Chapter Text
“Come along, Claire, we must ask at the house if we can look at their ruins you know. Wouldn’t do to be shot for trespass, now would it?”
Claire, who would much rather have stayed at the ruins, trudged after her uncle with ill grace. “I thought Scotsmen were barbarians with broadswords,” she said. “Surely you’d notice some savage with a melee weapon in time to explain yourself.”
“You might be surprised, my lass. You might be very surprised. Excellent soldiers, Highlanders, and not barbaric in the slightest. Goodness, you look more a savage than they do, just look.” Uncle Lamb pointed down the hill where there were several people milling about the yard of a manor house of white harled stone.
It was true. With her curly hair unrestrained, dressed in sensible breeks rather than proper skirts, and with her face and hands filthy, she did look far more disreputable than the clean-clothed people who apparently inhabited the Highlands.
“Blimey,” she said, looking down.
“Do try not to act too horribly vulgar, won’t you my dear?” Uncle Lamb asked without much hope.
“Gracious,” Claire ammended, and Uncle Lamb chuckled.
“Let’s go then and meet them. Highlanders are often very hospitable, they’ll probably offer us luncheon.”
“I hope so, I’m starved!”
The pair of them took off down the hill toward the house. When they drew near, Uncle Lamb raised an arm and waved.
“Halloo the house!” he called.
Most of the movement in the dooryard continued, but one figure straightened from a wash cauldron. She was very tall with very long red hair plaited down her back. She approached them with some wariness, as was natural for a woman meeting a strange man, but without overt fear for she had men nearby.
“How do you do?” Uncle Lamb asked, sweeping off his hat. “My name is Quentin Lambert. I’m a historian. This is my niece, Claire.” He gestured to the grubby figure at his side.
The tall woman’s face took on an air of amused puzzlement at this information, but she did not seem distressed. “I’m Ellen Mackenzie Fraser. May I help you both? Perhaps you’d like to come in and have a cup of tea?”
“That would be most appreciated madam. I take it you are mistress here?”
“Aye, I am.”
“Capital! My niece was just telling me that she was hungry…” he glanced down at his niece then and suddenly seemed to consider what damage she might do to upholstery in her current condition. “I don’t suppose there’s someplace where she could scrape off the first layer or two of dirt, eh? I could, I suppose, throw her in the loch over there.”
That made Ellen laugh. “Willie, Jenny, Jamie,” she called, which caught the attention of three small figures in the yard. “Come here, you lot, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
The three joined their mother- for she so obviously was there mother, given the fact that they all had the same eyes, the same carriage, and the two boys had her fire-bright hair- with the wariness of cats coming across a stranger in their territory.
“This is Master Lambert, and his niece Mistress Claire,” the formality of this greeting struck Claire as amusing, and she grinned, showing that she was missing two teeth from the front of her smile, which gave her a winsome look. “They will be with us for luncheon and possibly later. Would you three take Claire to be cleaned up then?”
“How do you do?” the three children said, bowing formally to her.
Claire glanced at her uncle, who gave her a wink. She turned back to the three and, summoning up all the manners she could remember ever having been taught, bowed back. “Your servant.”
“You’re a Sassenach!” the younger of the boys cried in alarm. “Mam!” he turned to his mother in shock. “Mam, she’s-”
“Aye, Jamie, I know. And you’ll be polite, won’t you then? If not, your father will hear of it, mark my words.”
Jamie clamped his mouth shut, but glared at Claire from deep blue eyes.
Claire flushed with anger. “What does that mean?” she asked, angry. “What did you call me? You shouldn’t call people names.”
“It means outlander, stranger, or, in most cases, Englishman,” Uncle Lamb instructed. “And we are that, my dear girl, no denying.”
Claire and the young lad continued to glare at each other.
Uncle Lamb sighed. “Go on and wash up for supper, my dear, there’s a good girl.”
The two older children, apparently amused by the interplay between their youngest sibling and this strange girl, grabbed young Jamie by his shirt and hauled him off. Claire followed with bad grace, but she did follow.
“And avoid getting into a fight, Claire, do!” her uncle called after her.
She made no indication that she had heard him, and Uncle Lamb sighed. He wouldn’t place good odds on the Fraser lad against his own English wildcat, and he did hope that his niece trouncing the lad wouldn’t turn his parents against allowing Uncle Lamb to explore their ruins.