Work Text:
October1944
“I don’t know why you won’t tell me the truth.”
Over and over Claire swallowed her frustration, knowing that whatever she told him it would not be enough. The truth was unpalatable to Frank, and she had no way of making him understand. The stories she told him of Leoch and Jack Randall weren’t simply stories, they were what she had been living.
They had gone back to the stones together after she had been released from the hospital, but he had not heard the way that they hummed. Afraid, she had not come too close to the stone with the cleft that would take her through. The trip was painful, excruciatingly so.
She had thought she was being loyal to her first husband when she went back through. The redcoats behind her, she had touched the stone and been taken from Craig na dun in the 1700s and back to her own time.
Only her husband did not seem to appreciate that. The man she had come back for couldn’t accept what she told him.
Rather than being pleased at seeing her, Frank had been irritated. He had refused to believe what she told him, insisting that she had been kidnapped, or gone off with some other man. The more she insisted that wasn’t what happened, the more he was infuriated. His annoyance and anger bothered her more than she could say, reminding her of the ancestor that he was so fond of. Claire had very different memories of Jack Randall and the wounds he had inflicted on Jamie and tried to inflict on her.
But that was another thing that she could not explain. Claire wanted to fight and rage but knew that end her in a hospital of another type, one that wouldn’t be so easy to get out of. In the end she had claimed a head injury and confusion, but she knew that Frank didn’t believe her.
She wore the ring that Jamie had given her around a chain on her neck, hiding it from Frank. His ring stayed where it had always been, on her finger. Jamie had never begrudged her that; though he may have been jealous of her time with another man, he would never have taken the token of her first husband from her.
It was another thing to resent Frank for, resentment that grew with each day.
More than a year passed. For all that she was not a good liar, Claire had learned how to protect her secrets. She played the role she was assigned, an Oxford Professor’s wife. It was a year of coldness from the man that she loved and had come back through the stones for. But Claire found herself shunned in private, and in public that coldness carried over in ways that were almost imperceptible. At a gathering Frank wouldn’t laugh at one of her jokes, or would ignore an interjection. No one noticed at first, but as time passed people started to talk and gossip. Why exactly had Mrs Randall vanished and what secret was she keeping? More and more, Claire found herself wondering why she had left Jamie.
She had ways to occupy herself, things that Frank could not question. Though if he knew the reasons behind them she was sure he would have objected, but on the surface her research into herbs and plants and their medicinal purposes was not objectionable.
There were other things she researched, things that she was more discreet about. The Fraser clan, mostly, though she found herself looking into Culloden more and more. She committed it all to memory, never making notes of that. For once she found herself grateful for the things she had learned from Frank’s own research, even if the purpose of hers made her feel disloyal.
But these were days that she felt disloyal to Frank for so much. More and more she had secrets from him, but they were secrets she blamed him for. Had he listened in the first place she would not have been driven to this, not have come to the point. Should she even be looking for evidence of Jamie, or for knowledge that would hold her in good stead in his time? Yet, no matter the guilt or the debate in her mind Claire soldiered on, determined even if she didn’t fully realise her end game.
April, 1946
More than a year had passed since Claire had come home.
Home
It was a word with deeper meaning for her now. During her time at Leoch she had thought of Frank as home, and yet here with Frank by her side Claire found herself alone and longing to Jamie and the life she had run from.
Months passed before she made her decision to go back, though it had been bubbling and growing for just as long. There was a part of her that she had left behind with Jamie, a part that she now felt lost without.
Frank had a conference over Easter. He was presenting on something or other, Claire no longer paid attention when he told her about his work. It was something he noticed, she had never had a good face for lying. But he told her anyway, continuing on as if nothing had ever happened. He told her pro forma, reading his papers over breakfast, or lunch, or dinner as the case might be.
He no longer heeded her, Claire had realised, or he would have realised what she planned, or even that she planned something.
The drive to Inverness took two long, inexorable days. There was an irony in driving back to Craig na dun, in leaving another car there and vanishing. This time, however, she had left a letter for Frank, a letter that explained all that she could, everything that he had never been willing to hear.
The sun had been setting when she entered the circle, the buzzing almost deafening as she approached the cracked stone. Claire kissed the ring that Jamie had given her on their wedding day, and pressed her hand to it. She would go back to him.
April, 1745
The journey had been worse than any of the ones before. Claire came to retching; hoping that she never felt that way again. This time she was prepared, dressed in a skirt and bodice that would not go amiss, with coins in her pocket that she could spend here. She had two rings, but took the gold one off, replacing it with a silver band that Jamie had had given her. She could not bring herself to throw it away, instead looped it through the chain Jamie’s had sat on and put that about her neck.
Now all she needed was to find a way back to Leoch; back to her husband.