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Chapter Text

Lallybroch, Late September 1757 

“James Murray, ye slow down right now! I dinna want tae be cleaning up yer scratches again!” Ellen Murray hollered at her wild son. 

It was nearing the end of harvest, all the crops tucked safely away for now and a chill settled in the bones of the estate’s inhabitants. It was likely the last day outside before winter cooped them up inside every day. The clearances and famines had long passed for the time being, but they could still feel their lingering touch over a decade later. But still, they had survived the worst of it. They always had. The long line of Murrays could attest to that. 

James flung his body like a ragdoll on the gravel of the expansive courtyard by the manor house and shrieked in delight. He was currently fending off a ‘filthy Sassenach’ and claiming freedom for his country with just the flimsy stick in his hand. It was the truth, though the adults often muttered it was just stories of ‘the faeries and make-believe’. He would defend his mam and home against the lobsterbacks for it was his duty as would-be Laird of Lallybroch. 

Ellen was content to let the toddler wander about near her while she did the laundry and the men tended the fields. Soon, she’d have a new bairn underfoot and she couldn’t possibly comprehend how she could handle not one but two balls of endless energy. She smiled to herself at the thought and pressed her hand on the fabric that covered her navel. Humming to the presence within her, her eyes flashed up again to survey her surroundings, suspicious at the sudden quiet that had taken over it. Where was her son?

“Mam!” Ellen’s heart dropped at the new tone that her son’s cries had taken. 

She picked up her skirts into her hands and rushed to the side of the manor, near where the chicken coops resided. James stood, lip quivering and eyes unwavering as he fixed his gaze at the window of the Laird’s room. He howled in fright and hugged his arms to his shoulder as he shook. Ellen quickly gathered her distressed son in her lap and soothed him. 

“Shh. What’s wrong mo chridhe?” 

“Look ma, look in the window!” He shouted before burying his face in his mother’s chest. 

It was then that she saw them, two figures embracing tightly. The tall figures almost shimmered in the light that passed through the smudged glass. The brunette turned and her eyes shone with such melancholy it touched Ellen’s heart as well. Her husband, Ellen presumed, gripped the waist of the curly haired woman and bent down to her ear, whispering something. Both their shoulders shook with laughter in response and he swooped down to kiss her neck. She cradled something in her arms, a swaddled babe perhaps, and never ceased her gaze to the man in front of her. But, just for one second they flashed down to Ellen below. The distinct hue of amber sent shivers down Ellen’s spine. The bundle of tartan gave out a mighty wail and then… nothing.

A wheeze of breath strained out of Ellen’s lungs and she crossed herself, clutching her bairn tightly. “Blessed Michael defend us.”

Chapter Text

Hampton Court Palace, May 1556

Claire shook her head, trying to divest herself of the image in her mind. 

Her hands were so bony, so pale when they reached out from the billowing green fabric that surrounded her. Claire could almost feel the traces of her touch on her neck, reaching out for the necklace around her throat. The B etched out of gold and the pearls that dangled from the symbol. It was a christening gift, one she always wore. And the apparition had seemed so absorbed by the minute curves of it. But what rattled her the most, was that the woman tucked her head on one hip, as if carrying around a small child, looking straight up at her with piercing eyes over the numerous quilts on Claire’s bed. She could see where the executioner had tried, and failed to hack through bone and leave a nice smooth swing. Claire reached her own hand up to rest on her neck, reassuring herself it was still intact. 

It was twenty years ago to the day that it happened. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Her whole body shivered no matter how hard she tried to relax each muscle. There was one place she could try to seek refuge at such an ungodly hour, and her legs moved before her mind could catch up with them. Her slippers slapped against the cool stone of the halls. She hugged her arms into herself for warmth. It was unusually cool for a spring day, or maybe it was just her reaction to the preternatural events which had just unfolded before her. Either way, maybe the sanctuary of God would ease her mind if only for a short amount of time. Maybe she could even find some comfort by praying for the late Queen. Though protestant and an adulteress, the queen surely wasn’t deserving of such suffering. For now though, Claire and her family were safe under the Catholic Queen. And if the worst came to worst, they would flee to their true home in France. Not the stuffy politics of the English Court.  

Once settled in the chapel, she let out a sigh and closed her eyes. She clutched the fine jet beads of her rosary close to her chest and rolled them between her fingers. So absorbed was she in her prayers, that she did not notice the red-haired boy in the pew diagonal from her until he cleared his throat. Her heart raced and her eyes widened at the sight of him. He almost seemed unreal in that moment. The copper and golden strands of his hair illuminated by the candlelight and his kind blue eyes creased up in a smile. Could he be some other supernatural force that she would be forced to endure that night?

“Calm down lass, I will no’ harm ye.” 

“You’re real.” 

He chuckled. “Aye, lass, as real as ye are I suppose.” 

His eyes trailed down to her chest and she was suddenly conscious of what she was wearing. Or rather what she wasn’t wearing. Clad only in her sheer dressing gown and shift, the encounter felt utterly scandalous. The man was trying very hard not to look at her though, which allowed her to relax a bit in his presence. 

“I’m sorry, I fear I’ve chanced upon some spirit in these walls.” 

“Tis no wonder, they call this the witching hour ken?” The man’s- who was really more of a boy at that point- blue, cat-like eyes danced with humour in the soft glow of candlelight. 

“You’re mocking me sir?” Claire’s face hardened into a grim expression, despite the smile that struggled to wiggle its way onto her face.  

“No- I, twas not my intention, milady, I only-” Claire bit the inside of her cheek to stop the grin from inching up her face and continued to let him flounder. “I would ne’er seek tae cause ye strife or embarrassment lass, sorry milady I mean, tis only-” 

A very unlady-like snort echoed in the chapel; Claire not able to hold in her laughter for a moment longer. “Tis quite alright sir, simply a jape. I played one on you as well.” He visibly relaxed at her assurance and scooted closer to her on his wooden pew with her following his actions. “I never quite got your name.” 

“Och, aye. James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.” He spaced each name with clear emphasis and pride filled his face. “Yer servant madame.” He placed her hand in his and brushed his lips against her knuckles, causing her cheeks to flush. 

“Oh, well. Claire Beauchamp.” She smiled as he never relinquished his hold on her hand. 

“Lady Beauchamp. ” The French rolled off his tongue and he placed another delicate kiss to the tip of her fingers. “Enchanté.” 

“With so many names, I feel the wind shall be stolen from my lungs before I can ever address you properly, my lord. What shall I call you?”

“Ye can jes’ call me Jamie, lass.” His lips twitched up into a smile and Claire clamped her mouth shut from opening in shock. Not Lord Fraser? Earl of somewhere? Perhaps a Count? Simply his Christian name. That wouldn’t do around anyone else. If anyone found out. But no one was there. And she was sort of thrilled at that fact. 

“Very well.” She nodded, though her mind screamed that she was disregarding all sense of propriety. “But you are a lord of course? I have no official title in court, being the French ambassador’s daughter, but surely you do. You’ve the sound of an English nobleman.” Claire still did not have a good handle on the varying accents at court, and Jamie’s English was smooth enough that she assumed it was his native tongue. 

A mixture of a boggled and a choked wheeze escaped from Jamie. The look on his face was almost pained but humoured. At that moment, James Fraser was a walking, or rather sitting, contradiction. 

“No, nowhere close to it. I’m Scottish through and through. But I’ve been employed by the Queen Regent o’ Scotland to smooth o’er some matters.” His eyes darted around the row of pews up to the altar, taking in the entire room, and then back to Claire’s eyes while he licked his lips. “There has been talk o’ the English Queen being in puir health recently.”

“Oh, yes indeed. Poor thing. My mother has doted on her more than me it seems.” She ignored the implications of his statement; it was almost bordering on treasonous to talk of the Queen’s health in such a manner with the mention of a foreign queen. “But, I pray God shall return her swiftly to her previous state.” 

“Aye.” They both crossed themselves at the sentiment and Jamie shuffled his feet beneath his pew. 

His head whipped up, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, my title lass. Sorry I forgot to mention. I’m Laird Broch Tuarach.” His chest puffed up in pride and Claire almost giggled at his boyish confidence. “Tis a small estate near Broch Mordha. A wee village in Scotland. The Highlands ye ken. And ye, my lady?” 

“I’m not entirely sure where home is. I’ve just always followed my father and mother. And they’ve always followed one court or another. Wherever we’re needed. I was born in Le Château de Compiègne.” 

“But ye have the sound o’ a Sassenach about ye.”

“Sassenach?”

“Weel, tis jes’ a term fer the English.”  

“Well I suppose my formative years have been spent here. With the English Queen. Did you know she saw to my education herself? She always took a shine to my mother and I suppose that extended to me.” 

“Aye, yer a Sassenach sure enough. If no’ by being English, then by being an outlander.” He shook his head and laughed in slight disbelief. “A Frenchwoman raised by the English. Of all the things.” 

Claire eyed his chest, at the loose fabric dangling delicately from his neck. And below it. A large expanse of skin that she was sure would be covered by the same light golden and red hairs if she were to relieve him of the linen that clung to it. 

“Your-” She cleared her suddenly scratchy throat. “Your kerchief is loose.” 

Without a response, or spoken permission, she leaned closer to him and grabbed the offending article. With deft fingers, she loosened the knot and then retied it with an expert tuck into his waistcoat. When her fingers brushed lightly against his bare skin, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes. And just as quickly as the movements were completed, she leaned back into her seat again. 

“There, all fixed.” She patted his chest and looked anywhere in the room besides him. 

“Thank ye.” His eyes bore into her, almost burning, and Claire was surprised she liked that. Christ, he’s a stranger, Beauchamp. Well maybe not so strange now… but still.

She turned her head away, collecting herself. “What led you to seek sanctuary at this hour? I’ve told you I fled from those ‘wee invisible beasties’, but you’ve never given me your tale.” 

“I was covering fer one of the brothers, ken. Tis my hour before the blessed sacrament.” 

“Oh, oh! I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed you. I shall take my leave now.” 

“Nay, tis no bother lass. Perhaps ye wish tae join me, find some peace fer the time being.” 

He roughly grasped her hand within his again and smacked his knee against the pew in his desperation. A string of mhac na galla, bod ceann, and other indistinguishable swears followed the large bang that resounded when the wood met bone . His eagerness was endearing to Claire, and she decided she didn’t mind his company one bit, though she did not know when her mind came to that conclusion. 

“Yes. I’ll take you up on that offer.” 

“Would ye- would ye like tae sit by me lass?” 

It was then she realised their current position, leaning so close to one another above the space between the pews that one nudge would have her falling flat on her face. The only thing holding her up was the strong grip he still had on her hand. She used that hold as leverage to push herself back up into a standing position, reluctantly letting go of the rough skin of his palm. Wordlessly, she shuffled between the gap and sat beside him, not touching, but still she could feel the heat radiating off of his thighs next to hers. With one simple brush of an elbow or a knee, she knew she would feel the solid muscle of his leg. 

He returned to vigilantly welcome the silence and solemnity of such a sacred place. Sometimes, she could even hear a hum escape from his mouth, but she couldn’t be sure. She never was a studious child in the matters of God, always fidgeting in mass and being her usually fussy self, or at least as her mother would say when she wanted to remind her of all the strife she had put her through. She tried to keep her eyes shut, and focus on the presence she was supposed to feel there… but all she could feel was Jamie. All prayers, verses, and hymns fled her mind and she was completely wrapped up in the man beside her. A complete stranger. Every few minutes, she’d peek one eye open and glance over to him calmly sitting. For a second, she swore his mouth twitched into a near smirk, as if he could sense her gaze without even seeing it. Yielding to the strange powers of the spirit, she rested her head back on the pew and forced herself to keep her eyes shut. She was right to come. She did feel peace. Peace with Jamie. 

She woke with a jolt, not realising that she had given into her body’s demands of rest. A man sniffled and breezed by her, producing a gust of wind. His hair was shaved in the signature style of the clergy and dark brown robes draped over his figure. He walked off to the side to give them privacy for the remaining minutes in front of the altar, but it was practically impossible not to eavesdrop in that cramped space. 

Jamie stood and stretched his arms with a resounding pop. He extended his arm down to Claire, helping her to her feet and brushing his hands against her waist for a moment longer than necessary. But she didn’t mind. Not at all. 

“Well, Jamie , it was a pleasure to meet you as well. You may call me Claire, if we are destined to meet again.” This shouldn’t be done, she shouldn’t allow any of this, let alone be alone with him in the middle of the night. 

“Aye we shall, of that I’m sure.” Her eyebrow quirked at that. Cocky bastard. “Do ye wish me tae escort ye back tae yer chambers? There may be many wee invisible beasties that ye will encounter on the way. I wouldna wish to leave ye fighting alone against them.”    

“I’m sure I shall manage, but thank you.” She squeezed the hand that was holding hers and reluctantly let go. “Good night.” 

“Good night, Claire .” He rolled the rrr’s of her name and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.  

With one last glance, she flitted down the halls back to her bed chambers, still feeling the warmth and strength that flowed from his hand to hers. 

Well it had worked, his presence took her mind completely off of the bone-chilling experience of before. She was filled with a different bone-deep feeling. It would last her for a while, but soon fade after the cloud surrounding her mind. Only now she would have to leave that warmth and safety surrounding him in exchange for the biting loneliness of her chambers. How cruel. But, at least she had the memory to play over in her mind again whenever the dark chose to give her a fright again. 

***

Claire exited the chapel, rosary in hand and flanked by two fellow ladies of the court, Mary and Louise, who had found companionship with each other in their shared Frenchness. They excitedly spoke in French about the upcoming feast, and Lord Beauchamp’s role in it. Across the lawn, one frantic Earl of Oxenford, Francis Randall de Vere, scrambled his way through the hedges and bushes of the garden to the group of three. 

“Lady Beauchamp!” 

Her friends broke away from her at the voice, clearly knowing more than she about the situation. A man decked in fine silks and brocades jogged up to her side, or at least tried to with her lively pace. They hastened their steps and veered off into an opening between hedges to the garden. But, she could still hear their breathing closeby. Clearly they meant to eavesdrop. 

“Lady Beauchamp!” His breath puffed and he took a moment to catch his breath.

“Dear Heavens, Lord Randall, have you run all this way?” She didn’t look directly at him as she addressed him, finding the rich blue fabric of her dress far more interesting. 

“I have just returned from Guildhall on the orders of Her Majesty. A servant informed me that you would be attending your daily prayers in the chapel at this hour, but it seems I was an hour too late. Now, I must ask you something of utmost importance, my lady.” The man, remembering his manners, bowed to Claire after his tangent and his sweaty combed-over hair flopped to the side. 

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, which seemed to stretch into minutes, while he forgot himself. 

“Do go on then.” Mary and Louise giggled behind their hands off somewhere in the gardens. 

“I- I have held your affections in high regard for some time now, my lady. I would be greatly indebted to you if you would offer your blessing in this courtship.” 

“I-”

“Let it be known, Lady Claire, I do not require such blessing from you, I have earned it from your father, but I would like to earn your respect as well. Do you think that fair?”

“No-” She was interrupted, unable to get more than a single word in with this man. 

“No?” His fists clenched in restrained outrage. “It would be quite wise, this union. I do not wish to take you to wife by force, but it could be arranged that way. I simply wish to have your agreement” 

“You- you’re so old.” She glanced up finally at him, eyes focused on the yellow of his teeth and the stench emanating from his mouth. 

“There have been many unions with far greater years between than ours, my darling.” The endearment sent an unpleasant jolt through her. “But, I could think of no greater wife than you.” At this last statement, he reached out his hand to squeeze her elbow. 

“Let us rest on it, my lord, and with clearer heads tomorrow, may we be brought to a conclusion.” She knew she couldn't outright reject him, after his persistence, and not to mention his standing. Maybe she could delay him. But a delay could not stop the inevitable. It could not stop the march of time. 

“That is sensible indeed. I shall call upon you tomorrow then.” He nodded and left with one final bow directed towards her. 

Across the garden, she spied a mop of untamed red curls. 

***

“He is a fine man, my bear. He will make a fine husband for you.” Henri Beauchamp pressed his lips together stoically, shedding an air of authority to all those around him. 

“But I don’t love him!” Claire inwardly cringed at the high pitch her voice had taken moments before, sounding like the petulant child her mother would refer to her as always, but she didn’t give in. 

Claire sat fuming on the settle pushed against the wall of her parents’ chamber. Her mother and father sat on the edge of their bed, holding each other for the confidence to bring up such a subject. A united front. 

“You will in time dearest. I didn’t love your father when first we met at the beginning of our union but we had respect to build a love off of. And our love for you increased that. You will learn to bear love for the Earl through your children. It is your duty Claire.” Juliette Beauchamp forced a strained smile on her face. 

“And if I don’t agree?” 

“Claire darling, don’t do anything drastic.” Her mother dashed across the room to wrap her hands around her daughter’s, her eyes desperate and pleading. 

“No, no. Of course I won’t. You know me, mother.” Juliette nodded, not convinced by her daughter’s reply. 

“Well, if you indeed are inclined to make such a fuss over this, we’ll have no choice but to speed this along. Put some sense into you. You know it was Her Majesty who suggested the match in the first place.” 

“How long do I have?” Claire swallowed against the lump in her throat. 

“The Great Harvest Feast in the year next. That should give you plenty of time to be prepared for his… attentions.” 

“Very well, I suppose I shall… learn to return his tender regards within that time. More than a year? That should be sufficient.” She mumbled to herself and nodded. Her mother surely only awarded her such time given her young age; a marriage was a serious thing indeed to rest upon the shoulders of someone of seven and ten, a woman still clinging to the last vestiges of adolescence. 

Her father dismissed her and she hastened outside of the stuffy room. Relieved as she was that the awkwardness of their presence had lifted she was utterly devastated by the weight of what it all meant. 

Perhaps the pox, a hunting accident, even poison. It didn’t take much to kill a man in that time. And a man of power such as him surely had many enemies. No, she couldn’t wish death upon any creature. It wasn’t in her nature. Perhaps a certain man, with hair so fiery that she needn’t the light of the candles to see its vibrance, and eyes that seemed to pierce directly into her soul, could sway her parents. Perhaps… no. This was just fanciful thinking. Nothing could be brought to fruition from such ideas. 

The Earl of Oxenford certainly had money, titles, status, and power. She would be safe, protected. From outside forces at least. Comfortable. And maybe he’d pass off his focus from her after a while onto a mistress. She had heard talk from married women before. They described a sort of detachment from their husbands, and they were glad of the inattention, for they weren’t troubled that way often. Only when the husband had it in his mind to have another heir. It wouldn’t be entirely terrible… would it?

Chapter Text

Hampton Court Palace, June 1556

It had been weeks since their first, and last, encounter. Every flash of red and blue had her eyes chasing around, only to stumble upon a servant, or even once a portrait of a late queen. She was even embarrassed once to have her focus on what was decidedly not human, but in fact the arse of a fine red horse. It had promptly expelled its bowels of gas straight into her face before she could step away. Of course it would be an arse that reminded her of him, he was a complete and utter arse, flipping her life upside down just from one night in a chapel, one simple touch of a hand, and immediately leaving her sight. 

She had no idea what was wrong with her. Perhaps it was one of the ailments many women of the court seemed to succumb to, compelling them to never leave their chambers, even at meal times. She was mad, of that she was certain. She could not banish him from her mind. Maybe he was some spirit, some demon she had confronted not long after her encounter with the decollated queen. For what else but the devil could sway her so? 

Lord Randall was relentless, and she escaped his many pedestrian conversations allocutions through daydreams. At least with the earl a chaperone was always required, and their meetings were always in broad daylight in the gardens. Most of the time she excused herself from the luncheons due to her quite ‘delicate constitution’. No, the constant heat and sun rays would not do. Claire was quite pleased with herself when Lord Randall always insisted she rest at the first sign of what he assumed were weekly ‘womanly attacks’. He was none the wiser. Women were an enigma to him. It was on one of those days of picnic and feigned interest, when the air outside was sweltering and she was plucking up the courage to faint for some entertainment, that a rider dashed through the narrow pathways of the gardens. Hooves clopped roughly against the grass, picking up clumps of dirt and spitting it out at unsuspecting victims. One of those victims was a very unenthused Earl de Vere. Claire smiled behind her teacup at the sight, watching him furiously brush out his poofy trousers and impractical cape. When he roared for a servant, she slipped away. 

The horse was a rather strange sight indeed, given the stables were at the opposite end of Hampton Court. She did notice the flash of red atop the black beast but thought nothing of it after weeks of mindless searching. What struck even more odd in the peculiar situation, was that the man riding the hellish thing had a skirt. And a rather short one at that. 

She felt the short, quick breaths on the back of her neck before she saw him. “Lady Beauchamp.” 

Claire twirled herself back to face him, nearly giving herself whiplash in the process. “J-Lord Fraser.” 

“I was wondering if you'd be so kind in allowing me your company for the afternoon.” He was clearly making a concerted effort to tame his accent in the presence of the public. “My manservant shall accompany us of course. One of your lady’s maids can escort us as well.” He plucked something from inside his jacket and offered up a sprig of forget-me-nots. 

“I-” She gripped the stem of the flowers in her hand. “Where have you been?” 

“Miss me Sassenach?” Jamie teased. “I was needed at the borders. There was a wee stramash up there. I’m surprised the news hasn’t reached the gossip circles and their flapping mouths in English court yet.” 

“Are you alright?” Claire’s eyes widened at the red trail on his temple. “For God’s sake you’re bleeding, you fool!” She untied the lace of the linen around her throat and pressed it against his temple, having to reach up on her tip toes slightly. 

“Naught but a scratch lass. And who would ken that a proper lady such as yerself would take the lord’s name in vain and call one a fool in the same breath.” 

“Be quiet or you’ll be very sorry.” She pressed into the wound more firmly than necessary at that and he winced. “You haven’t told me the cause of your injury.” 

Jamie wanted to voice that she had just told him to be quiet and then demanded the opposite of him in her very next words, but bit his tongue to keep that particular comment from fleeing his mouth. 

“Weel Donas…”

“That demon horse that just rushed through here?” 

“Aye.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. 

“It’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet.”

“I suppose my chances o’ survival have improved since meeting you. Ye have quite a soothing touch. You’d make a great healer.” 

“Well, I am a woman. So no use arguing that point.” 

Her triangular kerchief was stained a slight pink from his blood at one of the corners, so she decided against refastening it around her neck. There was no place else to put it, so she expertly shoved it into one of her pockets before Jamie could notice. Only having met the man once before, she knew he would make a fuss and apologise profusely for ruining her clothing. But she couldn’t care less, as long as he was healthy and not missing any limbs. 

“Ye ken, in Scotland, there are places where women can learn of such things.” A glint of mischief passed through his eyes. “Tis also wi’ those women that ye can learn of spells and hexes. We Scots are a superstitious lot alright. You would fit right in Sassenach.” Since it seems you have bewitched me already, he thought .  

“I’m glad my run in with the dead queen has humoured you so.” 

All traces of humour in Jamie vanished. What reflected in his eyes had an underlying seriousness Claire could not place. Respect? Compassion? Or was it what had been such a heavy weight in her heart and what had made her head take flight all these weeks? The thing she couldn’t quite place yet within herself? That made him attached to her every waking thought. Well, and dreaming too. 

“Well it did lead you to me.” His gaze never wavered. 

Jamie reached out his hand to place hers within it. No obligatory kiss to the knuckles as decorum would demand. It was enough to simply hold, to anchor himself to her through one small point of contact. The dance of their hands was more intimate than anything Claire had felt. It was almost too much, that she broke her gaze away from his intense one and her cheeks flushed. 

“Yes, that it did.” Her thumb stroked the golden skin of his knuckles. 

“The range is set up. If you would care for some archery today?” 

“With you, I presume?” Her fingers traced over the calluses inside his palm. 

In turn, he brushed against the smooth skin on the back of her hand with the pads of his fingers. “Aye, and my nosy page, my godfather, and whoever you deem fit to join us.” 

“Can you have your boy summon my maid Suzette?” 

Her attention was stolen by a young boy racing out of the corner of her eye. A slew of French swears passed through her ears. Her head turned to spy the boy more easily. His mop of brown curls bounced with each skip he took and the stick in his hand whacked against the hedges at irregular intervals. He stopped shortly near Jamie’s side and beamed. 

“Och, speak o’ the devil,” Jamie voiced. “Lady Beachamp. This is my page Fergus.” 

The scrawny boy swung out his leg and took a dramatic bow before her. He then gestured to his own chest. “Milady, you have the most beautiful bosom.” 

Jamie lightly cuffed the boy’s ear. Though he had the same thoughts, his mouth never ran him into trouble as often as Fergus’ did. Sure, Jamie was known to be an idiot sometimes, but he was working on it. 

“Dinna be an eejit, lad. You’re talking to a lady.” 

Fergus’ eyes widened. “Oh, I am sorry, milady. Please do not let him take out the whip again. My skin is already so sensitive from the last lashings. He never feeds me. Always has me feast on the rats in my dank room down near the dungeons. Would you take pity on this poor soul?” Claire would have been shocked at his admittance of such things, if it weren’t for the telltale twitch of his lip and the glint in his eyes that emanated something more mischievous than truthful in nature. 

“Fergus.” Jamie scolded again. “You know I do not hold wi’ that sort of punishment.” 

Jamie pulled Fergus to his side and gripped his shoulder tightly. “I am so sorry Lady Beauchamp. I found him in Paris not long ago and decided to take pity on the wee clotheid. We are still working on manners, aren’t we Fergus?” The boy nodded glumly, Jamie having taken away all the fun of the moment.  

“No it’s- it’s quite alright. Really no harm done. Boys are often wont to let their mouths carry them away before their minds can pick up the aftermath.” 

Fergus tugged on his lord’s coat and Jamie bent down to his level. He grabbed the tall man’s earlobe and pulled it down near his mouth to whisper. 

“Did she just call me an idiot like you did milord? But with far more words?” 

“Aye.” He grinned with pride at Claire and straightened up. 

“Now Lady Beauchamp wants you to fetch her maid, Suzette, so she can come along wi’ us to the archery range. Think you can manage that without causing even more trouble?” 

“Oui, milord.” He gave a curt nod and then dashed away into the maze of hedges. 

Through the whole exchange, Jamie never relinquished his grasp and Claire’s hand, and neither did she. They could feel each squeeze and tug, an extension of their minds and hearts at those moments. And they waited. 

Louise and Mary, content in each other’s company for their daily walk around the garden, as they ambled past Claire and Jamie. They threw some knowing looks at Claire and whispered to each other. The only thing Claire could do in response was roll her eyes at her ridiculous friends. They were notorious gossips, but not maliciously so. There’d not be a word uttered from them about Claire. Louise sent one last teasing look towards Claire, before the hedges of the garden swallowed up her friends once again. 

Not long after, Fergus dragged a frazzled Suzette towards the pair. The group gave her a moment to collect herself after what was no doubt an unnecessarily frantic run through the gardens. 

She smiled up at Claire and curtsied somewhat. “Milady.” Her gaze moved towards Jamie and she sent another short nod. “Milord.” 

“Suzette. Thank you for escorting us.” Claire expressed. 

“Of course, milady, you know I would do anything that you require.” 

Claire reached out her free hand, the one not captive to Jamie’s, and squeezed Suzette’s hand. Jamie scanned the area. Clearly there was someone missing. 

“Fergus, where is Murtagh?” 

“I do not know milord. Last I saw he was at the stables.” 

“Weel, we can not leave wi’ out him tae escort Lady Beauchamp. A trusted man must be present to ward off rumour or suspicion.” 

“But, milord, I am here.” Fergus stood up from his slouch. “And I am a man.” 

“Not quite, lad.” Jamie ruffled the boy’s hair and rested his elbow on top of it. “Unless ye wish to show me ye’ve grown hair on yer baws as proof.” 

Jamie paused to look at Claire and Suzette, then back to Fergus with a sigh. “Alright lad. I suppose you shall be the one escorting us.” And, sure enough, the boy visibly brightened at his lord’s trust.  

Fergus shuffled over to Claire and stood directly before her. His head did not even reach her shoulders yet, but his face held such solemnity and confidence. She was sure he would fight to his last breath, having only just met her. He stole Claire’s hand from Jamie’s and captured it between his lanky fingers. Fergus tugged her other one into the small sphere of protection as well.  

“Do not worry, milady. I shall defend your honour.” He tapped the handle of the blade on his hip. “If need be I shall kill the swine myself.” 

“Swine? Remember who keeps yer belly full lad.” Jamie jabbed from Claire’s side. 

“If you are dead I am sure Lady Beauchamp will take pity on my poor soul and place me under her employ. Right, milady?” 

“Um-” Claire started, unsure. 

“Fergus stop blethering, and let us be gone.” 

“Aye.” 

Fergus grabbed two bows, which looked giant compared to his small frame, the quiver of arrows, and led the way to a small rectangular space hidden by walls of hedges. The only way to spy inside was through the small opening at the corner. Suzette and Fergus stood guard at the opening, but turned to face away from the pair. 

Jamie grabbed the quiver and set the arrows within the wood cylinder on the ground. He rested the bow against the cylinder and walked back to Claire, hands open for the taking. 

“Shall we make a game of it, my lady?”

“Pray tell, what shall the game entail?” 

“Weel tis simple, the most targets hit, determines the winner. The winner earns a favour from the loser.” 

Claire’s gaze dropped to Jamie’s lips for a fleeting second, and then back up to his eyes again. Her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry bottom lip. Jamie’s grip tightened on his bow and he resisted the urge to swipe his thumb over the moisture clinging to the plump curve. 

She cleared her throat. “And what would that favour be?”  

“Well, that would ruin the fun if it was known beforehand. Would you not agree?” 

She smiled at the possibilities of what his favour would be. Another meeting like this? Perhaps even a dance at the upcoming Great Harvest Feast. Or perhaps… she would leave the range with her first kiss fresh on her lips. Without thought, her hand reached up to her mouth. 

“Oh, yes. We may keep our secrets for now.” She smirked; her request was going to be far more ambitious. 

“Ladies first.” Jamie gestured to four small flour sacks suspended beneath a wooden pole, held horizontally by two large stacks of rock. 

Claire took up her natural stance, and then slouched slightly to her left. Jamie leaned back, arms crossed, enjoying the scenery of the gardens, though his vision was only truly  fixed on one spot. There was room for more than one game here. She took a deep breath, aimed at the top left corner of the small flour sack, and then nocked her arrow. Releasing the arrow with a small exhale, she hit her intended target perfectly. That is, the point farthest away from the dark dot in the middle, without flying past the sack of flour completely. She was no stranger to the sport. No, not at all. 

“Oh my, I must tell you I am completely hopeless in this sport. Would you mind terribly, helping me?” She sighed, and it came off a bit more dramatically than she had intended, but still sent across the message well enough. 

“Of course, my lady. But ye ken it’s highly frowned upon tae have yer opponent shoot fer you.” 

Claire set one end of the bow by the inside of her foot and pulled another arrow from its holder. 

“Oh, is it? I’m sorry I haven’t the faintest idea about archery.” 

Jamie uttered a sound that Claire couldn’t quite place, but found herself accustomed to as a part of him. He toed the inside of her shoe with his boot, widening her stance slightly. Planting his feet on either side of Claire’s, he gripped her hips and pulled them perpendicular to the second target. His hands leisurely wandered up the fabric of her sides, finally resting on the curve of her shoulders, and he too adjusted those accordingly. 

“Ye ken, it’s all about the stance wi’ archery.” His breath was hot against the shell of her ear, causing gooseflesh to rise on her skin. 

He trailed his fingertips back down the silky fabric, moving up and down her sides. Claire could feel the muscles of his abdomen push and pull against her back and her heart beat in concert with the movements. Finally, his hands found purchase on her hips once again, content to rest for the time being. 

“Really?” 

“Aye.” 

“And is this the correct…” Her body itched to be closer to him, but that was impossible, considering there was already no space between them. “positioning my lord?” 

She wriggled her arse against him and Jamie prayed to God that he would leave without an embarrassing cockstand. He thought of the most unpleasant images he knew of. His dead gran. The kitchen maid covered with smallpox, grinning down as she placed a puss covered biscuit in his hands. His mother’s cat Adso, full of maggots and fleas after he snuck away for two weeks. The- 

Claire harrumphed and pushed further back into him, seeking the tingle she felt before from the friction. She moved to the left in his arms slightly and- Oh. Was that?

Wicked wee besom. Two can play at that game. 

He pulled his right hand from her hip and splayed it across her stomach. Claire knew he was large and tall, even when one spotted him from a distance, but it was an entirely different matter the way only one hand was needed to span her entire abdomen. Her stomach flipped with excitement but there was some part of her, some deeper part, that raged to be let loose. To claw at Jamie and, well she didn’t quite know what yet but the desire was there. His hand slowly inched lower and lower on her stomach and he stopped once her breath hitched, smirking to himself. 

Removing his hand from her middle, he grasped the arrow in her right hand. Jamie wrapped his hand around hers and guided it in drawing back the fletching against the bow string. His hand moved to her elbow, nudging the angle of it slightly. At that point, his head was nestled up on her right shoulder, his nose close to the curls that wanted to spring free from their unfortunate confinement. Those damn veils. With a sure squeeze from Jamie to signal for the release, the shaft of the arrow sunk perfectly into the target. Again, and then again. Three out of four hitting the mark wasn’t too shabby, Claire thought to herself. Reluctantly, Jamie stepped away from the warmth of her body. It felt as painful as ripping his own skin away. 

His turn. Surely, he could beat her aim. Well, it was really more of his aim than hers. 

Jamie stepped up to the marker and glanced back at Claire who stood unassumingly off to the side. Nock. Draw. Breathe. Release. He hit the target dead on and grinned back at Claire. That wouldn’t do, not at all. Claire stretched her arms behind her back, pushing up her chest and emphasising the lack of a kerchief to protect her modesty. It was a simple gesture, but one that she knew would catch him. Jamie gulped, trying desperately not to look where his attention was pulled. 

“May your aim prove true, my lord.” Her face transformed as a dazzling smile overtook it. 

He loosed the arrow, just barely striking the edge of the black mark. Christ . Claire struggled to keep the smirk that so desperately wished to appear tucked away. He looked back at her again, unable to tear his eyes away for longer than a second. A yawn from Claire. Another stretch. At this point it was a wonder that his eyes didn’t completely bug out of his head. This time, the arrow missed the sack completely. 

“ Ah Dhia. ” He swore silently to himself. 

This time, he would not look back. He would not give in to that particular temptation. No matter how bonny the lass looked. Or how the rich green of her bodice complimented her milky skin. Ah Dhia, how the swell of her breasts demanded that his eyes be on them. The brilliance of her smile. The way she held herself, strong and sure. There hadn’t been much conversation between them so far, but Jamie could already sense the underlying cleverness within her. 

His fingers expertly nocked back his fourth arrow and drew back. His eyes flicked back momentarily without his permission again and he already knew he had missed once more. Maybe this competition was a bad idea. The only hope he held onto was his curiosity towards Claire’s decision for her prize. Yes, he would lose, but gladly so. 

His feet took long strides towards her side; they knew where they belonged. He towered over her, but it didn’t intimidate her in the slightest. Their chests were practically touching, and if she concentrated hard enough, she could feel the minute shift of his body against hers as it took in and released air. 

“Ye wee devil. You set me up.” He pouted. 

Jamie took a slight step towards Claire and she stumbled backwards, losing her footing over a small rock in the ground. She shrieked and Jamie hugged her close to him. In the process, he too lost his traction and they came tumbling down into a mess of giggles and tangled clothes. His knees naturally positioned themselves next to Claire’s hips, boxing them in. Gripping her wrists, he leaned even closer. He could feel the shallow breaths puffing against the fabric clinging to his chest, and saw the imperceptible rise of her chest. His eyes blinked in what Claire was sure was a poor attempt of a wink. 

Claire could feel him between her legs and she began to panic. So many conversations flew through her mind at that moment. Her mother, ladies of the court, even the Queen herself. All of them leading to one conclusion. Being with a man was tolerable at best, likened to an itch that needed scratching, and could be extremely painful in the beginnings, or even long after. Her throat began to close and dread dropped down through her head to her toes like an anvil. Her mind yelled for escape and she began to squirm. 

“Get off me!” 

In an instant, Jamie rolled off of her, worry etched on his face. Claire pulled herself up, grabbing her knees to her chest in comfort. 

“I’m so sorry lass, I didna mean to hurt ye.”

“No, no- you didn’t. I-” She frantically reached out her hand to him and he took it, understanding her silent plea. It was easier when they touched. “I want to. Believe me , I want- but I-” 

“Ye dinna have to explain yerself, mo ghraidh. But please, tell me if ye feel that way again. Trust that I never wish to harm you.”  

“I know, thank you.” She gripped his hand, feeling the reassuring calluses on it. “Now about my favour.” She changed the subject, hoping he’d forget all about what happened moments before. 

“Awright, lass. What is it ye wish from me? A new kerchief?” He looked down at the exposed expanse of skin and then back up, his ears reddened slightly. “Or mebbe… a kiss on the cheek?” Only the cheek lad? Claire thought to herself and grinned. 

No, none of these requests would do. She knew they had only just met, but some marriages were formed on even less than that. A bride meeting her groom at the altar. Besides, there was something she couldn’t quite explain about him. About them. What the hell , she thought, might as well come straight out with it. 

“Ask for my hand.” 

“Are ye- are you proposing tae me? ”

“I suppose I am, yes. Do you have a problem with that?” 

“No, it’s only, I’ve already planned to ask ye and then yer father, but I guess you plucked up the courage before I could.” 

“Well it seems I don’t have the luxury of time, or inaction for that matter.” 

“The Earl?” Jamie spat, his voice laced with venom. 

“Yes.” 

“And you don’t prefer… a man with a greater title and larger vassals? I’m a second son, Claire. I can’t properly deck yer bonny neck wi’ as many jewels and gold as he can.” 

“No, Jamie, he’s the last thing I want.” And you are all I’ll ever want. “I don’t care about those things.”

“I will speak to yer father when next I see him. I promise.” 

“I’m going to hold you to that James Fraser.” 

“You have my word. Claire… Beauchamp.” Like a foolish lovesick boy, he would try out the other name later, when he stayed up late, not able to sleep from thoughts of her. 

***

“You have the most beautiful… eyeballs.” Claire rolled the roast duck inside her cheek with her tongue and nearly choked on it at the rarity of such a comment. 

“Eyeballs?” She didn’t know how many more of these meetings to conduct a ‘proper courtship’ she could take. Just lock me away for a year until the wedding day. I’m sure I’d have slightly less resentment not having my ears shrivel up and die from his horrid squawkings. 

“Yes, they are perfectly spherical.” Francis wiped at the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin. 

“Oh, Lord Randall, you do flatter me so.” 

Francis cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the napkin again, nervous. He reached out his hand to hers and she obliged for the time being. His fingers were lithe and hairless. Nothing like the leathery and warm hands of Jamie, kissed golden by the sun. He worked for what he had. It didn’t just fall in his lap like most of the nobility in court. 

Francis planted a sloppy kiss to her hand, and she wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. 

“Claire, darling, by now I-”

“Lady Beauchamp.” 

Francis’ bemused expression irked Claire more than she cared to admit. “I beg your pardon?”

“It is Lady Beauchamp, my lord.” 

“Well, Lady Beauchamp. ” The Earl of Oxenford spoke the title with contempt and it took everything within Claire to not roll her eyes to the very back of her head. “I have heard tell that you and the young Lord Fraser enjoyed some archery Saturday the last.” 

“You are correct.” She popped another bite of the meat into her mouth, thankful for the barrier preventing her from speaking more than necessary. 

“I must inform you that this young boy’s-”

“That young man is nearly half a year older than I.” 

“Yes, well, I have spoken to your father about the matter. I do not believe it wise for you to seek company with him any longer.” 

“Very well.” She shrugged, tearing off a chunk of bread from the middle of the banquet table. 

“You’ll just let it go that easily?” Francis said in disbelief. 

“Oh I think you misunderstand. I’ll do whatever I desire, Francis , without your permission, as you are not yet my husband. Not for a long time.” Claire murmured under her breath. “Not ever.” 

“Be that as it may, I will not have a sullied bride, Lady Beauchamp, is that understood?” 

“With the way your health is now,  I’m not quite sure you will rise to the occasion if we are indeed to wed.”  

“Why you bi-”

“Mind yourself, Lord Randall. I thought you wanted respect in our union? And if there’s not I’ll be sure to let the Queen herself know. She has been rather fond of my mother as of late.” 

That quieted him down, if only for a minute. The sounds of those dining around them filled the silence, utensils clanging against the intricate designs on the clay plates and bowls , mouths smacking against particularly dry foods, and quiet moans of approval at some specific dishes layed out. 

“I understand you have an interest in flowers, my lady. I have spent days mulling over the perfect one for you.” 

He pulled out a simple red rose from within his poofy coat and thrust it into her hand. Claire could feel a small pinch on her finger and tears welled up within her eyes. She dropped the flower to the ground and shook her injured hand. Francis looked peeved at her actions, and shook his head patronisingly. Ignoring propriety, she shoved her finger in her mouth, sucking out the blood and pain. 

“Really, Lady Beauchamp. There’s not much to fear from a simple flower.” 

Her finger pulled out with a pop. “That’s easy for you to say, when you have escaped unmarked.” 

“Darli-” Claire sent him a withering stare. “Lady Beauchamp. I’m sorry you deemed to find offense in my words. But, I was sure a woman would love such a gesture.”

“You assumed wrong. Good day Lord Randall.” 

“We still have much to discuss, my lady.” 

“Good. Day. Lord Randall.” 

Claire was terribly hungry before, but could stomach her food no longer in the man’s presence. She glanced longingly at the large dishes of roast duck, ham, and various stews, but would have to pass on those particular luxuries tonight. 

She rose from her seat and felt steady hands wrap around her arms. She sighed and closed her eyes, imagining if she could not see anything, it surely could not be real. 

“Claire bear.”

“Yes, my lord?” She turned around to look into the eyes of her father. 

“Your mother wishes to speak with you presently. We must discuss a great many things.” 

“Of course, sir. I shall be at your chambers later tonight.”

“Now.” His tone brokered no argument. 

Lord Beauchamp angled his body towards Francis and nodded tersely. “I trust my daughter enjoyed her time with you, the well-respected gentleman that you are.”

“Of course, I do believe we are quickly coming to some form of rapport.” 

“Good, good. We will see you at the Great Harvest Feast, Lord Randall. Until then.” 

Henri enfolded his daughter in his arm, and spirited her off from the hall. His grip on her shoulder was tight and controlling, and she knew she was in trouble. She mentally prepared herself for the reprimands that would follow from her mother. 

***

Claire left her parents’ chambers disheartened, but not defeated. She bore the brunt of her mother’s verbal lashings without a word in edgewise herself, and she was properly chastised. The only words she was able to utter in her presence were those of a promise. A promise that she wouldn't carelessly play such sport with that boy again. 

And she did promise that. Because they had threatened to move the date of her impending doom to the coming Great Harvest Feast instead of the next. 

Yes, sadly she’d never play archery again. Those were the exact words of the promise, and she would take it literally. She knew her parents thought of it in more broad terms, but she would follow the promise to the letter.  And she had to limit what exactly was seen in the public eye. 

While she was fuming on her way to her own chambers, she spotted a slight French boy out of the corner of her eye. Her hand slipped into her pocket where she kept the discarded paper of her charcoal drawing experiment, which ended up being a total failure. She traced out a simple code, one she knew only he would know. It was all sort of thrilling to her, the secrecy of it all. 

“Fergus.” She called out and her voice echoed in the empty stone halls. “Send this to your lord.” 

She slipped the paper into his coat and scurried away.

Chapter Text

Claire reached for the glass on her solid oak nightstand for what seemed like the twentieth time that night. Her hands trembled slightly and she took another hearty swig, draining the last dregs of the container. Where was that courage that she had during the spur of the moment?

Her door burst open with urgency, causing her heart to nearly leap out of her body entirely. 

“Sassenach? Are ye alright? Fergus gave me this.” Jamie extended his hand and proffered the paper she had handled only minutes before. 

He knelt near her feet on the floor, eye level with the line of her shoulders. He rubbed his hands soothingly up and down her arms, the soft cotton of her chemise bunching up at the bend of her elbow with his actions. 

Claire gripped the curls at the back of his neck and slammed his mouth into hers. It was sloppy, and she had no clue where to put her lips, her teeth, or even her tongue for that matter. A giant swap of saliva between two people. But, it got the job done. At least her first kiss wasn’t horrid for lack of passion. 

She slid off of the edge of her bed, the fabric of her chemise desperately clawing the pelt of fur covering it. Her arse was nearly exposed at that point, but she didn’t care in the slightest. As she fell further down into his lap, her thighs wrapped around his hips and pressed into them. 

Her tongue swiped against his bottom lip experimentally, and he moaned into her mouth. They were breathless by the time they pulled apart. Claire’s hands shook as she undid the dainty ties of her chemise and rolled the material off her shoulders. Snot ran down her nose and dried tears streaked down her cheeks. She pulled his lips to hers again once they gathered enough air and convulsed with another wave of fear. Her mind and body were at war with each other, playing tug-of-war with her heart. Jamie stopped her hands and pulled them to his chest. 

“Claire. Stop lass.” 

“Do you-” she sniffled. “Do you not want me?” 

“Christ I want ye. I want you so much I can scarcely breathe.”

“Then why won’t you lie with me?”  

“I will have ye one day, Claire. But it willna be out of fear.” 

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down at the rumpled state of his shirt. A better place than the understanding eyes that bored straight into her soul. To say she was embarrassed was an understatement. 

“What’s shaken ye so?” He gathered her close to his heart, swinging her leg back over his front to join the other. 

“My mother.” Her lip trembled. “I’m so sorry that I acted in such a manner. That I shamed you.” 

“ I came to yer room if I recall correctly.” His lip curled into a crooked smile. “Unless my sister Jenny was right about the thump on my heid from when I was naught but a bairn.” 

“Well I am the one who summoned you here was I not?” 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I willna be joining yer ladies fer their afternoon gossip. Our secret is safe wi’ me.” He began to rub soothing circles on her back and her muscles acquiesced to his attentions, releasing their tension slowly and surely until she almost hummed with the feeling. “Tell me mo chridhe. ”

“The date is set.” 

The muscles of his arms tensed around her for the slightest second before he released the anger and distress for her. They only had strength for one of them to be afraid at a time. He wouldn’t let her see his. 

“When?” The word escaped from between his clenched teeth. 

“November the First, in the year of our lord fifteen hundred and fifty-seven. They are certain.” 

“Weel they dinna ken me.” Jamie’s lip tugged into a lopsided grin. “They dinna ken how Frasers muck up plans verra poorly and verra fast at that.” 

Claire managed to breathe out a laugh that was something in between a wheeze and an ungodly chortle. She didn’t know the human body was capable of such sound but the unbelievable man whose arms she was safely tucked into, brought out things from her that she had no idea were possible. She could stay like this forever, and have no wants, spare the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. A tug on her scalp pulled her attention back to his eyes. His fingers expertly wove their way into the mess she called her hair. Each strand was treated as delicately as the last, relaxing practically every nerve attached to her scalp. His eyes never wavered from hers, and his hands never from their task. It almost caused her eyes to roll back into her head from the sheer pleasure of it all. 

“Stay with me tonight?”  

“But surely someone-”

“I trust Mrs. Fitz and Suzette with my life.” 

His throat bobbed as he gulped. His mouth hung open, unsure of how to move itself. 

“Just to sleep?” She implored, “please?”

His eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. He issued a grunt while his body adjusted to the gravity of a new body while he stood. 

“Aye.” His eyes twinkled in the dim candlelight. “Ye ken I canna say no to you.” 

***

By the time Claire woke up the next morning, the only sign of her nocturnal visitor was the slight depression left on the other side of her mattress. If she could close her eyes, and block out the rest of the world, she would spend the rest of her day conjuring up the feel of his warm chest against her back and the way they turned practically in sync in the middle of the night to where Jamie was stretched out on his back and Claire was strewn over his chest, leg hitched over his stomach. Was this what it felt like, to be with a husband? 

No, definitely not. If she married Francis, she was sure the first thing she would accomplish would be yelling at the maids to move her into a seperate bed chamber. 

Mrs. Fitz puttered about her room in the morning, filling a bath with warm water and exotic soap traded to the court from merchants in Hindustan. It was said to stop aging at its source, leaving an eternal youthful glow. Claire just cared for the scent, the supposed mystical properties did not tempt her more towards it, but if they proved true, what would be the harm. Claire sunk into the milky water with a contented sigh. Nothing could wipe the grin off her face that morning. Whilst Suzette carefully tended to her curls and pinned them up into a modest shape, her brow quirked questioningly towards Claire’s sudden shift in her demeanor. But Claire’s smug grin hinted enough for both lady’s maids to understand. She would tell them surely in time and with the right amount of coaxing. An inkling of suspicion rose in her mind. Who was it then, that had added wood into the fire last night? That had cleaned up the remnants of her meal and righted the silk ribbons on her vanity while her almost lover was still there? Well either of the two, Suzette or Mrs. Fitz, were very discreet about such matters it seemed. 

It was that morning the court received news the Queen would be taking a reprieve from Hampton Court and taking up temporary residence in Oatlands Palace. She had lost her baby, and Claire and many others in the court could feel the heavy sorrow that laid upon Hampton like a deep snowfall. Voices were hushed, heads lowered, and gossip stifled for the time being. The pity was suffocating the Queen, or that is how her subjects interpreted it, so encounters at Hampton diminished and the stuffy bodies filling the halls dwindled. 

The melancholy that settled upon court like phlegm blocking airways, paved the way for Claire’s spirits to soar. Lord Randall was one of the many who took short leave from court to return to his ancestral home: Hedingham Castle. Away from Claire. For an undetermined amount of time. Of course, it was only logical for Claire and Jamie to stay at Hampton Court, the travel to both Scotland and France far too perilous and distant to excuse such a short holiday.

Indefinite weeks. No Earl. The Gossipers all but vanished. 

The best news by far, was that the Queen specifically requested Juliette Beauchamp’s presence during her confinement. Her father accompanied his wife, but Claire complained of stomach gripes the morning they were meant to travel. The poor lass. But her parents acquiesced to the idea of leaving her behind, she was in the capable hands of Suzette and Mrs. Fitz after all. She could not squander this opportunity. 

The pesky problem was in that of the person she least expected. Jamie. He avoided her like the plague, well perhaps more like a plague that strikes at night only, exchanging curt pleasantries in the halls when decorum demanded, and placing an overall friendly mask towards her as the day progressed. No mentions of the night they had slept beside each other. Had he forgotten so easily? That surely wouldn’t do,  Claire thought. Yet, no matter the effort on her side to entice him into less than holy acts with her, he resisted and ignored. He was off, probably doing what men do best, shovelling horse shit. Apparently that was far better company than her feminine wiles. That was until she spotted his bright halo of red hair one crisp autumn morning, and forcefully dragged him by the collar to an obscured alcove. 

“You have been avoiding me, my lord.” Claire breathed out before practically smashing her lips against his. 

Jamie gave in to the sensations, knowing his resistance was strained to practically nothing. Grabbing her hips tightly within his grasp, Claire felt shivers run down her spine and she choked back the noises bubbling up her throat, practically begging to be released. His tongue swiped against her bottom lip, hesitantly awaiting permission and she angled her mouth to accept more of him. Almost grappling with his tongue, she sighed in contentment and he swallowed the small puff of air. 

They parted for air, resting their foreheads against one another as they panted, before launching back into their previous activities. Somehow, her skirts shifted during the occurrence so that she could feel the cool breeze of the hall wisp against her calf. She hitched her leg over his hip and groaned when her core brushed against his hardened length through the thin fabric of his codpiece. Following her base needs, she began to slowly slide up and down his body, immensely enjoying the friction she gained from it. 

Jamie abruptly pulled away and cleared his throat. It took a moment for their brains to catch up with the current moment, and Claire’s eyes glossed over, only able to clearly see Jamie. Giving her brain a moment to gather itself, Claire tamped down her wild hair and discreetly pulled down her skirts. Jamie raised her chin with his finger and gazed straight into her eyes, unwavering. 

“Dinna start what ye canna finish lass.” A satisfied grin stretched askew across his face. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Her brain was back into some semblance of order. 

“You have been avoiding me, my lord.” 

“Aye, ye mentioned such a thing afore ye attacked me with yer wicked tongue.” 

“If I recall-”

“Twas me who attacked wi’ my tongue first aye.” His eyes glimmered with mirth. “I’m definitely no’ ashamed o’ it.” 

“Then why have you refused my constant requests? You know that poor lad Fergus is probably tired of these games.” She smirked and looked up at him, batting her lashes in a poor imitation of her friend Louise. 

His playful tone vanished and his lips set into a grim line. “Claire.” 

“I thought- do you-?” She paused, gathering her thoughts into some semblance of order. “Do you not feel it too? I can not explain it in such eloquent terms as you perhaps could, but it’s there, and it’s constant. I dream about you, about us, even when night has turned into day, and I must return to the reality of it all. The feeling still lingers. In the morning when I brush through my curls, I imagine it’s your hands.” Bringing up one of his hands, she placed a gentle kiss on his calloused palm, guiding it back to her cheek. 

“I love ye, Claire.” A ragged breath left his chest. “I love ye sae much, I canna see any harm tae yer soul, especially if I’m the cause. We canna speak o’ such things, no until we’re wed.”

Claire leaned forward, her cheek nestled close to his and whispered into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “I touch myself at night Jamie, and pretend it’s your hand unravelling me. Do you know that a woman can pleasure herself? Like men do. I know it’s not such common knowledge for… your kind to have possession of, but I thought you should know. You are my inspiration on such matters: always.” Her hand weaved itself into the base of his curls, tugging firmly, and her lips skimmed over the skin of his neck. “If it’s such sin to abuse myself, aren’t I already going to hell? Do you wish to leave me all alone there?” Her pout pushed against his jaw, gliding against the slight stubble.

With a sudden jerk, Claire was pushed against the stone wall, and Jamie had his back turned towards her. “Christ.” 

A large sigh escaped him, bunching his broad back and deflating it again. He flung his body back around even more abruptly than before, with a determined look in his eyes that bordered on crazed. His sizeable hands rucked through his hair, scattering the shades of red and gold atop his head. 

“Ye canna just say such things tae a man lass.” He huffed out another short, unamused laugh. “Aye, I will court ye properly, starting now. I dinna give a shite about that Baron. We can elope, or even handfast. But…”  He rubbed his hands up and down the green fabric covering her upper arms, to reassure both of them through touch. “There are matters I need tae settle in Scotland first. If I wish tae steal ye away properly.” He grinned at that notion. “I need to step down from my position as Scotland’s ambassador here. I never really… wished fer such a title in the first place.” 

“Why not just sail elsewhere and tell Britain to go hang? I have family in France, Jamie, we could go right now and never look back.” Her heart fluttered at the idea: freedom and Jamie. 

“I wish it were that simple. But, should I leave sae sudden, I fear it shall be taken out on Lallybroch, against my sister. I may be Laird there, but truly it’s she an’ her family who reside there, see to its running.” Jamie reached his hand out towards her cheek and his fingers ghosted her skin from temple to chin. “And my brother? Laird of Beaufort Castle, he’s just returned into the good graces of the Queen Regent. One action from me could have verra serious repercussions towards them all. I have a duty towards my tenants, my family. They shall be yers soon too if ye wish it to be.” 

Claire stopped Jamie’s roaming hand and squeezed it in her own. “I should wish very much to call them mine. To call you my husband. I love you Jamie.”

She leaned in, tentatively pressing her lips against his. It did not hold the same feral hunger that their earlier kisses did, but it imbued such a tenderness and love that Jamie’s breath was nearly stolen from him. They pulled away and Claire dabbed at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand and a handkerchief materialised in Jamie’s hand. Offering it, he smiled down at her, glistening eyes mirroring hers. 

“Usually it’s the lady who gives a gentleman her favour. Not the other way around.” She sniffled and accepted the dark blue cloth, eliciting a hybrid of a laugh and a sob. 

“Keep it, the colour suits ye.” 

When she finished attending to her blotched and tear streaked face, she tucked the handkerchief into the front of her bodice. Her hand slipped agonisingly slow down her chest, and she gauged his reaction intently as she nestled the fabric between her breasts. He gulped and adjusted himself for probably the twentieth time that day. Poor lad. 

“I usually take a stroll through the garden just an hour before noon. No one but my maids accompany me.”

“I ken.” 

“Been watching me, have you? You are absolutely ridiculous” Claire’s brow lifted but she couldn't keep a serious expression for too long, a smile blooming on her rosy cheeks. “Join me tomorrow.” 

It was clear he was straining against the answer he truly wanted. For all the stops she had pulled, she was sure if he wasn’t tempted already, he would never be. Surely he couldn’t put up this act for too long, the stubborn bastard. 

“Aye, I’ll be there.”

“And every day after it.” 

He bowed and kissed the top of her hand. “Whatever the lady desires.” 

She laughed at his over-the-top gesture and curtsied in return. “That was a good answer, sire, you are a quick study indeed.” 

“I am when it comes to ye, mo nighean donn.” 

Before they knew it, they were in the Great Hall just in time to break their fast. 

“Tomorrow.” They promised each other with a solemn nod. 

***

Claire sighed and dramatically tossed the useless piece of gaudy white stone on her vanity. With a huff, she bounced onto her mattress and threw the letter in her hand next to the fire, irked when it instead floated gently down to the floor, away from the clutches of the starving flames. Another reminder of how utterly anal and tediously boring the man was. His death couldn’t come sooner. The sharp letters taunted her even from their resting spot on the soft fur rug near the side of her bed. 

Things are much worse than I have feared, my dear. I must put my home to rights before I am to marry you. Accept this gift for the Great Harvest Feast as a poor imitation of my touch, to bring you luck. I hope it soothes you as the thought that the stone I have caressed many times over will cling comfortably atop your bosom soothes me. White like your milky skin. Pure and perfect. Untouched by all else save your betrothed. 

Your Husband, 

Earl Oxenford, Lord Francis Randall de Vere.

It was her birthday. Not that the man paid any such mind to the date in the grossly possessive sprawl he sent her. She was eight and ten now. The same age as Jamie , she thought with a wry smile. 

Every single day the last few months they had spent together in some fashion, but mostly ensconced safely away within the hedge walls of the gardens. She was sure she had bored him to death with details of each plant in the grand gardens of the palace, and she hadn't even gotten through them all yet. Each one looked over and ignored in one stroll was another excuse to go back and fully analyse the particular plant again. With Jamie by her side each time, of course. His reservations about decorum had slowly dissolved during their time together. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have a giant stick up his arse about her soul and eternal damnation. 

How could he refuse her if she said the only thing she wanted for her name day was him?

Besides, her friend Louise had clued her in on some things. Claire was reassured that should anything transpire between her and Jamie, she would be safe. No one fell ill with child when losing their purity; it was a fact apparently all women knew, well except for Claire. Louise practically laughed at her innocence and naiveté when she brought the subject up. When the last barrier broke, resulting in the bloodied sheets everyone was to be prepared for on their wedding night, only then would a man be able to sow his seed and it would bear fruit. But would it really be such a terrible thing, if it did happen?

The crash of a silver plate on her cool stone floor sent her heart rocketing to the ceiling and she staggered up from her prone position on the bed in response. She audibly groaned at the sight in front of her. Not that the child in front of her was a poor character she loathed, no not at all, she had just been hoping his lord was standing in front of her instead. Well perhaps the boy was a tad irritating though, but not enough yet that the sight of him made her want to strangle him. His annoyance was endearing in some way. 

“You do understand how to knock, don’t you Fergus?” 

“ Oui , but why should I, when it is much quicker not to?” 

“Have some decency, child. I could be na-” Nevermind that may be exactly what he wants. “It just isn’t proper for you to rush in here in such a manner. You know Mrs. Fitz uses this room to bathe sometimes.” It wasn’t a complete lie, Mrs. Fitz did bathe Claire , but the boy didn’t need to know that extra bit; let him think the worst and scare him off his behaviour. 

The boy took a moment to collect himself, having almost gagged at the thought. Once he was composed, he flourished a bow in Claire’s direction and reached out a small parcel in her direction. 

“You are old, milady. Milord says it is so today, and he wishes to commemorate your dying youth with a gift. Treasure the days you have without wrinkles and aching bones, for they are not many.” 

Before she could smack his head, Fergus plopped the small wood box on her bed and dipped his body out of the room almost as quickly as he had entered it. 

She eyed her vanity. Something had changed. It lacked something. That weasel had taken her necklace from the Earl! Well good for him, it would become him much more than it would her; his complexion was fit for it. 

Holding her breath, she slowly opened the lid of the intricately carved wood box, her ears wincing slightly at the creak of its hinges. A leather journal sat comfortably inside, only a few inches smaller than the wood box itself. She felt along the leather spine, her fingers tracing the indentations on the leather, and her eyes scanned over the small forget-me-nots embossed in dark blue and gold leafing. Cracking it open to the first page, tears pricked at the edge of her eyes and her lip wobbled. Through her blurry line of vision, she could just barely make out the words. For your wee herbs, my Sassenach. Tha gaol agam ort, mo chridhe. She didn’t have much Gaidhlig, but these words she knew deep in her heart, he said them to her every day, never missing a single one. The first page was one of her sketches she had given him sewn expertly in with the other blank sheets. It was something she hadn’t thought at the time was all that exciting but he must have, a poor imitation of a fern. It was clear that between the two of them, he was the artist. She hastily flipped through the pages and something slipped out when the book stopped naturally in the middle. A dry, flattened sprig of forget-me-nots wrapped by a lavender ribbon stood out on the brown deerskin blanket covering her bed. 

His father had taken up the obscure hobby of bookbinding and encouraged both his sons to try it out with him, Jamie had told her on one of their walks through the garden. He had never practiced his skill since the passing of his father, but right in her hands was the proof of its return. Never had someone created something so thoughtful, so painfully her. She wanted to weep for days on end but that was no way to celebrate her birthday. After all, she would apparently be old, grey, and crippled soon enough. 

There was a small note scrawled onto a loose paper at the bottom of the box that she had missed. The sight of his handwriting made her long for the hands that created it, and the mind that had thought out on the words before connecting it down with ink. 

I love ye, my own. I am so verra blessed tae be yers, and know that many years will pass fer us, together. It will happen soon, mo graidh, I promise ye that. I rode down tae the market today, it was the only day that it has been fer months now. I'm sorry to be gone. I needed some things fer the Great Harvest Ball the servants put on fer themselves. Murtagh, Fergus, and the lads I’ve kent through them invited me tae join them. I hope ye will accompany me as well. Be warned, Mrs. Fitz and Suzette may have tae butt ye up in some rigging or other, all in the good festive spirit. I will be home tonight, in yer arms as quick as I can. Aye, I will indulge ye in a wee cuddle since it’s yer birthday, but that’s it. I ken how greedy ye are woman. I will come tae yer bed. To sleep that is. Happy birthday my Sassenach, I hope ye can use the wee journal to good use. I can always make ye another if ye wish. I love ye. 

Yours, 

Jamie

Much to her dismay, Jamie slipped in quietly late in the night and early in the morning, leaving only the lingering feeling of his warm body molded against hers and the faintest whiff of him on her pillow. The feeling was so hazy to her, it almost was a dream in its quality. But he had been there, she was sure of it. It seemed her soul lurched whenever his was near. So it was just to sleep then. That bastard. 

A week later, she was not disappointed in the slightest by ‘the rigging’ Suzette and Mrs. Fitz had managed to put together for her, quite the opposite. They were both going as characters from Arthurian legend, but which ones Claire wasn’t quite sure. Arthur and Merlin? Either way, they pulled it off well. She always marveled at their ability to sew fabric together into art; even just mending her everyday clothes must have been tiresome from all her galavanting in the gardens with Jamie. But they never complained. 

Claire stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down imaginary bumps on her bodice and smiled. She really did look good. Light, fluffy wings stretched out from her shoulder blades, flowing with her at each movement of her upper body. They had weaved some flowers into her hair and made sure every inch of her white silk gown was perfectly creased. It was perfect. When they had brought up the notion of her dressing as an angel for the night she had almost snorted. Her? A faerie? Every corner she turned she was trying to seduce her Highlander, so perhaps it was a fitting description. Jamie had called her his faerie on more than one occasion. If Jamie thought of her as that, then it must be true. 

When she arrived, Murtagh and Fergus were off in the centre of the room, attempting their own rendition of a waltz. Grumbles and swears drifted off from their direction, echoing off of the large empty space between the walls. Intentional or not, Fergus was stomping on Murtagh’s foot at each step. Fergus acquiesced to Suzette’s request with a sigh sometime after Claire had arrived, and now Murtagh and Suzette were sweeping along the magnificent marble floors as a pair. Mrs. Fitz chatted up a rather lanky man with wiry white hair next to the long banquet table shoved off to the side of the room. The smell of cooked venison, mince pies, squash, and cooked apples permeated every inch of air in the room. The events that Claire had attended before with the nobility felt suffocating and stuffy compared to the lively and carefree atmosphere around her. Rhenish, ale, and whisky flowed freely, as did people’s speech as it bubbled around the vast room. It was blissfully free from the intrigue and politics of court; everyone danced and laughed with who they wanted to rather than who they should. For a second she felt relief at the slight reprieve of the Queen’s confinement, but then guilt invaded her mind for the true reason behind it.  

At the sight of Jamie she erupted into giggles. They had worn almost the exact same costume. Wings and all. But it looked much more frilly and stood out contrasting his muscular build. A halo weaved through his large mass of red curls, intertwining with a ribbon of gold. 

“Would ye mind telling me what’s sae funny lass?” 

“I didn’t know you would come as a faerie too.” She swiped the corner of her eye, a remnant of the laughter of before. She couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t amused to see him in a robe either. 

“I’m no’ a faerie. I’m the archangel Michael. A brave angel at that lass.” His arms crossed and he pouted. 

“I’m sorry to have offended your lordship in such a way. Please accept my sincerest apologies.” Claire’s hand raised above her heart in mock sincerity and she bit her cheek to keep another wave of laughter from surging in her chest. 

“Och, ‘tis alright. But I’m afraid my wound would feel better only wi’ a kiss.” He frowned and pulled her chest flush to his. 

“Where does it hurt?” 

“Here.” Jamie pointed to his lips and deepened his frown. 

She rolled her eyes but indulged him nevertheless. He was helpless. But so was she in most matters involving him. Well, all. 

“May I have this dance, milady?” He bowed cordially towards her, as if they weren’t moments before pressed so tightly against each other that there was no space between their skin and the fabrics of their costumes. 

“You may.” And every other after that. 

They danced and danced, with no room for Jesus whatsoever, until they noticed the party had died down considerably. They had imbibed on a completely forgotten amount of drinks, but neither were worse for the wear. Claire could stand up. Well just barely with the help of Jamie who was also stumbling around like a toddler who had forgotten that his arms were attached to his body. 

Passing through corridors and open courtyards, they were seemingly lost until they heard a chorus of moans off to the side. Behind a series of wooden screens, a group surrounded a couple so clearly in the throes of passion. Shit. A priest stood watch, making sure the logistics of the act were followed to the letter. Who was it again who had the small wedding ceremony today? Surely it was someone unimportant to have their event eclipsed by a servant’s ball. A Baroness? The grunts and screams echoed all around, heightened by the sound of flesh slapping together. For a moment, Claire imagined it was her there, with Jamie, on display for all to see their love. Between her thighs, it felt warm and the warmth coiled around her belly. She subconsciously reached out for Jamie’s hand and tugged his body closer to hers. One final screech from the man marked the end of the consummation, leaving the woman clearly mortified and unsatisfied as the men congratulated the husband. A life like that certainly wouldn’t do for her. And she was sure if she was punished with life as Francis’s wife, that he would last even shorter than the man her and Jamie had witnessed. 

A hearty laugh escaped her and she clamped her hand over her mouth as it also let loose a hiccup. Jamie muffled her giggles with his hand. Feeling bold, she stuck her tongue against his palm. Jamie nearly yelped in surprise, inspiring more laughter to erupt within Claire’s chest. His deep laughter joined in the chorus, nearly drawing the attention of those performing the absurd ceremony before them. They sprinted away, Claire accidentally smacking Jamie more than once during the run to her room. It was the closest to their current position in the palace. 

Claire flung her wings across the room and stripped down just to her shift. There was a clear hunger in her eyes, and she wouldn’t stop until Jamie was in front of her, naked.  

“Are ye sure? I’m not sure we can stop once we start.”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” She moved forward and snatched the small halo from atop his head, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. 

“I dinna wish ye to regret anything, in the eyes of the Lord.”

“Are you not an angel, my lord? How sinful, truly, can such a holy creature be?”

Claire traced the outline of his wings and ripped them from his shoulders. “Perhaps ‘tis why I’ve descended, and if I have tae sin just tae employ my time wi’ ye, then I’d gladly not return.” 

Shimmying out of the rest of his costume, he stood in his sark in front of him. He reached to pull off that layer too but Claire stopped him with a hesitant touch. 

“Keep that on for now.” 

She didn’t want to see all of him just yet. It was one thing to feel, and another to see. She didn’t want to clam up from nerves again when she was so close to what she wanted. Pushing her gently down onto the bed, Jamie rolled up along her body, allowing her knees to fall from each other to make room for him. 

He was slow and gentle, well as much as he could be in his inebriated state. There were a few embarrassing moments of fumbling that they had both paused to laugh at together but gained their rhythm again mere seconds later. He was absolutely ecstatic to find out her body could waken to his just like his had done before. Learning every single inch of her skin was a gift he would never forget to cherish, especially that wee spot on her belly that made her squirm under his lips. It was more than he could have ever wished for, and he wanted to scream his joy from the roof of the palace, and curl into a small ball tucked around Claire and hide away from the world for the rest of their lives all at once. His heart was plucked from him like a fragile little dandelion, and would be kept safe in Claire’s hands for the remainder of his days, until he too dried up wilted away from his roots. They fell asleep as one, stupidly content in the other’s presence and the high of what they had done still hanging over them. Both of their sleeps were free of dreams that night; they already had fulfilled their dream in each other. 

In a moment of blind panic, Jamie had jolted upright in the bed and looked at the small patch of daylight streaming through her window. 

“Stay?” Her arm reached around his waist from behind him. 

The damage was already done, no point in denying it. Or denying each other. Why not embrace it? There was nothing wrong with loving his own soul. And was it really a destruction of something? They had created something new, something so special between them that Jamie could have swore they were the first ones to invent sex itself. But that was probably just the musings of a newly-deflowered burk of eight and ten. 

“Aye, I’ll be wi’ ye always Claire. Sae long as ye wish it.” 

He turned around and pulled her head into the concave space on his chest that seemed formed exactly for the sole purpose of cradling her head and pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her hair. 

“There’s the two of us now.”

Chapter Text

Mrs. Fitz and Suzette had wisely been absent that morning, but had snuck in without notice before either Claire or Jamie had woken, as evidenced by the plate of fresh bread, cheese, and meat on the table in the middle of Claire’s bedchamber. A faint whiff of an unnatural smoke clung to the chills of early winter rushing in from the cracks of the window. The fire crackled softly, lending enough warmth to protect against the bitter days. The constant chill would usually have her shivering in the winter mornings on her own, but with her own personal fire pressed flush against her back, the room felt sweltering and crisp all at once. The effects of the bite in the air were calmed by Jamie’s enveloping presence. Of course he would protect her, even against the very weather itself. 

Claire was the first to wake– well, consciously wake–having felt Jamie pressed tight against her arse. Even in his sleep, he was insufferable in his eagerness, his body controlled by more than just one head. Sometimes. That was more than most men could say however. 

She snuggled back into his chest, humming her contentment. She wished she could collapse fully back into him, to be tucked safely within his very heart, like his own wee cheetie, as he called her before. But this proximity would do for now. 

A brush of his lips against her bare shoulder signalled his conscious state to Claire. Rolling over, her breath caught as she peeled her eyes open to meet his; after everything they had shared together, she couldn’t fathom how something as trivial as his slanted blue eyes could still take her breath away.

“Mornin’, mo nighean donn .” His voice was rough from the underuse of sleep, and perhaps a wee bit of overuse as well from the thousands of times his mouth committed blasphemy before, calling Claire and the Almighty’s name within the same breath. 

“More like noon I’d say,” she cupped his chin and her thumb stroked the slight stubble beneath his lip. 

“Christ, we missed mass.” Though his eyes widened in shock for a split second, the grin on his face and his fingers’ newfound grip on her nipple made it clear to Claire he wasn’t overworried much. 

“I think God would understand. You’re tired, you need your rest after such a trying night for yourself.” She paused, biting the thin skin of her lip as his grasp tightened on her breast through the opening of her shift. “I don’t think I could–I think I’d be sweating more than a whore in…well a whore in church.” 

Now that the dark had dissipated, pushed away by the beams of light swimming through her window, reality crashed into her mind just as surely as the lingering alcohol from the night before. Would everyone know? Claire was sure if she glanced into the mirror the title harlot would be branded upon her very soul. They had already missed Mass on a Holy day, what more could she stain her very being with?

“Are you ashamed of me Jamie?” She sat up, unintentionally pushing his hand away from its task. 

Jamie ignored her rejection of his wandering hands, going back to lazily circling the outline of her nipple. “No, lass, I see nothing wrong wi’ what we did, what we are tae one another. If God isna so inclined to agree wi’ us, then he would have to go through me before he even laid a finger on one of the wee curls atop yer head. I can be verra persuasive, ye ken, so I dinna think we even need be troubled that way.” He traced the lines of her cheek while he spoke calmly, with a reverence to her very being, in the presence of something so holy he dare not make his own a hindrance. “And besides, if I should be ashamed o’ ye…should ye no be ashamed o’ me? Such a hoor of a man tae ha’ my virtue taken sae easily.” 

“It’s entirely different and you know it!”

“No’ to me it is. Ye see, being deflowered by a wee vixen isna–” 

Claire slapped his bare chest, feeling the smack reverberate in her own skin, his shirt having fallen slightly down his shoulders through the night. “James Fraser!” 

“What? Would ye like to see these wee marks ye left me Sassenach? I dinna ken women could be sae violent an’-” 

“I probably have even more bites and bruises than you do. And–what exactly do you mean by ‘women’ Lord Fraser?” 

Eyes widening and mouth gapping, he rushed to counter her, as quickly as his lust-addled brain could. “Woman,” Jamie amended. “Jes’ one woman. She has the most bonny brown wig on her heid, eyes the colour o’ whiskey, and when I squeeze her jes’ so–” gathering a generous amount of her arse to demonstrate his point, he gave a hearty pinch, causing her to squeal, “--aye, she gives the most beautiful symphony of wee noises to me.” 

Claire crawled back up his body, crushing her chest against his and huffed a warm breath against the crook of his neck. “I don’t want to get out of bed today. I fear I’ll be wobbling like a poor little fawn if I even attempt to walk.” 

She snorted against him and let her eyes close, enjoying the peaceful calm that accompanied his presence. If she had to suffer through years of purgatory to feel him like this now, she’d gladly go through it all. 

His words brought her out of her half-meditative groggy state. “That bad, was it?” His face contradicted his words, a smug satisfaction settling over it. 

A short “hmph” was her response to him, she didn’t want to dignify the inflation of his ego any further.   Her nose grazed against his chest in its path to find his. Jamie groaned as her breath tickled his nipple when she pulled the fabric covering it to the side.. Claire blew on the other one and stifled a laugh when it mirrored the other’s reaction. Pressing a kiss to his breastbone, she stared back up into his eyes, a hunger reflecting back to her that the weak light of the candles hadn’t done justice the night before.

“Take off your shirt, I want to look at you.” Claire placed her hands into fists on either side of his ribs and pushed herself back slightly from him, allowing him barely enough to slip off the remaining fabric. Her eyes immediately scanned downwards, out of her control, and her head followed down along with it, but careful not to smack herself with his very alert self. 

She blinked twice, as though to ascertain that the sight in front of her was true. “Oh.. it.” It looked- well it looked as though it should be rather ugly to her up close, but it wasn’t. A little mushroom or something of that nature. She thought she had the right words at the tip of her tongue, or perhaps she did, but they were only blown away. He was a large man so she knew that it would translate somehow in other aspects, but didn’t realise its extent. She traced it, eliciting a spew of stuttered breaths and unintelligible mutterings from its owner. But the one question that resounded in her mind had nothing to do with its inherent beauty to the world. “How- how did that fit?”  

She thought she had mumbled the rhetorical question quietly enough to herself but the deep belly laughs that coughed their way out of his mouth were a resounding no. Once his shoulders stopped shaking from the force of laughter and her face had recovered from its mortifyingly deep shade of red, she sat back on her haunches and crossed her arms, unamused. 

“I dinna ken, lass, but I’m glad o’ it.” His face stretched out into the most smug smile she had ever seen anyone possess, far too proud for her tastes. 

“Hmmphm.” She stole his Scottish noise and dragged her arse slowly, teasingly up the length of his body to sit comfortably on his stomach, which was coincidentally where his erection had hovered above mere moments before. Hopefully it wasn’t easily breakable. Though, knowing Jamie, he’d think it would be the best way to die. She began to move up and down, rubbing herself against him. She pinned his hands up by his head, her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists. “Don’t seem to be laughing now.”

“Christ.” Jamie hissed out. 

Claire’s warm breath fluttered against his ear. “Will you have me?” 

“Aye, lass, I will. Always.”

For the second time, she welcomed him home. Her breath hitched as she was settling into her task. and then she sighed. The slight pain and soreness she had felt the previous night had abated and she blissfully embraced the newly learned sensations Jamie roused in her. She slowly traced her fingers down the muscles of his arms–which were held captive up near his head–down to the broad expanse of his chest, freeing his wrists from their temporary confinement and brushing her palms against the soft golden and red hair that shimmered in the daylight. He greedily reached towards the hem of her shift, the fabric pooling around where they had joined moments before. In a flash, they were both bared completely to each other. 

“Ah Dhia.” 

She paused her movements to allow him a moment of grace, to soak it all in like she had him. It took everything in her not to snap her hips forward, or up and down, anything that would ease the itch within her. He reached a reverent hand up to her left breast but she couldn’t take it anymore, she snatched both of his hands down to her waist and began a steady rhythm, her legs trembling around hips. 

“Claire, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His eyes held such love for her and he held her gaze, his words and the emotions carried with them unwavering. It was true then to her; she was beautiful. 

Pushing her chest forward against his, she shivered at the feel of his skin against hers. The downy hair tickled her as she moved, and she squeaked as one of her nipples brushed along his own. He rolled them both over, almost leaving her but not quite, never wishing to sever that connection, and slammed back into her with increased vigour. Gripping her thighs, he raised them up along his back as he leaned down, nipping the skin of her neck. They were inching closer and closer towards the edge of the bed; Claire could feel the top of her head teetering on the edge, so close to hanging freely in the air at an awkward angle. 

“If you move any further I’ll fall down to the floor and crack my head open.” Her laugh turned into a groan as he reached down to her arse and lifted it, scooting their bodies more towards the centre of the bed. 

That slight move angled him inside her just so, hitting a spot within that was virtually unknown to her before, that it spurred on her panting and gasping, leaving her mewling like a wee cheetie. Jamie stole her mouth, entangling their lips and tongues and breaths together as one. He lined himself up again so that neither were in danger of falling off the bed. His forehead pressed against hers, where a slick sheen of sweat rested. Her legs wrapped around him continued to shake. 

“There. Right there.” She said in between hungry kisses and gasps. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you. Love you.” Her pants were combined with the sounds of her worship until they turned into one incoherent keening murmur. She tugged roughly on the roots of his hair, threading her tongue deeper and deeper down his throat. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she was overwhelmed at just how much love she felt in that moment. His love for her and hers for him. Their love joined together. It consumed her entirely and boiled over into a fever pitch. Her hands flailed around, unsure of what part of him to grasp to remain steadily attached to him forever, while simultaneously pushing him far away from how swollen and filled she felt inside. Her legs detached from the desperate grip of his torso and fell to the soft pelts lining her bed. Her fingernails found a home in the flesh of his arse, clawing deep within the soft skin. Her whole body fell limp, like rigour mortis had set in, though she was the very opposite of dead at that moment. She was brimming with life: hers and Jamie’s. The warmth of it was almost too unbearable, but not fully. The feeling persisted long after, pushing her soul from beyond, and ferrying it back to the safety of his arms. 

A fist pounded at the door, but Claire paid it no mind, not that she was in the proper mental state to even notice it. 

“Ye eejit, get yer arse up!” The voice at the other side of the door fell silent until Jamie let out a groan loud enough for the beasts rutting in the royal stables a kilometre away to hear. “Christ, it’s no’ even noon.” 

Jamie rolled off onto his side, bringing her along with him, still deep inside her. Their chests collided at each pant escaping their mouths and he bent forward to kiss the edge of her eyebrow. He continued his steady rhythm, unbothered in that aspect by the intrusion. The world could probably catch up into one giant fiery blaze and he wouldn’t notice as wrapped up in her as he was. 

“Awa’ and haud yer wheesht man!” 

The man grumbled once more from beyond the door, and then stormed away, making his exit heard by the entirety of the palace no doubt. 

Jamie felt a soft finger trail against his neck, pausing once it met the tip of his chin and directed its position in the air. It curled underneath, pulling his lips back down to Claire’s. Her tongue trailed the edge of his bottom lip and explored more as his thrusts grew uneven and vigorous. His hand accidentally jerked into the solid wood of her headboard and he hissed at the pain, ignoring it all too soon as his muscles tensed up again. Claire sank further and further into the pillows surrounding her head as he pounded into her again and again. It was summer inside of her room, the tendrils of life and rebirth winding around her, even though the cold winds of winter shipped sharply outside her window. 

 His body slackened under the exhaustion of the act and he smothered her. Claire was flooded with a different kind of warmth than before, but appreciated it all the same.The reassuring heaviness on her chest brought another wave of pleasure down from her head to her toes. The pleasure of knowing her man could rest upon and inside her. Her heart thumped with the pattern of his breaths and soon both slowed down to a normal rhythm. 

Jamie rolled both their bodies to their sides, regaining his energy and vigour. “Whoa, I didn’t know that I-” 

Claire paused, a blush tinting her cheeks at her admission. “I mean last time I most certainly enjoyed it but- well I thought only men really-” Biting down on her bottom lip, she hid her face in the crook of Jamie’s neck. 

“Well now we both ken, mo ghràidh. And I’m verra glad of it.” Jamie bent down to kiss the tip of her nose, slowly pulling out as he did so. 

She kept the whine from the loss of their connection at bay, electing to cuddle that much closer to him in compensation and clinging to the planes, peaks and valleys of his body with her own. 

Neither knew if they had actually dozed off into their shared fugue state for a few moments or a few minutes, wrapped up in the bliss of each other. It was Jamie who broke the silence. 

“I want to take ye to Loch na Gainmhich. Yer hair, mo nighean donn , my brown-haired lass, like the water near the bottom of a waterfall, the way it ruffles down the rocks.” He swept a strand away from her face and brushed it back with the rest of her curly wig. “Dark in the wavy spots, wi’ wee bits o’ auburn when the sun touches it. The Wailing Widow Falls in Loch na Gainmhich, minds me o’ it.” 

“Such a cheery name for a waterfall, don’t you think?” Her hand rubbed up and down the swell of muscle on his upper arm; it was torture to not be touching him. 

Jamie’s finger meandered down the soft skin near her collarbone, travelling up to the soft flesh of her cheek. “The name doesna sound verra cheery I admit, but I’ve been there the once and I was struck by it’s sight instantly. Much like you, I suppose.” 

“Will you take me to wife then? Underneath the waterfall? Make an honest woman out of me, perhaps.” Claire’s face broke into a grin that split nearly half of her face. 

“I swear to you Claire, you will be my wife, even if it’s the last thing I do.” 

“You will be my husband. Time, history, the court be damned.” 

“We could handfast. It wouldna be official but it’s as close tae a true a marriage in a kirk that one can get.” 

“No, I want our families to be there. I want them to see I was right to choose you. Stand by you.” And if her parents refused, well that was a different story entirely. At least she knew Jamie’s family would stand by them.

A hand began to wander down to her inner thigh and inch upwards. She had to slap it away with a soft behave ; they had already wasted enough of the daylight hours and she knew if he worked her up again they would never leave. People would be expecting them to make an appearance under the sun. Murtagh one of them.   

“But, I suppose you have to get things sorted here and in Scotland as well.”

“If my brother nor my cousin take up my position, well damn them. I willna return, and I’m spiriting you away wi’ me. How does Ireland sound? Or Rome?” 

“Like weeks being cramped inside a boat full of foul-smelling men.”  

“Well up we get. I’m sure Murtagh caused such a stramash for a reason.” 

“I’m far too content to leave my spot on this bed.” She patted the spot beside her, watching Jamie pull on his stockings at the side of the bed. “Come back to bed.” 

Sadly, he didn’t take her up on that offer. Even more disheartening was the fact that he made her reject her own offer too. 

***

“Oh look at you, ma chérie , you look freshly plucked! Like a blushing rose!” Louise squealed and hugged Claire tight, nearly squeezing the life out of her. 

Louise’s face was the first she saw as she entered the gardens after her very late morning. The sun shined high in the afternoon sky, void of any clouds, but the rays could hardly compare to the warmth of Jamie’s beaming smile or the warmth of his body. In fact, it was freezing so she embraced herself firmly within the confines of her many overskirts, kerchiefs, and shawls. A light dash of pink dotted everyone’s cheeks and noses, and their breaths huffed into large puffs of miniature smoke. 

Her friend pulled back and settled her hands on Claire’s shoulders, forcing the link between them to inspire any trace emotions and thoughts to be deciphered from their planted spot on the grass. “Tell me did he hold your hand?” She gasped, placing a hand over her mouth in mock shock. “Or, no, do not tell me he kissed you!” 

Biting her lip, Claire revealed the least amount of information to breeze past the conversation and Louise’s pestering questions. “Well, we did kiss.” Memories of his skin taut over his abdomen as he drove into her, their lips hungrily consuming each other, and his curls clinging to his forehead from sweat, flashed across her mind, bringing a blush to her cheeks. 

Her friend shrieked and jostled her into yet another hug. Smacking her cheek with her lips, Claire knew Louise had left a red stain behind from the vermilion that coated all around her mouth and on the apples of her cheek. Though the colour wouldn’t be noticeable at all from her already reddened state. 

“Now, Claire, I’ll be very ashamed if this ‘kiss’ was like the one I just gave you.” Louise wagged her finger in admonishment. “Please tell me you at least know how to do it the way of the French. I hope at least some of your blood has not been washed away from the Englishness here.” She waved her hand in front of her nose as if to ward off the stench of the idea. “I could demonstrate for you if you like.” Louise paused and nodded to herself, calculating the veracity of her next words. Yes, she would for her friend. 

“No, that’s quite alright Louise, thank you.” 

Claire let out a sigh of relief. If even Louise couldn’t tell, maybe no one else would. No one ever held such a high scrutiny of gossip and scandal as Louise did. So perhaps they had been careful enough. There was no tattoo across her forehead of the truth of her finally having carnal knowledge of a man. Her man. 

“My lady’s maid has instructed me on a new way to remain barren for my lover. You know Claire…” Stepping to the side of Claire, Louise grabbed her elbow and hooked it within hers, and they began to walk side by side beneath the barren hedges and withered brown plants. “You might find some interest in what I say. After you lose your innocence, who knows if you’ll want to quicken straight away. Although I know you won’t need it for months to come. Always so nervous to go after what you desire. I’ve taken up six lovers by now!”  

Claire signalled for her to hush, but couldn’t keep back the giggles at her friend's attitude and they both soon bent over from the force of the laughs exiting from their chests. 

The pair stopped dead in their tracks as they rounded one of the hedges into another wing, near the end of the gardens. Suddenly the putrid smell of smoke they had all been smelling since the morning made sense. They were diagonal to the gallows. 

Though the fact of the matter was they were no longer gallows. They were pyres. 

Pyres that had recently been used. The ashes still scattered in the winds and Claire sneezed at the imagined intrusion of dust into her nostril. 

A girl was shaking on one of the benches beside the platform. But not just any girl. Mary. 

One of the skeletons still slumped against the burning pole, the charred remains of flesh having been cleaned off by the fire entirely. Some people walked up to the platforms, plucking bits of ash and bone into small jars and bags as souvenirs. It sent a chill down Claire’s spin. Thank God the current queen was catholic and not protestant, or her or her parents may have suffered the same exact fate. 

“Mary?” Claire tapped the trembling girl on the shoulders. “Mary, let’s get you inside.” 

“T-they.” Her teeth were chattering from the effort of speaking and her chest rose in rapid successions. “They led us out here after mass.” 

“Louise?”

They dragged their reluctant friend back into her own chambers, swiftly shielding her from any more exposure to the sight. Although it had probably already done its damage upon her mind. 

“I’ve never seen her like that, Claire.” Mary’s gaze was glued to the small cross stitches decorating the tapestry in front of her bed. She was on count Three-hundred and thirty-six.  

“Surely she’s seen an execution before.” 

One of Mary’s English friends, Lady Elizabeth, flitted into the room, laying a quilt on Mary’s lap. She had returned from helping the executed’s sister, Isobel moments before. 

Elizabeth explained, a slight quaver to her voice as she recanted the events herself. “You weren’t there Lady Beauchamp. I’ll never forget the way it clung to the atmosphere. The way they screamed for nigh on an hour, if not from their lungs, from their skin.” A maid scuttled around the room, filling up a tub off to the side with water warmed over the fire. 

“What happened? It's a holy day, is it no? Or should the church not care for such things?” 

A fire raged within the tight confines of Mary’s room. Her status allowed for her own room apart from her family, but it still was not high enough to have anything more than a small simple bed and one chair in the cramped square. The tub full of cooling water was brought in from elsewhere. The flames were mesmerising, demanding everyone’s attention and raging despite the tragedy its relative had caused outside. Who had started the one for the two bodies tied and bound to the pyres outside? 

The maid set down a tray of food on the lone chair in the corner of the room, giving them some semblance of privacy with her head lowered to the ground and her gaze never meeting theirs. “I do not know specifics, but I know a cousin of the king betrayed him. Geneva Dunsany lost her virtue to a Protestant Lord from Wales. The king wanted the seed of heresy burned out.” 

Claire reeled back and gripped tightly to the post of the bed, plonking herself down on the edge by Mary. “She was-?” They wouldn’t dare do that to someone with child. Or would they?

“No, her guards caught them just yesterday. There was blood on the sheets. There was no time for her to fall ill with child yet.” 

Were Jamie and her saved suspicion themselves due to the agony resulting from a different affair? Had anyone heard tell of their sin would they too? 

No. They were both Catholic. Claire may have been stoned, or sent to a convent, or stoned on her way to the convent, but she would have never suffered such a punishment. Not even Lord Randall had that sort of influence within the court. 

Elizabeth announced her departure and it was just the three of them again, staring into the open flames as if in a trance. 

“Did you know there were negotiations to have her betrothed to your Lord Fraser?” 

The panic still gripped her, even as sure as she was in the solid ground that held them up together. “No. He wouldn’t. ” 

“That was exactly Lady Dunsany’s problem, he refused every offer.” 

Mary’s voice was clear and steady, shocking both her friends to snap their fire induced daze to look back at her. “Well, no point in thinking of it now Claire.” 

“Yes, you’re right Mary.” Claire left in a storm of skirts out of the room, not even mustering up a quiet squeak of a goodbye. 

That night she huddled into Jamie’s room, unable to stop the intermittent shaking of her body. It was shameful really, what worried her the most. Her fear was not based on the residual effects of the execution, but on something else. She was afraid of losing him. 

***

The weeks and months all blurred together into one constant: Jamie. She would rise with the thought of him in the morning, or her particular favourite, rise with more than just mere thought, and fall asleep with his name on her lips. 

They kissed, made love, consumed each other, and learned each other’s minds and bodies in almost every spot of the palace. Hidden alcoves, hedges, battlements of a practically abandoned section of the palace walls, a library, the kitchens, the barns, paddocks, even up in a tree once somehow. Most of the time Claire was unable to recall the place but she could recall how she felt and what Jamie had done to her vividly. 

But now that was going to be ripped away. It was nearly springtime now, and travel would be much more feasible. He needed to return to Scotland so that they could marry, or at the very least abscond to some far off land somewhere. 

It couldn’t be real. What if he left and all trace of him disappeared? That she could no longer feel his lingering touch? 

But Jamie made sure that she wouldn’t worry over that aspect at least. Placing a newly carved busk into her hand on their last night spent together, she thanked him with tears in her eyes. His name in its entirety was etched into the fine wood, and the symbols of the Fraser crest dotted the edges of it. Her green silk kerchief seemed a suitable trade for it. Jamie leaned over her body to his pants discarded on the floor, and slipped it into the sporran attached to his belt. He could hold the fabric close to his chest underneath his clothes, but now he hadn’t a stitch of it on him. He thanked her as well. And then they both thanked each other, with the movement of their bodies united.  

***

Claire hunched over her chamberpot, cursing the fatigue that washed over her muscles as she completed her task. Dressed in nothing, her skin was exposed to the late winter chill, causing gooseflesh to dot her skin. A stray curl fell down from its confinement, tickling her cheek with each breath. Huffing it out of the way, she deepened her squat and brought the bowl between her thighs. Louise’s instructions rang clearly through her mind, “use a bit of sponge dipped in vinegar, and stick it up your nethermouth, you won’t get a squeaker.”

She had religiously been following that advice for months now, ever since she had taken Jamie to her bed. Though it had been tedious, it was much better than quitting Jamie altogether; that just wouldn’t do at all.  

But she hadn’t bled yet. Her courses were always regular. She was so wrapped up in Jamie and his farewell the past few days she hadn't realised it. 

“Claire, a leannan , did ye need help wi’ yer laces?” 

Her voice trembled and her hands shook. “I- I think I’ll need your help with far more than just the laces Mrs. Fitz.”

Chapter Text

“Oh come here my darling!” Lady Beauchamp smothered her daughter in a hug, relieved at the sight of her after months of separation. Pulling back, she took stock of Claire, eyes roving over every inch of her, satisfied to find no injury. “I see you have stopped your peckish ways. You used to be so skinny.” Her mother reached forward and pinched the fat of her child’s stomach, unaware that her grandchild was housed under it. “I’m glad the months have given you a proper appetite. Lord Randall will surely appreciate a woman with a figure more suitable for childbearing.” 

Claire choked on her words in panic, rushing to respond to wash away the paranoia: either hers or her mother’s “Thank you, my lady; the fare has been most enjoyable in your absence. How is the queen? How was the journey?” 

Lady Beauchamp glanced around the space of Claire’s room and leaned forward to speak in hushed tones, though no other being was in sight, not even her hounds. “I fear my daughter, that it will not be long. Lord Beauchamp will be escorting us swiftly towards our estate in France. The queen has granted us leave. We do not wish to be caught up, should complications arise.” Neither needed to name it, the topic was as common as the noon day meals within the court in whispers and fleeting words: Queen Mary would die, and soon. “Which is why we must advance your marriage to the Earl Oxenford and with haste. The wedding is still set for Autumn this year, but your father wishes to visit Lord Randall’s estate beforehand to firmly secure the business negotiations of your union.” The wiry woman beamed, pride taking over her. “Think of it, my child, you will see your future home, and even live in it for a time.” 

Claire was thinking of it, and just merely the thought of it made her nauseous. 

“Where is Lord Beauchamp now, my lady?”  

“He has gone ahead.” Juliette Beauchamp leaned forward, guarding her speech with her hand and winked with eyes crinkled with crow’s feet, as if to bring her daughter into some private jest, just for the two of them. “Some talk is not suitable for us ladies to hear. It would just confuse and bore us.” 

“Well I wish to petition again for my lord to agree upon a different match.” Claire’s hand twitched to feel her stomach but she restrained herself; it was so naturally ingrained into the muscles of her arm already, only knowing the truth of it two weeks prior. 

Juliette sneered, venom infecting her face as she gripped Claire’s hands to almost the point of pain. “Oh do not tell me it is about that lout of a boy.” 

“Mother, he is older than me and he is a man.” Claire shook her mother’s hands off of her and sprung up from where they were sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Her mother followed suit mere seconds later, grabbing her arms in a vice like grip once more. “Barely, and please tell me you do not still have notions about him. If you have made designs on him, he will leave once your innocence is stolen. I can assure you that. You are but a conquest to men my dear, and you mustn't give into such temptations. Use that conquest to your advantage.” 

Well, it was true in a way. He had left her. But no, he wouldn’t do that. She knew him. He was returning. For both of them. He just didn’t know it was the two of them quite yet.

“No, he loves me. He’ll marry me and take care of me.” She shook her head as if to reassure herself, looking towards the vanity that housed her gifted leather journal, and breathing heavily, to bring back consciously the feeling of the stiff support of the busk on top of her breasts. 

Her mother’s neck stiffened and she cleared her throat. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly and she sighed, as if the world’s largest inconvenience had landed on her shoulders. That was definitely not a good thing to reveal. Claire could feel the moment the air in the room changed, it hitched and buzzed into alarm. 

“Your father and I allowed your small rebellion. Infatuation is typically harmless. But now that has infested your mind. I’ll hear no more of it Claire, and we are leaving early for Hedingham Castle. Tomorrow.” 

There was no way she could argue with her mother now that she had returned. If she was dragged out to the carriage by ear by her mother, the shame would linger as long as the memory of the residents of the court, and that memory usually lasted for more than just one lifetime. She couldn’t escape and meet up with Jamie either, she would have no knowledge to navigate her properly. Especially such a country that was virtually unknown to her. There was also the fact that she would be a woman alone on stretches of path miles away from civilisation. No woman would survive that unscathed, especially one in her condition. 

“Very well. I shall have Mrs. Fitz and Suzzette prepare my trunk.” 

Her mother stood elegantly from her perch on the bed, smoothing out her skirts. She reached out towards her daughter’s face and stroked her cheek with her thumb. “It is your duty, my darling. I know you’ll make the right choice. Just as I did with your father.” 

Lady Beauchamp left Claire’s chambers in a swish of deep red skirts. 

***

She had expected more from an Earl.

It was rather, well, small.

Squinting at the freshly tilled landscape, she could spot a small box hidden by a wall of imported coniferous trees. The structure was the farthest from foreboding, but it did look suffocating all the same. So used to the grandeur of Hampton Court and her family’s château in France, Claire was underwhelmed, which seemed to be the case in most aspects of the Earl de Vere. 

“It’s rather…quaint darling.” Lady Beauchamp smiled at her daughter, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Quite so.” Claire hummed and adjusted the new French Hood atop her hairline, itching to take it off in her chambers and sleep. 

Mrs. Fitz was out sitting with the coachman, so she had no buffer for potential conversation, suspicion, or critiques of even the smallest details that would arise. But, she need not worry. Her mother was particularly silent during the journey. 

They should have realised something wasn’t quite right straight away as their horses trotted into the circular path leading up to the sturdy stone building. No servants lingered about to leisurely complete their outdoor tasks on the day before Sunday. It was near summer, the time when every parcel of land was abuzz with activity, preparing crops and livestock for the growing season. The plots of farming land would have already been sown with seeds, and the ground would have been dotted by the small sprouts of plants squirming towards beams of light, but the only movement around was the heavy beat of mosquito wings and swarms of gnats buzzing, weighed down by the oppressive summer heat.  

The carriage jolted to a stop, nearly sending its occupants flying from their seats. Two young boys surrounded it, circling like vultures. The small pouch of coins Claire held was no skin off her back, but to her mother, pride was everything. A flash of silver caught her eyes and she looked down to see the white-knuckled grip her Lady Beauchamp had on her small dagger. 

“Halt! I warn thee! This place is accursed.” The child in rags halfheartedly waved towards the carriage. “Make haste. Away.”

A giant sneeze echoed from the other boy. Claire’s mother grit her teeth and stared him down, as if his very existence offended her. 

“Boy. There is to be a wedding here Sunday the next. You will not impede on our journey.” 

“The Lord and his guest have been taken by smallpox, milady.” Claire shuffled further away from the window that the boys were near and tried to subtly cover her face with her sleeve. She would be all for helping the poor children if she did not have her own to worry about.

Lady Beauchamp was unfazed by the mention of said illness however. “And the Earl refuses to accept us?”

“No, milady, there are quarters prepared for your arrival, and provisions set aside, but he pleads for you to turn away at once. It would not do well for his bride to fall ill so soon to the wedding day.” It was only then that her earlier words registered in Claire’s mind: wedding, Sunday the next. No that simply could not happen, not while there was still breath in her lungs. 

“Listen here, boy, you will tell my husband and Lord Randall-” 

Claire reached across her seat and sunk her nails into the fabric of her mother’s sleeve. “No, my lady, you are going to tell me of this wedding he speaks of.” 

“Darling,” her mother sneered, “you have always been rather disagreeable and we needed this match to be complete before you could ruin it with that stable boy of yours. You were seen holding hands in the gardens with no chaperone. Do I need to tell you how dangerous that can be to you? Not to mention to your father and I.”  

“He’ll be dead soon anyway! He’s practically a walking corpse mother! Please.” Tears pricked the corner of Claire’s eyes, she was desperate to escape, to leave, to do anything to manipulate her mother, like a cornered feral dog. A steady stream of tears left tracks all down her cheeks.

“You brought this on yourself. I am sorry Claire.” Juliette lifted her daughter’s chin, gently guiding her to look at her face. She wiped away the tears and carefully pushed back a curl that had escaped her French hood. “Mon bébé. I do pray the man dies soon in your marriage, after you have given him a son. I love you so very much. I need you to understand I’m only doing what’s in your best interest. It’s a cruel world for us, darling, and we need men who we can use for our best interests. And this Earl is… easily that.” 

The carriage carried on at the click of the coachman’s tongue, and the two occupants carried on in the muffled silence of the velvet walls. 

***

“So ye see lass, what we want to do is wrap around this piece like so.” Mrs. Fitz reached behind Claire’s back in an awkward hug of sorts, demonstrating how to wrap the supportive fabric around her torso. Expertly looping the pieces together and pinning everything, Mrs. Fitz sat back to judge her work. It would help support Claire’s back as her stomach grew but hopefully also conveniently lessen the sight of it. “But ye need not worry it’s far too soon to be showing much now, well on your frame anyways. Nothing that skirts can’t cover.” 

Mrs. Fitz was sitting on a wooden chair, easier for her joints she said, before Claire, who sat on the edge of the bed in her guest chambers. “And he won’t be squished inside that way?” 

“Of course not, dear. I wouldn’t let anything harm your wean.” 

“I can’t thank you enough Mrs. Fitz. I-” 

“Och, lass, we’ve been through too much already my dear, I think ‘tis only right ye should call me Glenna. And there’s no need tae thank me, I will always stand with you. I have a mind that Suzette would say the same thing tae you as well, if she were here.” 

Claire nodded solemnly to the matriarch, the reality of everything finally settling in. 

The question had been avoided initially, Claire skirting around the topic when she went to Glenna frantically and sobbed to her about her physical predicament. Glenna had calmed her down with short murmurs of Gàidhlig, and listened to Claire as her speech finally turned coherent. They had tested it with the wheat and barley seeds to confirm what they already knew to be true. And sure enough, the seeds sprouted quickly. All she offered were options, and advice, seeing the lass was not in a fit state to discuss anything further. But of course her lady’s maid was naturally curious, and she couldn’t keep the question out of her mouth for too long. And this quarantine was a perfect window to weasel her way into her affairs. 

“Will ye no’ at least tell us how you got into this mess then?” Glenna’s expression steeled and she rubbed Claire’s arm soothingly. “Did some man force himself upon you?” She grit her teeth, horrified even at the notion. 

“No!” Claire’s hand reached to the back of her neck free from a hood and tugged on the roots of curls there. “He- I actually encouraged it.”

Glenna’s eyebrow rose, probing for more information, without pushing too far. Glenna knew her mistress had nightly visitor’s practically every night, and sometimes she slipped out in the wee hours of the morning, thinking herself a master of disguise. She would have made for a very poor maid if she hadn’t noticed anything while she was doing her mistress’ laundry, especially that first night. But the signs had disappeared for months now, coinciding conveniently with one lord’s departure. The lady’s maid had an inkling of what was occurring and with whom but never vocally brought it into the universe, waiting for the eventual truth straight from the source. 

“Well Jamie and I, we love each other.” That was it. The simplest explanation. But also the simplest truth of her heart as well. If everything of her was scraped down to its last layer, her body, her soul, and her memories, that truth would be all that was left. 

“Anyone would be blind not to see it. I see yer longing when you think no one is paying any mind to you.” 

“Louise had said, well he had been-” She blushed, biting the inside of her cheek. “After the first few times he would leave me and well-” Flustered, she circled her hands in front of her, unsure of where to rest them. “You know he would, would, elsewhere. And I was using vinegar as well, watching the moon’s cycles.”

“I have twelve bairns myself lass, I ken that way is never perfect.” Glenna patted her knee and smiled in reassurance. “Why’d ye no’ just come to me for advice on such matters?” 

Claire brought her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on them. “I don’t know. I was…My mind was-”

“Too wrapped up in yer lad.” Claire nodded and her cheeks flushed for what seemed the thousandth time that night. 

Glenna hummed and went back to her knitting, feeling the lull in the conversation slowly settling. Leaning back into the bed, with her arms supporting her up at an angle, Claire looked down at her stomach. Nothing was visible yet really, but the thought of Jamie’s child sheltered and growing made her heart swell. This time, she didn’t ignore her impulse to reach out and rub soothing circles over the fabric of her shift. She was safe here, with Glenna and her son her only companions. Her mother was adamant in her demands of staying with her father, sickness and all. But sooner or later, they would have to leave their cosy retreat in the small guest chamber cut off in a separate wing from the rest of the house. Or even worse, that the illness may spread to them both. She was about four months gone, at Glenna’s estimations, and a sickness like that would be devastating. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem to matter now. For all we know we may die of the pox tomorrow.” 

A heavy silence fell over the room, and only the crackle and pop of the fire wood reached their ears. Glenna discarded the small blanket she was knitting and placed it on the table near her. With a heavy sigh, her joints creaked as she stood up, and she plodded with sturdy, steady thuds to plop down on the bed with Claire. She forced Claire’s chin up with her stocky hand and levelled her with an earnestness so fierce it shocked her. 

“Don’t say such things Claire. You and your bairn are braw wee things. And ‘asides, we were rushed away into this crammed chamber before we could even come in contact wi’ anyone.” A dog barked outside, yipping at the bright moon under the darkened spring evening. “The new carriage and footmen will come in due haste, and by the time they arrive the incubation period shall already be over for us.”

The matron softly wrapped her arms around Claire’s shoulders, esconsing the young girl in a warm embrace. It was an awkward angle for Claire to bend down at considering the difference in height, but she barely noticed. The comfort of trust and love surrounded her in the form of a hug and her eyes soon wetted over with tears. Glenna smoothed down the curls that rested atop Claire’s head that rested on her chest

Claire’s lip wobbled. “I just want Jamie.” The words fell off into almost complete silence at the end of the sentence; it had become too difficult for her to bear. 

“Shhh. Let it all out lass.” Claire hiccuped into Glenna’s shoulder. “That’s right, let it all go.” 
 
Soft words of Gàidhlig travelled to her ears. It sounded like Jamie. It sounded like home. 

***

“Some lasses have a twisted womb, the bairn probably doesna wish to peek his head out 
straight away because of it. Perhaps it’s just that the wee lad is shy.”

 The fire was recently stoked by one of the castle’s male servants, and the windows were thrown open to let the breeze in to chase away the illness. The quiet hum of insects outside and the sticky heat of the late summer sun had Claire laying on her bed only in her chemise. She wanted to pass out at the thought of being deprived of shade in this weather. Clouded as her brain was from the heavy threat of sleep over her, it took her a moment to process what Mrs. Fitz had told her. 

“Twisted! Glenna is my baby alright?” Panic overtook Claire and images of various baby-sized torture chambers and discombobulated messes of limbs inside of her had her heart race and breath shorten irrationally.

Glenna squatted down on the bed beside her and took Claire’s hands in a soft and reassuring grip. “Och, dinna fash. Tis’ only that yer bairn is protected further back and up inside of you. Like when some folk have loose earlobes and others don’t. All women are built different from each other.” 

Glenna rose from the bed and started tucking away Claire’s clothes into her trunk. It wasn’t much, their stay having only been little over three weeks, but it was certainly enough time to go through each combination of clothing at least two times. 

“Who knows, mebbe you’ll go to sleep one night and wake up to find ye’ve popped to the size o’ a giant pumpkin.” 

Claire twisted her lips at that thought. She didn’t want to become the size of a giant broodmare, but if it meant a sign that her son was not only alive but thriving, she’d gladly take it. That was what she’d probably become anyway if she did marry Randall, a broodmare, and nothing more. Which was never going to happen. She wouldn’t settle like her parents had.   

“Do you think I’ll be like my mother? I don’t want my children to have a mother like her.” She knew she could share anything with Mrs. Fitz; the matron had been a major part of her life since she was ten but in the last few months Claire felt she had become a major part of herself. Perhaps a grandmother. She’d never had one. 

“Children, is it?” Glenna eyed Claire with a meaningful look and grinned.

Claire shook her head and let out a short breath of laughter. “Well, I’d like him to have a sibling or two so yes, children.” 

“Ye’ll do jes’ fine lass. I ken you will. Wi’ ye and yer lad Jamie they’ll want fer nothing.” 

“We just have to get through these terrible days of travelling to meet him.” Rolling her eyes, Claire plopped her face down in her pillow. “Hopefully he’ll be there by then.” 

Claire slightly jolted when she felt the hand on her shoulder, but relaxed when it started rubbing soothing patterns into her back. “He will. Have faith lass.” 

A loud knock on the door brought them out of their laze in the summer heat. The footmen had arrived. Claire and Mrs. Fitz would leave that afternoon, her parents and the Earl leaving soon after them. To limit the possible spread, the three of them had to be squeezed into a carriage together without her. Claire had never before been as grateful for smallpox as she had been in that moment.  

***

Before she could even shift her weight into her left stirrup to dismount from the horse she had been loaned to ride alongside the carriage home, a pair of large hands grabbed at her waist and tugged her from the horse. The small shriek that escaped her throat was swallowed by Jamie’s lips and the racing of her heart calmed at his very presence. 

“Oh Claire.” Jamie sighed and hungrily kissed her again, only pulling apart to let her breathe. “I have missed you so.”

The picture of Jamie was blurred by her tears but she would recognise him anywhere in the world, blind and deaf, she would still feel him. “And I you.” 

Their kisses were sloppy from their relieved tears and the inevitable snot that accompanied it, but neither cared enough to notice, they were engulfed by each other. When they had their fill, which they never would be satisfied with, they pulled back to look at each other, to compare the image they had seared into their brain of each other and compare it with the person that stood in front of each other, months past. Jamie placed his hand on Claire’s cheek and let out a slight laugh; it was an unbelievable sight to see, what he had yearned for for months. He had been home for his months away from her in Scotland, but his home wasn’t with him.

Claire didn’t want to interrupt the moment but Jamie deserved to know. Needed to know at the very soonest possible time. 

“What’s wrong mo nighean? Ye’re shaking.” 

She hadn’t realised as they were both too wrapped up in each other to care about anyone else, but they were close to a highly trafficked part of the palace. Not too close to see anyone, but close enough that her paranoia flared at the thought. “Not here.” 

“I’m tired of all the lies mo chridhe. I dinna wish to hide from everyone we know.”

She glanced around the raised beds of flowers surrounding them, satisfied enough that no one was within earshot. Her face beamed like the sun and Jamie followed it eagerly, happy to share in what little light she deemed fit to share of herself. “Jamie, I’m with child.” 

“Gast’ air fad!” Jamie’s eyes flicked back and forth as he made sense of what she was saying. “But I- we dinna-“ 

“I know, but Mrs. Fitz informed me that is not always assured to work.” Her cheeks reddened in memory of their first very mortifying conversation about it. 

“Ah Dhia! A bairn Claire!” His hand zeroed in on her stomach like a hawk after its prey. “Oh!” She didn’t think it was possible but his eyes lit up with even more childlike wonderment as he finally felt the proof of their child. 

Glenna had been right. Her stomach virtually popped that morning and she was cursing the gravitational consequences of it. Her centre of gravity had never felt so strange before and she felt miserable but at the same time indescribably giddy whenever she looked down. 

“How could I not ken right away? I mean he’s right there staring at me.” Jamie sniffed again, clearing his nose of tears. “And ye- Ye’re sae lovely and beautiful,” he paused, an impish grin that could rival that of Fergus’ himself flashing across his face, “and no’ to mention yer arse is exceptionally fat-” He was cut short by a slap to his arm. 

“Fat it may be.” Claire couldn’t keep the glare on her face for too long and smiled along with him. “But you’re the one who did this to me James Fraser.” 

“Oh, aye.” Jamie’s eyes darkened at the reminder of it and his mouth turned up into a smirk. “Aye, I did that tae you.” 

All traces of humour vanished from their lips and he leaned down to take hold of her bottom lip. 

“Come, mo sorcha.” Jamie held out his hand as if to help pull her along but thought better of it, instead reaching down near her knees to swoop her up in his arms. Claire snuggled close to his chest and revelled in the feel of his neck underneath her hands. 

It wasn’t far where he was taking her, and it had become one of their favourite spots in the months they had spent together learning each other. The grass lawn was surrounded by tall rectangular hedges on all sides and covered in raised beds of flowers of every colour in the rainbow. There was only one entrance, a tiny little hole through the wall of hedges, and it allowed for almost complete privacy. 

Jamie laid her on the grass by the bed of forget-me-nots that had grown and entangled with bits of heather. A personal touch of Claire and him in the garden. The bed would have gone empty during the summer had it not been for them hunting down the seeds months before. It was one of the ones furthest from the fountain at the centre. 

They didn’t bother with the layers like they would usually do in their typical unhurried manner here. Claire spread her legs, fumbling with her skirts frantically. Their lips never left each other during the mad dash to rid themselves of the pesky obstacles that dare stop them. Her stomacher and stays had been messily untied during the rush and her breasts were exposed to the rare cool summer breeze making her shiver with gooseflesh covering every inch of her skin. His mouth moved from her lips to her nipple which was much darker and fuller than he remembered. Jamie lifted his kilt quickly and sunk deep inside her. He needed every inch of her, every inch of her skin, and every inch inside of her. He needed to possess her and he needed her to possess him with just as much ferocity. 

Releasing the fabric surrounding their hips from his hands, he moved them to her wrists, pinning her hands to the soft grass below. Blades of grass clung to Claire’s hair and her white sleeves were stained beyond Suzette’s capabilities. Their bodies rocked back and forth but their eyes never moved from where they anchored on each other. They finished quickly and what they lacked in duration they certainly made up in intensity. 

Jamie rolled them over, laying on his back and bringing Claire up to curl on his chest. He arranged her skirts down by her feet again for some semblance of dignity and Claire let the dead weight of her body crush his chest from the fatigue of the past few days travelling. Her pointer finger mindlessly traced circles in the small bit of exposed skin where his neck and shoulders met. 

“My brother will be the ambassador again. The Queen has agreed to it. We’ll be home at Lallybroch soon mo ghraidh.” Jamie pulled a blade of grass from her hair and brushed the curls above her ear. 

Jamie slipped the blade of grass over her finger on her right hand. “Soon, I will turn this into silver or gold, whichever suits ye best Sassenach. I promise.” He brushed back a stray hair that had fallen in front of her face and smiled. 

“Are you a conjurer then? Turning grass into gold?” She was fit to burst from all the joy
and the happiness, from the very sense of completion she felt within her heart. 

“Aye, lass. For you I’d be anything.” 

“Charmer.” Her eyelids fluttered closed and she kissed his breastbone. “That’s what you
are. A charmer.” 

A short, gawky man, his face the twin of his cousin’s, swivelled away from his spot at the hedge’s end; he had seen all he needed to see. 

Chapter Text

Late August 1557

Jamie had escorted Claire back to her chambers where she was met with a teary welcome from Suzette. Louise and Mary soon followed and Claire’s ears rang from all the squeals. They were all saddened to hear of her departure, so soon after having just gotten her back in their company. But, the grim look on her face quieted their complaints. And the shift of her stomach underneath the undergarments she was only clothed in silenced them entirely. Louise and Suzette lived and breathed the whispers and rumours of the court, but not when it endangered one of their closest friends. 

The entire time her thoughts were off in the clouds, off away with her Jamie as everyone else called him. Hers . They had only just reunited and the ache of him returned in full force like a cannon at her chest after the complete high thrill of having him entirely hours before. There were some things he needed to take care of at the stables and down in the kitchens in the servants quarters. But it had been hours and she wasn’t one for patience in these times. Her body demanded food and sleep and most importantly Jamie. Maybe she’d find all three in the kitchens.

“Lord Randall.” Claire halted in her steps instantly, probably burning holes through the soles of her shoes with the speed. “What a surprise.” 

It really was a surprise. She had surmised her parents and his arrival would be delayed by their slow recovery. 

“I pushed my horse hard, through, night and day to return to you. You didn’t think I would be eager to see my bride after months of isolation?” 

“I’m glad to see you well, my lord.” Large marks mottled his skin, his clammy brow was lined with sweat, and he was missing one more tooth than the last time she had seen him: aftermath of the pox. 

“And you my darling, you look absolutely radiant .” His smile took up all the space on his face that his small mouth was able to, crinkling his eyes but never changing the dull sheen of their lens. “Come here my dear I wish to hold you. A man is weary after days on horseback.” 

His arms were open wide, expectant. 

She was utterly perplexed; he had never been brave enough to be this close to her, especially unaccompanied. But she couldn’t refuse him either. Claire cautiously toed the few steps of stone floor that separated them and stiffened as his arms wrapped securely around her. She was nearly as tall as him, so had to turn her head sideways to spurr his lips from touching even remotely close to the skin near hers. His breath came out jagged and rancid against her ear, which hovered inches from his mouth. He didn’t care for her reluctance to embrace her betrothed, and pressed his hand against her head to press it flush against his mouth. 

Francis whispered sharply into Claire’s ear. “You snivelling whore. You don’t think everyone knows by now?” 

“I beg pardon, my lord?” Claire pulled away but his grip tightened around her waist. 

“Don’t act all innocent. You are a witch in disguise.” Francis’ hand travelled from the small of her back to trace circles over her stomach, sending Claire’s heart plummeting down to her feet. “My cousin spotted you in the garden with your lover .” His teeth gritted against the last sandy word. 

“Now I could spread the truth that the Scottish brute raped you and I accepted you back into my arms and good graces as a loyal husband ought to. He would sadly die and-” Claire felt something sharp press up against her side, the object and his movements concealed by her skirts. “-your bastard with him, but we could put the past behind us; our future is all that matters.” 

Her mouth was too dry to even voice her displeasure and complete disgust at the man holding her captive. She wouldn’t let him harm her baby. Never in her life would she allow anyone to. Her head flashed up to meet with his and her lips trapped his. It tasted metallic from sores unseen and it was all she could do not to gag immediately. 

His arms relaxed around her, his eyebrows shooting straight up on his forehead. The birds stopped chirping around him, and the sun stopped beating its harsh rays against his skin. It was pure bliss. Yes, he would forgive her slights. 

Pain shot straight through the flesh of his lip like a burst of lightning and he stumbled back, recoiling from the one who caused it. She was feet away off on the gravel, out from under the arched cover of the open hall, hunched over and spewing spit out of her mouth. 

His hand darted instinctively to his injured flesh and he pressed down to quell the bleeding. “You bitch!” 

Claire’s fingers scraped against the surface of her tongue hysterically. Francis would not let this insult pass without consequence. Once the initial sting faded to a dull throb he smoothed out his waistcoat and pantaloons. Holding her stomach, trying to keep its contents from spilling out, she was too distracted to notice he had returned to her side once more. 

Raising his hand high above Claire’s face, his momentum was cut short by another presence. “Baron de Vere.” 

“It is Baron, is it not?”

“Earl.” Francis spat out his blood into a muddy puddle by his foot.   

Jamie nodded his head mimicking a bow and pressed Claire close to his chest; there was practically not even air between their skin. “Have a lovely evening, Viscount Oxford.” 

The Scottish bastard had his betrothed in hand, and spirited her away with the smuggest grin on the planet attached to his bobble head, leaving Francis alone and fuming. 

***

Claire sealed the letter, and her goodbye with a kiss and passed it off into a copper tray for one of the servants to stumble upon later. There was no need to hide her advancing pregnancy on this journey; Jamie would be the only one there, and he obviously was past the point of scandal, being involved in the very thick of it himself. So, Claire folded the contraptions Glenna and Suzette had fashioned with their skilled hands to tuck and smooth down the roundness of her stomach. She would miss them terribly. As she would her parents, no matter how differing their wishes were. 

But, they would meet again. Of that she was certain. Glenna and Suzette would flock to her when it would be safe enough. Her mother and father would most likely be reluctant to seek out their daughter again after how much shame she had placed upon their family once the truth inevitably came out. Yet, she knew they could move past that; they only had one daughter, and one grandchild on the way. She wanted them to meet. To see her infant son in the arms that comforted her countless times before. 

Her eyes flicked over to rich gold fabric splayed out on her bed. Sure, it was impractical for such a journey, but they could really only carry the clothes on their back in their effort to make haste. And this was the dress she wanted to marry in. With fine embellishments made up of fine gold thread, a brilliant shade of rich green making up the drapes of the sleeves, and enough room for her stomach for the time being. She would absolutely not be marrying Jamie with one of those frivolous English hoods that were in fashion that season. He loved her curly wig and she wouldn’t deprive him of that. Once they arrived at Lallybroch, the dress would be altered, the baby arrived. She would prefer to be married before the baby made its entrance into the world, but she wouldn’t mind if it was later. For in her mind they were already connected and pledged to one another, far more than a marriage vow could convey. 

Delicately, she laced up the bodice and skirts of her dress. The laces barely reached together, but she forced them to work for her. She had nothing she wanted to bring, not sentimental attachments. Those were all found in the living, breathing man preparing their horse in the stables. And his child that she carried. The dress was the only form of vanity she would allow herself. For all the rest, she knew Jamie would provide. Even if he couldn’t, she would simply be happy with his presence. She looked down at the swell of her belly with a watery smile and held the reassuring weight.

“He’s going to take such good care of us lovey. You are so loved.” She sniffled. “I know things right now may seem a little scary, but trust that we will always see you safe and loved. Your father is taking us home now. He’s a good man, a great leader, and he has a heart so full of love sometimes I don’t understand how he doesn’t sink down to the earth.” 

“Who does Sassenach?” 

He breezed through the door, the scent of the stables clinging to him and pulled her back to his chest. His hand joined hers and he bent his neck to burrow into the curls hanging loose by her neck. 

“You, silly.” She rolled her eyes and grinned. “I’m talking to him about his ignoramus of a father.” 

She swayed in his arms and hummed in contentment. Her hands snuggled strong arms closer around her waist. She could stay like this forever, but she knew they didn’t have the luxury of time. 

“We must leave now.” Jamie said, sensing her thoughts. 

“Yes.” She sighed resignedly and turned around to bury her face in his chest. 

“Donas is ready. He’ll be the quickest, even with all the extra weight.” Claire slapped his chest at the barb and held back the snort that was bound to be released. 

“I will ignore that for your own livelihood.” 

“Aye, ye are a scary wee thing are ye no? Sometimes at night I’m afeart my baws will vanish come the morrow.” 

Something nudged Jamie’s thigh, interrupting his train of thought. It was hesitant and fleeted away quickly. Claire and Jamie both paused, staring down between them, holding their breath. Claire brought his hand up, expecting her little one not to stay quiet from all the excitement. It happened again, more deliberately and Jamie gasped. 

“Was that?” She nodded vigorously, tears blurring her vision. 

“He wants to say hello.” 

Jamie let out a short burst of laughter at her confirmation and soon they were both a crying, bumbling mess. He knelt down and peppered little kisses on almost every inch of the fabric of her dress surrounding her stomach. They didn’t have much time, but they wanted to savour every small amount they were granted. 

“Hallo wee’un. It’s me, yer da.” He lightly stroked the gold fabric which acted as a barrier to his child from the outside world. “I canna wait to meet you.”  

***

“Jamie I’m sorry but I really do have to go again.” 

“Mo nighean, jes’ one more stretch and we’ll be at the kirk where Fergus and Murtagh plan to meet us. Are you sure ye canna jes’... hold on?” 

“ James , I’m perfectly sure I ‘canna jes’ hold on’ with your giant offspring sitting his giant arse straight onto my bladder.” Jamie tightened his healthy grip on the aforementioned bit of flesh on Claire and grunted; he was upset with his past self that had already gotten the first handful of it during the ride on horseback for he couldn’t in that moment feel the full extent of grasping it entirely. 

“You’re the one wi’ a giant arse Sassenach. He gets it from you. ” 

Claire turned her upper body in the saddle to glare back at Jamie. Her narrowed eyes successfully shut him up momentarily but the small twitch in his cheek didn’t convince her of his repenting nature. Jamie dismounted smoothly, which was more of a glide and fraction of time where he effortlessly floated in the very air itself, free from the pressure of earth’s gravity. They had been riding for hours now, through the rolling country hills and small patchwork of forest that acted as barriers between each patch of tilled land. She had never travelled so far simply on a horse’s back before and she loved it. A carriage was the majority of the time cramped and hard to peek out of to see the full scope of scenery. They only rode Donas because the other horses Jamie owned were back with Murtagh and Fergus, and simply weren’t quick nor strong enough for the task at hand, already exhausted from a nearly month of nonstop travel. If they stole a horse from the royal stables the hounds would be unleashed on them before they even had the thought of riding one of them formed in their minds. 

“Not too far, lass.” He reminded her for the third time that day. 

Claire rolled her eyes. While she loved Jamie, she also loved privacy . Which was certain not to occur while they were still travelling to and through Scotland. He did provide her some dignity by pretending to swivel his head during his scan of their surroundings just out of sight of her. But still, she didn’t like that through his false pretences he could still very clearly hear her. 

She huffed. “Hands over your ears.” 

Jamie adjusted the saddle and stirrups, the contraptions having been jostled during their almost four hour journey riding, and pretended to be extremely interested in one particular buckle. 

“Ye ken how to order a man about Sassenach.” Jamie let out a Scottish noise that Claire couldn’t even begin to decipher. 

The sun had set several minutes ago but the sky was still desperately clinging to the red and pink clouds closest to the ground full of waving barley. “I said hands! On your ears!” 

Claire snuck up poorly on Jamie, trying to slap a sloppy kiss onto the back of his neck, which turned into a buss on his cheek as he turned and bent down towards her just in time. Which of course wasn’t enough for Jamie. He grabbed the curls near her neck and gently pressed his lips to hers. Every kiss he gave a piece of his soul to her and she to him. They both pulled apart before it got too heated that they wouldn’t be able to ever leave. 

“Jamie can I please ride behind you? There’s a crick in my neck from staying that way for so long and the pommel keeps pressing into my stomach.” 

While Claire hated to ask for help and let her condition make her appear to do that even more so, she really was tired, and the constant kicks to her stomach exactly where the saddle dug into it convinced her that her son was not happy with that particular nuisance. 

Jamie squinted his eyes up at the horse and then back to her, sizing her up, taking extra care in sizing up a few particular points of her in his assessment. “O’ course, but I’ll need to get up first and hoist ye up from there.” 

He mounted the horse just as gracefully as he dismounted it before. Claire thought that it came so naturally to him his father probably popped his newborn son right onto a horse’s back. She knew it was four years old though, from what he had told her about her life. They would need to discuss that later; she shuddered at the thought of her own little baby on such a giant creature that could flatten him in an instant. Ten. Ten was the youngest age she would allow, with constant supervision. 

Jamie reached down and grabbed her under her oxters, easily lifting her up as if she were a puff of cotton and not a woman nearly six months gone. Her skirts got caught on some piece of the saddle and Jamie continued to tug her up to him, amused by the stubborn bit of fabric. Claire became equally involved in the struggle and laughed when she almost sent herself flying backwards off the horse altogether. The angle was impossible to lift it free without dismounting entirely, and she was too tired to put herself through that process again. Her arms felt like sludge and her legs felt stiff. Her arse was sore from the saddle and she felt irrationally giddy. Perhaps the lack of energy really was finally getting to her. 

The skirt finally gave way with a tear and she pressed herself to Jamie’s back, her chest pushing further into him with each huff of laughter contained in her lungs.   

“Ye ken. We can go through all of that over again and ye can jes’ sit wi’ yer backside to the pommel and face me instead.” 

Their noxious laughter floated up to his crouched position on the hill. 

Resting the pistol on the straight surface of his forearm, he aimed at the swine who had stolen what was rightfully his. Who had tainted her womb, her very soul was infested with him. His claim was sullied. The devil himself had entered his home.

Thanks to the many stops made by the pair due to Claire’s weak female body, Francis was able to follow behind with haste. The Scottish brute did have the advantage of a quicker, stronger horse, with greater stamina, but he finally was able to catch up with the pair. Slow and steady won the race. 

The Earl heard the audible click of the Scot below, urging his steed forward and aimed straight for the bastard’s head. The shot burst out and his ears rang with the smoke of gunpowder obscuring the view of his work. 

Claire heard the shot before she saw anything. Jamie’s back floated far from her mind and she watched the fuzzy mix of stars and moon dance around in a swirl. Jamie’s body slumped straight down out of the saddle and she gasped. Had he been shot?

“Claire!” A shrill voice squeaked. “Oh God Cla-” 

She couldn’t hear the thump, or see the body it belonged to, but she could feel the vibrations of it travel through the earth and down to her very bones. 

“Oh dear,” Claire looked down at the golden fabric over her stomach, which darkened into a deep crimson stain. That’s not good, Suzette will have to clean that. It will never be ready in time for the wedding.

She would have to tell Jamie that her legs were broken too, she couldn’t feel anything in them. Maybe he would grow her a pair of legs from the tree beside her. She snorted. Willow wood would absolutely never be durable enough to fashion a knee joint under her skin, it was too wavy.  

Jamie hacked through the flesh of Randall’s neck for the sixth time, pulling back to deliver one last blow to the bit hanging on by a tattered tendon and thinking better of it. Snapping the blade up through the man one last time, he flung the severed balls far away into the field of barley beside them. He would have gladly gutted every inch of the bastard, and strung up his head with his intestines on the nearest tree, were it not for his love crying out under the willow tree.  

He dashed to kneel beside her, finished with his last worldly duty. 

“Jamie.” Her voice was weak and her arm struggled to leave her side in search of his hand. Tears clouded her vision and she shook her head madly at the sudden clarity through her muddled thinking. “It’s not broken, I’m dying. I can’t feel it.” 

He kissed her knuckles, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’m here, mo cridhe.”  

“The- the baby.” Hot, thick streams of blood trickled down her thighs and she choked slightly on the blood wishing to travel up her throat. 

“I love you.” Her words came out in a gasp. 

His hand pressed down onto her stomach, soaking in the blood that was so desperate to leave her body. But he was desperate too, chasing it back inside with his palm. The bullet pierced her from behind, maybe she would no longer walk again but damn it, she could have lived if only it. But no, the bastard had angled his pistol just so that it ripped straight up through her in his poor aimed attack against him. If it weren’t for the pool of blood surrounding her head like a halo, matching the one around her body, he could’ve pretended the deep crimson was a poor design Suzette had created; she was always tinkering with those sorts of things. Claire’s head had whipped straight onto a jagged rock peeking out of the road when her body seized and jerked off of the horse’s back. One second she was as snug as one person could possibly be against his back, and the next there was nothing. 

“No, ye tell me that when we get tae Lallybroch. Ye’re going tae be jes’ fine Claire.” 

“Marry me, Jamie.” 

“Aye, we will, once ye’re braw again. Running circles around our bairn.” He couldn’t tear his eyes off the deep red stain consuming her side and chest. 

“Jamie please.” Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. 

“Now.” Her lip wobbled. 

Jamie punched the ground, hissing back the pain and tears as his knuckles landed against the rough surface of a rock. “God damn ye Sassenach, ye willna leave me. No’ now.” 

“I don’t want to. Please, Jamie, please.” 

“Aye.” The word came out as a strangled cry. 

He reached around his neck, untying the silk kerchief she had gifted him only mere months before, and wrapped it around their wrists. She followed the vows along with him, her stumbling over the unfamiliarity of it, and him over the repressed grief in that moment. He should be saying the words with complete love and adoration in his being, but instead he was blindsided by circumstance and couldn’t give Claire what she truly deserved. Jamie forced out each word over the lump that threatened to continually rise in his throat. At the conclusion of the almost pagan ritual, he leant down carefully to her lips, careful not to jostle her already writhing body. Shakily, he slid the ring the silversmith forged just before their departure, its metal bent from the ring to his home. A promise was a promise. A ring of gold, or at least silver. 

“So long as we both shall live.” 

“Longer than that.”

Pulling away with the taste of iron on his tongue, he glanced down to the most hauntingly beautiful smile displayed on her face. For a moment, they could pretend everything was right with the world. She almost seemed to glow in her happiness, were it not for the grimace that cut it short. Her breath became ragged and more blood spluttered up onto her lips. Her gaze never left his. Her arms weakly pulled his face down towards her, a silent request. He obliged and as the last cold breath escaped her body into his mouth, it felt as if her soul had travelled into his, seeking the only safety it knew. When her body fell limp into his arms, the newlywed widower reached down into his foe's coat. The silver gleamed under the moonlight, and he tipped the pistol's edge towards his body. He angled himself gently near his wife and child and joined them in suffocating numbness. 

God forgive him.

***

Murtagh could not force himself forward. He was suspended in that moment, time could not reach nor harm him, the birdsong vanished and the sky was a tightly woven patch of monotonous grey. He did not want to think of Claire, going unwitting to that death among the barley, her child heavy and peaceful in her womb. Nor the dark rusty blood drying in gouts and splashes among the fallen leaves of the willow tree. 

He could not bear to think on the man who was his son in all but blood. 

Leaves crunched behind him, shattering like the splinters of the souls rushing through the wind. Murtagh put his arm up to stop Fergus, shielding him from the sight of his lord and lady.

Chapter Text

If she had eyes, they would be of no use. Her ears were gone, for she couldn’t hear. She was everything. But nothing. As the world caved in around her and she caved within herself. Her mind froze in suspension, allowing nothing to pass in or leave. 

It was all she could think. All she could feel. Tethered to something, like a baby in the womb, being tugged along. Glimpses of her own time enveloped safely within a cocoon. But she could not form the words. They were just barely out of her grasp. She could feel the steady rhythm of her mother’s heart, the rhythm ingrained into offspring since the dawn of time. Safety. Love. Home.

But that home was lost. What she could always trust to fall back on was gone forever. She was utterly alone. Abandoned by all things. Not even her own thoughts would keep her company, the betrayal fresh and raw. She could not think, could not speak, could not feel. But yet she was. In the abyss of the quietude of it all. It had to be true. It had to. She couldn’t just not exist. She was . And then she felt the pull. The blood spilt from her once overflowing veins snapping her back to where it belonged. The drum of a different beat within her and all surrounding the dark amphitheatre of what was left. Her life’s blood transformed into something intangible. 

Jamie. 

The buzzing grew louder and louder, until it became unbearable and she felt her soul may explode from the sheer volume and ruthless force behind it all. Her daughter was there. Safely within herself and a part of herself before she could get where they needed to be. So innocent and pure and full of life. Her daughter. 

There was a tug on her wrist, and yes, she finally had a wrist once more, thank God. The ribbon she was handfast with was persistent. It was silky and so vibrantly green. The only thing she could see without looking, feel without touching, for all millennia, so naturally it was the most vibrant thing. A soft, rhythmic beat guided her through, as recognisable to her as her own heart. She was moving, but her body, her mind, her soul, was still. 

Her entire being was engulfed by the presence that was twin to her daughter’s. Light and life and pure energy. She wanted to cry and shout and break down into his arms but just basked in his embrace like he was the sun, because he was in that moment. The only sun to her ever. His finger brushed against the back of her neck and she felt the chill of it end at her waist. 

“I was so lost.” Claire sobbed. “We were so lost Jamie.” 

“Hush, mo leannan. I’m here now.” His chest pressed flat up against her as his arms wrapped tighter against her, sending shivers down her back. “There’s the three of us now.” 

They both laughed and sniffed away their tears. Jamie swayed back and forth with his wife and daughter in his arms, home for the first time. Home in the full sense of the word. They were always meant to be there. Dachaigh mo chridhe. 

“Lallybroch.” Jamie gathered her right hand in his, the metal of her ring shining off the light of them. “I had the blacksmith fashion it fer ye out o’ the key to Lallybroch, so ye’d ken the place is as much yours as mine. It’s ours. Forever.” 

“I love it Jamie.” Claire bounced the baby wrapped up on her chest. “I love you.” 

“Tha gaol agam ort.” 

Claire rested her head over his heart, hearing the soft beat of it, though now it didn’t serve its original purpose. She hummed into his warm skin and they swayed over the creaky floorboards in the attic. 

“Murtagh will meet us here. I’m sure o’ it. Along wi’ that gangly wee bastard Fergus.”

Jamie’s lips tickled over her curls. “And our daughter?” Jamie leaned his face over his daughter’s cheek, pressing a gentle kiss on the sleeping girl; her lips curled up at the touch. “What shall we name her Jamie?” 

There was only one possible name for her. What they held onto through the two hundred years, though it hadn’t felt that long, mere seconds in fact, and also much longer than that, almost an infinity of agonising endless searching for each other. 

Faith cooed up at her parents. 

*** 

They travelled from the home of their heart, from the home of his people and stood upon the hill. The stones sang out to them.

The wind did rise, and the sound of thunder rolled across the land.

They placed their hands upon the tallest stone, and travelled to a far, distant land. 

***

Lallybroch, Late September 1757 

Ellen’s ears perked up, focused on the attic. It was eerily silent as she went through a crate of letters from her ancestors. The Murray’s took pride in their meticulous work preserving the history of their family. A floorboard creaked to her right and her neck snapped to the source. She had put her bairns to bed earlier in the day to attempt laundry, but she should have known it would never work for long. James woke up belting his poor lungs out, complaining about his great auntie up in the attic. Of course she humoured his imagination and braved the “dark, spooky portal to hell”, to ease his mind. She would do anything, no matter how silly it may seem to her, for her son. So now she was sifting through papers to occupy her mind, and give her some peace before she had to venture down into the chaotic house of children and pets below. 

The same floorboard creaked again, but there was no wind, no creatures up in the room. It was deathly still. Again. It was taunting her. But something in her called her to its source. She lifted the lid of the trunk woven from willow bark fibre, its iron hinges groaning against the rust coating its surface. A letter fell from inside to the floor below it, the contents too overstuffed inside to hold themselves together. Ellen brought her lamp closer to the paper, careful to not get too close to the delicate material with the burning flame. It was as illuminated as she would be able to get it without venturing downstairs for daylight and she had to squint.  

If our plans shall prove untrue

The scrawl had blurred and disappeared from the years of use and weather, a harsh line through it where it had been folded and thumbed through numerous times, so much so that the crease in the letter had nearly been the centre of where it had torn apart. 

I am with child. We plan to be wed mother. I apologise for my deceit, but there appeared to be no other course of action I could live with. With your persistence in my union with the Earl, I knew you would not understand. If our plans should prove false, please lay me to rest with my heart. There is a burial ground he spoke of, where his mother and father rest as well. I want to be with him. Please, with all the requests and entreaties that you have spurned, please honour this one, I beseech you. Though if all goes well, it shall be many years to come until I shall have to think of such things again.

Mother, I am sorry for the harsh words I unjustly threw onto your ears. I do love you, infuriating as you may be. I feel our bond shall grow with the distance, perhaps the absence shall make our hearts fonder, and we surely will be unable to shout our differing opinions. It would be quite hard to replicate such a thing through letter, though I have no doubt you will try. 

Father, take care of mother, I cannot imagine what this excitement shall do to her nerves. I love you, mon gros ours. Your daughter, Claire Elizabeth B Fraser. 

A tear smudged the ink of the impression, obscuring the name starting with B. 

The candle blew out.

Chapter Text

The cramped and smelly streets on the outskirts of London quickly opened up into the small and rolling slopes of farmland and pastures as Jamie spurred Donas forward with an urgency that took hold over his veins and galloped his heart along like the thunderous gallop of the horse’s hooves beneath them. Claire had fallen asleep over an hour ago, lulled by the steady rhythm of the ride and the fact that the sheer exhaustion of her situation had finally caught up to her. She could rest, tucked under Jamie’s safe arms, knowing the ordeal was over. Well, almost. 

Jamie turned his head from most of the quaint villages that passed their way. He could bide for a night in a barn or one of the disreputable taverns that he had stayed in on his way down to England, on his way back to Claire. But, he would never put his love, his Claire, let alone his Claire who was in such a vulnerable state, in such a place as that. Who knew how long it would be before he would have to gut a boisterous man who was far too handsy in front of her. 

He had a monastery in mind, that would be more acceptable for a lady such as his beautiful Claire. And maybe, with enough coin and desperation, they could finally come together as husband and wife with God’s blessing from a priest. 

With Claire so close to her time, and with them so far away from Lallybroch, it would sadly have to be a rushed affair away from his family. Away from his home. He’d wait though, had Claire wished it so, but she wanted to be married to him as quickly as he did. No child of his would bear the burden of the title bastard, and as the only children he would ever sire would be Claire’s, it made no sense to wait. 

So, Donas’ hooves pounded against the packed dirt of the roads, safely carrying the two most precious things in his life away from danger. 

As the sun sunk lower in the horizon, the pair finally raced along the last stretch on the outskirts of a sleepy and unassuming village. The monastery rose impressively before them as they stopped a few miles away from the flickering firelight of the village closeby. The lights and hustle of the village wound down and the only illumination left to them was the soft glow of the moon and the stars and the torches held in place along the sturdy stone of the Gothic building that housed the area’s pious and holy population.  

Dead on her feet, Claire shuffled to their room for the night with Jamie’s arm around her and promptly began snoring the instant her head hit the pillow. Jamie covered the pleasantries for both of them with Father Anselm and quickly joined his bride-to-be. The room was small, with two beds that barely fit the width of him individually. He caused all manner of racket, shoving the two beds together, but Claire still thankfully slept like the dead through it.  

Jamie brushed back the hair back from her forehead that had clung to her skin sticky with sweat. He softly pressed a kiss to her bare skin there and began to disrobe her of the more than likely uncomfortable and dusty skirts and gown that she had worn for more than a day at that point. She woke slightly then, murmuring quietly to him words that he could not grasp. He leaned down to bestow another kiss to her, this one to her lips. It calmed her stirring, along with the low and rumbling Gàidhlig words of protection and love he whispered into her ear. Much like her own murmurs, she would not be able to grasp the translation of what he said, but her dreams would know the truth of them, the truth of his heart. 

Jamie blew out the last candle, curling around Claire and resting his hand against their child. 

***

Claire was resplendent, as radiant as the sun in her outfit spun of gold, with the deep rich green fabric underneath highlighting her milky skin. Although she could be in naught but her shift and Jamie would still know that she was as beautiful as the water ruffling down the rocks in a burn, or the endless hills and mountains dotted in heather that were the Highlands. 

They walked forward towards the priest. Together. 

*** 

They had been travelling for almost a week, much to Jamie’s dismay. But they were almost there. Not to home but a semblance of it. His friend would no doubt take them in until Claire’s confinement was over, but he longed to show his new bride her home. He was restless to show her the land he had always been so proud of. 

Helwater, though its name always gave him pause, looked nothing like its name described. It was beautiful and grand, nestled in the Lake District. Jamie was almost giddy at all the horses the stables boasted. He wasn’t sure Claire would be happy if he stowed away their red-cheeked newborn to go play with the horses though, and he would most certainly not leave her side throughout this ordeal. Whether she liked it or not, he had mentally sewed himself to her side. No one would touch a hair on her head while he was with her. 

The anxiety of being caught at court by her parents or that bastard Randall had slowly ebbed from the blood that coursed through his veins and pumped through his heart, but part of it still lingered, deep down. 

Claire was awake, and chatty that day as they trotted through the country. 

“You gave up your title? For me?” 

“For us. Aye, we still’ve Lallybroch and the title wi’ it, but no my place as Ambassador and Laird of the Frasers o’ Lovat. Really twas Willie’s title all along, I jes’ had to nudge them back in the right direction.” 

“But you’re the second son, why would you have gotten it?”

“Weel…. it’s a wee long and complicated.” 

“No.” Claire gasped in shock at the last part of the long winded tale. 

Jamie had divulged all the juicy details of his parents union, how some considered William to be a bastard with the timing of the wedding and legitimacy of handfasting, how Brian was the only living son of his father, though he was a bastard. The true heir of the Lords of Lovat, Brian’s half brother was murdered by their uncle, who was swiftly dispatched by three hacks of french sword to his neck by an executioner. To make the scandal worse, William got the Queen’s, Mary de Guise, lady in waiting with child, and disgraced her. It seemed the sons of Brian Fraser had that particular trait in common. William would have been safe and secure, but his love for the woman made him profess and wed her at once. His admission left the queen regent no choice but to pardon him of his position in court. 

At the end of the tale, as if to seal shut the last chapter and open the page up to the next, they passed under the archway to Lord John Grey’s estate. Jamie stirred the horse to a faster trot and held Claire tighter to him. With a laugh, he kissed his bride's neck and followed the path to the stately manor house. 

“Welcome tae Helwater, my beautiful lady.” 

He expertly slid off Donas behind Claire, and stood below her, waiting to bear her weight and help her off the horse. Donas nipped at the stable boy who tried to take his reins and Jamie laughed at his devil of a horse. He was calm and respectable to Claire only, mostly because Jamie forced him to understand that she was an extension of his master. She took his reins from the nervous boy, who’s cheeks were painted as red as a cherry tomato with embarrassment, and cooed at the demon. Jamie was not far behind, looping his arm around her waist in support and kissing the top of her mop of uncontrollable curls. 

The young lord, no more than fifteen, walked to them in a cheery march and greeted them. Jamie cuffed the boy on the shoulder with one hand, not letting go of Claire for a second. 

“John, I’d like ye tae meet my wife Lady Broch Tuarach. Claire Fraser married but these two days.” Jamie lifted her hand and kissed the hastily crafted silver on her hand. It was the key to Lallybroch, but he promised he’d lavish her with more jewels and fine clothes as the years passed. 

John lifted his brow at the last two words Jamie spoke and the evidently burgeoning belly of his wife before him, but he made no passing comment. 

“Mistress Fraser, I am enchanted to finally make your acquaintance. Jamie speaks of you very highly.” John whispered off to the side to Claire conspiratorially, but loud enough that Jamie would hear. “And with almost every breath he takes.” 

They laughed at that, happy that their meeting wasn’t filled with any awkward tension like so many of her meetings with Lord Randall had been. It did help that they were more peers than that old man ever could be. 

For now, they walked into the hall, content in the company of more than horses and the wide stretch of hills and valleys along the countryside. They ate until their stomachs almost burst, not being used to such abundance on the journey there and Jamie smiled at the roundness of Claire’s cheeks. He had fed her well, even forcing some of his share onto her plate for every meal, but it still filled his heart with joy to see her settled and comfortable, instead of sore from sitting on a saddle all day. Claire happily followed Jamie to the room made up for their visit, picking up on his not so subtle cues that he was itching to be in bed already. 

They fell asleep wrapped up in each other, among mountains of goose feathers in the mattress and pillows. 

***

Jamie and Claire passed the days in a quiet leisure. He made sure to include her in his morning walks to the stables and spoke to her of the horses there and the ones she would meet at Lallybroch. They also spent their days simply getting to know one another more. Their courtship had been rather…rushed and intense and now they had a moment to themselves to breathe. They wanted to know everything. 

Sometimes, John’s betrothed. Lady Isobel Dunsany, would join them on their strolls. Her family was visiting as well for a week, to finalise some details on their marriage contract and to view her future home. It was clear the pair did not wed out of love, but they had a respect and fondness for one another. The rush of people came and went as the servants and entourage that followed the Dunsany’s flitted in and out of the manor. 

Though the company was nice, they had a semblance of privacy once more when the family and Lord John departed to attend Isobel’s sister’s wedding. Days later, Claire and Jamie were shocked to find her new husband was one Lord Francis Randall, Earl of Oxenford. His pride must not have been that hurt by their absconding in the night. 

They unashamedly christened their guest room, the library, the stables, the meadow, the dining hall, the art room, and every secret nook and cranny they stumbled upon while they were the only souls still present at Helwater besides the servants, cooks, and stablehands, the backbone of the manor. 

Who could deny the newlyweds their passion? 

Lord John Grey returned soon enough, forcing the couple to be slightly more discreet in the ways they enjoyed their time. 

On the day her waters broke, their usually well adjusted host fled the manor with one of his stablehands, offering his most sincere apologies that he really must be going. 

Jamie sat by her side, holding her hand and dabbing her forehead with a cool cloth. He massaged her hips when she would press into him and pressed loving kisses to her face, whispering encouragement and awe a her strength. The midwife frowned at his presence, not hiding her disdain at his insistence to stay with Claire. How could he leave her so helpless and alone when she begged him to stay? 

He squatted behind her, and held her up when she began to push on her knees, holding her steadfast as her strength faded and she swayed back into him. Her head rested back against the crook of his neck and he brushed the sweaty hair lightly away from her face as it blew around in her eyes. 

When she slumped fully into him like a dead weight, his heart plunged into his stomach and he shook her gently, nearly missing the hearty cries of his baby in the arms of the midwife as he panicked. Claire groaned and swatted at him, still using him as her support. Agitated, but still clearly alert and alive. He let her lean against him, assured that her dead weight was simply pure exhaustion from the hours of labour she had endured, instead of an underlying sign that something had gone terribly wrong. 

He kissed her damp cheek and pressed his forehead down against her temple, finding his own cheek suddenly damp with tears. 

“Milord, milady, congratulations you have a healthy young daughter.” 

As Claire laid back in Jamie’s lap, the midwife passed over daughter to mother. A choked laugh escaped Claire, wet with tears of pain and pure joy as she eagerly took her baby from the woman. 

Her vision was blurred with the fat tears that swam across the surface of her eyes as she pressed a kiss to the infant, too lost in her love for the precious being in her arms to care about the mess of birth covering every inch of her tiny body. “Oh, my baby, I love you.” 

The midwife flitted about the room, cleaning up the remnants of birth and replacing the sheets on the bed as the family got acquainted. Jamie held his two lasses, his smile beaming like the sun and his heart swelling with the pure love he felt for the two beating hearts resting above his own. 

The baby rooted around, her eyes fluttering open for the first time to show her parents the blue irises of her eyes. Jamie and Claire both observed her movements, their heads pressed close together, wanting to soak up every single second. 

“She has your eyes.” 

“They could change to yer beautiful golden brown soon enough.” 

“Still, they’re slanted, just the littlest bit.” Claire caressed her head carefully, gentle with the most precious and vulnerable gift she’d ever held. “And the wisps of copper curls are no doubt your doing.” 

Jamie stretched his head down to capture Claire’s lips in his, unable to contain his joy. 

“I love ye Claire.” He punctuated his words with another kiss. “I love ye both. Thank you for this most precious gift.” 

“I love you too Jamie.” She angled her head back for another slow and lingering kiss, full of gratitude and love. 

As the midwife finished with her tasks, Jamie rose from the ground, both Claire and their daughter secure in his hands as he walked them over to the bed. The slight wince from Claire as he adjusted her on the bed sent a jab of pain through his heart. No matter how careful he was with her, treating her like a porcelain doll, the sharp flash of pain would still find her. But he did his best to make sure it was minimal. 

Jamie climbed into the bed beside them, curling around his wife and daughter as she began to nurse for the first time. Her wee hands were curled up against Claire’s chest as she greedily suckled with loud grunts. Her fists soon fanned out into open palms against Claire’s pearl skin as her hunger gave way to satisfaction. 

“She has your appetite as well, it would appear.” 

Jamie laughed, a boisterous sound, as everything since seeing his daughter’s face filled him with happiness. “Canna fault her for that Sassenach.” 

They watched her in silence for some time, content to watch her, safe and warm in her mother’s arms. She nodded off into sleep on Claire’s breast, releasing her latch with an open mouth. 

“Faith.” 

“Hmmm.” Claire’s eyes opened slightly, having nearly nodded off herself in the comfort of the soft bed surrounded by the large arms of the man she loved.

“Faith Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser. It suits her, don’t ye think?” 

“Faith Elizabeth Alexandra Beauchamp Fraser. The poor soul mustn't have fewer names than her father.” 

“Aye, right ye are mo ghràidh. It wouldna be fair.” 

“Here, would you like to hold our daughter?” 

“I dinna wish to disturb the lass. She’s so peaceful and wee.” 

“She’s too drunk on milk to care. Here.” 

Claire passed Faith over to her father, and he cupped her head gently. His large calloused hands dwarfed the girl’s head. Her heart twinged and her belly flipped at the sight, her husband who was nearly a giant in size, cradling a baby so small. His face shined with the emotion in the room and he was completely absorbed with their perfect miracle in his hands. Claire regretted none of it, as she saw the love of her life fall in love with the piece of themselves borne of their love manifest in flesh and bone.

***

Watching from the hill, Claire and Jamie smiled on at their two dancing daughters. They had their mother's curls, but one twirled with locks of fire, and the other with locks like that of a nymph floating in a burn. They giggled and rolled on the rich green grass pastures of their home. A little boy toddled behind them, flowers weaved through his hair from the eager hands of his experimentative sisters. Fergus, who had practically adopted Claire and Jamie at first sight instead of the other way around, was watching his siblings with a fond eye as he slowed his pace behind wee Brian. Claire leaned further into Jamie's hold, allowing the final tension in her body to release as she let her husband hold her all of her body weight. He pressed a gentle kiss to her head, squeezing her with a gentle pressure. The ridge they were on gave them a perfect view of their lands, it was no wonder it had become their favourite place as a family to get out of the manor house.

Claire adjusted herself on the pillow beneath her, making sure both it and Jamie would help ease the strain on her back. He had brought his tartan as well as the pillow along with them for their picnic and found a nice patch of grass for them to sit upon. Jamie had taken off his daily duties attending to the farm during the busy spring month, knowing Claire was becoming stir crazy, and declared that day would be a Fraser picnic. And, it was their anniversary after all. At least, one of them that was. They had many to keep track of with a handsfasting and a wedding and a Lallybroch wedding and-

"Comfortable?"

Claire leaned her head back for a kiss and Jamie happily obliged.

"I'm perfect darling."

"And the wean?"

Jamie brought his hand to her swollen belly and grinned at the sturdy kicks that pressed against his hand.

"He wants to join his siblings it would seem."

"Aye poor lass, they're already leaving her behind, and her no' even a day old."

It seemed at the pace they were going, Jamie's dream for one for each spoon was more than achievable. The bastard. (She had threatened to chop off his balls at the last one, but that didn't stick for long). But, she was thrilled too, at each child they managed to bring to this world. She would gladly give Jamie twelve spoons if they were able.

They both smiled at the shrieks from their youngest daughter, Eilidh, as Faith held up a toad to her face, completely fascinated by the creature. Eilidh soon calmed down, and even tentatively reached out a finger to poke said creature at Faith and Fergus's encouragement. Brian joined in too, but his babbles were incomprehensible as he cheered.

Claire reached up for another kiss, greedy for Jamie's lips as she was overcome by the simple joy and love unfolding from her family.

"I love you Jamie."

"I love ye too, mo ghràidh."