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"I don't want to go anywhere. I want to be shot!" They were the last words I was conscious of saying. My voice may have left me, but my subconscious had not. It was pleading in my mind, *"Please, please shoot me! I promised her. I promised her I would find her...I canna do that while I live. Please...Please!" * If I could only find my voice again, I wouldn't care if I begged.
I felt myself falling, once again, into that seemingly endless darkness where both physical and mental pain ceased to exist. When I next managed to claw my way back to consciousness, it was to find myself alone in the barn, all my fellow Jacobites having been executed under order of the Duke of Cumberland.
The pain in my leg suddenly flared brighter. I could barely open my eyes, but I was vaguely aware of being lifted...carried. None too gently, but what could you expect from a victorious foe. My first thought was, 'They changed their mind. Taing Dhia!' But I was wrong.
Suddenly, I felt myself dropped onto a bed of hay. Vaguely the sound of an English voice came to me, orders being given. The crack of a whip could be heard, before suddenly I felt a violent jerk. The bed of hay was apparently in the back of a small wagon...and it was moving.
Darkness fell, the sun rose and darkness fell again. Through it all I intermittently found myself conscious, my leg killing me with every bump in, what was obviously, a very bumpy road. I was fevered or chilled, or both together. Having been covered by hay, which was riddled with fleas, I found myself being eaten alive, whilst the ends of the hay were sticking in my eyes, my ears and through my shirt...apparently the Lord needed me to feel more discomfort, I thought, on my final journey towards purgatory.
When I found myself aware enough, I tried to focus my thoughts. I contemplated the many ways I might get back at Lord Melton for not shooting me. But knowing that I would probably never see the man again, my mind eventually moved on to memories...memories that were now heartbreaking.
Claire...mo nighean donn. Visions of her rolled through my mind...the first time I saw her, wet and bedraggled in a dirty shift, clearly confused and anxious, but undaunted...a sparkling vision of loveliness in silver and white on our wedding day...a seductive delight as her shift fell to the floor of our chamber...dazzling in the revealing crimson dress she wore to Versailles...relaxing on the chaise lounge in the Paris apartment, her body rounded with child...and more, many more of my most precious memories.
As the next day dawned, and the rain began falling, the wagon continued ceaselessly on its jolting way...and, during my intermittent bouts of consciousness, I found my thoughts falling into sadder memories. But still they were centred on my Sassenach...her distraught tear-stained face as she begged to stay with me in Wentworth, the utter coldness which shielded her despair on my release from the Bastille after the loss of Faith, the increasingly strained and malnourished look of her during the retreat from England which led us to Culloden Moor. And finally, repetitively, my mind replayed our last moments together, at those cursed stones.
My heart...no it couldn't be my heart...that was no longer with me, it had disappeared through the stones with Claire. Whatever it was that was left to me, lived again those minutes on top of Craigh Na Dun...holding Claire, kissing her, our final desperate lovemaking as the sounds of the English cannons reached our ears. That final slow dance towards the stone...my eyes could see nothing but Claire's face, the tears streaming from her eyes, hear nothing but her voice telling me over and over again 'I Love You'. And then the utter wretchedness, which I knew would be mine for the remaining hours of my existence, as I pressed her hand to the stone and she disappeared from my arms and my life forever.
'Lord that she may be safe...she and the child.' This had been my prayer, and my only thought, as I had returned to Culloden to face the coming battle and death. It would seem my death had been delayed somewhat, but my prayer was still the same as I slipped once more into oblivion.
Chapter 2
It was twilight when Jamie regained his senses only to find that he had been drenched completely by the rain, which had finally eased. The dark clouds still choked the sky, giving what little light there was a gloomy cast.
He lay there in utter misery, watching with a glazed expression, as the last of the raindrops rolled down the sideboard of the wagon. He put out a finger, interrupting the flow of the drop of water, watching as it parted into two separate streams. Separate...as he and Claire were now forever separate. "Love...you...mo nighean donn," his voice managed to brokenly whisper.
He was only distantly aware of the fact that the wagon had stopped. Gradually, he became aware of voices arguing from somewhere nearby. Surely one of them was a woman's voice...and a voice he knew. The driver was saying, "I was told to bring him here...but his Lordship will deny any knowledge of it."
With the little vision that he was afforded through the slits that were all his eyes could manage, Jamie looked up and became aware of his sister's face, as she bent over the side of the wagon.
"Jamie! Jamie! Jamie, do you hear me?" Jenny cried.
Ian, her husband and Jamie's best friend, leaned in from behind her. "Jamie...can you speak?" he asked.
"Am I...dead?" Jamie managed, his voice a whispering croak.
"No. Ye've come home, to Lallybroch." Jenny's hand reached for his and squeezed.
"Lallybroch..." was all Jamie could manage before he once again lost consciousness.
Jenny took a moment to embrace her brother, before turning to Ian and taking control. "Ian, we're gonna need help gettin' him into the house."
"I'll get Wallace and McFadden. I shouldna be long," he called over his shoulder.
"Mrs Crook," Jenny called to the housekeeper, who had appeared in the doorway. "Get a camp bed set up in front of the fireplace in the parlour, quickly."
"Aye, mistress."
Jenny climbed into the wagon bed, intent on reaching her brother. "Jamie, mo chridhe, thank God ye've made it home. We've got ye now."
*
Half an hour later, Jamie had been washed, stripped of his clothes and clad in a fresh shirt, and lay comatose on a camp bed in front of the fire. Jenny had been aghast at the sight of the bayonet slash which ran some eight inches across his left thigh. They had managed to wake him long enough to have him drink some water and a little whisky before he passed out again.
As Jenny gazed at her brother, she suddenly became aware of what was missing...or rather who.
Jerking around to stare at Ian, their eyes locked as they said simultaneously, "CLAIRE!"
"Oh my God," Jenny said, "we have to find Claire! He'll need her...and what's more she'll know what to do for him."
They both looked at Jamie, realising instantly that in his present condition he could tell them nothing.
"Fergus!" Ian said. "He'll maybe know where she is."
Fergus had arrived back at Lallybroch two days before. He had fallen from his horse into Ian's arms...exhausted. When he had finally revived enough to speak, he had handed to Jenny a Deed of Sasine signed by Jamie deeding Lallybroch to their son James Murray. It had broken Jenny and Ian's hearts when they realised why Jamie had the deed executed. He had given up any hope of victory and was taking what steps he could to ensure that Lallybroch was safe.
They had seen at once the rigours of life, with an army struggling to survive, stamped on the young boy's face...insufficient food, and little rest were evident signs of how things had been going for the Jacobite forces. These same signs could be seen in Jamie's form as he lay before the fire. His face was gaunt, and his well-muscled frame was thinner than Jenny had seen since he was a lad.
Once he was fed, Fergus had been put to bed in Young Jamie's room and had in fact not left the room since. Jenny had woken him to see that he ate, but he had fallen back asleep immediately thereafter.
"Jamie," Ian called to his son, "go upstairs and rouse Fergus. Tell him we need to see him down here, right away."
As young Jamie ran upstairs, Jenny headed for the kitchen, saying, "Well, we need to do something about that wound, right away. I'll have Mrs Crook make up an onion poultice...hopefully, that will do for a start."
*
It was a short time later when the boys entered the parlour. Fergus had splashed water in his face to rouse himself, and dressed. Young Jamie had told him only that he was needed downstairs and he was supremely shocked to find Jamie Fraser laid out before the fire.
"Milord," he cried as he rushed to the camp bed and fell on his knees beside Jamie, grasping his hand in his small ones.
"Monsieur Murray, milord...he..." Fergus' speech stumbled as he tried to get his words out.
"Aye, lad, he's made it home...but he's badly wounded. We need to find Claire, Fergus. Do you know where she is?" Ian gently asked the boy.
"No, monsieur. When last I saw Milord and Milady they were standing in the doorway of Culloden House, their arms around each other...the morning of the battle." Fergus' face was grim as he looked down upon the man who when they had last spoken, had claimed that he, Fergus, the bastard son of an unknown French prostitute, was like his own son. "He would have seen her safe, monsieur..."
Jenny had returned from the kitchen, poultice in hand. She sank down beside the camp bed and removing the blanket, raised Jamie's shirt to display the ugly wound. Shocked, Fergus gripped Jamie's hand tighter.
As Jenny put the poultice in place and bound up Jamie's leg, Ian turned to her. "Surely if Jamie has not returned to her, Claire would make her way home to Lallybroch. I think...for the present...we must wait for Jamie to wake up enough to tell us where to look for her...she may reach us before we can go seeking her."
Jenny nodded as they all fell silent, each one praying that Claire would find her way home soon.
Chapter 3
Days passed. Jenny was never far from her brother's side. She had dosed him for fever, and used every type of poultice known on his leg, but nothing seemed to work.
Occasionally, he would revive enough to give voice to the fevered dreams which apparently plagued him. Screams caused by nightmares too horrendous to try and understand, gave way to a pleading which broke Jenny's heart to hear. His weakened voice would cry out, "Claire! Claire! Shoot me, damn you! I must find Claire! She'll be waiting for me to find her...I promised ye, mo nighean donn, I promised ye I would find you. I canna find her while I live..."
Jenny knelt beside her brother, holding his hand, wiping the fevered sweat from his brow, praying for God's guidance as to what to do. Claire had not returned, and Jamie had not yet revived sufficiently to be able to tell them where she was or what had happened.
His leg had swollen and stank of infection. It was beginning to go black and rotten and Jenny feared that the only way to save his life was to amputate the leg. Ian was adamant though...they could not do that to him. He had known Jamie all his life, and knew that he would not want that. All things considered...he had already lost the battle, the war, his home, and apparently Claire...no, they could not take his leg as well.
Jenny took a deep breath, and slowly nodded. "Alright. We won't take his leg. Ian, go get three of the tenants...we're going to have to hold him down." She turned to Mrs Crook, who had been waiting for instructions. "Get me the largest sharpest kitchen knife we have and a pot of boiling water, while I find a needle and thread."
Mrs Crook scurried to the kitchen. "Right away, mistress."
*
It had been the hardest thing Jenny had ever done. While Ian and the tenants held Jamie down, she sliced through the bayonet wound on his leg, all the way down to the bone. Then using the boiling water she had cleaned the wound as thoroughly as she could. The pain had been sufficient to bring Jamie out of his stupor. He had screamed and screamed until the pain had forced him once more into unconsciousness. Taking up the needle and thread, she had then sewn the wound up and once again applied a poultice.
Jenny's hands shook as she tucked the blanket around her brother. She'd done the only thing that was left to her...God, how she wished Claire were here! Her good-sister would have known what was the right thing to do.
She and Ian were now alone in the parlour with Jamie. Fergus had suddenly appeared when Jamie started screaming and then stubbornly remained, refusing all orders to leave, sitting on the floor throughout the procedure, holding tightly Jamie's hand. He had finally agreed to return to his chores with the promise that he could sit with Jamie after supper. Mrs Crook had gathered up the implements and returned to the kitchen, while the tenants had left after Ian had given them all a bracing dram of whisky.
"Now we wait," Jenny whispered to Ian, as she turned into his arms. Suddenly her stoicism failed her, and she finally gave way to her fear, as she clutched her husband, tears streaming down her face.
Gently pulling her down onto the red velvet sofa, he held her tightly to him, her head nestled under his chin, as great gasping sobs wracked her body. "Ye've done well, leannan, it's in God's hands now." Ian's gaze was locked on the body of his best friend as he whispered, "Na fàg sinn, mo bhràthair. Tha feum mòr agad an seo." (Don't leave us, my brother. You are greatly needed here.)
For just a moment, he thought he glimpsed a flash of awareness slide momentarily across Jamie's face.
*
Two days later, Jamie's fever finally broke.
Fergus, who had risen early to spend some time watching over milord before attending to his chores, announced the news, as he ran into the kitchen. "Madame Murray... Madame...quick, come quick...Milord is awake!"
Dropping the bowl she had been holding, Jenny had picked up her skirts and raced into the parlour to find that the fever had left her brother; he was awake with the hint of a smile forming on his face as she appeared in the doorway.
Jenny dropped to the stool beside the camp bed, her hand reaching to feel his face and then his leg...she needed the physical assurance that the fever was indeed gone.
"Jamie, oh Jamie..." Her words left her as she dropped her head to his chest, hugging him tightly.
"Jenny..." His voice was a cracked whisper, no more, as his arms returned the embrace.
Her initial fears allayed, Jenny's pragmatism returned as she righted herself, saying "Well, I think it's time we got some broth, at least, into ye. Fergus, run to the kitchen and tell Mrs Crook. Bring some, right away.
Ian, who had been working in the study, and had made his way to the parlour at the sound of Fergus' yelling, made his way to the cabinet and poured a small whisky, which he now proffered. "Good to see you awake, Jamie. It's about time! Now...take this slowly."
Jamie, gratefully sipped the whiskey whilst he grasped Ian's hand in his own.
Some thirty minutes later, Jenny had spoon-fed him a bowl of broth, bathed him and dressed him in a new shirt...things he had vehemently resisted having her do for him, but he did not have the strength to hold her off. He certainly felt better for it all, but he did not have the will to care.
Jenny, Ian and Fergus were now seated around him, obviously wanting to talk. He had laid back on the camp bed, closing his eyes, hoping they would put off their questions. When it became obvious, they were not going to leave him to his rest, he opened his eyes to find Ian and Jenny looking at each other, communicating without words.
Ian sat forward, clasping his hands together, elbows on his knees and quietly started. "Jamie, Claire hasna come home. We need to find her." He paused, before resuming, "Fergus said she was with you at Culloden House on the morning of the battle. We know you would have made sure she was safe...where did you leave her?"
All trace of emotion and all colour fled Jamie's face. Jenny gripped her hands together, suddenly afraid. She had never seen her brother look like that in her life.
"She's gone," he whispered brokenly. "Dinna ask me more." He turned his back to them, staring fixedly into the fire which blazed ceaselessly.
"No, no...not milady," breaking into sobs, Fergus fell to his knees beside Jamie.
Jamie's only response was to place his arm around the boy's back, pulling him closer to his side. His own eyes stared fixedly at something none of them could see, as tears he could not control ran down his face. *She was gone, he would never see her again. Would never hold her, love her...never see the child she carried grow. All he could do was pray they were safe.*
Jenny rose from the sofa, stumbling to her brother's side, reaching out to touch him, comfort him. Ian's hand on her arm stopped her, as he gazed down on Jamie's stiff back, such pain evident in the coiled muscles.
Jenny spun around, whispering urgently, "I must go to him."
"Mo cridhe, nothing you can do or say can help now. He must be ready to open up, before we can help. Come...!"
With that they left Jamie to his memories, the only sign of life evident being the slow movement of his hand as it soothed the curls on the young boy's head...curls which reminded Jamie of his Sassenach's wild, glorious locks.
Chapter 4
Jenny's patience was fast coming to an end. Jamie's depression continued unabated. His leg was healing, but he had steadfastly refused to participate in his recuperation.
Enough was enough, Jenny understood how deeply Jamie was feeling the loss of Claire...the loss of his previous life. But he was still alive, and she was going to see that he lived it.
She wasna going to let Jamie die, and she wasna going to let him be a cripple, and she wasna going to have him lie about all day feelin' sorry for himself... By the time she finished telling Jamie all the things she wouldna let him do, it seemed the only thing left to him was to get well.
Sufficient time had now passed that he should be back on his feet. He had managed a few steps around the house, getting himself to the chamber pot behind the screen, and back to the sofa where he now reclined during the day. It was time that he started doing more, started strengthening that leg.
Supper was over, and Ian and Jamie were sitting in the parlour, imbibing a glass of whisky as they silently played a game of chess on the small end table which had been moved between them.
Jenny picked up the old gnarled cane which had belonged to Mrs Crook's late husband, and which she had helpfully proffered to assist with Jamie's healing. Entering the parlour, she held the stick out to Jamie, pushing it into his hands, insisting that he take it. Bending, she picked up the game table and moved it back to its normal position between the two armchairs, before turning back towards the kitchens.
She and Ian had discussed the matter, and he rose to stand before Jamie. Leaning forward, he said, "It's time, Jamie! Ye must make a start..."
Slowly, Jamie raised his head and finally nodded. With Ian's help, he slowly started towards the door. They didn't make it very far the first night, but every night thereafter Ian took him outside after dark, and made Jamie walk. Lord, they were a sight, Ian wi' his wooden leg, and Jamie wi' his stick, limping up and down the road like a pair of lame cranes.
It had to be done though...word had reached Lallybroch that the English were ravaging the countryside and, isolated as they were, they could not hope to avoid their notice for much longer. It was too dangerous for Jamie to be outside during the day, and they needed to be able to get him to the priest hole in a hurry should the need arise. They could no longer afford to have him sleeping in the parlour. If...no, when the English came, there could be no sign that Red Jamie had ever returned from the Rising.
Jamie was only a shadow of his former self, but one thing that had not left him was his determination. Once he put his mind to getting back the use of his leg, he put all of his returning strength into it. Night after night, he and Ian limped along the road and back again, and each night they managed to go a little further. Before long, he was able to descend and climb from the priest hole by himself.
Still, even after he no longer needed the stick, Jamie and Ian would leave the house after dark and companionably wander up and down the lanes surrounding Lallybroch, intent on Jamie regaining his strength as soon as he could.
Chapter 5
The surviving men of Lallybroch, on Jamie's orders, had managed to leave the field before the battle had started and slowly, carefully, made their way home. On foot, having to hide from the victorious English, to scavenge for what little there was in the way of food, it had taken them weeks but they had made it.
Word had spread through the tenants of Jamie's return, and one evening as Ian and Jamie hobbled back into the dooryard of Lallybroch after their walk, they found Ross sitting on the front steps talking to Jenny.
Ross stood. "My Laird, 'tis good to see ye looking so fine. We heard, when we returned, how badly ye were wounded. I thought I should come and report to ye, let you know how we fared."
Jamie grasped the man's hand, and the ghost of a smile brushed his face. "Ross, man, it's good to see ye. Come in, come in, with Ian's permission we'll have a dram and talk a bit. Aye!"
Smiling, Ian nodded his agreement as Ross stood aside to let the two men slowly climb the stairs into the house.
Once they were all settled in the parlour with whiskies in hand, Jamie raised his in a toast. "To all those who didn't make it home." Ian, Ross and Jenny raised their glasses in silent salute.
Ross' tale was thankfully quite dull. The men had managed to leave the field as instructed by Murtagh and had slowly, methodically, made their way in small groups back to Lallybroch. All had been instructed to avoid the English at all costs...and surprisingly only two of the men seemed to have run into trouble. Everyone else was accounted for.
Upon hearing the tale, Jamie's head bowed in thankfulness. He had at least managed that...he had saved as many of his people as possible.
Ross coughed, clearing his throat, before asking. "My Laird, I was wonderin'...do ye know what happened to Rupert and Murtagh."
Jenny's hand reached for Ian's. Maybe this was what Jamie needed, to talk to someone who had been through the Rising with him...he had so far refused to talk about the eight months of the Rising, the eight months that had destroyed his life.
Jamie's head shot up, then his eyes closed, before he took a deep breath and slowly started speaking. "Last time I saw Murtagh was on the battlefield. My memories are somewhat fractured, haphazard...but I do remember lying on the ground, trying to regain my breath, having just dispatched an English soldier when a fellow Scot fell beside me." A small smile appeared on his lips.
"A quick look revealed it was Murtagh. He managed to let me know that he had gotten ye all away and then the battle once again swept over us and we were separated as we fought on. I dinna see him again. I asked afterward if anyone had any knowledge of what happened to him, but all anyone could say that he was last seen fighting his way across the field; all we could do was pray that he had met his death in battle."
As tears started to fall down her cheeks, Jenny's head fell to her husband's shoulder. His arms encircled her as her shoulders shook with grief. Murtagh had been a part of their lives forever. Brian Fraser's best friend, he had gladly taken on the role of godfather to Jamie.
Ross' head bowed as he whispered, "God be wi' him." Raising his head, he looked at Jamie once more, and asked, "And Rupert?"
"Rupert made it through the battle. It was he who found me lying in the mud, unable to move, waiting to die. He and Gordon Killick somehow managed to avoid the English, who had been killing the wounded where they fell, and carried me from the field to an old barn where a few of us who had somehow made it through the slaughter gathered. Most of us were wounded, unable to move, the few others who could still walk or were not badly wounded were too exhausted and broken to want to leave...to try and make a break for it. Many of our men had been barely able to stand on the field before the battle, weakened as they were by cold, fatigue and hunger.
"It was just past noon on the second day after the battle, when the English finally found us. We were confronted by an English Major, Lord Melton, who quickly advised us that he held an order from the Duke of Cumberland authorizing the immediate execution of any man who was found to have engaged in the recent treasonous rebellion. Rupert spoke up for us, confirming that we were traitors all. They were to give us a soldier's death, rather than a traitor's. We were to be shot. They executed those able to walk first, before they carried the rest of us out of the barn. One by one, each man gave his name to be recorded, before he was escorted outside...moments later a shot would be heard. Before Rupert offered to go next, he knelt beside me. Taking my hand, he bid me farewell with his usual good humour. He was pleased that he would soon be with Angus again..." Jamie's voice became choked with grief before trailing off as his eyes glazed over. Once again he was lying on the floor of that barn hearing gunshot after gunshot ring out...waiting for his turn.
Jenny rose and went to kneel before her brother, taking his hands in hers. "Jamie, how...?"
"How come they didn't kill me?" Jamie finished for her. He addressed Ross as he continued, "You remember a night before Prestonpans, in a barn near Carryarick when a young sixteen year old boy tried to cut my throat."
"Aye, my laird," Ross responded with a grin breaking out on his face. "Ye and Lady Broch Tuarach tricked the young lad into believing that he was saving her virtue by revealing the enemy's position, and then ye had us tie him to a tree for his companions to find the next day. Kincaid and I had a good laugh over it as we returned to camp."
"That's him. Lord John Grey was his name and he was Lord Melton's younger brother. He was a brave lad, notwithstanding his Englishness, and he vowed that he owed me a debt of honour for sparing his life, although he meant to kill me once the vow was filled. It turns out that the lad had told his brother about this debt of honour, and when it was my turn to give my name and face the execution squad, Melton recognized me as Red Jamie. He felt his family honour precluded him from being a party to my death, so he had me spirited away from the field and sent back to Lallybroch, although I do know that he felt I probably wouldna survive the journey given the state I was in."
"I hope Rupert found Angus...and Kincaid as well. They'd make a fine trio," Ross remarked as he sadly but hopefully nodded.
When Jenny glanced up at Jamie, she noticed that he seemed once again to have retreated into his memories, and was no longer taking part in the conversation. This seemed to happen with increasing regularity, and usually preceded a bout of depression that could take hours, if not days, to pass. She caught Ian's eye and nodded toward Jamie.
Ian got the message and standing shepherded Ross from the room, saying, "I think we must bid ye goodnight now, Ross. Jamie's still not fully himself yet, and I fear we'll no get anything more from him tonight."
"Aye, I can see that, sir. If there's anything I or the lads can do, ye be sure to ask. If it werena for Himself, none of us would have made it off that moor...and we all know it. Goodnight to ya."
Chapter 6
Thankfully, the next morning when Jamie emerged from the priest hole, where he now spent his nights, he seemed to have put his troubling thoughts behind him and was once again ready to join the family. He still spent his days confined to the house, but now spent his time either in the study reading or working on the books, or sitting in a corner of the kitchen mending horse tack, sharpening and repairing farm tools and household implements, anything he could do indoors.
Jenny's concern for her brother had not waned though. Apart from the night that Ross had visited, Jamie rarely if ever spoke of the Rebellion, and he never mentioned Claire. She had tried again and again to have him speak with her, to find out what had happened, to understand fully what had happened to his heart and soul...but all he would say was, "I'll no speak of it," before he would turn and leave the room, leaving Jenny to grieve for the loss of her good-sister alone.
Finally, she had demanded of Ian that he try to speak to Jamie about it. They were still walking every night, and maybe if he could get him talking when they were alone, he could find out something... anything that could help them help Jamie to heal.
That evening as Jamie and Ian walked, Ian took a deep breath and said, "Jamie, you need to get some of this off your chest. Tell me, what was it really like...the Rebellion. Was it much like when we fought in France?"
Jamie shrugged, maybe it was so. Comparing war stories felt like something he could do. "Well, Ian, the battles are no so different in any war, I expect...the fear, the killing, the loss of good men. But the rest of it, no...I don't think you could say it was very much like France at all. There we were part of a mercenary unit, but still we were trained as professional soldiers. Most of the men we took to fight for Prince Charles had never held a proper weapon, had little if any discipline and while I dinna question their bravery, it took a lot to whip them into shape enough to stand any chance fighting the English.
"Ye have heard of our victory at Prestonpans..." Jamie paused, looking to catch Ian's nod. "It took all of fifteen minutes and our losses numbered only fifty men to hundreds on the English side; we took them by surprise, coming out of the thick morning mist. We lost Angus there, he...he was felled by a cannon blast. He recovered enough to get Rupert, severely injured, back to the field hospital. Claire stitched Rupert up, but we didna realize that Angus was bleeding internally, caused by the blast. By the time he collapsed, it was too late...Claire could do nothing for him.
"If it hadn't been for Young Anderson coming forward with word of the hidden trail down from the ridge, it might have been a far different outcome."
Ian had pulled Jamie down onto a large rock beside the road, and they continued to discuss the various engagements of the Rising...Falkirk, Stirling, the unopposed takeover of Edinburgh, the invasion of England, the retreat from Manchester back across the border to Scotland.
Ian thought it was time, and taking a deep breath asked, "What of Claire? How did she handle the life of a camp follower?"
A small smile lifted the corner of Jamie's mouth, as he answered, "I couldna have been more proud of her. Always looking to the care of the men, and the other women. So strong and determined...only once did she seem to falter at all, but when I tried to send her home to you and Jenny she wouldna have it. She said she couldna go and leave people she cared about...people she loved...behind." His feelings for Claire, which he had never been able to hide from Ian, were clearly visible on his face.
"Of course, for me, to be able to spend my nights wrapped in Claire's arms...to have that haven, that release from all the pressures, the tensions that plagued my days..." Jamie faltered.
"Aye," Ian's hand reached out and gripped Jamie's. "Jamie," he whispered, "what happened to her?"
Jamie stared into Ian's eyes. He clenched his teeth, his chin trembled with the strain of trying to keep himself under control. Tears welled in his eyes. "Ian," he said brokenly, "I...I...canna speak of it. Please...please, don't ask again," he begged. His strength suddenly deserted him, and he slumped forward, wracking sobs shaking his body, as Ian's arms pulled his brother close.
The only other words Ian heard Jamie say that night were, "She's gone...she's gone." He mumbled them over and over. Jamie seemed to be telling himself, rather than Ian...trying to make himself accept it.
Jamie was well aware of how afraid Jenny and Ian were for him...for the fact that they couldn't seem to help him. Oh, they'd saved his life, his leg...and they were risking their lives by hiding him at Lallybroch. But they were all aware that Claire's loss was the one thing they could do nothing about.
He could not tell them what had happened; they could never understand how he could have sent her away, or where he sent her to...not only her but their unborn child. Nor the fact that she would never return. He knew why he had felt forced to do it...he was sure he would be dead by now...the fact that he wasn't and now had to face the rest of his life without the woman who completed him was the hardest thing he had ever faced. But as hard as it was for him, he prayed that she was safe, back in her own time.
Chapter 7
Jamie had had enough of being stuck indoors. His leg had healed, and he was rapidly regaining his strength. He could not be seen around the farm, but he felt he could put his skills to better use than Jenny had been allowing. It was time he started making a significant contribution. He was a skilled hunter and tracker, and if nothing else these were skills that could be put to good use.
It soon became usual to find Jamie, with Fergus sometimes trotting along beside him, leaving Lallybroch before dawn to spend the day hunting in the woods and hills that surrounded the estate. There was deer to be had if you were skilled with a bow and arrow, and a well-placed snare often provided a rabbit by the day's end. Fish also were still plentiful in the streams and loch, if one could find a sufficiently secluded spot.
Due to the Disarming Act, brought to bear following Culloden, the carrying and concealing of weapons made the possession of guns and broadswords illegal. The English troops were extremely vigilant in their search for such items and if found the penalties could be as harsh as transportation and indentured servitude. They had been forced to surrender all their weapons including those used for hunting.
Still, most days saw Jamie and Fergus returning with game for the family table.
One day in late August, Jamie and Fergus spent another day in the forest tracking game. It had not been their most successful day, Fergus had stumbled and alerted the deer they had spent hours stalking, just as Jamie had let fly his arrow. Jamie's ire had quickly changed to a wicked grin though, when Fergus was revealed to have landed face-first in a large pile of animal excrement. Their snares were full though and they would not be returning empty-handed.
Just as they were about to step from the tree-line into the open, Jamie pulled Fergus back into the trees. Horses could be seen in the dooryard of Lallybroch, and surely that was a Redcoat standing guard.
For the first time since Culloden, the English had returned.
Word had been reaching them ever since Culloden of the terrible revenge the English troops were enforcing upon the Highland population. It didn't matter whether a man had taken part in the Uprising or not...if he was suspected, no matter how innocent he was, he could be arrested, shot, his croft burned, his family turned out to starve.
Whilst it was unlikely that they would think Ian had taken part in the Uprising, after all he was known to have been a one-legged cripple for many years now, it was also well known that Lallybroch was the ancestral estate of one James Fraser, the well-known Jacobite known as Red Jamie. And Red Jamie had not been captured or listed as dead after Culloden.
Jamie told Fergus to stay hidden and not to move until he was called for. Using every skill at his command, Jamie slithered his way through the high grass and made his way surreptitiously into the butchering shed, from where he could see and hear what was happening in the dooryard, yet remain hidden.
Suddenly the front door opened and a squad of Redcoats emerged, heading for their mounts. The last man to emerge was an officer, who carried Jamie's father's sword in his hand. Damn, they had found it! The Viking 10th century sword had been left at Lallybroch when they had ridden out to join Prince Charles. He had wanted to ensure that it remained with the family...he didn't want to chance it being lost on some battlefield.
Jenny followed quickly on his heels. She was pleading with the man, "Lieutenant Harding, please understand. We dinna know the sword was there. It was my father's and was left to my brother when he passed away some six years ago. When we were required to hand over all our arms we did as requested. The fact that my father apparently kept the sword hidden under his bed...I dinna know that I ever knew that. If I had thought of it at all, I would have expected Jamie to have taken it with him when he left for..."
"That would be James Fraser, would it not. The rebel known as Red Jamie."
"Aye, but my brother hasna been here since before the Rebellion. Ye'll find no sign of him here, nor any Stuart follower. And as my husband told ye, he has no reason to return. The estate belongs to our son now."
"And as I told your husband, madam, if we had the means to transport him with us, he would be under arrest now. As it is, I will be reporting these matters to my superiors and I would suggest that Mr Murray produce the Deed of Sasine to the magistrate in Inverness and have it registered, or the next time we call, the outcome of our visit may not be as pleasant."
"As it is, we only came here at this time due to a rumour one of my men overheard in a tavern. It seems that while you claim that Red Jamie hasn't been here, he has been possibly sighted in the vicinity. We will be actively pursuing Jacobite traitors for as long as necessary...until we have cleared this land of every last one of them. I warn you now, if Red Jamie is captured on Lallybroch land, every person here will be arrested for treason and hanged."
With that the Lieutenant mounted his horse and led his troop from the estate.
As soon as they were fully out of sight, Jamie emerged from the butchering shed, running across the yard and into the house, calling as he went. "Jenny! Jenny!"
"In the parlour, Jamie."
Jamie didn't wait to enter the room, before he loudly asked, "Where's Ian? What's happened?" As he came through the doorway, the answer was evident.
Ian had obviously been knocked down, and Jenny was assisting her husband off the floor onto the sofa. He had apparently taken a beating as his eye was swelling, a large bruise was becoming evident on his cheek, and his lip was cut and bleeding.
"Ian, man, are ye alright?" Jamie rushed to assist his sister.
"Aye, Jamie, dinna worry. I'll heal...it's no so bad." Ian laid his head against the arm rest and closed his eyes, as his wife tenderly started bathing the wounds on his face. "We'll haveta be more careful. I don't think it was one of the tenants, but apparently word has somehow leaked that you're nearby."
"Aye, and I think there's only one thing for me to do," Jamie responded. "I must leave."
"Jamie, no!" Jenny gasped. "It's no safe for ye anywhere but here."
"I know...Lallybroch is still probably the safest place for me in Scotland, but...maybe I could make it to France. Jared would give me work, I'm sure."
"It's an idea, Jamie, but I dinna think it will work now. 'Tis only been four months since Culloden and the English are still patrolling all the ports, looking for anyone who could be a Jacobite. And ye, brother, are not easily disguised."
"Ye're right. In that case, I'll move to that old cave up in the hills we found as boys. It was hard enough to find back then, and Fergus and I passed it today; the entrance is so overgrown now that if you didn't know it was there you couldna find it."
"Jamie..." Jenny started to argue.
"No, Jenny, this is how it must be. I'll still be close enough to be able to help with the hunting and such, but I'll only come to the house when I'm sure there are no Redcoats about. And probably only rarely at that. Fergus knows where the cave is, if ye need me for something and it's safe send him...I'll come down at night."
"I don't like it, Jamie, I don't like it at all. But I think you're right...it just isna safe for ye here, not anymore."
Jamie nodded, turned and left the room. He went to the priest hole and gathered the blanket and candle stub he had used there. Returning to the parlour, he clasped Ian's hand in farewell, swept Jenny into a hug, kissed her, and with a gentle touch to her cheek, he turned and walked out the door.
Epilogue
Jamie had been living in the cave for two weeks now.
Jenny had sent Fergus with a few things to make it livable. He had a few more candles scattered around the cave, although he only tended to light one or two at the most. He had a bucket to enable him to fetch water, and a kettle rested on a stand over his fire. He had picked up his bow and arrows as he left Lallybroch, and there were a couple of rabbits hanging against the back wall, waiting to be skinned.
He was most thankful for the books Jenny had sent. At least they gave him something to focus his mind on rather than allowing it to sink into his morose thoughts.
His solitude and isolation were already starting to take a toll on Jamie. If he had a mirror, he would notice that his eyes were losing all hint of life, they looked out of his face...dead. He rarely bathed, it was easier when hunting if he smelled of the earth and the woods.
Most of all, without the presence of his family, it was more than evident that the loss of Claire had stolen his soul. He spent most nights lying under his blanket, near the mouth of the cave, looking up at the stars, trying to find some meaning in it all. The only meaningful thought he had was that Claire and the baby were safe...that God would have answered his prayer and that Claire would now be rounded with child, safe, and being cared for.
She would have his child; they would go on...not in his time, but in their own.
He had to find something in the here and now to go on for, but at the moment he could not see what that would be.
The End