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Jamie ran his hands over the familiar wooden curves. His father’s desk in the study at Lallybroch was almost exactly as he remembered it. He could not quite put his finger on what was amiss. He found the catch to the secret drawer underneath the desk and smiled. His father had kept all manner of important and dangerous correspondence there. It was not too many years later that Jamie himself relied on the hidden drawer too. Even good men kept secrets, his father had explained. Sometimes the difference between a good man and the untrustworthy sort came down to keeping secrets for the right people at the right time. Now the box was empty. Did Jamie no longer have anything to hide?
Jamie straightened from the desk’s footwell and gave the desktop a sturdy rap. The bare wood looked naked without the worn leather writing blotter that usually lived there. The surface boasted a great many dings and scars he didn’t remember seeing. But then, he bore quite a few scars himself. The burled walnut writing box that normally sat on the corner of the desk was gone too. In its stead was another warped box half its size with numbers embossed onto the surface. He vaguely registered that it had no obvious stand for a quill.
His confusion growing, he studied the room. The same heavy bookshelves leaned against the wall, filled with the estate’s ledgers. They seemed to sag under their burden. There were a great many more than he remembered and bound rather inelegantly. He made a mental note to have Jenny send a girl up to dust. The glass doors were grey with grime. The tapestries were gone too. Perhaps this was what was bothering him. He had hoped the tapestries had not been looted or, God forbid it, pawned. They were very old. Crossing the room, the floorboards creaked under his weight. Jamie was surprised to find that the windows had been replaced – refitted with smooth glass fit for a palace. It must have cost a fortune. Surely the Murrays had not frittered away the remittances he had sent them each month on windowpanes!
Jamie managed to look beyond the glass and gasped. “What the devil?” The state of the grounds was deplorable. The fields had not been grazed for a year - maybe more. Everything had gone to seed and let run wild. Patches of gnarled bramble dotted the yard and a feral thorn bush had overtaken one side of the estate’s eponymous tower. The condition of the tower itself was unforgivable. Jamie swore again. They had let the roof collapse! Where were they storing the grain? Where were the blasted livestock for that matter? There was not a sheep or coo in sight. Jamie craned his neck to see further up the eastern exposure. The hill obscured his view. He had to understand. What were they eating if nothing was alive?
The wood floorboards squeaked behind him. “James Fraser,” a voice said. It sounded like an accusation. Jamie stiffened and turned, squaring his shoulders and leveling his chin. He was not prepared for the sight of the young woman in the doorway. Her loose hair shimmered in the sunlight, radiating the same red sheen as his own. She was dressed like a man in blue breaches made of some sort of homespun and wore an untucked chemise with the buttons scandalously undone to her breastbone.
“You are Jamie, aren’t you? I thought I’d find you here.”
Jamie struggled for words as the creature advanced on him. With that hair and those aquiline features and slanted eyes, she was almost the spitting image of his mother, or at least, what he thought his mother must have looked like at twenty. She plopped down on the edge of the desk and he was not sure which outraged him more – the fact that she had just taken preposterous liberties with his furniture or that the arse in question reminded him for some unfathomable reason of Claire.
“Are you a ghost?” he asked.
The woman laughed. “I think you’d know better than me.” He let out another astonished oath before he could stop himself. “Sorry. I don’t speak Gaelic. Maybe you can teach me?” Her accented speech was bizarre. She pronounced ‘Gaelic’ wrong.
The creeping sense that Jamie was missing a very crucial piece of information raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “You’ll tell me what you’re doing in this house, mistress, and you’ll be telling me straightaway.”
She gave Jamie a patronizing look. “Roger, come up here. I found him,” she called over her shoulder into the belly of the hallway.
“Who are you? Answer me, by Christ!” Jamie reached for his dirk out of reflex and realized he had been disarmed for many years.
“I’m Brianna,” she said.
“Brianna,” Jamie snorted. It was a ridiculous name for a girl.
“Brianna Ellen Randall. Your daughter.”
“Randall,” he whispered, shocked to hear that vile surname. “Brianna Randall. My…daughter?”
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Jamie shot upright and violently retched all over his bedclothes. He blinked in the dark as another wave of nausea hit him and his stomach emptied its remaining contents onto the floor. He drank several dippers of water from the ewer on the washbasin and was still standing with his shirttails hanging about his bare thighs when Jenny burst into the room. She glanced at the bed and seeing the sweat beaded on his skin, went to place a hand on his forehead. “Don’t,” he warned and stepped away from her touch. “It’s no' a fever. Dinna fash yersel,” he said. Jenny chewed on a retort, but kept her thoughts to herself. She knew all about her brother’s night terrors. At least, she supposed she did. Jenny might not have been a worldly person, but she saw far when it came to her kin. She knew there was more to Jamie’s nightmares than he had told her. Wordlessly, she gathered the soiled sheets and left him.
Jamie sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his damp hair. Change in his daily routine could sometimes trigger his night terrors, but usually returning home from Edinburgh allowed him to sleep soundly. No longer the laird of Lallybroch, Jamie slept in the room he had used as a boy. It was a safe place, a place that existed before Jack Randall. Of all the ghastly, unspeakable nightmares that had plagued him since Wentworth, he had never dreamed of having a daughter with the vile beast. He would not sleep again tonight.
He lit a taper from the candle Jenny had left on the wardrobe. Pulling a blanket around his shoulders, he slipped downstairs. The laird’s study was exactly as he had expected it. The desk was arranged as it should be. The tapestries were hung as they had for a hundred years. Outside the window, mist clung to the fertile fields and livestock dotted the hills or slumbered in their pens.
The lurching fog of the dream lifted little by little, like the parting of a storm. There was another Randall he knew of. In his distress, he had blocked it from his mind. His wife. She had been expecting.
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“Oh!” Brianna said in surprise. She was holding a sack of onions in a shiny net. “I didn’t expect you down here.”
Jamie spun in confusion. He always seemed off kilter when the girl appeared. “We’re in the root cellar,” he confirmed. “And you…?”
“I’m still your daughter.” Her lip trembled. “Is Momma with you? Did something happen? Is that why you're here?”
The thought of Claire brought tears stinging at his eyes. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “No -”
“When are you?” she demanded. "You look a little young."
“I don’t quite catch your meaning, lass.” Jamie went to relieve her of the heavy sack in her arms and his hands passed through it. His blood ran cold. “I’m dreaming.”
She stared at him oddly. “I’m not.”
They stared at each other in silence. He ran a hand over his mouth. Stubble pricked at his calloused fingertips. He could certainly feel himself. He needed a shave. “You think I’m dead? I’m no a ghost.”
“Of course you are. You have to be. You’re always dead in this time.”
He furrowed his brow. “You mean this is the future, like Claire said.” The strange numbered box on his father's desk. The odd book bindings. Familiar furniture with centuries of unfamiliar wear. He should have realized sooner.
“1972,” she said. The date was shocking. Jamie exhaled. “Momma’s not with you? She didn’t find you?” Her panic was plain.
“Ya mean yer ma came back?” he said, his voice raising an octave.
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Jamie woke again, this time with a howl. “Brother," Jenny said, standing sleepy-eyed and muss-haired in his bedroom. "You have to tell me what’s going on. You owe me that much.” The babe in her arms was squealing and red-faced. He had woken up the entire household in the middle of the night.
“Give the lass to me. I’ll calm her.” He dragged the blanket from his bed. Downstairs, he curled on a settee and wound himself and the little one in the wool. Jenny’s youngest gnawed fiercely on his finger while he settled on a plan of action.
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“Roger,” Brianna said in warning. “Turn around slowly. Don’t spook him.”
“I’m nae frightened of ye, lass. It’s only ye keep waking me up with shock,” Jamie explained.
In the kitchen, Roger’s mouth was a perfect ‘o’ in astonishment. “It’s an incredible honor, sir.” He held out his hand. Jamie reached for it. His hand met air.
He gave a shallow bow instead. “I don’t think I can touch people. Just things I know. Knew,” he corrected. “And who will you be then?”
Brianna wove an arm through Roger’s elbow. “Roger Mackenzie Wakefield.”
Jamie nodded stiffly. “My mother was a Mackenzie.”
“I know,” Roger replied, clearly full of questions. Jamie interjected before he could start.
“So the Mackenzies got their hands on Lallybroch after all,” he said darkly. “You’ll be laird then?”
Roger exhaled in astonishment. “No, sir. There’s no - . Can ya sit?”
“I wish to speak with the Laird,” Jamie demanded.
Brianna put her hands on her hips. The flare of Fraser temper in her was unmistakable. “Lallybroch is mine, Jamie.”
“Well what in Christ’s name have ya done to it?” he barked. He did not give her a second to respond. He paced, listing the repairs needed. “Ye’ve let it go to seed! How will ye feed yersels? Or the tenants? Have ye no thought a that? Yer Auntie would have a fit knowin’ ye kept house sae poorly!”
“A lot has changed, Mr. Fraser,” Roger said, mistakenly thinking he could diffuse two angry Frasers in a stand-off.
“I noticed!” He gestured at the odd buzzing cabinet in the kitchen and the bizarre stove and the glowing wire lamp overhead.
“We’re not likely to start it back as a full farm again,” Brianna explained. “There aren’t tenants. The land - ”
“Bree,” Roger warned sharply, not wanting to overwhelm him.
Jamie flinched at the girl’s nickname. “What about the land?” he said, grinding politeness into his tone.
“We’re lucky the house survived at all,” Roger said. “With your help, we can restore it properly. It’s a miracle you can dreamwalk to us this way. We've heard bumps and knocks sometimes. We supposed they were ghosts.”
“The land, son,” Jamie said. “What happened to the estate?”
“It was sold off bit by bit,” Roger admitted. “The Murray’s held on to it as long as they could.”
“And the crown doesnae recognize our title in the peerage either?” Jamie snorted. “Weel. I suppose the crown and I disagreein’ is one thing we can count on no' having changed.”
The laughter that filled the house then broke the tension in the air. “Your mother named ye after my Da, Brian,” Jamie said to Brianna. He bit back a smile. “We supposed ye’d be a boy, though we hadna much time to consider it properly. I gather she didna ask a Scot about the nickname.”
Roger smothered a smile. “She’s American. Nothing is sacred over there.”
"Born in the colonies? Aye, that's plain enough. Dressed like a wildling." Jamie leaned against the doorframe, gathering his courage. “Yer a grown lass, though. Ye’re too old for how yer mother said the time works in between the passing. In my time, you’re no' much more than twelve.”
“Really?” Brianna gasped.
“But look at you. Beautiful. Capable. Ye’re the spitting image of yer gran." He broke into a wide grin. "And ye’ve got a great deal of yer mother in ye, too.” Tears swelled, pool-like, in Jamie’s eyes. “She’s comin’ back to me, then?”
Brianna struggled with her own tears. Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
“Where?” he asked, his voice no more than a breath. “Where does she think I am?”
“You become a printer in Edinburgh,” Roger said. He quickly stepped out and came back with a packet of papers. He handed a sheet, perfectly white and square, to Jamie, who inspected it curiously.
“How the Devil…?” Jamie laughed. It was a printing of a printing, complete with all the battered flaws of the first copy. He had no idea how such a thing could be done. “It’s my typeset alright." He pointed at the chip in the capital 'A'. He had accidentally dropped it when he had first begun learning to print. "I’ve no made this pamphlet yet.”
“Where are you right now?” Brianna asked.
“I’m here.”
“In your time, I mean,” she clarified.
The corner of his mouth ticked up in an impish smile. “I’m here. Fallen asleep on the settee by the fire.” They all stared in the direction of the cold hearth. “Yer Aunt Jennie and Uncle Ian are upstairs, grateful I got their youngest to settle. The wee ones are all tucked in.” The three of them fell silent, listening. All the little sounds of the old house suddenly seemed like they might be more.
“In ten years, you have to be in Edinburgh when Momma goes back,” Brianna said. “She’s looking for you right now. She could even be with you already.”
“Aye,” Jamie said softly, tears escaping down his cheeks. “Claire is always with me. I never stopped looking for her, even when I knew she was gone. I’ll be there waiting, lass, God-willing. The years will pass quickly knowin' I've got her coming to me.” He sniffed and blinked, and more tears fell. “I thank ye. Ye don’t know how much it means to me. After...everything.”
He went to Brianna and folded her in his arms. Much to her surprise, warm flesh met hers and his beard scruff tickled at her cheek. “Jamie, I can feel you,” she said breathlessly.
“Da. Call me yer Da,” he whispered into her hair.
She did and it pleased him enough to burst. “We've been looking for you in the historical record, trying to find more evidence of you and momma. Maybe I called you to me."
"Aye, maybe you did, lass."
"But why can you touch me and not Roger?"
He leaned back to look at her and stroked her chin with a thumb. “I've dreamed of you your whole life, mo chridhe. It's only now I see it was real the whole time. I've carried you in my heart, always.”
"I didn't know to look for you until now. I didn't know you existed." Brianna went to say more and he flickered and began to fade. "Don't wake up! Stay here." She clutched at his wrists.
Jamie looked down in confusion and huffed a laugh. "Aye. I think yer cousin is startin' to skelloch. I may have a clout to change."
Brianna and Roger laughed at the thought of the imposing Highlander changing diapers. "Come back soon," she said. "There's so much more I want to know."
"I will. We can talk about what this scoundrel's intentions are wi' ye." He narrowed his eyes at Roger. "Until next time, mo ghraidh. I'll see you in my dreams." He ghosted a kiss on her forehead and was gone.
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Jamie blinked in the dim light of the morning. Just like that, he was back in the sitting room. He glanced over his shoulder into the dark kitchen. It was empty. Its well-worn work table was covered with canisters of flour and dried fruits, the rolling pin and biscuit cutters set out and waiting for the breakfast production to begin. He had forgotten to ask Brianna what the humming cupboard was used for, and why they had torn out the kitchen fireplace. No matter. There would be a next time. He knew how to reach her. For now, he waited for the sun to rise over the valley. He bounced the fussy baby in his arms. "After a spot a breakfast, I'd best be off to Edinburgh, wee lassie," he told her. "Your Auntie Claire will be there in no time at all. I've got a lot of work to do if I'm to be ready."
A decade would pass quickly, he reckoned, knowing who would arrive on the other side of it. "Jenny," he called up the stairwell, hearing the first stirrings of the family. "Ye'd best be taken yer wee squeaker. She's fair peckish and so am I."
Jenny came down the the stairs, tying her apron strings as she descended. "You're looking well-rested, brother. Perhaps ye thought more about what I said yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" he said, struggling to remember anything more than the fact that Claire was coming.
"Regarding the widow MacKimmie?" Jenny said in agitation. "Shall I talk to Laoghaire on your behalf? She'll be passing by later today."
Jamie blew a breath between his teeth. "Absolutely not. And I won't hear of it again. I was out of my mind to listen to your scheming in the first place. Not another word of it, you hear? I have a wife." Jenny huffed. He took her by the arms. "Jenny, I'm going to find Claire."
The mention of Claire brought grief to everyone who had shared a roof with her. "You think she's alive? After everything?" He licked his lips and nodded. She studied his determined expression and realization dawned on her features. "You've seen something."
"Aye," he whispered.
The hairs raised on her arms. "You've the sight, then," she said, her voice low. Some of the Mackenzies were rumored to have the ability.
"Of a sort."
"Tell me. Tell me everything."
Jenny drew him to the kitchen table and sat him down. Jamie's eyes watered yet again with joy. "I don't the details, but I can say this much: I have a daughter, Brianna..." he began.