#just the bonniest lass

[the-californicationist]

fluffy smutty dom soap just spoiling the everliving shit out of the female mc, like they've been lovey dovey so much but theyre finally getting down to businesssssssss (to defeat... THE HUNSSSSS)

idk if this is what you were looking for.... but!! 😅

TW: rough sex, collar, D/s, face fucking, boot-riding, female reader, unsafe motorcycle events, enthusiastic consent and prior boundaries

Backpacking

Soap’s hands grabbed yours and pulled them around his waist, showing you just how tight to hold on. You could feel the heat of his skin through his clothes, and you let your fingers tease the hem of his thin tee shirt, tracing little lines across his belly. 

You’d spent the whole day on the back of his motorcycle, speeding from one town to the next, packing his side bags full of trinkets and jewelry — anything you wanted, he handed over his card. A brand new baby pink helmet? Check. The safety jacket to match? Check. A white leather collar with the cutest little bell? Check. He was doing anything and everything he could to treat you like a princess, and as much fun as you were having, you could recognize a pre-apology from a mile away. 

He wanted to butter you up, to lull you into a false sense of relaxed euphoria, and then he’d pounce. You knew his patterns well. He’d compliment you, calling you the bonniest wee backpack he ever did see, telling you that you were his fit lassie, prettier than any other, and that you felt so good wrapped around him when he rode. 

Soap lifted up your legs and scooted you forward, jamming you up against him. Then, the bike roared to life, ready to take you home. You could feel the machine rumble beneath you, vibrating right to your very core. 

You dared move your hands lower, cupping his heavy cock in your hands, feeling him twitch, threatening to get hard behind the zipper of his jeans. 

“Lass,” he warned, flipping up the visor to his helmet while he waited at the red light. 

The light turned green and he flipped it back down, turning his attention back to the road. 

You moved your hands again, squeezing him and massaging him until he was throbbing. You knew you were in for a world of hurt when you got home, but that was miles away. When he sped up, you squeezed harder, finding his swollen head and torturing it with your fingertips, spidering your nails across the stretched denim, knowing he would feel the ghost of your touch against his skin. 

He was certainly bothered. You could tell he was gunning for home, taking all of the shortcuts, shifting in his seat. Then, a stop sign. It was the entrance to your village, and your house wasn’t far off. 

As he rolled to a stop, he didn’t say a word, but his masked face looked over his shoulder at you, and you could feel his eyes, fiery and vengeful. It made your legs tremble, knowing how he would punish you. 

The twists and turns to your home were achingly slow compared to your ride on the highway, and the anticipation mounted in your belly. He pushed the button for the garage and rode inside with you still on the back, which was not your normal procedure. Soap usually helped you down from the seat, sending you inside so he could get his gear off. But, you were trapped up there until he dismounted. 

He parked the bike and killed the engine. Then, he closed the garage, leaving you in the dim light, watching him swing his leg over the low handlebars and stand up. You moved to follow him, but he stopped you, shoving you back down with a wide hand on your hip.

“Nuh uh, I dinnae think so, bonnie. You’ve been a naughty wee backpack today, you ken?”

You pulled off your helmet, fixing your braid, peppering your words with just a little more attitude than they needed, 

“I just wanted —”

His hand darted to your neck with a violent snap, something you hadn’t experienced, and he startled you. It also made your body extremely pliant, and you felt your hole pulse for him, turned on by his sudden aggression. Soap’s helm was still on, and it muffled his voice, but you could still hear him, 

Your helmet fell out of your hands, and he caught it, setting it down with his free hand on the workbench. His other hand tightened around your neck,

“Take off your clothes, bonnie girl. Every bit.”

He released you from his grasp, but you were still trapped, forced to strip on the bike, unable to dismount as he was standing in your way. Soap was just watching you, occasionally palming his hard cock through his pants just as you had on the bike, hungry and fully in control. 

“Johnny, I promise…”

He grabbed your throat again, staring at your state of undress, just panties and socks remaining, and he barked his commands at you, 

“Kiss me.”

“What? With your helmet on?”

His hand constricted your throat even tighter as a warning, and he whispered in a deep growl,

“Like you mean it, bonnie.”

Unable to escape, you began to kiss his helmet. It was plasticky and dusty from the road, but you tried to comply, licking and sucking at the mask, leaving little trails of drool across the dark visor. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Show me how sorry you are. Your man treated you like a princess, hm? And you were a wee brat, rubbin’ my cock all the way home. Teasin’ me. Such a bad girl.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” you gave him your best doe-eyed impression, but it was no use. 

“You will be,” he growled. 

All in a flash, he shoved you over the seat of the bike, the engine still warm beneath the leather, soft and supple as you lay on your belly. From this angle, your ass was up in the air, your feet barely touching the garage floor, and your head was hanging off of the side, blocking your view. 

Then, a hard slap rang out through the garage. You heard it before you felt it, but the sting sent you reeling. You cried out with a shriek and he hit you again. It was the other cheek this time, but it hurt just as bad. 

“Johnny, please!”

You heard him rip off his helmet. It clattered to the floor and he reached over the bike, pulling you up by the nape of your neck, forcing you to arch your back, 

“Mercy? Where was my fuckin’ mercy while you were havin’ your fun on the M80?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’m — nghh!” You whispered a slew of apologies, but you were silenced as you felt his cockhead being shoved roughly against your folds, pulsing through your tight muscles, popping into place with a hot, unbearable pressure.

Soap began to thrust himself into you, both hands tangled in your hair at the base of your skull, the full weight of his body rocking into you, threatening to knock over the bike. But, it was in its wheel locks, and it wasn’t going anywhere. You had received no kindness. No soft licks with his smooth, generous tongue, no delicate swipes from his finger. Johnny was making you take his cock raw… and you loved it. 

“Mmf-fuck!” He groaned, bending himself over you like a rabid dog, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a sharp bite, holding you up with his enormous arms, your breasts swaying with every unforgiving thrust. 

“Is tha’ what you needed, hm? My bonnie backpack just needed to be stuffed full of her man’s fat prick, is tha’ it?”

“Yes-s-s-s, sir!”

“Takin’ me so well, princess. You ken I love it when you’re a good girl. Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

Every word that oozed from his mouth was punctuated by another overwhelming invasion of his hard rod, and even though you were intimately familiar with his size and shape, you couldn’t remember ever feeling him go this deep. He was relentless, and his pace was taking your breath away. 

Suddenly, you were lifted from the bike, and his hand forced its way into your collar, controlling your every movement. You were pushed to your knees, and you landed in a splayed, awkward way, with Johnny bent over you, snarling into your face,

“Find my boot with that wet little slit, princess. Find it. Tha’s it. Spread those legs. Show me you can be my good girl.”

You were cock-drunk and lost now that you were empty, but you did as you were told. You held onto his huge thigh and humped your hips down, trying to reach for the toe of his riding boot. When you found it, you noticed how he had it angled up for you, ready for you to grind yourself into it like the wanton little thing you were. 

When you felt the smoothness of the leather toe, you became all too happy to oblige, thrusting forward and back, rubbing yourself to an almost-orgasm on his boot. Just as you were about to tumble over the edge, you heard him chuckle, and you felt your neck being yanked by the collar, pulled face-to-face with his dripping cockhead. 

“Open up, bonnie.”

He didn’t wait for long. Johnny pressed his cock into your mouth, making you taste yourself, giving you a few shallow thrusts to get used to his thick girth. He still had his fingers laced through your new collar, and as he began to shove his length past your shining lips, the bell made a darling little tinkling sound. 

“Mmm,” he smiled down at you, petting the hair out of your face with his other hand, “There she is. There’s my good girl. My backpack loves to be stuffed. Loves to swallow my load, huh? Tell me how much you love it.”

“Mmph mmn mgh!” You tried to speak, but his dick was filling your cheeks, making it impossible. 

Another sharp yank on your collar got your attention, and your eyes darted to his, wide and full of wonder. He smiled, commanding you,

“Louder, bonnie. Cannae hear you clearly.”

“Mmph mmn mgh! Mmn mgh!” You were basically screaming against his flesh, struggling to push your voice out just like he wanted you to. You wanted to be so good. 

You continued to rub yourself on his boot, and you were getting close. You gripped his thigh tighter, fucking yourself with the smooth leather, chasing your high.

But, it was Soap who got you there. He grabbed you by the face and pushed himself down into your throat to his hilt, burying your nose in his curls, running his thumb over your tear-stained cheeks and coaching you through it, 

“Come for me, bonnie. Come right now. Tha’s it. Scream. Scream on my cock, you pretty little slut. Mngh! Tha’s it!”

Your body didn’t give you a choice. It was on his side, and it followed his orders. You felt yourself coming, shaking in your legs, gushing all over his shoe, staining the concrete floor of the garage, screaming like you were dying. 

He pulled himself out of you all in one, gentle go. Then, he started jerking himself off, keeping hold of your collar, fisting his cock onto your cheek. 

“Close your eyes, princess, and open up that filthy fuckin’ mouth.”

You obeyed, pliant as ever, and as you did, you felt his come coat your face, rope after rope, warm and creamy, getting all over your cheeks and mouth. You opened your eyes to look at him, and he was worn out, wrung like a rag, panting and dizzy. He used the tip of his dick to paint your lips one more time, and  you cleaned him up, laving him with your tongue from base to tip, letting his seed drip off of your nose and jaw, not caring how messy you were. 

While he was watching you, you swiped a dollop of his come up with your finger and began eating it from your hands, showing him your tongue, trying to please him with your loyal obedience. 

“Oh, fuck. Such a pretty girl. So perfect. Best fuckin’ backpack in the whole world, bonnie.”

AO3 Link

[kyuteflesh]

kyle “gaz” garrick / f!reader

﹒⪩⪨﹒ ﹒⪩⪨﹒ ﹒⪩⪨﹒

anotha one (much love to everyone who supported my last post 🫶🫶 ur the best). not the greatest i could’ve done, less serious this time, experimenting, barely proofread, just writing to cope. enjoy :p

more plot than porn tbh, +18

141 was finally home after what felt like an eternity.

you were close with all of the members but one: kyle garrick, otherwise known as gaz.

every time you all had plans together, garrick would be the first to tap out within an hour. tonight was the night you would figure out why.

“i have a question.” you announced, downing your second shot of tequila

“ohhh! getting serious now, are we lass?” soap exclaimed, nudging ghost who in return gave him a pinch on the arm. you could only purse your lips at him.

“go on. we’re all ears.” price replied. soap and ghost crowded next to him.

“how come whenever we go out, kyle never comes? am i that much of a dick repellent??” you huffed.

soap coughed up his drink. “far from it. honestly, he just has a wee bit of a problem.”

you weren’t sure whether you should’ve been offended or not by what he said. “and what in the hell does that mean?!”

“we all agree that you’re the bonniest l—“ johnny started, only for price to quickly cut him off in attempts to deflect the attention away from them.

“garrick fancies you very much!!” there was no way in hell he was gonna let a drunken soap spoil what they talk about when you’re not around.

…………..

“in what way???” you were flabbergasted to say the least.

“way to go, captain.” ghost grumbled, facepalming in the process.

“he told us that you were so attractive it was intimidating to him. he doesn’t wanna mess anything up, so he refrains from overstaying his welcome.” price chuckled between air-quotations.

johnny was having a blast, cackling and slapping his knee. “LORD HAVE MERCY! THAT IS THE HEADLINER OF THE CENTURY.”

several drinks later, you found yourself staying in a hotel room with the group. nothing going on besides friendly banter.

simon’s phone buzzed and everyone turned to him. “who is it? some girl from the bar?” soap grinned sheepishly. “would you shut the hell up for once? it’s garrick, said he’s about to be here.”

“about time that man shows up!” price and mactavish silently cheered together.

… so many thoughts in your brain right now. how were you going to act after finding out hes been crushing on you for how many years now??? you weren’t sure if you could deal with the anxiety of presenting yourself in this state.

that’s when you heard a knock on the door.

“well would you look at that..”

“that’s our cue, gotta go!”

“sorry l/n…”

and with that, simon opened the door for gaz, and the rest of them swiftly escaped. literally no time to process anything.

you looked up at kyle. “are they coming back?”

he shook his head and took a deep sigh.

“no, they aren’t.. i rented this room for us.”

flabbergasted x2. and he could tell.

“i know i’m practically a stranger to you, i apologize. however, i’m determined to change that.”

he’s not a stranger to you. you know tons about him due to soaps big mouth, and the times where he would barely speak– because other little fun facts got tacked on from there by the group messing with him.

honestly, that’s what draws you to him.

you weren’t gonna say that. you haven’t said anything.

he sat down next to you, taking yet another deep sigh.

“i don’t want you to think i dislike you, and i’m sorry if i made it seem that way. i really like you y/n, and i just never knew how to go about dealing with these feelings. i thought they would go away if i distanced myself but t—“ you pressed your lips to his. kyle’s eyes widened, but he promptly snapped out of it.

he wasn’t about to fumble a second time. he’s been waiting for this moment forever.

it didn’t take long for it to turn into a heated make out sesh.

he put his hand on the back of your head, gently weighing you down to the bed. he was on top of you, kissing down your neck.

gaz parted away from you for air. “is this ok?” he asked, toying with the bottom of your shirt. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way.

“of course it’s ok. you can do whatever you want with me.” you giggled.

he slipped a hand up your shirt, caressing every inch possible. “these already feel so nice. i wanna see them bare.”

your face turned a light shade of pink, “you first.”

gaz took his shirt off without any further hesitation. he wasn’t the bulkiest of the group, but he still had a nice, toned figure.

that was enough to really get you going. you followed along, straight to the point too considering you removed your bra prior to his arrival.

“bloody hell.” he leaned his head into your chest.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing at all. you’re absolutely breathtaking.”

(SO INTO BODY WORSHIP CHANGE MY MIIINNDDDDDDDDDDDDAGHHH) gaz wasted no time sucking and kissing on your tits. his hands were wandering for a good minute before he started to travel towards the burning heat between your legs.

after finally getting your skirt and panties off, gaz took a moment to admire his prize. “such a pretty fuckin pussy.”

he started to gently massage your clit, gathering your slick to help. “all of this for me? i’m truly honored.”

“hush up already and do somethinggg.” you begged.

“aw, needy all of a sudden? where’v you been keeping it all this time?” he began to stick two fingers inside of you. “whatever you say, luv.”

he was eating you out while making sure your hole got attention too. curling his fingers, going at a generous pace. “you taste so good. need your mouth on my dick at the same time.”

kyle laid down, and you got on top of him nearing his cock. he started to lap at your cunt again, returning to his previous tempo as his digits pumped in and out.

you squeaked, starting to work his dick with your hand. you took the tip into your mouth, licking the mess of precum that was left because of for you.

as much as you’d rather have his dick inside your pussy, something about the both of you being pleasured orally was insanely hot. enough to help your climax build.

“more, please.”

“more what?”

“add more fingers. i need it, please kyle.”

practically fisting you, he had four fingers inside you now (rookie numbers tbh). you on the other hand, were gagging on his dick. you could feel it twitch with every gurgled moan you let out.

“i’m gonna cum” he choked out. this man is one hell of a trooper. a munch if you would.

“i wanna cum on your tits. just need you to finish first.” he flipped you over, back on top of you. two fingers this time, but it was enough.

“right there. don’t stop-!” you were struggling with words. squeezing his free hand. so focused on the intense feeling you didn’t care about who could’ve been hearing you.

you finally let yourself go. face glazed with sweat and spit. kyles was 10 times worse. hot tho.

kyle was eager to cum. after giving your pussy a final kiss, he started to work on his own release.

hovering over you, he continued to jerk himself off. you pushed your boobs together, anticipating the sticky coating. he groaned in response, getting shakier by the second. without any word, he finished all over your chest.

“have you gotten over your little crush yet?”

“for fucks sake. definitely not.”

[hummingbird-of-light]

First story for @badthingshappenbingo ~

Title: An Engineer's Last Moment

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)

Character(s): Montgomery "Scotty" Scott, USS Enterprise

Relationship(s): Montgomery "Scotty" Scott & USS Enterprise (platonic love)

Rating: T

Words: 555

Prompt: Claustrophobia

Warnings: Angst, Major Character Death

(You can also find this story on AO3)

~ An Engineer's Last Moment ~

His heart was beating out of his chest, pulse racing. It felt like he couldn't breathe. And that was just the problem.

Soon enough he would run out of air. And then he wouldn't be able to breathe for real.

He ran his hands through his damp hair, shaking his head over and over again.

It was a nightmare. Never in his life had Montgomery Scott expected that she'd kill him. That his gorgeous silver lady would be the death of him.

He couldn't move. The Jefferies tube was way too small to properly stretch his arms or legs. It was the most horrifying experience the Scotsman could go through.

"Please, lass, let me out of here," he begged in a hoarse whisper, gently running his hand across the cold metal in front of him. He didn't dare to punch it for he didn't want to hurt the Enterprise.

As much as he wished to scream out loud, he knew that it was of no use. No one would hear him anyway.

Everyone was busy trying to fight off the intruders. The alien species that had somehow managed to hack into their computer systems.

These bastards had taken control of his poor silver lady. They had shut down the turbolifts so that the engineers' only way to move through the ship had been the tubes.

And then? Then they had sealed them. They had locked Scotty and probably several other members of his staff inside.

The Scotsman closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. He tried to picture his home in his mind.

Scotland. The bonniest place on Earth.

The wide open fields, the glenns, the mountains, the lakes. It was all just so gorgeous. It was the place he had loved for so many years.

If only he could stand on a hill right now, cold wind hitting his face.

Hot tears slowly streamed down his face as he thought about the days when his little brother and him had played outside, rolling down the hills, laughing.

Everything had been perfect.

And now? Now he was slowly suffocating inside a wee tube aboard the ship he loved so much.

It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that these monsters turned his lovely lass against him!

"Please," he whispered once more. If only he could get through to her. If only he could save her.

With every minute passing, the Jefferies tube seemed to shrink. It was only his imagination, Scotty knew that, but then again it felt just so real. The walls appeared to be coming closer and closer. They wanted to crush him.

"Don't do this, lass, please."

He knew that there was no way out. He knew that he'd die in this place.

The less air he had to breathe, the worse the hallucinations got.

The walls were closing in on him. They pressed all the air from his lungs, crushed his bones, his organs.

The last thing he muttered, when unconsciousness was gentle enough to take him, were the words he needed his silver lady to know.

"It's okay. I... I forgive ye."

It wasn't her fault. And therefore he would never blame her. For she had never meant to hurt him.

One last time, his hand brushed gently across the metal, then it dropped to the ground, staying motionless forever.

[celticbarb]

Book: The Bride He Stole

Author: Jayne Castel

Series: The Rogues of Mull, Book #2

Release Date: May 16, 2024

Publisher: Winter Mist Press

Print Length: 270 pages

Overall Rating: 5/5 Stars

Blog Rating: 5/5 Saltire Flags

We first meet Jack Maclean in book one of The Rogues of Mull in “The Lass He Left Behind”. He is Loch Maclean’s cousin where Loch Maclean and Mairi Macquarie, a woman from his past have a second chance romance. However this is Jack’s story in the second book of the Rogues of Mull series as the saga continues….

Isle of Mull, Scotland 1315

Jack Maclean wants vengeance against being waiting to abduct the woman he should despise. After all, her father Kendric MacKinnon murdered his father. Yet he should despise her instead she feels like she is the missing part of his heart that makes him whole. He only abducted Tara Mackinnon to hurt her father who murdered his father over a decade ago. However he had been fighting against the English now the hatred is back in his blood.

Like his cousin Loch, Jack Maclean had been fighting the English for the previous ten years. He had always wanted vengeance against Laird Kendric Mackinnon for slaughtering father fifteen years prior but had been preoccupied fighting the English with Robert the Bruce. However after Bannockburn he is now again consumed with hatred and malice he had put away, yet he is running out of time! As his daughter is supposed to marry Callum MacDonald of Sleat the following day which would give the MacKinnon a very powerful alliance and make them almost untouchable! Jack had one opportunity and took it while Tara had been shopping for ribbon in a shop alone.

As an abductor Jack was full of contradictions accidentally spraining Tara Mackinnon’s ankle when she was forced out the ribbon shop window. He gets a suave to help heal her ankle and saves her against men worse than himself and realizing his attraction for Tara MacKinnon was growing as much as his guilt. Tara had always done anything to help her clan even marrying a man she did not love to help strengthen her clan. She knows the Maclean’s were her enemies but soon she starts to open her eyes and realizes her father is not the Prince she had always thought him to be.

Tara was the bonniest woman he had ever seen but besides that she was clever, brave and resilient. Jack soon realized he had fallen in love with his enemy's daughter yet was still determined to go through with his evil plan that might night just hurt him if caught but his cousin the Laird or his elder brother Rae too. He soon is filled with guilt knowing Tara is not to blame for her fathers actions. Yet she is the only card he has to get the revenge and vengeance he had been wanting for so long. Tara knew she was attracted to Jack but soon sees a softer side too and Jack realizes she is the first and only woman he has ever loved!

Will Jack be able to go through with his dark seeded plan that will not just hurt her father but ruin Tara forever? Will Tara ever accept that her father is not the good man she always thought him to be? Will two enemies realize they are each other's soulmates as they are the other part of their hearts that make them whole. Read and find out!

Ms. Castel is my go to author and pens another book that just made my toes curl. This green eyes braw warrior and the red headed beauty was an absolute page turner that I could not put down! A book readers definitely don’t want to miss! I love that this series is about the three warriors Loch, Jack and Finn who fought Bannockburn with Robert the Bruce! Finn and Asrid’s book is next in “The Lady He Loathed” and I can’t wait to read it!

Disclaimer: I received a free advance review copy from Booksprout and the author for a fair and honest review. I voluntarily agreed to read, review and blog. All words, ideas and thoughts are my own.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

By jamiemackenziefraser

Summary:

Jamie Fraser is hiking near some strange stones when he comes across an unconscious lass. Determined to help her, Jamie’s life is turned completely upside down as he takes her in. The only issue... she’s not human.

This is the story of a faerie lass and a human lad as they discover the world and each other.

Read on AO3

Read on tumblr: Chapter 1 below the cut:

Arc I:

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16 (Arc I commentary)

Arc II: Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34

2.5 Ficlets: Chapter 35, Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40

Status: completed

Chapters: 40/40

Word count: 132k

Chapter 1: Sing me a Song

Growing up in the highlands of Scotland, Jamie was so accustomed to the breathtaking majesty of the landscape that he’d nearly become desensitized to it. But on days like this one, when he really opened his eyes, the soul of the country came alive and somehow managed to bury itself into his being. It was a part of him as much as he was a part of it. 

It was with that sense of belonging that he undertook his hike. The day was perfect— slightly overcast but with slivers of sun beams breaking through, illuminating the greens and blues of the countryside. He squinted up at the clouds in appreciation as he picked his way up a particularly steep incline. As an avid outdoorsman, Jamie found the challenge enticing, and he didn’t mind the difficult terrain. 

His morning had started much the same way it often did. Waking up with that slight ache of loneliness that seemed to accompany him everywhere, brushing it off while going about his morning routine, and deciding on an activity for the day-- often something physical-- hoping that perhaps it would fill that hole inside him as well as the hours of his time off. Today, he had chosen hiking. Something about the peace of the wilderness-- the force of nature that was Scotland herself-- made him feel a little less alone. 

It wasn’t that Jamie was unhappy. His publishing company did well enough. More than well enough, if he was being honest, although no amount of money could ever possibly fill the hole inside him. But he liked his job, his house just outside Inverness, seeing his family when he visited Lallybroch, even his cat, Adso. He told himself he was content-- and he tried his hardest to be. Still, at the end of the day, something was missing from the picture perfect life. 

He drove away the existential thoughts by quickening his pace. By this point, he was panting slightly in exertion, but he pushed himself on. Climbing the rough terrain was no easy task, and his hiking boots slipped occasionally on uneven ground. Just as he crested the top, he stopped short. Ahead of him were standing rocks, arranged in a circle and standing tall and proud. Something about them prickled the skin on his arms. Curiosity peaked— and ready for a break anyhow— he circumspectly wandered toward them. 

As he approached the circle, Jamie suddenly glimpsed a flash of white in the middle. He squinted, and quickly moved closer. 

Christ, it was a lass! 

Lying unconscious in the middle of the circle. 

He moved cautiously toward her, but felt himself buzzing with urgency. Something clearly had happened to her-- she was limp as a ragdoll someone had tossed carelessly aside. 

Once he got close, he dropped to his knees beside her. 

She was the bonniest thing he’d seen in his entire life. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes curving downward to brush the silky porcelain skin below her eyes. The bones of her face were prominent, but in a delicate way that gave her an air of grace. Her hair was a deep brown mass of unruly curls that splayed around her head like a halo where it rested on the ground. She was lying on her side, one arm splayed out in front of her. His eyes swept (completely unbidden) down the length of her body. A dhia, she was tiny. Although most people were tiny to Jamie’s 6’4’’ stature, she especially was. The only thing she was wearing was a small white dress, and it clung perfectly to the soft curves of her body. Lying unconscious, she seemed heartbreakingly vulnerable. 

But the most striking thing about the lass was the glow that seemed to surround her. The best way he could describe it was the color gold, but it was more like… a feeling. A warmth or sensation that shimmered around her. 

She was ethereal. 

As he studied her in that moment, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was too perfect to be merely human. No… she was something else. He kent it in his wame. If anyone asked, he couldn’t have expressed exactly how he had such conviction, but he still knew with complete certainty that she was not of this world. 

Despite this realization, he wasn’t frightened even in the slightest. Instead, an urge to help her-- to protect her at all costs-- began to well up inside him. The compulsion was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Maybe it was her vulnerability, or maybe it was something deeper, but Jamie was determined to care for the lass. 

He reached a hand out toward her, drawn as if by a magnetic force. The second his fingers brushed her skin, the desire to hold her overpowered him. He slid a hand under her shoulders and ever-so-gently gathered her into his arms. Touching her sent a warmth emanating through him, as if the glow surrounding her had enveloped him as well, wrapping him in its radiance. It felt… right. 

Jamie sat with her encircled in his arms for only a moment, his eyes transfixed on her lovely face. Then, without thinking, he carefully rose, repositioning her limp body in his arms to keep her tucked safely against him. She was so light that it was like lifting a child. Feeling the rightness of carrying her, he had the insane yearning in his gut to never let her go. 

As he took the first step away from the stones, his brain came snapping back into his head and he suddenly questioned what the devil he was doing. What DID he mean to do with her? 

Well, the only option was to take her home, he supposed. She was clearly in need of help, and the urge to protect her was too strong to just leave her there. And the hospital was out-- Jamie had seen enough movies to know that. So, home was simply the best course of action. 

It was quite a ways away to where he had parked on the side of a road. Descending the hill suddenly seemed much easier though, distracted as he was by the lass-- no, creature?-- cradled in his arms. Maybe he was losing his mind? 

He walked on for a while, thinking about nothing at all except the feeling of her body against him and the rhythm of his steps, and tracing her features with his eyes, enchanted. 

But as he was staring down at that perfectly sculpted face, he suddenly noticed that her eyelashes were fluttering and he came to an abrupt halt. Behind the nearly translucent eyelids, her eyes moved back and forth. 

She blinked open her eyes slowly, revealing the most breathtaking honey-colored irises he’d ever seen. They were nearly the exact color of his favorite whiskey, he realized with a bit of a start. They were also slightly dazed, clouded over with the haze of dissipating unconsciousness. She smiled lazily up at him for a second, those beautiful pink lips curving upward, but then awareness suddenly hit her and her eyes popped open wide and fearful. She let out a cry of surprise. 

In that split second, she started squirming in his grasp, limbs thrashing about as she tried to free herself. Unprepared as he was, his hold around her came loose, and her body slipped from his arms. She landed on unsteady legs, stumbled back a few steps, and then promptly fell backward, landing on her elbows. 

The lass stared up at him for a second in shock, those golden eyes trying desperately to take in the situation. Her body screamed of tension and fear, anxious tremors going through her, visibly shaking her body. It broke his heart to see. 

Jamie quickly raised his hands in a gesture of non-threatening. In a moment of instinct, he crouched down to her level, still a ways away from her, just like he might have done with a spooked animal. 

“Dinna fash, I jes’ want tae help ye. I’m a friend; I mean ye nae harm,” he said gently. 

Her chest had been heaving as she took in large gulps of air, fear and wariness apparent on his features. But at his words, the tension in her body lessened a fraction, and she sat up. But those big eyes never wavered in their intense scrutiny, and she still was trembling. 

“My name is James Fraser,” he continued calmly, trying to keep his voice even and steady, “I was hiking and found ye lyin’ unconscious near some stones. I was tryin’ tae bring ye tae help.”

More strain melted from her. She looked at him for a long second, the gears in her brain noticeably working as she tried to decide whether or not to trust him. But he saw the moment she came to the decision, and the set of her shoulders slumped as she settled. Once she felt comfortable enough to risk taking her eyes off him, she glanced down at her body, as if appraising herself for any injuries. 

“Are ye alright, lass?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

She blinked up at him again but didn’t answer. God, those eyes were enchanting. She looked to be struggling with herself again. Those beautiful eyes glanced at him, away toward where they’d come, and then back at him. 

“You can see me?” 

It took Jamie’s brain a moment to register that she’d spoken. Her voice was musical, like chimes in the wind— airy and light and... surprisingly english. 

And she’d asked the question with a note of disbelief. 

He realized he was gaping at her, and quickly closed his mouth and formulated a response. 

“Aye, of course I can see ye… Oh--” it suddenly dawned on him, “am I no’ supposed to?”

“Emm,” she glanced down, looking a little abashed, “no.” 

“Well, I’m glad I can, because ye’re the bonniest lass I’ve seen in my life.” The second the words had spewed from Jamie’s mouth, he wanted to stuff them back in. What was wrong with him? His cheeks grew hot in embarrassment. 

But much to his delight, the lass’ cheeks showed a matching dusting of pink. She looked pleased, but her eyes fluttered down demurely.  A tiny hint of a smile pulled at her lips. God, she was lovely. 

Then, she glanced back up, looking at him from under those dark eyelashes. Instead of fear, her eyes now glimmered with something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But he liked it. 

“Your name is… James?” she asked softly. 

“Aye, but my friends call me Jamie.” 

She smiled in response, but said no more. Torn between curiosity and not wanting to push her, he hesitantly requested, “may I ask yers?” 

“I’m called Sorcha,” she answered, “Claire.” 

“Light” in Gaelic. How fitting. 

“Sorcha,” he repeated, trying it out. It rolled off his tongue perfectly, as if he’d been created for the singular purpose of saying her name. “Well, I’m verra pleased to meet ye.” 

The wariness was all but gone from her, and Jamie couldn’t have been happier. While they were speaking, she had been leaning gradually toward him, and he had shifted a bit closer in response. The magnetism he’d felt toward her since he’d first laid eyes on her seemed only to be growing. At that moment, the air crackled with a connection that seemed almost tangible. Jamie was hyper-aware of the measly centimeters that lay between them. The silence stretched long, but it wasn’t awkward in the least. If anything, it seemed to draw them ever closer. 

As if thinking the exact same thing, she rose onto her knees. The look on her face as she studied him morphed into something almost... inquisitive. In a rush of boldness (he saw it on her face), she inched toward him with her hand outstretched. He leaned in toward her touch, and her fingers hovered just over his face for a second before she bridged the distance and her fingertips brushed it, very softly. The moment she made contact with his skin, a zing of electricity coursed through him. It was neither a jolt nor a shock, but rather a tingling buzz of excitement that traveled from his face out all over his body.  

Her soft fingertips traveled slowly from his temples, across his brow, and down the side of his jaw— exploring. She traced reverently over his cheek bone and then lightly brushed over his lips. She ended by catching a stray curl between two fingers and gently tugging on it in fascination. Delight spread across her face. 

The whole time, Jamie had sat stock-still. Her odd behavior didn’t alarm him in the slightest. He trusted her completely and hoped that he was earning her trust as well. It seemed so, because once she finished exploring his face, she sat back on her legs, which were folded under her, but made no move to draw away. They were so close they were almost touching. 

She looked up at him with a warmth dancing in her eyes. 

“I think you are beautiful, Jamie Fraser,” she said quietly. 

A grin spread over his face. He couldn’t help it. 

But that grin fell away instantly when the lass’ expression abruptly changed. She went suddenly pale and her brows furrowed. Her skin was already perfect ivory, but it grew impossibly whiter and it looked as if all the blood drained from her. She swayed slightly, her eyes growing hooded, and she had to brace a hand on the ground to keep from falling. 

“Woah, lass,” tumbled from his lips, and he reached out to steady her with a hand at her side. 

One of her dainty hands came up to press against her head. “I feel… dizzy,” she said breathlessly. 

She slumped forward suddenly, directly into Jamie’s waiting arms. He immediately hugged her against his chest. Instead of tucking her head underneath his chin as he ached to do, he looked down at her. To his gratitude, those honey eyes stared up at him, still conscious albeit hazy. Her head lolled on his shoulder. 

Now that he was holding her, he realized suddenly that she was trembling. More than that, she was shaking like a leaf. 

“Are ye alright, a nighean?” he asked in alarm. 

“It’s-- cold,” she said. 

That confused him for a moment because her body felt warm to him. It was mid autumn, but the day was only mildly childly. All Jamie had on was a light jacket. Even so, she was shivering. 

With one hand still holding her against him so she didn’t crumple to the ground, he used the other to slip off his jacket. He draped it around her, wrapping her in his warmth, and then smoothed his hands up and down her arms. 

“Christ, lass, ye’re shakin’ so hard ye’re making my teeth rattle.” 

Claire didn’t respond that time. She was breathing slowly against him, but Jamie could tell that she was well and truly out of it. Concern for her was mounting with every passing second. He needed to get her out of the chilly air. 

“I’ll take ye home. Ye need rest and food,” he said gently. 

She hummed slightly in confusion-- a wee noise that tugged at his heartstrings.  

“Is that alright, lass?” He asked, not wanting to betray her trust by taking her to his place against her will, “will ye come wi’ me?” 

She nodded against his shoulder. “Yes,” she breathed faintly. 

That was all the confirmation he needed. He scooped her up again and rose. Much to his surprise, her arms lifted and wrapped tightly around his neck. A bit of warmth fluttered in his belly. Starting along the path again, he stepped gingerly, even more so than he had before. 

He wasn’t sure exact what connected him to her, but it was the strongest thing he’d felt in his life. Jamie was absolutely burning with questions. He wanted desperately to know what she was and what she had been doing on top of that hill. And what had happened to her? The questions burned in his head like sparks shooting into the air in all directions. 

Jamie wasn’t without his theories… he was a highlander after all. He’d grown up with stories of the selkies, nuckelavee, kelpy, changelings...

She was something not of this world. 

But his questions could wait. It was obvious that she wasn’t well. First he’d care for her, and then, with time, he hoped that she’d trust him enough to tell him her story. 

Even though he’d only known her for all of a handful of minutes, Jamie was terrified of losing her. Somehow, this inquisitive and vulnerable creature had wormed her way into his heart. He wanted to take care of her, to know her, to protect her. Maybe more… 

He was broken from his thoughts by a nuzzling against his neck. His wame flipped topsy-turvey as he realized that Claire was nestling her face into the crook where his shoulder met his neck. 

Christ! He could feel the warmth of her incredibly soft skin where his own was bared above his collar. In fact, he was sensitive to every bit of contact between them. Every puff of breath that tickled his skin made him shiver. 

His jacket had started to slip off of her, and with a careful one-handed maneuver so as not to drop her, he flipped it back in place. 

“Thank you, Jamie,” she murmured distantly. 

“Nae bother. I canna have ye freezin’ to death.” 

“I mean for taking care of me.” 

It alarmed him how weak her voice sounded, but he couldn’t stop the delight twisting inside him at her words. It seemed he truly had her trust. 

“Oh. Well… ye’re quite welcome,” he offered tenderly.  

Where she held onto his neck, her thumb caressed back and forth in reply. Or maybe it was just an absent touch. Either way, he wouldn’t complain. 

By this point, Jamie’s car was in sight. He sped up with renewed eagerness, making his way across the rest of the distance until he rounded to the passenger side. He glanced down at Claire to find her eyes were closed. She seemed to be wavering just on the edge of unconsciousness-- not aware but not totally succumbed to sleep. He was careful not to jostle her when he completed the balancing act of holding her while opening the passenger side door. 

He deposited her gently onto the seat— where she immediately slumped, head falling to rest on the side of the car— then reached across to buckle the seatbelt over her tiny, still shivering form. Finally, he straightened his jacket, tucking it more tightly around her. 

Once she was settled, he reluctantly withdrew himself and walked around to get in the driver’s side. Eyes fixed on her all the while, he fumbled with his keys and started the car. Remembering her shivering, he turned the heat on high. 

Only a second after he’d done so, Claire shifted. She blinked her eyes open, peered at him, and then promptly leaned over the seat--completely heedless of the center console separating them-- and laid down on his lap, eyes immediately closing again. 

He felt his heart leap to his throat. His hands hovered above her for a second, unsure. Then, giving into instinct, he stroked her curls gently. They were incredibly soft— unreasonably so in his opinion. As he carded his fingers through her hair, he came across a few scattered bits of greenery and foxtails that had been caught there-- likely from when she had laid on the ground. They suited her, he thought, but extricated them gently one by one from those bonny curls. 

“Mo nighean donn,” he said to himself absently. His heart swelled with affection for her. 

He sat in enrapturement for a long moment, heedless of the running car and making no move to still his hands. 

There were so many unanswered questions-- so many doubts that any sane person would address. But Jamie wasn’t inclined to pay them any mind. All he wanted to do was take care of her, to have the opportunity to hold her in his arms again, and to see her safe. 

He would take things one step at a time. Sanity could wait. 

So, first things first. 

He was taking her home. 

***

Chapter 2

[cassiabaggins]

Wood and Clay (WIP)

There is a dam watching him when he looks up, eyes alight with curiosity. And not just any dam. She's the bonniest lass he's ever laid eyes on— fiery red hair, a long full beard, bright hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her face. They meet eyes and Bofur can't help dropping a wink toward her. Her face hardens in a glare. "What?!" She snaps. Bofur chuckles and leans over the counter.

"I'm merely admiring your beauty, lass," he says. An adorable blush colors her face and she puffs up her cheeks in an attempt to fight a smile. 

"You're awfully forward! You don't even know my name!"

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics Ficlet -- All the Time in the World

A/N: @wickedgoodbooks came to my inbox yelling ‘GOOFBALLSIES’, so here they are! Another thermodynamics ficlet. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

(You can find the main story here and on AO3)

                                                     ~~~~~~

“How is she?” 

My voice came a bit too loud, my breath too short. Before I had time to walk into the room, Jamie rushed to me and crushed me against his chest in a smothering hug. We had hung up less than ten minutes ago but I wanted to make sure that nothing had changed while I was trying to find my way to the waiting room.

“So? Do we have any news?” I asked again with the little breath I had left, wiggling in his arms so I could see him. His auburn locks were falling haphazardly on his forehead and the lack of sleep was evident in his eyes. 

He’d come back from Michigan a week ago, determined not to miss Jenny’s delivery, and I joined them during the weekend. We spent the majority of our time with Jenny and Ian, following Dr Haffer’s orders and taking long walks in the city, but kept the nights to ourselves, locked into the small guest room of Jenny and Ian’s apartment. Time seemed to expand in the little room, like every time we eliminated the space between us. We lived in every second, every minute, drinking in each other -- the murmur of our voices not coming through speakers, the caress of breath on bare skin, the feel of our bodies coming together. The feeling of being home. 

When Sunday night came and Jenny wasn’t in labour yet, Jamie walked me to the train station because I couldn’t skip Monday’s practical. I saw him raising his hand through the window, mouthing ‘I love you’ and once again, I left a part of my heart with him. The biggest part, if I was to judge by the way my chest was caving in and my irregular breathing. It was always like this when one of us had to go and I supposed if I wasn’t used to it yet, I never would.

However, here I was again, only two days later, after receiving a call from a Jamie in the middle of the night. Hovering between excitement and panic he informed me way too loudly that they were on their way to the hospital. I had taken the first train to Edinburgh.

Jamie was a lot calmer now and he was tracing lines on my shoulder blades to calm me as well. 

“Nah,” he smiled and planted a kiss on my forehead. His gaze moved to my lips and a moment later his mouth was on mine. When we broke apart he was smiling.  “We’re still waiting, but any time now…”

I couldn’t stop the grin from my face. “You’ll be an uncle,” I finished his sentence.

“Aye,” he beamed. “Jen will have wee lad. Can ye imagine, Sassenach?”

I thought of the thousand speculations we had made with Jenny over the phone during the last seven months. It was ridiculous, really, how the image of the baby changed according to our whim. First, it had Jenny’s blue eyes and Ian’s brown hair, then Ian’s warm eyes and Jenny’s elegant nose, after that Jenny’s black hair and Ian’s cheekbones. Jenny always ended up saying that she only wanted their baby to be healthy. Healthy and happy. I couldn’t wait to see the amazing mum she’d become.

“A little boy,” I murmured, biting the smile on my lips. “It feels like a miracle.”

Jamie grimaced. “Ian told Jenny so, about two hours ago. It didn’t go well.”

I laughed before cringing at the thought of my friend’s ordeal. “That bad?”

“‘What a miraculous pain indeed’, were her exact words.” I chuckled because that did sound like Jenny. “She was almost there once, but nothing. She got a bit disappointed after that. But the doctor said ‘tis normal for a first-time mum to labour for fourteen to twenty hours. We’re still at fifteen.”

“She going to make it and once she holds him in her arms she’ll forget everything else.”

“You think so? She’ll forget all about the pain?” Jamie doubted as he took my hand and lead me to the chairs. 

“No,” I said, sitting down. “Science doesn’t back up the claims that women forget the pain of childbirth. It’s a myth. What I meant was that she won’t care anymore.”

“I dinna think she cares for the pain that much now, either. She just wants the baby to be okay.”

“That’s our Jenny.”

It was at that moment when Jenny’s scream pierced the air. Jamie shot out of his chair and started pacing back and forth. 

“Babe,” he said in a low voice after a minute or two, coming to a stand in front of me. “I was thinking…” he trailed off. “Now that I know…” He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ye ken…”

“What?” I stood up, alarmed. “Jamie, what is it?”

“I ken we’ve never talked about that and I’m getting ahead of myself. I dinna think that’s the place where we should talk about it for the first time either… ‘Tis hardly romantic. But… Seeing Jenny… I dinna want ye to go through this pain, mo chridhe.”

“What do you mean?” I took a step back, frowning.

“Jenny is a tough one and yet ye heard how she just screamed... I dinna think I’ve ever heard her screaming, apart from when she attacked Ian and me like a wee banshee at Lallybroch when we were children.” 

“Screaming is good,” I tried to reassure him. “It releases tension.”

“Aye, maybe. But ye, going through this? I dinna think I can bear your pain, Sassenach. It will tear right through me.” 

“What are you saying, James Fraser?” I said, my tone ominous and my hands on my hips. “You mean to say that your sister is tougher than I am? That I couldn’t handle giving birth? What is that supposed to mean?”

Jamie’s eyes got wide, then wider, black eating up the blue. “No, I didna mean… I hardly thought of comparing…”

“Well?”

“All I meant to say is that I don’t know what I would do if it were you screaming in there. I wish I could protect ye from this pain but I won’t. I can do nothing about it. So I was thinking…”

“Jamie,” I interrupted him. “You could be in there, with me. Like Ian is with Jenny. You could hold my hand. You could brush my hair off my forehead or wipe off my sweat or whatever else husbands do when their wives are in labour. You could be by my side. You could be there.” I cupped his face, forcing him to look down at me. “I don’t care about the pain as long as I can crush your hand with every contraction.” I paused, thinking, then added, “And as long as you won’t say that you know what I’m going through.”

He laughed. “Aye, I can do that.” 

His smile was sweet as I pressed my lips on his. Our kiss was tender, a promise for a future resembling a vague painting -- the colours intermingling, the figures taking every form we could imagine. 

“So I take it that you want children?”

“Aye,” he said and the light blush on his cheeks turned him to an insecure teenager, uncertain if he’d said the right thing to his first love. “You?”

“Yes,” I smiled and kissed him again. “Just not yet, okay? We have our degrees to get and, you know… Live on the same continent.”

He laughed and shook his head. “We have all the time in the world. I just want you to know that that you don’t need to go through this if ye don’t want to. If we want children we can adopt…”

I ran my fingers against the stubble on his cheek, the smooth cheekbone, marvelling into the man he was becoming. “We could have children and also adopt one. To give them a home and the love they deserve.”

Jamie beamed and leaned into me to kiss me again when an awkward cough broke us apart. I turned reluctantly around to see Brian carrying three cups of coffee. 

“Welcome back lass,” he said with a nod as he handed me a cup. 

“How are you?” I asked as I took two coffees from him, giving one to Jamie. 

“Impatient.” His eyes twinkled with mirth. “Any news from our girl?”

“Apart from a scream, no. Nothing yet.” Jamie’s countenance changed again, his concern coming forward as his eyebrows almost touched above his nose. He was adorable.

“Dinna fash, lad. ‘Tis normal. Yer Ma was in labour for eighteen hours before Jenny came to the world.”

The mention of Jamie’s mother remained suspended in the air, vibrating with anguish and loss. 

She should be here, I thought. The tall woman who read The Cricket on the Hearth to her children and smelled like almonds. 

I saw the pain on Jamie’s face before he retreated further into himself, as he usually did when guilt attacked his common sense over the loss of his mother and brother. I grabbed his hand and squeezed tight, in a desperate move to bring him back to the present. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. He should stop punishing himself for what wasn’t his fault. He gifted me with a sad smile that wasn’t enough but was better than nothing.

I kept his hand in mine, trying not to sigh. Once, at Lallybroch, I had vowed to Ellen to take care of her red-headed lad. I breathed in deeply and renewed my promise, extending it to encompass all the Fraser family. To love them more, for her.

“Jamie, lad,” Brian said in a soothing voice as he moved closer to his son. “We’re here together and your Ma and Rob are with us because we carry them in our hearts every day, aye?”

It was a sweet thing to say, but when I looked into Brian Fraser’s eyes I realised that he believed it. Each word. He’d never lived a day without Ellen because he carried her with him. Because he saw her in their children. He was living proof of love, of devotion.

We sat in silence, the two Frasers lost in memories of a past forever gone and I, trying to introduce a new subject to discuss and failing miserably. 

“He’s here! He’s here!” Ian burst into the room, laughing, and crying, and hugging us all before we had time to react to his announcement. “Ten fingers and ten toes, with a tuft of black hair and a wee numb for a nose.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks but he didn’t seem to notice. “He’s the bonniest lad ye’ve ever seen. A bit on the red side and covered with --” he stopped, shaking his head. “And Jenny,” he said, turning to Jamie. “Man, if I dinna find myself the bravest lass. She’s so fearless it sometimes scares me.” 

“Can we see them?” Brian asked, eyes darting from Ian to the door, as though he would run down the corridor to his daughter and grandson the moment he got confirmation that he was allowed to. 

“Aye, in a bit. They haven’t finished yet.”

We were all standing, grinning like fools as we bounced on our feet, having nowhere to go but being too hyped to sit down again. 

Ian’s announcement had broken the heavy silence that hung above our heads a minute ago, planting its cracks with a bright, pulsating feeling of anticipation. Life always surprised me in those moments; the moments that show us that nothing ever ends, that we are as complicated as we are simple. No matter what we are facing, we keep finding reasons to go on, to see the beauty, to honour our chance in this world. 

“I’m going back to her,” Ian said and a moment later he disappeared, leaving us alone in that waiting limbo. 

“He has Jenny’s hair,” Brian said, still gazing at the door.

“Yer hair, Da,” Jamie added before he hugged the older man, whose black head was now featuring a few grey hairs as well. 

I looked at them, observing how same they were, how different. Wondering if Jenny’s little man will have the Fraser charm as well.

“Congratulations,” I said to both of them when they turned to look at me. Brian thanked me as Jamie walked to me, wove an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.

“Congratulations to ye too, Sassenach,” he whispered in my ear. “Ye’ll be his auntie, ye ken. His fairy auntie Claire.”

I laughed at that and kissed him on his cheekbone. “Auntie Claire,” I murmured, claiming a role in the little baby’s life as well. I looked forward to corrupting the little lad with treats and gifts and love.

When we finally got to see Jenny and the baby, we were like children opening gifts on a Christmas day. Jenny looked exhausted, but when her eyes met ours the sweetest smile curled up her lips. She was glowing. It was like I could feel her wonder at her little human, her happiness. 

“Come see him,” she bid us and her gaze trailed back on the little bundle she was holding. 

Brian moved first, unable to take his eyes away from his daughter and grandson. Jamie took my hand and I felt my feet following him towards the bed. 

“He’s like a miracle, Da,” Jenny repeated Ian’s words that had vexed her with teary eyes, looking up to her father. 

“Aye, my wee lass. Like the miracle ye were, for me and yer Ma. And now ye’re giving me yet another gift.” The voice wavered but his gaze didn’t move an inch away from his daughter’s face. I squeezed Jamie’s hand and he squeezed mine back.

Sometimes, I loved these silent conversations more than our audible ones; this secret code kept only for the two of us.  

Jenny pulled her father down to kiss him. “Thank you, Da.”

“She would be very proud of you, Janet Flora Arabella.”

Jamie and Ian barked out similar laughs that almost covered Jenny’s exclamation, “Da!” 

“And now that we come to names…” Ian started but stopped, waiting for Jenny to continue for him.

She nodded. “His name is James Robert Brian,” Jenny said with a grin. “Continuing this ridiculous family tradition and all.”

Jamie swallowed so hard I could hear it. 

“Jen…” he whispered, looking at his sister through wide eyes.

“Brother, ye ken that ye mean a lot to me. As you do, Da. And wee Rob… I dinna want him to be forgotten.”

Jamie rushed to her, speechless, and bent over her, planting a tender kiss on his sister’s forehead. 

“Thank ye, Jen,” he said, his accent heavier than it usually was. “I… Thank ye,” he repeated lamely, all other words having left him. “Can I hold him?”

Jenny extended the little bundle to his waiting arms. The baby’s head was smaller than his hand and a tiny hand was raised as though to touch him, to feel this new world.

“Hello wee one,” Jamie cooed. “Welcome to the world. Welcome to the family. I promise I’ll always be there to take care of you, even when ye’re a wee rascal and ye make yer Ma and Da mad.”

I chuckled and moved closer, peaking at the baby. He was still reddish, with swollen brown eyes and a tiny nose, just like Ian had said. Without thinking, I reached a forefinger and felt his tiny little fingers against mine. My heart banged in my chest, so full of emotion I thought it would burst.

“And this is auntie Claire,” Jamie introduced me a moment later. “And we love her, just so ye ken.”

“Valuable information,” I mocked, somewhat shy.

“‘Tis.” It was not Jamie, but Jenny that spoke from the bed, looking at as with a sweet smile.

“How do you feel?” I asked, leaving Jamie to have a moment alone with his nephew.

“God, I’m tired. But I canna close my eyes because I want to look at him and I canna do that while being asleep, ken? I dinna think I will draw anything else apart from him in the near future.”

“Nobody is going to take him from ye and ye’ll need yer strength lass,” her father advised. “Life is never going to be the same now.”

“Sleepless nights? Crying?” Ian asked, eyeing the little one who was, for now, calm and quiet. 

“Aye,” Brian chuckled. “Lots of laughter too, son. Can I hold my grandson now?”

He’d barely got the baby from Jamie when a nurse dashed into the room, informing us that it was time for the mother to nurse her baby.

“Oh, aye.” Brian reluctantly handed little James back to his mother, clearly lamenting that he hadn't asked for him before. Jenny took him with tender moves, poked at his nose and started murmuring, asking him if he was hungry. 

“We’ll see you later Jenny. You too, Ian!”

They both nodded, barely sparing us a glance before their gaze fell on their son who was blinking at his Ma.

“They’re so sweet together, aren’t they?” I asked once we left the room.

“A real family,” Brian replied, wistful and happy together.

“Are ye happy, Da?”

“Aye, son.” Brian’s voice was mellow and smooth, spreading around us like butter on bread. “You’ll never know how much happiness Jenny and ye have brought into my life until ye have yer own children. Then, ye’ll understand.” He reached out and ruffled Jamie’s hair as though he was a little boy and not a man more than six feet tall. 

We left the hospital feeling that the world was a little bit better than an hour ago. In the car, on our way home Jamie leaned into me and whispered in my ear, “So… Two of our own and an adopted one? Let’s say… Two girls and a boy?”

I turned to look at him incredulously but the way he was looking at me made my heart stop and my mind go blank. 

“Maybe,” was all I managed to whisper in response before I broke into a wide grin.

“We could name the boy Dalhousie.”

“You must be out of your bloody mind.” 

“Fergus?” Jamie gave me one of his lopsided smiles and I rolled my eyes.

“Jesus!” I shook my head in disbelief before I turned forward, only to see Brian through the mirror, smirking.

“I dinna think Jesus is a good name for the lad, Sassenach. Too much weight on his shoulders.”

Brian was now holding back a laugh. These Frasers. 

I elbowed Jamie and huffed indignantly. He took my hand in his and squeezed until I turned to look at him again. He kissed my temple then, whispering, “We’ll think about it. We have time.”

I smiled, thinking what Jamie had said in the waiting room. We wouldn’t start a family any time soon, but we had all the time in the world.

Two girls and a boy didn’t sound like a bad combination either. 

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 1 ~Prologue~

Brian and Ellen Fraser had been long-time friends with Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, an accomplished archaeologist and historian. They met in the mid-80s in Hurghada, Egypt, while the Frasers were on honeymoon and Quentin on a break from a field survey in Mt Sinai. It all had started in a quaint traditional Egyptian coffee shop in the old town of El Dahar when Quentin offered the couple seats at his table as the locale had been bursting at the seams. What was supposed to be only a brief encounter, had turned into a very close friendship after Brian and Quentin discovered that they shared the same passion for history, Egyptology and scuba diving.

Over the next few years, the friends religiously kept in touch. As Quentin never married, the Frasers embraced him as part of the family and was often invited to their home in Lallybroch whenever he took a break from fieldworks or was in the UK. When Quentin's brother and sister-in-law, Henry and Julia died in a horrific car accident, Brian and Ellen immediately went to Oxford to be with their friend and to offer their support in any way they could. It was there the Frasers learned that the tragic couple left behind a five-year-old daughter, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, leaving Quentin as the child's sole living relative.

Ellen instantly fell in love with young Claire and was captivated with the child's unusual, amber eyes which were almost too big for her cherubic face, framed with short chocolate brown curls. Devastated already for Quentin's lose, her heart broke furthermore when the child pointed at her parents' coffins. "Mummy an' Daddy are in there," she had said, as she tugged at Ellen's coat. 

The Frasers knew there was no way that Quentin could single-handedly raise Claire and still do the job he passionately loved. After the funeral, Brian and Ellen sat Quentin down and offered to take care of the child while he was away at work, or until Claire was old enough to attend a boarding school. Ellen thought it was the most sensible plan for a young child to grow up in a loving family and she couldn't bear the thought of Claire, young as she was, not having a mother figure so early in her life. The Frasers already having three children of their own, supposed another one in their big household in Lallybroch shouldn't be an issue.

At first, Quentin was speechless as he could never take advantage of such generosity, let alone their friendship. It never even crossed his mind to leave his niece in the care of anyone. But the Frasers weren't just anyone. To him, they were family, but still, he knew he couldn't impose. He was already of the mindset of changing his job, maybe taking a post offered to him a few months back before the tragedy struck. Quentin had always taken comfort in knowing he would always have a place at Oxford University - it was his fallback plan. Selfish as it was even to contemplate the Frasers'offer, he knew working as a professor wouldn't be as thrilling as visiting ancient sites and being hands-on with surveying and excavating. On the other hand, he knew he was clueless when it comes to raising a child, and he couldn't deny Claire a normal childhood the Frasers were offering.

And so it was decided after a lot of discussions and deliberations that Claire would stay with the Frasers while Quentin was away at work. And in summer, Claire would go with his uncle to visit sites he was working on or go on holidays with him to faraway exotic places. The Fraser children, William, Jenny and Jamie, embraced Claire as part of the family and loved her as any brother or sister could love a sibling. There was enough money in the trust fund left behind for Claire that would ensure a secure future, but the Frasers never concerned having an extra mouth to feed as they ran a successful family-owned hotel business. It wasn't until Quentin died in a crossfire in a war in Congo, the Frasers became Claire's official foster family at the tender age of ten.

..........

2007 

17-year-old James Fraser had debated all day whether he ought to go to the school dance or not. Having no interest in dancing whatsoever, it should have been a straightforward choice. Not even the bonniest of girls from school who asked him out made the decision any easier. After a lot of weighing, Jamie decided to go in the end, convincing himself it would be something to do on a Friday night and all his mates would be in attendance. And so that night, he went alone, arriving two hours late to the dance.

Inconspicuously, he had entered the dance hall and leaned against the wall, watching his 15-year-old foster sister, Claire from the shadows. She stood with four other girls eagerly anticipating to be asked for a dance, as she tucked a non-existent stray curl behind an ear and straightened her eyeglasses for the hundredth time. His best friend, Frank Randall, had promised Claire to take her to the school dance in return for writing his essay on Egypt for a school project. But like a cad that he was, Frank bailed out the last minute and decided not to hold his side of the bargain. Despite the humiliation, Claire held her head up high and insisted on attending on her own, with hopes Frank would at least ask her once for a dance. 

Looking at the time, Jamie knew it was nearly coming to an end. There were only two dances left, and soon it would be over. He could see Claire was starting to fret by the way she fidgeted nervously with her hands.  Damn ye, Frank, damn ye to hell!  But why should he even care when he had warned her so many times about his friend that behind the charming facade was a very selfish, insensitive person. She was an intelligent enough lass, and Claire had her outstanding grades to prove that, but when it came to Frank, her better judgement seemed to dissipate.

As the last dance for the evening was announced, he noticed the other four girls that stood next to her were already on the dance floor with their respective partners, leaving Claire on her own. Jamie knew any minute now she will grab her coat and run out upset. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this and that some lad would come and ask her to dance. But nobody came.  Oh to hell with it!  Before he could change his mind, Jamie quickly walked over to her.

"Sassenach, ye fancy a dance with me?"

"Oh, it's you! Hi Jamie!" Claire smiled feebly. He knew she had been silently praying for a miracle that Frank would appear.

"No' the greeting I was hoping for," Jamie teased softly, offering his hand for a dance.

Claire took his hand, and this time, she smiled warmly. "You're always coming to my rescue, and you know fine, I'll be alright."

"Aye, ah ken." He guided her to the dancefloor and twirled her awkwardly before taking her into his arms. Jamie was glad it was a slow dance as he would have felt dumb swaying to fast music on his own. Claire giggled as they nearly bumped into another couple, her forehead colliding against his chin.

"You know what Jamie, other girls are dying to dance with you. And besides, what are you doing here? You don't like to dance at all."

Jamie looked down at her, and he could see himself in her eyeglasses. And when she smiled, the disco light above them reflected on her braces. He tried not to chuckle. "No, I dinna care really for dancing that's why I came late. After the dance, I'll be going out with the lads."

"Oh! Is one of the lads, Frank?" Claire asked earnestly, her face flushing.

Jamie had always known about Claire's infatuation with his friend. It had all began in school when Frank picked up the books she dropped. As he handed them back, he had winked at her. For young Claire, she thought that was the most romantic gesture, and ever since then, Frank became an obsession. 

"Aye, Frank is one of the lads," Jamie admitted, his jaw tightening. "Will ye be alright later, Sassenach? I can take ye home after the dance if ye wish." He tried to ascertain what she was thinking, but her glasses were obscuring her eyes and noted they needed polishing.

Claire's chin wobbled a bit as she smiled, and Jamie knew she was trying her best not to cry. "I'll be alright, Jamie. You go and have fun with your friends. Willie will be picking me up anytime soon."

Friend or not, Jamie wanted to throttle Frank for using Claire, enticing her with a promise of taking her to the dance and then backing out last minute. "I tell ye what Sassenach, how 'bout I take ye fishing tomorrow? Just the two us. Will that cheer ye up?"

"Jamie, you don't need to do that! Honestly! I'm fine! You're always so sweet to me, and I know you'd rather be hanging out with Laoghaire," Claire pressed gently, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Laoghaire? What makes ye think that?" Jamie was surprised at Claire's response. Laoghaire MacKenzie was a popular girl in school who liked to make an impression on everyone that she was his girl after he took her out once at an icecream bar. It had only been one time as he found her crying one afternoon after breaking up with a boyfriend. Feeling sorry for the lass, he thought icecream would cheer her up.

"Well, I've seen you talk to her, and you look at her as if she's the most gorgeous girl in the world. Sometimes I wonder how it would be like to be chased by the boys. I feel invisible at times, and it doesn't matter what I wear, do or say, I'll always be a Sassenach. It's not fair...Frank is English like me and yet he's so well-liked at school." 

Jamie's arms froze around her. "Claire...I'm so sorry...does it offend ye that I..." 

"No, not you, Jamie. You don't say Sassenach in a mean way like the others. Like what I said earlier, you're always so sweet. I couldn't have asked for a better brother." Claire stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "Right... dance is over... you go and have fun with your friends. Willie is probably waiting outside already. And I promise I feel loads better already because of you."

Funny that Jamie didn't realise the music had stopped when he usually would have counted the seconds until the dance was over. But before Claire could turn around and go, he grabbed her arm. "I'm taking ye fishin' tomorrow and make sure ye pack some crisps and sandwiches...alright?"

This time, Claire's smile reached her eyes, her braces twinkling under the disco light. "Okie-Dokie! I'm looking forward to it. And now go! Have fun with the lads and see you in the morning."

Jamie watched her walk away as Frank, and the rest of his mates approached him. "Little sister sorted then?" Frank asked mockingly as he put a hand on his shoulder.

She's not my sister!  Jamie wanted to punch his friend on the face for hurting Claire's feelings, but instead, he mentally counted to three and breathed deeply. "Aye, my brother has come to pick her up."

What can he say? They didn't know her as he did and what she had been through. In the eyes of those who knew Jamie in school, he was just like Frank; a popular guy, great in sports and hanged out with the right people and went out with pretty girls. And as for Claire, she was just a Sassenach; unconventional, highly intelligent, nerd and the ugly orphaned child taken in by the Frasers. Jamie thought of what Claire had said of him looking at Laoghaire like she was the most gorgeous girl in the world. What she didn't realise was, it was Claire he was looking at. She had taken off her glasses that day and was cleaning it with a piece of cloth, and her poor eyesight must have made her believed that Laoghaire was the subject of his admiration. Oh, how his friends would jibe and taunt if they knew, him, James Fraser, one of the popular guys in school was madly in love with his foster sister, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, braces, eyeglasses, wild hair and all.

[weshallc]

Berns Night.

So we’ve had a lot of birthdays @thatginchygal @rahleeyah @wednesdaygilfillian (sorry I missed that one) @roguesnitch coming up and @ilovemushystuff is celebrating too! and @h4t08 finally joined Tumblr and @clonethemidwife has returned and there are lots of new folk. Sooo I felt like throwing a party and there ain’t nothing like a Crown Inn party!!!!

This was supposed to be a Crown Stoppy Back but had other ideas so I will post the first chapter tonight as people are still recovering from Burns Night. Don’t worry if you are not familiar with the Burns Night traditions they will be explained more in chapter two. Probably 3 in all. We shall see as they say!

As always, I would be lost without @lovetheturners endless patience and thanks to @roguesnitch for encoraging me. This is dedicated to the most bonniest of lads I hope you had a great birthday and Burns Night with the Bard himself this year😉😘🤗 

CHAPTER ONE: FAIR FA’ YOUR HONEST, SONSIE FACE

“Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang's my arm.”  Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the north star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cut through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one as the incision was violently made. No one daring to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet the ceremony is over, it’s time for eating and drinking something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn-haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition.  It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. ”Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the kind of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face that she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior, and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar's daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue well sort of a queue. In London a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored and anyone who called the barmaid by name being bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those words.

All her life she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea, he had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable she hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts, it was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend Valerie, I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter,

“Yes, yes I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash and a pint of Buckles Best

and for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights, or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner, most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double it’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when me and the wife took over she was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one and now there was just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way, under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present, her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn't dream of it surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I've met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don't mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More's the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a...”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can't imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realizing the stranger was still watching her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks and she suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realizing her arse was in the air and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion don’t you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that. God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me, I can feel it.

[seud-luachmhor]

Don't quote me on this, but I'm almost sure the dress Anne's wearing here is this Frank Usher number from the 1960s. Could see her making little alterations like the centre clasp and the shoulder pads being taken out - she's worn a few FU outfits in the past with her own little changes to them, so I feel it makes sense.

The most important feature though is that deep v draped back - good lordt... 😍🥵🫠

(There's a link below if anyone want to purchase the same dress to delight and entrance their sailor beau with 🤭)

[emotoothtiger]

The Boniest lass

There’s a certain poem and song, “A man’s a man for a that”, that gets people misty eyed and inspired, mostly when pissed at New Year. Robert Burns could also really take the piss with the best of them. Here are his alternative lyrics.

It’s quite a long one, but given how no one really wants to admit it exists, here it is in full. If you’ve got this far, you’ll see how the debate arose on if Scots is actually a language. I can safely say that when Elizabeth 1st was going about getting Mary, Queen of Scots’ head chopped off in 1586 or so, there were court documents passed between both countries which were translated into both languages. If you can be bothered, you’ll find them in the appendix of Antonia Fraser’s history of Mary, Queen of Scots ( not to be confused with Queen Mary, Elizabeth 1st’s sister who really had a thing about execution generally, mostly of Protestants ), and probably elsewhere too.

This is still in the spirit of the other version too. It looks at society the same way but from another more populist perspective. The only mass communication was going about meeting the masses or via the very few who could read. Sections of society avoided each other, so it was a smart move having another version for your average 18thC prole in a pub with his mates, but which quite probably got sung at gentlemens’ clubs cos they were just as bad too.

The bonniest lass that ye meet neist Gie her a kiss an a’ that, In spite o ilka pairish priest, Repentin stool, an a’ that.

For a’ that an a’ that, Their mim-mou’d sangs an a’ that, In time an place convenient, They’ll do’t themsels for a’ that.

Your patriarchs in days o yore, Haed their handmaids an a’ that; O bastard gets, some haed a score An some haed mair than a’ that.

For a’ that an a’ that, Your langsyne saunts, an a’ that, Were fonder o a bonnie lass, Than you or I, for a’ that.

King Davie, when he waxed auld, An’s bluid ran thin, an a’ that, An fand his cods were growin cauld, Could not refrain, for a’ that.

For a’ that an a’ that, To keep him warm an a’ that, The dochters o Jerusalem Were waled for him, an a’ that.

Wha wadna peety thae sweet dames He fumbled at, an a’ that, An raised their bluid up into flames He couldna droun, for a’ that.

For a’ that an a’ that, He wanted pith, an a’ that; For, as to what we shall not name, What could he dae but claw that.

King Solomon, prince o divines, Wha proverbs made, an a’ that, Baith mistresses an concubines In hundreds haed, for a’ that.

For a’ that an a’ that, Tho a preacher wice an a’ that, The smuttiest sang that e’er was sung His Sang o Sangs is a’ that.

Then still I swear, a clever chiel Should kiss a lass, an a’ that, Tho priests consign him to the deil, As reprobate, an a’ that.

For a’ that an a’ that, Their cantin stuff, an a’ that, They ken nae mair wha’s reprobate Than you or I, for a’ that.

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 7 : Never Forgotten

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 6 : The Curse of Eve Lucky Jamie—he lives in a home with three women.

“I remember the first time I saw you, James Fraser, coming through the gates at Leoch. I was only seven years old, still a child. Ye didn’t notice back then how my heart leapt when you were near. You went away, all those years? I never forgot you” (The Reckoning, Outlander Season 102, Episode 1).

     Jamie had shooed her off to bathe, and now Laoghaire was clean and warm, cuddled in her long nightdress, wrapped in a knitted shawl, stockinged feet propped on the hearth.  This day had been especially hard for her.  Something about Marsali beginning her courses triggered a despondent cascade of memories.  She had been remembering and weeping all day long.  When she was Marsali’s age, becoming a woman had been exciting to her.  Here she was, living in Balriggan, with James Fraser as her husband.  Wasn’t that what she had dreamed of all those years ago?

☆☆☆☆☆

     She had been helping her grandmother in the kitchen when excited voices declared that the war chief’s party had returned to Leoch.  Mrs. Fitz had bustled out of the kitchen to greet them, pulling her cap more firmly on her head for her trip out into the rainy courtyard.

     “Dougal’s party is back?” Laoghaire attempted to ask the kitchen maids rushing by her.  “I had thought they weren’t to return until the Gathering.”  No one listened to her—they were hurrying to the windows to see which of the raiding party had returned, hoping that none of the men had been lost in the skirmishes, either with the Redcoats or the Watch.

     “Who is that braw fellow with the hair like flames?” asked one of the girls.  “Begorry, he’s a handsome devil, but he could do wi’ a wash.”

     “I’ll help him wash, gladly!” jested one of the lassies of marriageable age, which elicited a bunch of knowing giggles from the other girls.

     “I do believe that’s Jamie Fraser,” said one of the older women, the ones who had been working in the kitchen much longer, and therefore felt that they had a right to order the younger ones, such as Laoghaire, to do the things they felt beneath him.  “I also see his godfather Murtagh in the party.  I wouldna expected to see that lad here again.  There’s a price on his head, ya ken.”

     At the name, Laoghaire’s heart had dropped into her feet, and she worked even harder to press her way to the front of the group jostling for a view at the window.  Jamie Fraser.  When the lad had been about fourteen he had spent a year fostering with his uncle Dougal, and as a seven year old, she had been smitten with him immediately.  He was tall, and muscular, big for his age even back then.  He was a fierce combatant with the sword and dirk, and she would loiter at the edges of the practice field to see if she could catch a glimpse of him.

     Not that he really noticed her, though one afternoon he had pulled her thick blonde braid in passing, and another time he remarked to the other lads he was with, “Aye, watch out for this one.  When she grows up, she’ll be the bonniest lass at Leoch.”

     Pressing to the window, Laoghaire could see him in the courtyard.  Many of the other men had left their mounts immediately, but James Fraser was taking the time to care for his, gently removing his gear with some slight hesitation, his attention split between his horse and Mrs. Fitz, who had greeted most of the men and was now standing and talking to a bedraggled woman who appeared to be wearing a dirty torn shift that may have once been white.

     Jamie was moving awkwardly and slowly, and when Laoghaire peered more closely, she could see that his right hand was bound to his chest with a belt, and what appeared to be a bandage was tied from his shoulder to his ribcage.  There was blood on his face, as well, and his hair hung in wet clumps.

     Laoghaire was pushed out of the way, and when she got back to the window, her grandmother, Jamie, and the woman in white were all gone.  Her heart was pounding, and she raised her hands to her cheeks.  She could feel herself flushing.  Eight years ago, it had been.  And at that time, a fourteen-year-old had little in common with a seven-year-old, especially when the fourteen-year-old was a boy and the seven-year-old was a girl.  But at twenty-two and fifteen it was different; people often married who had more of an age spread than that.

     Her grandmother’s cheery, loud voice preceded Mrs. Fitz’s return to the kitchen.

     “I need some comfrey, some witch hazel, and some willow bark tea,” she announced.  Laoghaire was quick to rush to her grandmother’s side.

     “Willow bark tea?  Is someone hurt?”  Laoghaire asked.

     “Young Jamie took a bullet to the shoulder, and the Sassenach woman, Mistress Beauchamp, is going to clean and dress it.”

     “But you’re the healer here at Leoch, Gran,” Laoghaire responded in confusion.

     “Well, I mayna need to continue, if Mistress Beauchamp has as much trainin’ as she seems to.”

     Saffron MacKenzie had pulled together the requested items on a tray. 

     “May I take the things to the room where she’s tendin’ Jamie?” Laoghaire asked.  She could nearly hear her heart pounding in her ears at the thought of seeing Jamie again.

     “Thank you lass, but I can do it,” said Mrs. Fitz.  “Yer Da is expectin’ ye home soon, anyway.  He’ll need you to tend the animals and help wi’ the younger children.  We do have dinner in the great hall tonight, so ye willna need to cook, unless ye are low on bannocks for breakfast.”

     Laoghaire felt desperate to stay, but she also knew that if she wasn’t home right on time, Da would be angry.  He didn’t trust her, now that she filled out her corset and that many eyes, those of boys and men alike, stared at her as she walked past.  She’d never felt so conspicuous and she didn’t always like it, but she could tolerate the unwanted attention if it meant that Jamie Fraser would notice the ways she had matured as well.

     Laoghaire wrapped her cloak around herself and strode off across the courtyard to the stable to retrieve Branaugh.  At least she didn't have to walk to the village in this weather.  She would have been soaked and had mud all over her skirts if she had to walk.  It wouldn't even be worth it to go home. 

     She wished her Da would just let her live at the castle.  He always insisted that she needed to be at home in her bed every night.  All the other kitchen girls got to stay in small rooms in the servants’ wings, and they could be up until late in the hall, not having to rush home before the evening was done.

     When Laoghaire reached the village, she dismounted.  Branaugh didn't like walking on the cobblestones, so she needed to lead him through the walkways.  Somehow he seemed calmer if she was in front of him instead of riding on his back.

     She was nearly at her house when a dark, shadowy form leapt out from between the buildings and grabbed her about the waist, causing her to drop Branaugh’s lead.  

     "Hugh!" She exclaimed in irritation.  "Why are you always trying to startle me?"  

     "Because ye flush when ye're frightened, and ye look so bonny when yer cheeks are pink!"

     Laoghaire looked over at the fallen lead, but didn't pick it up.  Branaugh was such a gentle mount that he would just stand until she was ready to go. 

     Hugh MacKenzie was 19.  He had been trying to get Laoghaire to promise to marry him for the last year, but she just couldn't agree to it.  He seemed a nice enough lad, but he was fat.  Well, not fat, exactly, but very beefy and soft around the middle.  He had taken ill with the chicken pox when he was a wee lad, and though he recovered from the illness, he was quite pockmarked with scars from the infection.  So between his body, his greasy hair, and his scars, Laoghaire just wasn't ready to commit to him.

     However, she wasn't rude enough to deny him every comfort.  She looked up at him and took a step back into the shadows.  He mirrored her with a step forward, then pressed his body gently against hers until her back hit the wall and she could go no further.  He bent his face to hers and kissed her on the lips.  It was nice, kissing.  For a moment, she pretended she was kissing Jamie Fraser.

     “O Ghiall, Laoghaire!"  Hugh exclaimed, as he removed his lips from hers for a moment, then he bent to his work for a few more seconds.  "Have you changed yer mind about getting’ marrit?  I dinna ken what's gotten into you!"

     If he would just stop talking it would work better, Laoghaire thought.  She felt a sudden urge to allow more to happen, and Hugh must have felt the same thing at the same time, because he drew his hand upward and let his fingers rest on her bosom, right above the fabric of her shift.

     Oh, it felt good.  Laoghaire felt her breath catch in her throat.  She closed her eyes, imagining it was the big red-haired Scotsman with one hand entwined in the curls at the back of her neck and the other enthusiastically trying to worm its way down into her tight corset.  "Oh, Jamie," she felt herself whisper.

     "Jamie?" Hugh exclaimed in disgust.  "Ye ken it's Hugh!  Who is Jamie?"

     "Laoghaire?"  another exclamation followed instantly afterward, in a gruff, masculine voice.  "Ye wanton wee whore!"  Hugh looked at her with terror in his eyes and dashed down the alleyway as quickly as he could.

      She didn't get to eat dinner at Leoch that night.  Instead Laoghaire was sequestered to her attic room, and her father made it very clear that he was taking her to the Hall the next day.  He had warned her about her behavior with the lads before, and he was at his wit’s end with her.  Maybe if The MacKenzie ordered a beating for her, she might finally stop making so free with every young lad who made eyes at her or paid her a compliment.

     Laoghaire was terrified.  It wasn't the beating itself that worried her—her father had beaten her with a belt before, so she knew how it would feel.  The pain would pass.  What she was terrified of was the utter humiliation of being beaten in the hall. Before all the men and the women, the Laird, the War Chief, even Letitia.  And her Gran?  Worst of all was the thought of Jamie Fraser watching.  It didn't matter how buxom she had grown, how beautiful her flaxen hair, or pink her cheeks.  If every time he looked at her he imagined her screaming out in pain while being held and beaten, humiliated in front of the crowd, he would never think of her in that way. 

     But as she awaited her punishment, she couldn't help but think back to the braw red-haired young man, pairing that attractive vision with the memory of Hugh's enthusiastic if inexpert caresses.  She felt heavy with desire, and burdened with fear.

      She didn’t remember everything from the Hall the next day.  She couldn’t remember her father’s exact words, just that he accused her of every horrible thing he could think of—being a whore, carrying on with the young lads of the town repeatedly, and disrespecting his orders when he had demanded that she stop.  He wanted her to be punished for disrespect and disobedience. 

     Laoghaire could not look at the crowd, sure she’d catch the eye of a friend, or Hugh, or Jamie.  She did hear the two clear raps on the arm of the chair, and the MacKenzie giving his ruling.  Then she heard the slow, terrifyingly deliberate sound of her Da unbuckling his belt.  Two guards grabbed her by the arms, turning her so she faced the crowd, away from Colum and her Da.  She had kept herself calm up to this point, but couldn’t keep the tears from beginning to flow.  It was over.  Every hope she’d entertained since she became a young woman was crumbling into dust.  She pulled back against the rough hands that held her, setting her jaw stubbornly.

     A husky voice called out in Gaelic, but Laoghaire was gritting her teeth, preparing herself for the stinging blow that must be only seconds away, and she didn’t truly hear it.  She only noticed a stirring murmur in the crowd, the sound of feet moving and dresses rustling, and boots tramping across the floor toward her.

     When Laoghaire finally got up the nerve to open her eyes, she thought she must have fainted, for surely she was imagining things.  There, just feet away from her, facing Colum and her father, in a clean shirt and kilt, with curling copper hair and a smile on his face, was Jamie Fraser.

     He was so handsome, so broad and tall, standing confidently in front of the crowd, speaking boldly in a way that somehow made the people laugh.  Laoghaire looked back and forth between Jamie, Colum, and Dougal.  She was confused, still not quite understanding what was happening.

     Released by the guards after the brief negotiations between Colum and Jamie, Laoghaire stood there dumbly for a few seconds, and then realizing how lucky she was, she disappeared into the crowd, quickly finding the friendly face of her Gran, and collapsing into her arms, as Jamie announced to Colum that he chose fists, rather than the strap.

      Laoghaire had watched the beating from the far corner of the Hall, held tightly by Mrs. Fitz.  She couldn’t watch it all, as with each blow she winced as if she was the one who had been struck.  Jamie Fraser was taking her punishment.  Why would he do that?  They hadn’t even spoken, let alone seen each other face to face since Jamie had returned.  When Jamie had fallen to the ground, Laoghaire started sobbing.  The guards pulled him to his feet, and he had mustered enough strength to smile and thank Rupert and Colum, and then he left the hall as well.

     Though Colum was Laird of Leoch, Mrs. Fitz was the only omniscient one in the castle.  She had quickly found out where Mrs. Beauchamp was caring for Jamie’s wounds, and bustled around the kitchen pulling together a tray with a bowl of leeches, a cup of willow bark tea with orris root and some St. John’s wort soaked in vinegar. 

     Laoghaire followed her at a distance, afraid to see Jamie, and yet needing to know he was well, that he wasn’t hurt too badly.  When her grandmother left the room, she hung back at the entrance, longing to say something to Jamie, to see him, to thank him.

     This was the first time she’d gotten a look at this English woman, “Mistress Beauchamp,” who had arrived with the raiding party.  She was lovely, but a bit older than Jamie, with dark hair that appeared to be curly, but pinned up.  The sassenach bent over Jamie as he sat on a chair, holding his face gently in her hands and turning it from side to side, peering closely at the bruises around his eye and the cut on his lip.

     Jamie and the woman were speaking quietly to each other, which made Laoghaire wonder what was being said in the murmured conversation between the two, and then Mistress Beauchamp had noticed her outside the door, and nodded in her direction.

     When Laoghaire and Jamie were alone, she could barely meet his eyes.

     “Ye shouldna done that, James Fraser,” she said.  “But thank ye.”

     “Ah, lass,” said Jamie.  One of his eyes was obviously going to be bruised the next day, but it looked like the leeches had gotten rid of the swelling.  “I ken what it’s like to be young.  Once when I was yer age, I was beaten at one of the Hall gatherings.  I remembered how embarrassed I was then, and I didna want you to be shamed in front of everyone that knows ye.”

     “But ye might have been truly hurt,” Laoghaire said, reaching gently up with her hand to touch the bruise on his cheek.  His skin was warm, and his scruffy beard scratched her palm.  She lowered her eyes as she gently drew her hand away.  “I dinna ken if I can ever thank ye enough,” she said, tears glistening on her eyelashes.

     “Dinna fash, lass,” murmured Jamie, reaching to pull her to him.  She melted into the embrace, feeling his solid warmth against her.  She could have stood like that forever, but felt him release her.  Turning away, she quickly left the chamber so he wouldn’t see her cry.

☆☆☆☆☆

     A commotion at the entrance of the house brought Laoghaire back from her reverie.  Marsali was smiling up at Jamie as they came inside, their hands linked.  He drew her into an embrace and the two stood there for a moment, the red haired giant clasping the petite blonde in his arms.

     "Where have you been?" Laoghaire asked them.

     "A wee walk," Jamie responded.

     “Well, close the door,” Laoghaire snapped irritably.  “Ye’re letting the cold in.”

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

[yellowfeather84]

Hello! Could you please post the birth of Jemmy? I love that in it Brianna needs his father so much.. she takes all the strenght she needs in Jamie, his presence, his hands..only him, Claire helps her but we saw that without him she couldnt support this.. she is like a lost little girl who need the everything of her father, when she called him daddy I was about to cry.. for me this is when she became a proud daddy's scot girl, when she admit that Jamie is her real father, her 'world' in a way..

Of course! It’s such a great passage and definitely an experience that I’m sure Brianna never thought she would have her father there for.

“It’s like baseball,” I assured her. “Long stretches of boredom, punctuated by short periods of intense activity.” 

She laughed, then stopped abruptly, grimacing. 

“Ugh. Intense, yeah. Whew.” She smiled, a little lopsidedly. “At least at baseball games you get to drink beer and eat hot dogs in the boring parts.” 

Jamie, grasping at the only part of this conversation that made sense, leaned forward. 

“There’s a crock of small beer, cool in the pantry,” he said, peering anxiously at Brianna. “Will I fetch it in?” 

“No,” I said. “Not unless you want some; alcohol wouldn’t be good for the baby.” 

“Ah. What about the hot dog?” He stood up and flexed his hands, obviously preparing to dash out and shoot one. 

“It’s a sort of sausage in a roll,” I said, rubbing my upper lip in an effort not to laugh. I glanced at Brianna. “I don’t think she wants one.” Small beads of sweat had popped out quite suddenly on her wide brow, and she was looking white around the eye sockets. 

“Oh, barf,” she said faintly. 

Correctly interpreting this remark from the look on her face, Jamie hastily applied the damp cloth to her face and neck. 

“Put your head between your knees, lass.” 

She glared at him ferociously. 

“I can’t get … my head … near my knees!” she said, teeth clenched. Then the spasm relaxed and she took a deep breath, the color coming back into her face.

Jamie glanced from her to me, frowning worriedly. He took a hesitant step toward the door.

“I expect I’d best go, then, if you—” 

“Don’t leave me!” 

“But it’s— I mean, you’ve your mother, and—” 

“Don’t leave me!” she repeated. Agitated, she leaned over and grabbed his arm, shaking it for emphasis. “You can’t!” 

“You said I wouldn’t die.” She was staring intently into his face. “If you stay, it will be all right. I won’t die.” She spoke with such intensity that I felt a sudden spasm of fear clutch my own innards, hard as the pain of labor. 

She was a big girl, strong and healthy. She should have no great trouble delivering. But I was large enough, healthy as well— and twenty-five years before, I had lost a stillborn child at six months, and nearly died myself. I might be able to protect her from childbed fever, but there was no defense against a sudden hemorrhage; the best I could do under such circumstances would be to try to save her child via Caesarian section. I resolutely kept my eyes off the chest in which the sterile blade lay ready, just in case. 

“You’re not going to die, Bree,” I said. I spoke as soothingly as I could, and put a hand on her shoulder, but she must have felt the fear under my professional facade. Her face twisted, and she grabbed my hand, clinging so tightly the bones rubbed together. She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose, but didn’t cry out. 

She opened her eyes and looked straight at me, her pupils dilated so that she seemed to be looking past me, into a future that only she could see. 

“If I do …” she said, putting a hand to her swollen belly. Her mouth worked, but whatever she’d been meaning to say couldn’t force its way out. 

She struggled to her feet, then, and leaned heavily on Jamie, her face muffled in his shoulder, repeating, “Da, don’t leave me, don’t.” 

“I willna leave ye, a leannan. Dinna be afraid, I’ll stay wi’ ye.” He put an arm around her, looking helplessly over her head at me. 

“Walk her,” I said to Jamie, seeing her restlessness. “Like a horse with colic,” I added, as he looked blank. 

That made her laugh. With the ginger air of a man approaching an armed bomb, he put an arm around her waist and towed her slowly around the room. Given their respective sizes, it sounded a lot like someone leading a horse, too.

“All right?” I heard him ask anxiously, on one circuit. 

“I’ll tell you when I’m not,” she assured him. 

It was warm for mid-May; I opened the windows wide, and the scents of phlox and columbine flowed in, mixed with cool, damp air from the river. 

The house was filled with an air of expectation: eagerness, with a hint of fear beneath. Jocasta walked up and down the terrace below, too nervous to stay put. Betty put her head in every few minutes to ask if anything was needed; Phaedre came up from the pantry with a jug of fresh buttermilk, just in case. Brianna, her eyes focused inwardly, merely shook her head at it; I sipped a glass myself, mentally checking off the preparations. 

The fact was that there wasn’t a hell of a lot you needed to do for a normal birth, and not the hell of a lot you could do if it wasn’t. The bed was stripped and old quilts laid to protect the mattress; there was a stack of clean cloths to hand, and a can of hot water, renewed every half hour or so from the kitchen copper. Cool water for sipping and brow-mopping, a small vial of oil for rubbing, my suture kit to hand, just in case— and beyond that, everything was up to Brianna. 

After nearly an hour’s walking, she stopped dead in the middle of the floor, gripping Jamie’s arm and breathing through her nose like a horse at the end of a twenty-furlong race. 

“I want to lie down,” she said. 

Phaedre and I got her gown off, and got her safely onto the bed in her shift. I laid my hands on the huge mound of her belly, marveling at the sheer impossibility of what had happened already, and what was about to happen next. 

The rigidity of the contraction passed off, and I could clearly feel the curves of the child below the thin rubbery covering of skin and muscle. It was large, I could tell that, but it seemed to be lying well, head down and fully engaged. 

Normally, babies about to be born were fairly quiet, intimidated by the upheaval of their surroundings. This one was stirring; I felt a small, distinct surge against my hand as an elbow poked out. 

“Daddy!” Brianna reached out blindly, flailing as a contraction took her unaware. Jamie lunged forward and caught her hand, squeezing tight. 

“I’m here, a bheanachd, I’m here.” 

She breathed heavily, face bright red, then relaxed, and swallowed.

“How long?” she asked. She was facing me but not looking at me; she wasn’t looking at anything outside. 

“I don’t know. Not an awfully long time, I don’t think.” The contractions were roughly five minutes apart, but I knew they could continue like that for a long time, or speed up abruptly; there was simply no telling. 

There was a light breeze from the window, but she was sweating. I wiped her face and neck again, and rubbed her shoulders. 

“You’re doing fine, lovey,” I murmured to her. “Just fine.” I glanced up at Jamie, and smiled. “So are you.” 

He made a game try at returning the smile; he was sweating, too, but his face was white, not red. 

“Talk to me, Da,” she said suddenly. 

“Och?” He looked at me, frantic. “What shall I say?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Tell her stories; anything to take her mind off things.” 

“Oh. Ah … will ye have heard the one about … Habetrot the spinstress?” 

Brianna grunted in reply. Jamie looked apprehensive, but started in nonetheless. 

“Aye, well. It happened that in an old farmhouse that stood by the river, there lived a fair maid called Maisie. She’d red hair and blue een, and was the bonniest maid in all the valley. But she had no husband, because …” He stopped, appalled. I glared at him. 

He coughed and went on, plainly not knowing what else to do. “Ah … because in those days men were sensible, and instead of looking for lovely lasses to be their brides, they looked out for girls who could cook and spin, who might make notable housewives. But Maisie …” 

Brianna made a deep inhuman noise. Jamie clenched his teeth for a moment, but went on, holding tight to both her hands. 

“But Maisie loved the light in the fields and the birds of the glen …” 

The light faded gradually from the room, and the smell of sun-warmed flowers was replaced by the damp green smell of the willows by the river, and the faint scent of woodsmoke from the cookhouse. 

Brianna’s shift was wet through, and stuck to her skin. I dug my thumbs into her back, just above the hips, and she squirmed hard against me, trying to ease the ache. Jamie sat with his head down, clinging doggedly to her hands, still talking soothingly, telling stories of silkies and seal catchers, of pipers and elves, of the great giants of Fingal’s Cave, and the Devil’s black horse that passes through the air faster than the thought between a man and a maid.

The pains were very close together. I motioned to Phaedre, who ran away and came back with a lighted taper, to light the candles in the sconces. 

It was cool and dim in the room, the walls lit with flickering shadows. Jamie’s voice was hoarse; Brianna’s was nearly gone. 

Suddenly she let go of him and sat up, grabbing at her knees, face dark red with effort, pushing. 

“Now, then,” I said. I stacked pillows quickly behind her, made her lean back against the bedstead, called Phaedre to hold the candlestick for me. 

I oiled my fingers, reached under her shift, and touched flesh I had not touched since she was a baby herself. I rubbed slowly, gently, talking to her, knowing it made no great difference what I said. 

I felt the strain, the sudden change under my fingers. A relaxation, then once more. There was a sudden gush of amniotic fluid, that splashed across the bed and dripped on the floor, filling the room with the scent of fecund rivers. I rubbed and eased, praying that it would not come too fast, not tear her. 

The ring of flesh opened suddenly, and my fingers touched something wet and hard. Relaxation, and it moved back, away, leaving the ends of my fingers tingling with the knowledge that I had touched someone entirely new. Once more the great pressure, the stretching came, and once more eased slowly back. I pushed back the edge of the shift, and with the next push the ring stretched to impossible size, and a head like a Chinese gargoyle popped out, with a flood of amniotic fluid and blood. 

I found myself nose to nose with a waxy-white head with a face like a fist, that grimaced at me in utter fury. 

“What is it? Is it a boy?” Jamie’s hoarse question cut through my startlement. 

“I hope so,” I said, hastily thumbing mucus from nose and mouth. “It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen; God help it if it’s a girl.” 

Brianna made a noise that might have started as a laugh, and turned into an enormous grunt of effort. I barely had time to get my fingers in and turn the wide shoulders slightly to help. There was an audible pop, and a long, wet form slithered out onto the soggy quilt, wriggling like a landed trout. 

I seized a clean linen towel and wrapped him— it was him, the scrotal sac swelled up round and purple between fat thighs— checking quickly for his Apgar signs: breathing, color, activity … all good. He was making thin, angry noises, short explosions of breath, not really crying, and punching the air with clenched tiny fists. 

I laid him on the bed, one hand on the bundle as I checked Brianna. Her thighs were smeared with blood, but there was no sign of hemorrhage. The cord was still pulsing, a thick wet snake of connection between them. 

She was panting, lying back on the crushed pillows, hair plastered wetly to her temples, an enormous smile of relief and triumph on her face. I laid a hand on her belly, suddenly flaccid. Deep inside, I felt the placenta give way, as her body surrendered its last physical link with her son. 

“Once more, honey,” I said softly to her. The last contraction shivered over her belly, and the afterbirth slid out. I tied off the cord and cut it, and placed the solid little bundle of her child in her arms. 

“He’s beautiful,” I whispered. 

I left him to her, and turned my attention to immediate matters, kneading her belly firmly with my fists, to encourage the uterus to contract and stop the bleeding. I could hear the babble of excitement spreading through the house as Phaedre rushed downstairs to spread the news. I glanced upward once, to see Brianna glowing, still smiling from ear to ear. Jamie was behind her, also smiling, his cheeks wet with tears. He said something to her in husky Gaelic, and brushing the hair away from her neck, leaned forward and kissed her gently, just behind the ear. 

“Is he hungry?” Brianna’s voice was deep and cracked, and she tried to clear her throat. “Shall I feed him?” 

“Try him and see. Sometimes they’re sleepy right afterward, but sometimes they want to nurse.” 

She fumbled at the neck of her shift and pulled loose the ribbon, baring one high, full breast. The bundle made small growf noises as she turned it awkwardly toward her, and her eyes sprang open in surprise as the mouth fastened on her nipple with sudden ferocity. 

“Strong, isn’t he?” I said, and realized that I was crying only when I tasted the salt of my tears running into the corners of my smile. 

Sometime later, with mother and child cleaned up and made comfortable, food and drink brought for Brianna, and a last check assuring that all was well, I walked out into the deep shadows of the upper gallery. I felt pleasantly detached from reality, as though I were walking a foot or so off the ground. 

Jamie had gone down to tell John; he was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. He drew me into his arms without a word and kissed me; as he let me go I saw the deep red crescents of Brianna’s nailmarks on his hands, not yet faded. 

“Ye did brawly too,” he whispered to me. Then the joy in his eyes bloomed bright and flowered in a face-splitting grin. “Grannie!”

[seud-luachmhor]

[celticbarb]

Book: Laird of Flint

Author: Glynnis Campbell

Series: The Warrior Lairds of Rivenloch, Book 2

Book Length: 373 Pages

Publisher: Glynnis Campbell

Release Date: May 7, 2024

Overall Rating: 5/5 Stars

Blog Rating: 5/5 Saltire Flags

Scotland, 1159

Hew du Lac is a Rivenloch warrior who is physically very impressive to look at with his hammer making him look like his Viking ancestors, especially with his fair hair and braw muscular physique! Yet his personality is extra special as he is kind, caring, sweet, funny, honest, honorable and protective to those he cares about. His biggest problem is that he gives his big heart away easily, but also thinks he is in love every five minutes!

Sadly these disloyal women just thrash his heart and throw him away with a feeble excuse and break his tender heart! Of course he soon realizes it was more about lust than it was true love. His mum decides her son needs to take a break from women and these empty relationships. As there is a thief at the monastery and they want to discover who is stealing their wealthy religious treasures. It was the perfect place for Hew to mend his broken heart in a place surrounded by monks where women were not admitted.

Hew decides to ban all women and heal his broken heart at the Monastery. That is until he realized he was only going to be surrounded by monks who prayed all the time! Hew definitely missed women from their delightful smells, soft hair, rosy cheeks, wet lips, sway of their hips and their feminine giggles. Furthermore he was freezing in his monastery cell that had no warm hearth, the monks also ate each of their meals in silence as the size of their meals were for a small toddler. So Hew was starving not just for female companionship but for substance too, he was hungry on all fronts period!

That is until he sees Lady Carenza who is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen in his entire life! So much for banning all women as Hew already knew he was in love. Could she be the one? Is this the one true mate that would love him forever? This time he was going to take it slow, easy until one night when she was on medication and confessed her true feelings for Hew. This was absolutely killing Hew, but he pretended he did hear her until she started kissing him and telling him he would make a terrible monk!

Lady Carenza of Dunlop, who is a local Laird's daughter, who is not only the bonniest lass on the planet, but a kind and caring woman too. She loves with her whole heart and is a huge animal lover who is trying to save her favorite Highland coo from being slaughtered, which is called culling but she calls it killing. This is an animal she had been caring for the past six years.

She is also miserable being a Laird's daughter and doesn't like the idea of being married off just for a clan alliance as if she was getting sold by the highest bidder like a farm animal. Everything changes when she meets Hew and knows she has finally found her true love as he is the one person that makes her soul feel safe and at peace.

However soon they realize that Hew’s very life could be forfeit from the choices he has made from both choice and misunderstandings that could shatter both Hew and Carenza’s future. Will she lose the only man she has ever loved. Will Hew lose the one woman who owns his heart and soul? Plus the choices he might make might stretch his neck and some might feel he betraying the King

Decisions are not easy for these star crossed lovers and soon choices must be made. Will love win or the duties of clan loyalty. Which side will win? Read and find out in another fabulous Glynnis Campbell read.

I have been reading Glynnis Campbell books for many decades and she never disappoints. She is one of my favorite authors who is a brilliant storyteller and I am always swept away in her stories that makes me both giggle and gasp! This is another book readers don't want to miss. I highly recommend reading them all in series order, although it can be read as a stand alone book too. I personally feel readers will be able to connect the dots more easily in series order.

The Warrior Lairds of Rivenloch

BOOK ONE: LAIRD OF STEEL

BOOK TWO: LAIRD OF FLINT

BOOK THREE: LAIRD OF SMOKE: Coming Soon