Jenny’s chin as she responded, riled by Jamie’s reasoning.  “And if your life is a suitable exchange for my honor, tell me why my honor’s not a suitable exchange for your life?”

    Jamie’s face showed he knew he’d already been bested in this competition.  “Or are you trying to tell me that you love me more than I love you, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser?” I challenged him.  “Because if you are, ye might as well accept that tis not true.”

    He turned and walked away from me, then looked back, shaking his head.

     “I’m glad you’re home, brother,” I said.  Jamie returned to me, hugged me and kissed me on the forehead yet again, and then turned the two of us toward home, his arm around my shoulders.

    It turned out that with Claire’s quick departure from Castle Leoch and the beating she’d received at the time of her trial, her wardrobe was sadly lacking.  And it was Jenny and Mrs. Crook who were tasked with the sewing of the outfits.  I was grateful for my experience with sewing, but very doubtful that machine sewing knowledge would translate to hand sewing.  There was one thing I was thankful for, though, in my younger body.  It was nice to be able to thread a needle without having to use my reading glasses.

    I pulled the masses of fabric up onto my lap and started sewing, praying that I didn’t mess this thing up.

    Claire was looking at my belly pensively.

    I couldn’t decide how I felt about her.  Right now she had my Jamie, and if I recalled the sequence of events, she was going to sleep with him tonight.  But I’d lived in her skin before and I hoped to again, so I couldn’t hate her.

    At least in this situation I could find a natural inspiration for Jenny’s acidic personality.  I felt about as possessive of Jamie as Jenny seemed on Claire’s first appearance at Lallybroch.

     “Jamie says you were married before,” I said.  “No bairns, though?”

    Claire gave a thin-lipped, sad smile.  “No.”

     “Do you want them?”

     “I did, and I would have welcomed them if they came,” said Claire, “But I never longed for them quite as much as Frank—that’s my first husband—did.”

    I had thought to offer her encouragement, but anything I thought of felt empty and wrong.

     “It’s quite an experience, being pregnant,” I said.  “It’s as if alie. . . I mean. . .parasites have taken over your body.  I’m burnin’ up, no matter the temperature in the house.  Saves on fuel, I guess.  Ian doesn’t need to do anything but cuddle up next to me to stay hot at night.”

     “Jamie runs hot all the time!” exclaimed Claire, as if recognizing the family resemblance.

     “You’re right, he does!” I exclaimed in agreement and remembrance.  “It sometimes feels as if he’s got a furnace burnin’ inside him, if he puts his hand on your shoulder.”

    Claire blushed, obviously considering circumstances other than having Jamie’s hands on her shoulders.

     “You may find Jamie just as eager for fatherhood as your first husband,” I suggested, looking back down at my belly.  “The pressure to have an heir is somehow imbedded in Scottish genes.”

    Claire looked at me with surprise, and after a confused paused asked me: “Did you said genes?”

    I suddenly realized I was in the wrong century for referring to genes.  “Ah, yes,” I said, buying time.  “It’s a Gaelic word that means—not sure if I can translate it into English—like a family inheritance?  A value passed on from father to child?”  I had to look away quickly to cover my incredible stress and embarrassment over my slip-up.

    Claire was silent and subdued for the rest of our time sewing.

    After supper, which consisted of cock-a-leekie soup (basically chicken onion soup) and bannocks, Ian and Jamie withdrew to the sitting room with glasses of whiskey.  Claire looked uncomfortable in her stiff corset and dress, and I was certainly ready to get rid of mine.

     “Let’s go change into dressing gowns over our shifts,” I suggested.  “After a long day in a corset, this wee bairn wishes for a little more freedom to move.  And so does his temporary dwelling.”  My back was aching, so I pressed against the hip bones toward the base of my spine.

    Claire and I both reappeared in a few minutes and acknowledged each other with grateful smiles.  I had no idea whether this was appropriate attire for mixed company, but I figured there was safety in numbers.  Fortunately, when Ian and Jamie looked up as we entered the room, they didn’t look scandalized.  In fact, they’d both peeled off their boots and socks and were making themselves comfortable on couches, Ian rubbing the stump of his amputated limb.

    Claire approached Jamie and I could see from the look in his eyes how much he adored her.  She curled up next to him and he quickly folded her in his arms.

    Ian’s face had brightened at the sight of me as well, so I approached the couch where he sat.  He made room for me, and I fit myself into the space next to him with a heavy sigh.

    I was able to clearly see my belly now, but I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on the sensation of the little life inside me, slowly stroking him through my skin, touching the places I could feel his back, his little feet pushing, his tiny bottom.

    Jeff and I had endured years of infertility, and when our second miracle Jason was born, an emergency C-section had traumatized my body enough that my doctor had recommended a hysterectomy.  I had thought I would never experience this sensation again.  I could feel this wee little life pushing back against me, and the sting of tears pricked my eyelids.

    When I opened my eyes, Claire, Jamie, and Ian were all looking at me with concern.

     “Oh,” I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the handkerchief Ian had magically produced after a squeeze around my shoulders.  “It’s just pregnancy. . .”  I stopped myself before I said the word “hormones.”

    Jamie had sat up and was leaning eagerly toward me.  “Is it no’ amazing, this ability to create human life?”

     “It is indeed,” I agreed.  “What made me shed tears is that I can feel his little body.  Babies tend to move more at night when you are no longer as active.”

    Jamie looked at my belly longingly.  “Will you introduce him to his Uncle Jamie?”

    I well remembered those days when my belly belonged to everyone, so I nodded generously.  Jamie came over and knelt on the floor next to Ian and me on the couch.

    I pressed against my belly, assessing, then reached for Jamie’s hand.  “Here is his back,” I said, helping Jamie move his hand along the firm little spinal column. “And here are his feet,” I proceeded; pressing my fingers to my lower left abdomen, opposite the baby’s back.  Jamie gently offered his hand for me to push into position.

     “I willna hurt him, will I?” he asked.  I shook my head no.  After a moment, Jamie met my eyes with a smile of fresh enthusiasm and a giddy chuckle.  “He kicked me!” he said.  “He’s a braw wee laddie!”

    He gestured to Claire, inviting her over, and soon my belly had yielded its secrets to Jamie, Ian, Claire, and Wee Jamie, who heard our fuss and came over to investigate.

    Wee Jamie had obviously been told about the baby growing inside his mama’s tummy.  When he sat down on Jamie’s lap as Jamie sat on the floor, Wee Jamie reached out and patted my stomach.

    “Talk to da baby, Nunka Jamie,” Wee Jamie ordered.  When Big Jamie looked at him in confusion, the smaller version demonstrated.

    The brown-haired lad cupped his hands around his mouth and planted his lips on my belly between his hands. The contact with my silk-covered skin muffled his words, but we all grinned as he yelled, “Dinna fash, baby.  I’m yer big brother, but they call me Wee Jamie.  Aye?”  He waited, as if expecting a response.  Then he pointed at Jamie.  “And this is yer Nunka Jamie.  He’s the big one.”

    Wee Jamie retreated from my belly, and pushed on Jamie’s arm.

     “Okay Nunka Jamie. It’s you turn,” he ordered.

    Jamie looked up at me, half apologetically.

     “Yes, Nunka Jamie,” I said, smiling at him. “It’s you turn!”

     “Where is his back?” Jamie asked.  I felt again and found the little person was facing my spine, with his little back pressing out hard right next to my belly button. Jamie rubbed the spot as if he was caressing the little one and I was just a quilt keeping him warm.

    Putting his cheek on my belly as his hand still stroked the little one, Jamie crooned words in Gaelic, then ended by saying, “I love ye, Wee Murray, and I’ve not even met ye yet.”  With a blushing glance up at me, he leaned in to kiss the little swell over the life-to-come.

    I could see longing in Claire’s eyes.  She reached out with her hand and petted the little bulge as well.

    The wee bairn rewarded our attentions by doing several somersaults, creating a rolling wave that moved across my stomach.  And I started to weep again, my eyes filling with tears.

    “I can’t help myself.  It’s such a miracle!” I said.  When I looked up, I wasn’t alone in my emotion.  Both Jamie and Claire had a hint of moisture in their eyes and were clasping hands with each other, and looking at Ian next to me, I could see the wonder and adoration in his face as well.

     “Ah, Janet,” said Ian compassionately, reaching to my cheek to wipe my tears.  “You need to rest.  Let me take you to bed, Mo Bhean Chéile.”*

    He and I helped each other up the stairs, after Jamie generously volunteered to tuck his namesake into bed.

    Ian helped me remove my dressing gown and crawl between the quilts, and then he curled behind me.  I needed to be held, and there was something familiar about Ian’s gentle touch in the dark.  He stroked my back and shoulders and whispered Gaelic phrases to me, a comforting mantra even though I didn’t understand the words.

    After a time I turned to him, seeking something more.  His lips were warm and gentle, and his hands caressed me as well as the life in my belly.

    It had been quite some time since pregnancy sex for me, but Ian and Jenny seemed to have discovered choreography that worked for them.  As the pace of our caresses and breathing increased, Ian turned me away from him again, and as his hands continued to caress me generously, his body gently joined with me without the barrier of my belly in the way.  Climax felt foreign with the fullness of life inside me as the contractions and spasms occurred, but it was incredibly good.

    With Ian holding me close, I finally fell asleep.

    The next morning, I could smell home before I even opened my eyes.  It was early, before dawn.  I padded down the hallway to peek into first Jasper, and then Jason’s bedrooms.  I tiptoed up to their beds, watched their dark eyelashes rest on their cheeks, the even rise and fall of their chests in sleep.  I prayed something wordless as I watched them; a thanks or a blessing, I didn’t know.

    Then I crept back into my bedroom, cuddled up to Jeff, and with my hands on my empty abdomen, silently wept; grateful for my own miraculous sons, but newly bereft.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Pick Me! | Chapter 2

Chapter 1

My mind slow and groggy with sleep gradually turned into the pounding ache of a wine hangover. I gripped the side of the attached upholstered sofa cushion as my stomach lurched and churned with a sudden sickening feeling as consciousness slowly came back to me. I was laying half on, half off the living room sofa still in my disgusting scrubs and an empty bottle of wine wedged between my back and the cushions.

My phone dinged at the same time my iPad lit up with notifications.

“What?” I questioned aloud my eyes going cross with the brightness of the screen before the sinking dread filled me with ice and sudden flashing memory of the night before. “Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”

I didn’t look at the numerous notification bubbles until I opened the home screen, where an obnoxious red oval told me I had 103 messages.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ,” I whispered again in astonishment. “Why so many?”

With trepidation, I clicked on the message icon and scrolled through to see just how many people made up the 103 messages. My eyes widened in shock, “FIFTY!”

My hand shook as I clicked on the first message…and then nearly launched the iPad across the room to get the offending thing away from me. The fear of breaking the screen was the only rational thought keeping me from tossing it as yet another grotesque message and an even worse image was in the following five! After the tenth message with nothing but disgusting, thoughtless images and slurs inside I responded.

Hello Red & Black Jack,

Fuck Off. Do the world a favor and hide your tiny gnome dick then go home. 

Hot Shot Lady Doc

I copy and pasted the message and continued to send it to each and every dick pic sent to me, which was an alarming twenty people out of the fifty that sent messages overnight.

Finally, after the multitude of disgusting messages, several vulgar and suggestive message–one of which said “What’s long and hard and full of Seamen?”, there was one person I vaguely remembered sending a message to last night that seemed to have responded.

Hi Hot Shot Lady Doc,

Or may I call you Claire? I am most definitely a real man, I definitely am not one of those people who creep on the internet to prey on women like yourself, and I would love to have coffee with you. I think my time as an army surgeon and your current profession would give us a fantastic base to start on. I’m free any time tomorrow, or this weekend. If you are serious about the meetup please call me at +44 07778 008897.

I look forward to meeting you.

Army Doc, John Grey

My brow furrowed in confusion. “What the fuck did I even say to him?”

I reread his message then anxiously scrolled up to see what prompted his unusual first sentence.

“Oh dear God.” I groaned in horror as ice filled my veins. “Please tell me I didn’t do that.” I closed my eyes but the drunken words were burned into the backs of my eyelids.

Hi Amry Doc!

Are you a real man? OR just one of those crazies who want to kidnap and rape me?

Yuor picture is very cute adn yuor cute and yeah.

We should have coffee!! I love coffee!

I’m sorry I’m a little drunj it’s my bithday!!! Happy lonely Birthday to me!!! My best friend gave me wine and this dating app for agift! She’s nice but I don’t know about it but guess I should give chance. So coffee soon? Please!

Claire

“At least I spelled my name right,” I grumbled and flopped face first onto the leather of the couch. With half of my face still pressed into the couch, I messaged the very kind Army Doc back.

Hi John,

I’m so sorry for my drunk messages last night. Thank you for being kind enough to reply. I don’t know why you did. I know I asked last night, but I’m reaffirming I’d love to get coffee. I’m free this afternoon, it’s my only day off this week from the hospital. Where and when are you available to meet?

Claire

I moved my head back towards the cushion where the stench of the hospital and stale wine mingled with the rich leather. I let out a huff and pushed myself up from the couch, a shower was definitely in order.

The pounding water and fresh steam of the shower helped clear the fog from my head and bring my body back to a semblance of normalcy. In the hour and half, I had spent under the water, two new messages had arrived from the dating site. Still wrapped in a towel, I thumbed through them.

Claire,

Please think nothing of it. If it weren’t for my brother I guarantee I would not have had the nerve to respond to someone like you. I would be honored to meet you in Oxford if that works for you. Would Vaults & Garden off of High Street near All Souls and Radcliffe Square be easy for you to get to around 15:00? I have a noon meeting at All Souls and will be in the area for the full day before driving back to London.

John

My heart picked up a beat and I felt my face flush in excitement as an uncontrollable smile lit up my face.

John,

15:00 at Vaults & Garden would be wonderful. See you there! I’ll be the one in–

I stopped and looked at my wardrobe, debating the possible combinations and hating every single option.

“Get a grip, Beauchamp! It’s only coffee!” I said confidently before blindly reaching for a hanger.

I’ll be the one in green.

Claire

The second message was from one of the original men who I matched with and apparently hadn’t made a fool of myself with.

Hi Hot Shot Lady Doc,

Christ, these dating apps and usernames really make it difficult to take even myself seriously. I’ll start out with my name is Jamie and I’m–

I failed to read the rest of his, what I’m sure was a well thought out message, and snooped on his profile. In the picture, he had on a garish red jumper with giant blue balls knit into it. Did he think this was endearing? I tried to ignore the jumper and focus on his face but found my eyes kept creeping back down to the ridiculous article of clothing.

Seumas Ruadh

Name: James Fraser

Occupation: Wining Fraser - Owner/Distributor

Looking For: Something unseen, yet felt between

Interested In: Women with a kind heart, and sharp mind

“Oh, well now why did you have to go and say something cute Mr. Fraser?” I huffed in mock exasperation scrolling back up to focus on his face. A strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, with a long straight nose let to piercing blue, smiling eyes. Eyes that seemed to smile and be illuminated from behind, made my heart skip a beat and butterflies to flutter in my gut. A tumbling mass of red curls framed his face and the lone stray curl that curved towards his left eye made him even more enticing. I wanted to know this man.

I gazed at his likeness for longer than what would be deemed appropriate, lost in his smile that lit up his entire face, like that moment in time he could not be any happier. “Now I have to go back and read your message, you’re too adorable not to.”

Hi Hot Shot Lady Doc,

Christ, these dating apps and usernames really make it difficult to take even myself seriously. I’ll start out with my name is Jamie and I’m new to this whole online dating experience. I’m 28, no kids, never married. Is that the kind of thing people mention on here? I don’t know. I’m the owner of Wining Fraser, a small wine distribution business based out of Edinburgh. I love what the wine business does. Not only do we get to experience a new world with every company and every bottle, we–I–get to bring joy to people. I suppose that’s why I’m using this insane way of finding a date. I’ve lost myself in my work and figured now was as good a time as any to attempt to find that missing something or I suppose, someone. I do hope you’ll respond back, and I look forward to getting to know you.

Jamie Fraser

I caught myself laughing at his choice and use of words. I feel much the same. Here I sat, 32 barely making enough time to sleep from insane work schedules, failing at anything that required care and attention. I wouldn’t doubt that if I were to buy a houseplant the poor thing would die, not from my lack of a green thumb, but my lack of love to give to it.

After rereading Jamie’s message and began to compose my reply. I caught myself giggling like a schoolgirl, and had to make an effort not to let the butterflies fly away with my words.

Dear Jamie,

Please, just call me Claire.

I understand when you said that work seems to be your entire life. I too am guilty of that very action. My lack of social and romantic life led to my best friend signed me up for this app on my birthday of all days. Sometimes I wonder where time has gone and how at 32, I feel as though I’ve simultaneously been around for much longer and not long enough to know what I’m doing. Have you ever felt as though your life passes you by no matter how hard you try to stop and take a moment to savor it? At first I was wary of even starting this app, and now I don’t want my life to fly by any more than it has without my say so. I want to savor every moment, and sometimes that means taking a risk, like saying hello to a handsome stranger.

I too, look forward to getting to know you, Jamie.

Claire

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 9 : Better to Marry than Burn

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 8 : The Gentleman of Leisure Fergus has always been like a son to Jamie.

“Well, I did see you together that day in the alcove,” I defended myself, “and somebody certainly taught you how to kiss.” Jamie shuffled his feet in the dust, embarrassed. He ducked his head shyly. “Well now, Sassenach, I’m no better than most men. Sometimes I try, but I dinna always manage. Ye know that bit in St. Paul, where he says ’tis better to marry than burn? Well, I was burnin’ quite badly there.”

I laughed again, feeling light-hearted as a sixteen-year-old myself. “So you married me,” I teased, “to avoid the occasion of sin?” “Aye. That’s what marriage is good for; it makes a sacrament out of things ye’d otherwise have to confess.” (Outlander, 416).

     He might have stormed out of their bedroom in anger the previous night, but Jamie knew that he needed to keep peace in his home.  Several times in his life, Jamie had walked toward a necessary conversation with a heavy heart, and this time hurt him especially.

     He found Fergus in the stables, forking hay down from the loft into the stalls. He’d thought of Fergus frequently in the years he was in Ardsmuir and Helwater.  The lad was still the same handsome, clever, quick-witted creature Jamie had first met, but the familiar face had changed markedly in the eleven years Jamie had been gone.  Fergus had been eighteen when Jamie turned himself in to the British, a young man who was still slender and youthful of face.  A boy continues to grow and mature in his twenties whereas girls have often reached their maturity before they leave their teenage years.  Fergus had widened through the rib cage, though he was still thin.  His beard had thickened as well, so that if he did not shave, there was a dark shadow on his cheeks.  But the real changes were less perceptible—a sense of humor and wisdom in the eyes, confidence, and a settled peace in his personality.

    Fergus climbed down the ladder as Jamie stood below, trying to consider his words.

     “Ah milord,” Fergus said empathetically as Jamie approached him with downcast face.  “I know what you need to say.  Please know I cannot fault you.  You must consider the feelings of your wife now.”

     Jamie shook his head, as if the effort could change the circumstances.  “But Fergus, lad, you’re like a son to me. I wanted you here.  I didna even consider that it would be a problem for the second Mrs. Fraser.  I think maybe Laoghaire sees ye and it makes her think of France, and Claire.  For me those are good memories, but they are not good memories for her.”

     “What shall I do then, milord?” Fergus asked, looking about him at the beasts in the stable and the crops in the fields beyond.  “I am not made to be a farmer.  I cannot go back to Lallybroch.”

     Jamie wrinkled his forehead as he too stared out over the fields.  “I’ve been thinking, Fergus.  The land doesn’t create enough income anymore.  There’s not enough to support Jenny and Ian and their children at Lallybroch, while also supporting us here at Balriggan.  We need another source of income.”

     “Milord?”  Fergus asked curiously.  “What are you thinking?”

     “Ye were speaking about seeking out yer fortune last evening.  You’re a smart lad, Fergus, and ye have a way wi’ people.  If I sent ye to Edinburgh, do ye think you could find ways for us to make additional money?  I’ve got the last gem retrieved from Silke Island secreted away, so we would have some capital to buy or start something. I need a business, lad.  Something respectable. Something an educated man might find stimulating and rewarding, but something that might also be a cover for a less reputable but more profitable business venture.”  Jamie’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, and Fergus could see the idea gaining more traction in his mind.

     “Milord,” said Fergus, brightening, “This is a thing I could do.  What exactly might you be considering?”

    “When I worked for Jared,” Jamie mused, “I could see that there is money to be found in the selling of spirits. Ye should go to Edinburgh and seek out a business that moves things, one where it’s common for tubs and casks to come and go.  A business where the excise men willna typically think they should even go.”

     “Ah, milord,” Fergus smiled.  “This will be a challenge.  And it will be good to be in your service again and seek a different source of income. As I said, I was not made to be a farmer.”

     “Nay, lad, ye werena made for that. Well, come in to break yer fast,” Jamie said.  “Ye can say goodbye to the little lassies.  And Laoghaire will be happy to pack you a generous amount of delicious food, as long as it’s to send ye away on a long journey.”  He chuckled bitterly.

     Jamie was right.  Laoghaire was quite cheerful, considering the sabaid mhòr they’d had the previous night. He had crept down to the guest room and slept on the bed he’d intended for Fergus.  He didn’t want to be around her after the words they’d said, but he didn’t much feel like apologizing, either.

     Joanie was sad to see her new friend leave.  “Ye will write and tell us if you find a parrot and decide to sail to the West Indies, will ye not?” she asked seriously, holding onto Fergus, one hand gripping his hand and the other his hook.

     “You will be the very first to know if I become a pirate, Miss Joanie,” Fergus assured her.  “But currently, I do plan to return at least for Hogmanay.  I wouldna want to be away from the family at the holidays.”

     “But that’s months away!” Marsali exclaimed, breaking her silence and stepping toward Fergus in her distress.  “Nine months!  Will ye truly not come to visit us in all that time?  And that means ye also willna be here for my birthday next month.  I’m turning fourteen. Nearly a young lady.”

     Fergus smiled at her, and patted her on the arm.  Jamie was glad Laoghaire was in the kitchen packing vittles for Fergus to take on his journey, for the way Fergus looked at Marsali, and the way Marsali tensed and blushed at Fergus’s touch demonstrated that sending Fergus away was probably the best choice, though he wouldn’t admit it to Laoghaire.  Fergus needed to be reminded of his influence on real women, not a mere child like Marsali. 

     As he bid the girls farewell, Fergus first bowed low to Joan, taking her hand after she’d curtsied and kissing it briefly.  He did the same for Marsali, but he met her eyes, and his lips perhaps lingered a little longer than they should have.  But he was leaving, so Jamie rolled his eyes at the young flirt and ushered him out of the house.

     The two men embraced once more at the road as Fergus prepared to mount his horse for the journey to Edinburgh.  Jamie ruffled Fergus’s hair as he used to when he was just a wee lad, and with some last pieces of advice, he sent the young man on his way.

      Laoghaire had been very aware of Marsali’s admiration for Fergus the previous evening.  She recognized the telltale signs of infatuation in her daughter’s actions: listening intently while not actually making eye contact, blushing in response to being acknowledged, and more than anything, Marsali’s otherworldly awareness of the young man’s location at all times.  When Fergus had left, her daughter had burst into tears and gone running upstairs.  Laoghaire thought she might actually still be crying up there.  The lad definitely needed to leave.

     Her argument with her husband had been horrid last night, but she was very glad that Jamie had listened to her, even if his words had stung her to the core.

     Icy?  He called her an icy bitch.  She had been anything but icy towards Jamie at Castle Leoch.

☆☆☆☆☆

     It was a miracle that her father let her out in company again after the hall.  That night her Da and her Gran had a huge argument.  Mrs. Fitz finally told her son-in-law that she would take responsibility for the young lass.  Wasn’t it those uncouth village boys who she’d been with, after all?  Laoghaire had tearfully promised on her mother’s grave that she would not behave in a loose manner, and the deal was done.  Now she was sharing a room with her Gran, and sequestered to the kitchen for most of the day, with just occasional privy breaks where she could be alone.  Even with those restrictions, Laoghaire was grateful.  She had a feeling if she’d gone home with her Da, it wouldn’t matter that Jamie had volunteered to take her punishment in the hall—her Da was just as capable of using his belt at home.

     She was grateful to be allowed to see Gwyllyn the bard perform in the hall that evening.  When Mrs. Fitz finally excused her from her kitchen duties, she crept into the large vaulted room and looked for an open seat.  She didn’t realize she was sitting next to the Sassenach until the woman had leaned toward her to introduce herself.  They had exchanged names, acknowledging each other with congenial smiles.  Then Laoghaire’s attention was drawn away to the entrance to the hall, and her heart instantly began to pound.  There he was—James Fraser, wearing his kilt, drawing the attention of everyone with his handsome face, his strong body, and that red hair.  

     Mistress Beauchamp had noticed as well, and whispered “Cuts quite the fine figure, that Mr. MacTavish!”

     “Aye,” she had answered.  There was no use denying it.

     Jamie had been engaged in cheerful conversation with several men by the entrance, but as the two young ladies were watching him, he glanced over in their direction.  Mistress Beauchamp waved to the young man, as Laoghaire considered, Which one of them was he looking at? 

     She sighed, concluding the worst.  “But it’s not me he fancies.”

     He was walking toward them, as Mistress Beauchamp joked, “Well, men rarely know what’s best for them.  That’s what us women are for.”

     He tried to make himself smaller to not offend the other members of the audience, but that was virtually impossible.  He completely filled the empty space in between them with his bulk, greeting them in turn. 

     “Laoghaire.  Mistress Beauchamp.”

     “Mr. MacTavish,” said Mistress Beauchamp.  She leaned out and looked beyond him to Laoghaire.  “I was just telling Miss MacKenzie how beautiful she looked tonight.”

     He looked at her distractedly, taking in her hair, her dress.  “Aye,” he said.  “Aye, she’s bonny.”  Then he turned his gaze away from her as Gwyllyn started to play.

     Laoghaire could tell from Jamie’s posture which one of them had the majority of his attention.  His body leaned away from her like a tree blown in the wind, his torso angled clearly toward the English woman.  Mistress Beauchamp tried to include her in the conversation, but Jamie seemed to shut her out, his broad back like a wall.  She couldn’t hear what Mistress Beauchamp was saying, and Jamie was leaning toward the Sassenach every time he spoke.

     He did mention the time he had been at Leoch before, and Laoghaire tried to re-insert herself in the discussion.  “I remember the time you were here before,” she'd mused.

     “Mmmm?” said Mistress Beauchamp, sipping her Rhenish and acknowledging her.  “Do you?”

     “You canna have been much more than seven or eight yourself,” said Jamie. He smiled, and Laoghaire sighed in embarrassment.  He leaned back towards Mistress Beauchamp, saying, “I doubt I was much to see then so as to be remembered.”

     “Well, I do remember, though,” she had responded to him.  She thought back to that strong young man, and her young girl’s crush.  “You were so—.“ She didn’t want to embarrass herself and didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence.  “I mean, do you not remember me from then?”

     “No,” said Jamie, casually.  “No, I dinna think so.  Still, I wouldna even be likely to.”  He was trying to be polite, maybe.  He turned back to the Sassenach, again.  “A young birkie of 16 is too taken up with his own grand self to pay much heed to what he thinks are naught but a rabble of snot-nosed bairns.”

     Snot-nosed bairns!, Laoghaire thought in disgust.  She wanted to remind him.  She wanted to say, Ye weren’t but fourteen, and ye did notice me, Jamie Fraser.  Ye said I would be the bonniest lass at Leoch when I was grown.  But he wasn’t paying attention to her now.  Mistress Beauchamp had just elbowed him, which made him freeze and stare at her.

     The older two continued their whispered conversation next to her, and Laoghaire felt ignored.  Gwyllyn had only finished the first song, when Jamie finally turned back to Laoghaire.  But it was only to hand her Mistress Beauchamp’s glass which he had just drained, and to say, “It’s gotten late.  I believe I’ll see Mistress Beauchamp back to her chamber.” 

      With that, Jamie and Mistress Beauchamp got up and left the hall, and Laoghaire watched them as they went, Jamie holding onto the Sassenach by the elbow.  They weren’t married, and Mistress Beauchamp seemed very proper.  But the way she had touched Jamie the previous night seemed very intimate.  What were they going to do?  Laoghaire’s stomach ached with longing and disappointment, and she glared at Claire's retreating back.

      The following day Laoghaire was yet again working in the kitchen.  Mrs. Fitz had her wrapping up bannocks and cheese in cloth and putting them in baskets for the young men who picked up their luncheons before heading out to work in the fields or with the horses.  She was busy at her work, when suddenly she felt fingers on her back and then someone tugging at her hair.

     “Stop-it, Adam,” she hissed.  The young lad was constantly teasing her instead of bringing in wood like he was supposed to.

     “Not Adam,” said a deep voice from behind her.  Laoghaire’s eyes flew open and she whipped around, slowed slightly by the hand which still gripped a sizeable hank of her hair.

     “I just recalled,” said Jamie.  He was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling.  “I think I do remember you, Laoghaire.  Did ye used to plait your hair in a thick braid, like a golden rope down yer back?”

     She pursed her lips at him.  “Yes,” she said skeptically.  Did he truly remember?

     “And I told the other lads we should be careful.  For when you were grown, you were going to be the bonniest lass at Leoch.”

     “You do remember,” she said, shaking her head, feeling irritated with him. It was too late.  He’d already embarrassed her in front of the Sassenach.  “Are ye here to take your luncheon?  The finished baskets are over there.”  She gestured to the other table.

     “No,” said Jamie.  “I will be working the horses today, but I think I need to go to confession, first.”

     “Confession?” Laoghaire asked.  “’Tisn’t Sunday.  Dinna ye want to wait for Mass?”

     “Some things need to be confessed sooner, or they wear on your soul,” Jamie responded.

     “Are you so very evil?” Laoghaire asked him.  “You have so many sins that you must confess every day?”

     “Nah,” said Jamie, “But I have been thinking about the scriptures, and it’s put me in mind of some things I need to confess.”

     She made a face at him.  Not many lads bothered to read anything, much less the Bible. He was in an odd mood, but Laoghaire decided to play along.  “Which scriptures are ye thinkin’ about, James Fraser?” She gave him a sidelong glance as she continued to wrap up the bannocks and cheese.

     Jamie was looking around the kitchen, and he gestured toward the hallway with his head.  Mrs. Fitz was occupied, so Laoghaire put down the packet she was working on and followed him. 

     When they were out in the hall, they faced each other.  Oh, his eyes were so blue, Laoghaire thought.

     He couldn’t quite meet her gaze, and his lips twisted in a wry smile.  “I was thinkin’ about what St. Paul says, that ‘tis better to marry than to burn.”

     “Are ye getting’ marrit, then?” Laoghaire asked, confused as to where the young man was going with this line of discussion.

     “No.”  Jamie stepped closer to her and bending close, whispered in her ear in a husky voice, his warm breath blowing on her in a way that sent chills down her spine.  “No, but I’m burnin’, lass. And if I’ve got to go to confession already, I might as well have something to confess.”

      “What about Mistress Beauchamp?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

     “Mistress Beauchamp?”  Jamie paused and sighed thoughtfully, “Well, she’s been marrit, and she doesna plan to stay at Leoch.  Besides, she has no use for an outlaw like me.”

     Laoghaire stepped back and looked up at him.  Was he making fun of her?  The look she saw in his eyes made it quite clear.  This was not the distracted young man of last night, dismissing the little lassie next to him while he hung on every word of the beautiful Sassenach.  He was devouring her with his eyes, looking at her face, and quite clearly his eyes were drifting lower as well.

     “Well, maybe we can give ye something to confess, and I can show my thankfulness,” Laoghaire teased.  “I know a place,” she whispered.  And taking him by the hand she led him into an alcove where a striped linen curtain would hide them from view.  He sat on a keg and pulled her down onto his lap.  With a sweet, hungry smile, he stroked her cheek, then dug his fingers into the thick blonde locks at the back of her neck and pulled her close to him until their lips met.

     Her heart may have leapt when she was seven, and she surely felt roused when she kissed Hugh and thought of Jamie, but that was nothing in comparison to what Laoghaire felt now.  With Jamie’s gentle hands roaming her body, she was head-to-toe goose bumps and shivers.  Hugh kissed in a sloppy, wet way, which Laoghaire sometimes thought was like letting a baby calf suck on your face.  But Jamie did it differently, opening his lips, and gently touching and licking hers with the barest touches of his tongue. 

     He stroked her body as well, gentle caresses down her arms and up her back, tracing her ears and neck with his fingers, traveling over the rise of her breasts at the gathered edge of her shift.

     And then Laoghaire felt his large hand pushing her skirts upward, for a moment resting on her knee, and then gently creeping farther, stroking the sensitive skin of her thigh.  She thought she would faint.  Her muscles were liquid.  She felt weak, in body as well as willpower. 

     “No,” she said, when his hand was halfway up her thigh, finally realizing she needed to place a limit on him and on herself.

     “Oh, Laoghaire,” he breathed.  “Oh, ye are so bonny.  Ye are right, though.  We shouldna keep going.”

     She thought she’d felt something shift beneath her as they were kissing, and when she got off of Jamie’s lap, he didn’t instantly rise.  He was wide-eyed and somewhat breathless, his face flushed.

     He chuckled and made a face at her.  “That St. Paul.  He must have done a lot of confessing, for I dinna think the man married.  So he must have been burnin’, all right.”  She was waiting for him to leave with her, but he stayed seated.

     “Ah, we should probably leave separately anyway.  And I think I need a minute, lass,” Jamie said, slowly blowing out his breath as he waved for her to exit. 

☆☆☆☆☆

     As Laoghaire watched Jamie read to the girls that night, she truly looked at him for the first time in quite a while.  He was not the same young man as he had been at Leoch.  For one thing, he had more scars.  Besides the scars from the double flogging, and the small white line on his lip from the beating he took for her, as well as the crescent shaped scar on the back of his head, buried in his hair, there was the triangular one on his neck, and the long wound on his thigh from the battle at Culloden.

     He certainly had hidden scars as well.  Though he was very sweet with the girls, sometimes it seemed as if he didn’t have a whole heart to give.

     But then, neither did she.  She was scarred as well, in ways that Jamie would never see; some of her deepest scars actually caused by him.  She wondered, as she looked at the red curly head bent close to the girls with their braids, like gold and copper ropes: What would their lives have been like, if Jamie had really listened to himself as he propositioned her in the hallway, with those words from St. Paul?  What if she hadn’t stopped his hand?

On to Chapter 9b: A Bird in the Hand Jamie’s memories of Leoch