Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Seven years ago, Claire had disembarked from the airplane and had first stepped onto American soil at the tarmac in Boston. Claire had said Je suis prest to sturdy herself as Claire always did for any coming ordeal. At that moment, something crossed over in her mind. Claire had put a period, turned a page, finished a chapter, closed a book—whatever metaphor was necessary to go on and to just…endure.
In the intervening years, Claire had often wondered what it had all meant. Why was I chosen? What was I meant to accomplish? Why did I go back to that moment in time? Geillis had gone back further in time than Claire. Geillis had left in 1968 and arrived in Scotland a few years before her; she must have gone back 225 years or more. So why did Claire go back 202 years and then come forward 202 years? Claire couldn't reason out the underlying logic of it.
Was I supposed to change things? If so, was I now enduring the penalty for my failure? We couldn't succeed. Despite our best efforts, nothing had changed. Nothing discernible changed because she had gone back. From 1743 to 1746, she had killed people who would have lived and saved people who would have died and yet none of that legacy seemed to have carried forth unto today. And she felt sometimes she would go mad trying to make sense about alternate timelines and parallel universes and the like.
Was I supposed to know and yet fail like the Greek myth of Cassandra? Was she cursed to know all these future events and also the knowledge that all the warnings and advice were for nought?
Was I simply a messenger? Was I supposed to know the Highland way of life before it passed into history forever so that I could tell people how they lived and that through my stories, they would be able to live on? If so, Claire was failing miserably, because except for Mrs. Graham and Frank, Claire had told nobody. Not even her bonny red-haired lass knew anything about the Fraser clan, her land, or her heritage. When Claire eventually did tell Brianna, would she hate her? Claire had been able to preserve her daughter's life and her own by coming forward in time, but by doing so, Claire had denied her daughter Scotland, her birthright, and her true father.
During these last years as Claire watched her daughter getting older, she could feel the memories of those lost years, that lost life receding into shadow and the vibrant palette of the Scottish countryside and her Jamie were fading to gray.
Her life was busy most of the time—with Brianna and with study and those tasks often were sufficient to drive away her thoughts. However, at night Claire was lying alone in her bed or she would look up at the stars in the 1955 sky and remember sitting beneath those same constellations with Jamie, leaning back into his strong broad chest, by a roaring campfire. Those were the times that drove her to reflection, to melancholy, to mourning her great love.
Claire was now flying among the clouds and in an hour, they would land and Claire would step back onto British soil. Frank sat on the aisle and Brianna between them, a typical arrangement that worked best for the couple. Over the last years, they were far better as parents than as spouses and Claire had never found the ability nor the inclination to bridge the chasm that existed between them.
The Spring semester had ended a few days ago at Harvard and both Frank and Claire were on summer break from teaching and attending medical school. Claire had silently rebelled against the idea of returning to Britain and being a few hundred miles from the locations that had meant so much to her. The memories and the ghosts had been far easier to resist with thousands of miles of oceans between that bit of earth and her. However, Frank had insisted on going. He would not allow himself to remain in an imposed exile from his home country and he would not be separated from his daughter. He did nothing wrong in his mind and he would not be penalized or punished. And besides, he had wanted to take her little girl to the grand palaces and medieval castles of her fairy tales. So their travels would include day trips to Hampton Palace and the great castles in Leeds and Warwick. Brianna was coming to Britain with him for the summer he had decreed and therefore, by necessity and her adopted Fraser stubbornness, so was Claire.
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Frank had become accustomed to Claire's apathy for all things unrelated to Brianna and medicine and had set the trip itinerary himself. After they landed and Claire once again sturdied herself with the Fraser mantra, Frank informed her that they would spend several weeks in Oxford and Cambridge and then travel up to Edinburgh where he would work with a colleague. While there, he would take a one-week trip, by himself he had stressed, up to Inverness for some additional research there.
Claire battled internally at this pronouncement. Inverness would be difficult to see once more and it would perhaps send her mind on soul-searing trajectories—a happenstance that Claire definitely did not want Brianna to witness. Claire knew she possessed immense fortitude and mental strength, but humans were not meant to travel through time and she worried that at some point, the strain would break her. However, Claire recoiled at the announcement that she and Brianna would stay behind in Edinburgh. Claire was not one to be dictated to in any century and certainly not for the sake of Frank's likely motivations of insecurity.
So they had a row and Claire prevailed that Brianna and she would indeed accompany Frank to Inverness. In the aftermath of that row, she felt more like Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp than she had in years. She could feel the layers of 'Claire Randall' that she had morphed into while dwelling in America were falling away and that she was returning to her true self once more.
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Frank had extracted one promise from her before they had ventured north to Inverness—Claire was to stay far, far way from the stones at Craigh na Dun. Claire accepted. It was a fair concession on his part and it would have brought about unnecessary torture for her. Everyday that Claire lived in this noisy century without Jamie and that Brianna lived without knowing her true father was another day of shallow knife cuts. No need to inflict deep stab wounds on herself.
In the years since reappearing through the stones, pregnant and broken-hearted, Frank had remained the same as Claire had always described him. Frank was solid and kind; he was good to Brianna and her. The wounds Claire had inadvertently inflicted on him had never healed, Claire knew. Nevertheless he soldiered on as head of their family as one would expect of any Englishman and particularly an English veteran of World War II. And yet, Claire knew that this life they had now was one that they had reluctantly inherited—it wasn't one of their choosing.
Claire cared for him and she profoundly wished for a way to stop hurting him. However, the inertia that prevented them from fully discussing those lost years also prevented them from ever fully reestablishing themselves as a couple. And Claire, as much as Frank, soldiered on.
And yet, as the train rolled north into the Highlands, Claire began to worry that this journey to Inverness was a disastrous mistake as a low buzzing sound that only she could hear began to build.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 2.
While in Inverness, Claire preferred Mrs. Graham's company to that of Frank and Reverend Wakefield, who were both perpetually flanked by mountains of papers. Frank still spoke proudly of his ancestor, Black Jack Randall. Claire had spoken in broad terms about the man's misdeeds, but Frank had never wanted specifics from her and didn't want her stories to sully the dashing, adventurous image he had built up in his head. She allowed him to keep that fiction. She had deprived him of so much else that it felt a small thing to allow him to continue to believe as he wished about his ancestor.
One day the Reverend and Frank had gone out with Brianna while Claire spent the day with Mrs. Graham. They never touched on those lost years or the standing stones, but that shared knowledge and her understanding underwrote everything that passed between them. With her, Claire felt it was okay to love her daughter's father, to love someone who wasn't her recognized husband, and Claire knew that in Mrs. Graham, she had found a kindred spirit.
And then the phone rang. And the world shifted. Oftentimes cataclysmic events can happen from such relatively minor actions—a decision to go pick flowers, a phone call. Lives are upended in an instant due to something seemingly so inconsequential.
Mrs. Graham rose and answered the phone and Claire sat staring at her as she listened to the message. Mrs. Graham said little and for the duration of the phone call, both Claire and Mrs. Graham were caught in a strange sort of suspended animation. Mrs. Graham's eyes grew wide and the weight of inexorable truth fell upon Claire and she knew.
The stones weren't done with her yet.
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"Brianna is missing?" Claire repeated Mrs. Graham's words hoping that somehow the older woman had been speaking another language—Gaelic, French, anything-and the words would somehow translate to anything else but the meaning that Claire now understood.
Brianna had been given into her keeping, was to be kept safe as Jamie Fraser's best legacy and his most sacred treasure and now her child and Jamie's child was missing.
Missing. Claire's mind now wandered along scary paths. Was Brianna hurt? Kidnapped? Dead? Was she in pain?
Claire then asked the most important question. "Missing from where? Where did they go?" If Frank had taken Brianna anywhere near Craigh na Dun, then she'd…she'd…she didn't know what she would do.
Brianna had gone through the stones before. She was Claire's daughter. Would the stones recognize the little girl and allow her entrance?
With a sinking weight, Claire realized the date—Midsummer's Day. Not nearly as important as Beltane or Samhain in pagan traditions, but still one of the great days on their calendar.
"Where did they go?" Claire pressed again, with more urgency and ire. The unspoken location hovered between them.
"About a mile away from the stones," Mrs. Graham answered slowly, regretfully. "To an old kirk that was one of the Jacobite camps. She was getting bored and the Reverend and Mr. Randall were engrossed in their papers…" Mrs. Graham stopped, there was nothing further to add or to justify the men for their carelessness.
"Jesus H. Eisenhower Christ!" A bit of crockery was a casualty as it was tossed at the fireplace along with the epithet.
"Calm yeself," Mrs. Graham soothed her, patting her shoulder, "Ye won't be any help to the girl goin' on like this."
Claire blew her hair out of her face and the calming breath helped a bit. She'd been in bad situations before. Work the problem. Take action. Think. Do. Fall apart later if there is downtime. "Do you know the kirk?"
"I do," she replied as she went for the car keys and a few minutes later, they were headed to see the men.
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Frank looked desperate and lost. His hair was askew as though he'd run his hands through it far too many times.
"Where have you looked?" Claire asked as she walked up to him.
Frank grabbed her hand. That small gesture more than anything else communicated his profound worry. "We called in the police and have looked north and east. We doubled back to meet up with you."
"Have you gone west?" Claire gestured toward the stones in the far distance.
Frank shook his head. "Not yet. You don't really think that's a concern."
"It's Midsummer's Day and she's been through them before. I'm worried the stones may work for her."
Frank shook his head, "The chances that, one, she went to Craigh na Dun, two, she touched that exact stone and three, she went through, are so remote…"
Claire cut through all his logic, "We need to know. We need to be sure. Just imagine her, a seven-year-old girl, by herself, in that time." She was driving herself to tears. "She won't know anyone or how to live in that time. She'll be so scared. It was horrid enough for me when I first landed there and realized what had happened, but just imagine for a little girl, for Brianna."
Frank struggled with his options and looked askance at the stone circle he hated in the distance. Sunset came very late in the Highlands during the summer and was still hours away. They still had time to search before they decided anything definite.
"Claire," Mrs. Graham interrupted, "if you're thinking of going through, you can't go unprepared. Give me an hour to get you some gold, some food, and some clothes."
Claire grabbed Mrs. Graham's hand, "Thank you."
Mrs. Graham nodded and was quickly back at her car and speeding off on her mission.
Resigned, Claire turned towards the standing stones and made her way towards them, calling out Brianna's name and searching the grasses for any trace of her daughter along the way.
Thirty minutes later, Claire and Frank arrived at the perimeter of the circle. The Reverend had gone south to cover more ground.
A few feet away, truth plunged deep into Claire's breast. She spied one of Brianna's hair barrettes lying on the ground. It was Daisy Duck with a little bit of paint where her daughter had tried to change the color of the bow; it was undeniably Brianna's.
Claire lunged for it and gripped it tight, allowing the metal pins to dig into the soft flesh of her palm. "She was here Frank. Our little girl was here."
Frank gingerly took the hair barrette and knew it immediately also. He then started calling out to his daughter once more at double the volume. Claire could hear the pain and desperation in his voice. He continued shouting for her for the next ten minutes until he finally went hoarse.
He sank on the grass, dejected and bereft and his hands were shaking. Claire could hear him murmur softly, "Not again. Not again. Not again."
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They had looked down the sides of the plateau to make sure they could see in case Brianna had come to the stones and then ventured on. The position of the stone circle at the top of the hill provided an ideal vantage point to look for her throughout the valley and also for their voices to carry. Brianna had come to Craigh na Dun. That much was certain. Enough time hadn't passed that she could have gone hungry or needed to sleep. There wasn't much to injure herself and the nearby creeks were hardly big enough to be dangerous. If she was still here—in this time—then she should still be okay and unharmed.
Claire tried to avoid stepping on or looking at the place- the precious bit of earth-where she last saw Jamie. Frank noticed her careful sidestepping and her quick looks away and she could see the anger rise in his eyes and yet die on his lips.
Mrs. Graham jaunted up the hill, breathless. She had put herself through great physical exertion and urgency for her mission. Claire threw herself into a hug for gratitude at her friend's help and also, she truly need to hug and hold someone. The reticence and the wall between her and Frank had not abated just because they were worried over their dear little girl.
"Here," Mrs. Graham said, thrusting the bag into her arms, "I got you as much gold as I could muster and some coins from the Reverend Wakefield's house. I know he won't mind. Some matches, some bread, a fair bit of powdered eggs. The eggs'll likely taste disgusting, but you'll need the protein I think more than anything else I could send with you. And here's a costume. It'll be a little bit big for you, but it should serve."
Speech finished and supplies delivered, Mrs. Graham stopped to take a breath. "What do you think? Are you decided?"
Claire shook her head. "I have until sunset I think, which is still hours off. The police are looking, yes?" Mrs. Graham nodded at that. "Well, if we haven't found her by then, then I will go through."
Frank gave her an unblinking stare, "Claire, are you mad?"
Claire grimaced back at him and his judgments and accusations, although she knew all that were agitated by worry. "I can't leave her alone there. I can't do it! If I find her there and somehow, we can't get back, then I will send you a message-through a bank or through a safety deposit box, something. I won't leave you wondering. I'll date it for tomorrow."
Frank shook his head, "Couldn't you date it for yesterday so that this will never happen?"
"I can't change the future Frank! I tried! We tried! And Culloden still happened. Nothing we did changed anything!"
Frank turned away with her repeated uses of we. He didn't want to picture that we again.
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The search continued. Mrs. Graham held vigil at Craigh na Dun while Claire and Frank continued looking in widening concentric circles without success. When the sun dipped below the tree line, she knew it was time to go.
"Frank!" Claire called out to him; she wanted to give him a decent goodbye at least. She reached out to touch him, the first time she'd made that effort since Brianna went missing. "Frank, if she's there through the stone, I will bring our daughter back. Trust me on that one."
Frank nodded, the faintest hint of a tear at the corner of his eye. That tiny tear spoke more than anything about his love for Brianna. He gave Claire a long hug and kiss that was partially on her lips, partially on her cheek. "Please, both come back. I want you both back."
Claire shouldered Mrs. Graham's bag and took a step towards the central stone, the anchor for the smaller ones at the periphery. She cautiously, tentatively, put up her hands, millimeters away from stone and buzzing grew louder.
As she made physical contact with the stone and could feel the rough bits and the nooks and crannies carved by time, she started to feel the alien, yet now familiar feeling of falling away.
But this time was different. This time, she felt Frank's hands on her back. Whether he was trying to stop her or trying to come with her, she didn't know. This instance when she fell though time, she brought a companion with her.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
AN: Forgot Disclaimer in Chapter 1. I am not Diana Gabaldon, Ronald Moore, etc. Also, this story is inspired mostly by the TV series, but some gaps are filled in by information within the books. Also, I have a certain point in mind that I definitely want to take this story to; how far it goes beyond that will depend on reader interest. Speaking of which, thank you to everyone who has reviewed (which I love reading) and the follows!
Chapter 3
The foundation of Claire's life was based on three fundamental pillars: 1) her love for Jamie and Brianna and her gratitude to Frank 2) her love for the Scotland she had been forced to abandon; and 3) her pursuit of knowledge and saving lives through medicine. The tragedy at Culloden had knocked out those three legs from beneath her and had toppled her equilibrium, her entire world view, and her closeness with her friends and her family. With this secret of the stones, she was separated from them and was finding it nearly impossible to function within her marriage. The truth was that Culloden Moor had uprooted, upended, and upset everything that was sacred about her life. She could not speak of it. She had found it difficult to be around her friends and Frank because every moment she did, was a moment that she did not tell them the truth, or in Frank's case, he didn't want to hear the full truth, and therefore every moment felt like a lie.
Perhaps going back through the stones would help her to finally restore balance within her life and mind.
When Claire tumbled through in search of her missing daughter, she lost her footing and tripped to the ground, rolling several times until she finally stopped in an ungraceful heap and a tempestuous "oof!"
She looked over and her horrific suspicions were confirmed. Frank came with her. Frank was with her, most likely in the 1750s.
She crawled over to him, sprawled out on the grass. "Frank, are you okay?"
"Wh-What happened?" he asked groggily, clutching his head.
Claire shook her head, "You're about to get an up close and personal viewpoint on history—probably like no other historian ever."
Frank still wasn't registering the truth, "Where's Mrs. Graham?"
"She's gone. She won't be here for another two hundred years. Inverness is over in that valley and should be lit up by now with electric lights and yet it is dark. The car is gone. The road is gone. We have come through the stones and we are probably in 1753."
Frank sat there, still shaking his head. "No, this can't be real."
Claire cupped his cheeks with her hands. "It's true. I've been through this before. When I stumbled through and saw Redcoats firing their guns, I thought I had wandered into a movie set. The awful reality was soon made clear though." Claire dropped lower so she could look at Frank directly in his eyes, "Frank, I need you to stay with me on this one. I need you to accept this. I need you to listen to me and know that I actually know far more about this time than you, whether you're a historian and an expert on this period or not. I lived here for two and a half years. I need you to listen to me."
Frank still wasn't fully hearing her. He scrambled to his feet and looked towards Inverness, "Where's the city?"
"It's there, but dark. When I first came through, I had the same trouble coming to terms with what had happened to me. It's getting dark now and we won't be able to find Brianna right now. As difficult as it will be, we need to make camp and wait until morning."
"No. We need to start looking for her now," Frank rose to his feet and moved to edge of the plateau. "Brianna!" he called. He had done the exact same thing ten minutes earlier, but that was 200 years in the future and he was now calling out in a very different world.
Claire ran to him and covered his mouth with his hand. "Stop it!" she hissed. "You can't do that here!"
"We have to find our daughter!"
"Would you be yelling like that in the middle of Nazi Germany?"
Frank stopped short with a confused look.
Claire continued, "We aren't in peacetimes here anymore. There aren't friendly policemen out there also looking for Brianna. There's British soldiers who hate Scots. There's starving Scots and thieving Scots. We need the little supplies that we have and I don't want them stolen because you advertised our presence here. Now listen to me, please! And keep your mouth shut!"
Frank stopped and looked, really looked at her since she had told him the fantastical story of her disappearance. At the time, he had listened to her, accepted that her story was the only explanation that he was going to get, and understood that she had been with another man who had gotten a baby—scratch that, two babies—on her. Then she came back, obviously still in love with that other man while all the time claiming that she hadn't chosen any of it. Even wedding and bedding another man was thrust upon her only so that she could escape some nefarious fate that was supposedly worse than death.
Mrs. Graham was gone. The car was gone. The road was gone. The light from Inverness was gone.
"This is true?" Frank asked. "Everything you said—it was actually real?"
Claire smiled, an exasperated, indulgent smile that one might give to a little child who finally accepted that she needed to eat her vegetables, "Yes, everything I told you was true. We're here together and I need you to work with me. Please don't fight me and question me at every turn. Please know that if I tell you something, then it is necessary and it's not to insult you or trivialize you or demean you."
Without warning, Claire remembered all the advice that Jamie had given her in those early days of her arrival when he thought her merely an Englishwoman and not an Englishwoman from the future. Jamie had helped her so much in coming to understand the viewpoint of her 18th century countrymen and helping her adapt. She realized once more what an amazing gift he'd provided her with. In those early days, she had been lucky to find him and Mrs. Fitzgibbons. She needed to help Frank now and help him acclimate in this familiar, yet wholly alien environment.
It would probably be worse for Frank though. As a historian, he was guided by his scholarship and his assumptions—assumptions based on historical records and his 20th century biases. That would create an arrogance in him that he knew everything about this time period. Knowing Frank, he might even deign to lecture 18th century Scots about 18th century Scotland! She would need to curb those professorial instincts of his in which he wanted to lecture as though all the world was a classroom and all the world were lecture-hungry students.
Frank needed to keep silent. He needed to learn and make quiet research by listening. Claire jumped when she realized the terrible quandary posed by his appearance. Black Jack Randall was infamous throughout the Highlands for torturing its sons and humiliating its daughters. Claire doubted that the last seven years had made anyone forget the innumerable insults that blackguard had wrought upon its people. Frank was going to look just like Jack Randall with a hair cut and plain clothes (ugh, his modern clothes!) and could be a target of revenge for anyone they encountered.
"Frank, we have a problem."
"One problem?" Frank asked, almost using sarcasm.
"I didn't expect you to come through with me."
Frank looked up at the stars and noticed how many more he could see without the city's light pollution. "At the last second, I got scared…for you…for us. You started looking translucent…I just reached out for you. But this is true. Everything you told me is true. I never believed it. Not really. Deep down, I just thought it was some elaborate fabrication to justify in your head about cheating on me."
Claire shook her head, "No, it wasn't that." She felt frustrated at his admission. Frustrated that it took him coming back through time to prove the truth of her words to him. She didn't want to compare him to Jamie; it wasn't fair. However, with far less verifiable proof about flying machines and such, Jamie had believed her.
"All this time," Frank went on, still not quite comprehending. "You really came here. You were at Prestonpans and Falkirk and met the 'Bonny Prince Charlie'"
"He wasn't quite so bonny in truth and no one I knew ever called him that."
Frank looked away for a long moment and then back at her, "I really am a fool. Here I was, studying the Jacobite Rebellion by going through papers and old documents and all the while, I was living with best Jacobite expert of the twentieth century. And yet, I couldn't ask or think of you in those terms. I was just too damn proud," Frank took her hands in his, "Can you forgive me?"
Claire struggled to answer; she knew he was asking for more than forgiveness, he was also asking for another chance to try to have a real marriage. She wasn't prepared for that, not in this time and place, so instead she deflected the question while attempting to give a reassuring smile, "There's nothing to forgive."
Frank nodded and resumed his questions.
"Did you really meet King Louis the Fifteenth?"
"Yes Frank, I did." With Frank's recent talk on cheating, she didn't really want to mention that she'd also been bedded by the French king.
Frank was getting excited now, "And Black Jack Randall? My ancestor?"
"He's actually not your direct ancestor. His brother Alex was, but that's a long story. And Black Jack Randall is our problem."
"How?"
"Believe me, the man earned his reputation and nickname. You look very similar to him. You could pass for him even."
Frank seemed even more interested by this news, "Really? You never told me that."
"Beyond my initial explanation, you never wanted to hear details about my time here."
Frank looked away, "Well give me some credit for handling it as best I could. That time was quite…trying."
Claire took his hand once more. "I know, but let's get back to the matter at hand. Resembling Captain Jack Randall is not a good thing, Frank. There's many people here who are liable to shoot you on sight."
"He was that bad? Seriously?"
"Frank, yes! I know history doesn't record or preserve all the atrocities that the victors lay upon the vanquished or the occupiers lay upon the occupied, but trust me when I tell you that man committed unspeakable crimes."
Frank's expression soured, "You had said that he tortured…him."
Claire grew frustrated again; after all this time, Frank still referred to Jamie as him, "Yes. Captain Randall tortured Jamie. Jamie was a good man—a brave man. He saved my life numerous times. Now that we're here, back in his time, I will need to talk about him and you need to allow that."
From Frank's expression, he had closed himself off again. "I don't want to talk about him—period."
Claire let it go for now. "Fine. I'll just say one more thing. I don't mention him to hurt you. Nothing I did here in this time was intended to hurt you. I was trying to survive. I was trying to get back to you too." Frank's expression remained as remote as ever when anything connected to her other husband and her other life was mentioned. Claire conceded the point for now. "Okay, we need to discuss what to do in the morning. I would recommend we visit some the farmhouses in the immediate area and see if Brianna wandered into one of them. If not, then we need to get to Inverness, get you a hat and some more appropriate clothes, and get a feel for law enforcement in the town. I know how things were before Culloden, but that was such a cataclysmic ending for the Scottish way of life, I'm not sure how much that what I knew before still applies."
Frank nodded, he was okay with all those proposals.
Claire looked him over, "Also, we need to do something about your clothes until we can get you some new ones. Lose the tie and the vest. You can leave on your suitcoat now for the cold, but don't wear it when we go see folks—just down to your shirtsleeves and pants. It's not ideal, but it won't stand out as much."
Claire hoped that they would be lucky and find Brianna soon. In the 20th century at least, the first 48 hours after a child's disappearance were the most critical. She didn't want to tempt 18th century statistics on that point. "If we are unsuccessful from traveling in the surrounding area and from making discreet inquiries in Inverness, then we need to do something more drastic. You may not like it, but Brianna is my first priority and you're going to have to accept it."
"What?" Frank asked, his tone sounding half of insolence, half of dread.
"We need to hire a horse and travel to Lallybroch and get help."
Frank looked confused, "Lallybroch?"
"Jamie's home." Frank flinched and began shaking his head.
"Frank, we'll have to. I know Jamie died at Culloden, but Brianna has family there. They're her kin and will help find her. They will have access to the surviving clans and clan lairds far more than you and I by ourselves will. They will help us learn if a seven-year-old girl suddenly appeared to someone in the Highlands. That much can't have changed in the last seven years. Even if the clans have gone underground, they will help on behalf of Red Jamie. If it's necessary, you need to be okay with that for Brianna's sake. I know you love her. I know you love her far more than you hate Jamie for siring her."
Instead of responding, Frank just looked away.
Frustrated yet again, Claire looked up at the stars overhead, her eyes automatically veering towards Orion. For the last seven years, she kept to the illusion that she was looking up at her warrior, her hunter, her Jamie and that he was looking down on her and Brianna, forever watching over them and protecting them.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Chapter 4
During their search for Brianna the next day, Claire and Frank teetered on a knife edge, performing a delicate balancing act between looking as vigorously and as quickly as they could for their daughter while at the same time not trying to attract too much attention.
Culloden Moor was seven years in the past, but that didn't mean their situation was any less precarious. They could be set upon by the British or the Scottish. They were foreigners here, strangers here, and they didn't belong. If something happened to them, then any chance for Brianna being properly restored to their family would be gone forever.
Claire knew from the fierce, but defeated looks on people's faces that they were wandering through a conquered land. No one wore kilts any more and she missed the plaids that made Highland Scotland so distinctive and enchanting. She missed the lilting cadences of the Gaelic language. But most of all, she missed the dead men who encompassed the vibrant clan life she had come to love at Castle Leoch even if she felt its prisoner at times. The bawdy, rugged, but fiercely brave and loyal Scotmen who fell at Culloden were only bones now—buried in mass graves based on their plaids. She swiped away the tears that came at the nightmarish image.
Frank broke into her thoughts. "Yeah, those god-awful smells are making my eyes water too. I will never take sewage pipes or the cars that replaced horses for granted again."
Claire corrected him, "the smells don't bother me. I got inured to it while a field nurse and its omnipresent here in this time. Give it a few days."
"Then why were you crying?" When she hesitated, he pressed on, "Claire, especially here and now, you need to be honest with me."
"Just noticing the changes here and thinking about the staggering high cost of Culloden Moor. Prince Charles paid little for his vanity and ambition. He didn't lose his life or his fortune. The whole cost of his war has been borne by the people here and who bled on that Moor—his people supposedly—but Prince Charles never paid in any real way for his folly and bad decisions. Jamie tried to give him good advice and counsel that could had made things end differently. That fop was so wholly unworthy of the sacrifices that real men made on his behalf. If I ever see that dolt again, I will want to see him suffer as the Highlanders have suffered. He truly was the Young Pretender as the British called him. He pretended to be capable of commanding an army. He pretended to be a brave Scottish warrior. He pretendedto be a great leader. And in the end, it was all such a dreadful waste."
Frank reached around and gave her a half hug, trying to provide some measure of comfort. As a scholar of the Jacobite Rebellion, he had known all those things intellectually, but had never been invested emotionally in the war's outcome.
They walked in silence for another ten minutes across verdant hills and through vibrant fields of heather and thistle until they reached the fence of another croft. Claire gave the story she had at several other dwellings that day. "We're looking for our wee lass. She's seven years old with red hair and blue eyes and dressed in French clothes. She got lost yesterday. She's lived her whole life in the city of Paris and so this Scottish countryside will seem quite strange to her and we're quite worried for her. Have you seen her please?"
As with the other crofts, she received the same response. They shook their head no, a mixture of pity and suspicion on their faces for these strangers and their story, but Claire never encountered anyone who looked as though they were hiding the truth.
The next day they arrived to Inverness. While looking through the countryside, it was conceivable to convince oneself that it was still the 20th century and they were just encountering rural and poor farmers who hadn't the money for modern upgrades. Indeed, much of the American Appalachias had not progressed beyond 18th century technology until well into the 1900s. However, there was no mistaking the time period when they arrived into Inverness. Frank looked around feeling almost giddy-as though he had stepped into the best historical project ever. Documents and written records could only convey so much about a time and about a people. Frank, ever the historian, looked around slack jawed pointing out one thing or another to Claire, "They really did this?" or "It was really like that?" until she grew annoyed and told him to pay attention to little red-haired girls instead.
Frank and Claire scoured through the town with no success and Claire's constant worry was slowly escalating and making it difficult for her to think straight and keep her head. The apothecary remembered her and she saw Frank stiffen as she was greeted as 'Mistress Fraser.' The apothecary was little help though as no one had stopped in for potions or herbs for a sick girl in the last two days, but he promised to keep his eyes and ears open on her behalf.
After several days of fruitless and unpromising searches in Inverness, Claire knew that she needed to leave the town. She didn't want to leave Inverness, even to secure help in Lallybroch. She desperately wanted to stay close to her daughter's location and hoped her daughter was close by. Travelling for several days to Lallybroch in the hope of getting reinforcements and additional help was smart but she still felt scared to leave Inverness on the chance that they would miss their only chance for spotting Brianna.
Frank was resigned to her plan, realizing the necessity of it, and made no objection as she traded a fair bit of gold for a horse.
As they left the town of Inverness behind them, Claire said a silent prayer and beseeched Brianna to be okay. They would come back for her. She also though of her own Latin phrase—one that she had adopted for herself, much like Je suis prest served the Frasers.
Dum spiro, spero. While I breathe, I hope.
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It had been tough going on the one horse. The animal tired out more frequently and they needed to take breaks often. However, it was cheaper than getting two horses and the extra feed and Frank had never ridden a horse before and wouldn't do well on his own. However, the imposed physical closeness of sharing a saddle did not aid in breaking down the barriers between them. They still had trouble discussing anything beyond mundanities and Brianna. Fortunately they had traversed those many miles between Inverness and Lallybroch unimpeded and unmolested. Anyone else they saw on the road were also poor people trying to eke out an existence and as wary of Claire and Frank as they were of them.
As they neared Lallybroch, Claire's excitement instinctually grew and she was bouncing in the saddle in anticipation. Frank, recognizing that, grew more sullen and morose. She couldn't help but remember another time, another horse, another husband when she had traveled from the stones at Craigh na Dun to the Lallybroch lands. Back then, she was finally given a choice of going or staying and it had been her beloved Jamie that made it possible. Knowing that Jamie didn't want Claire to leave, knowing what it was costing him to bring her to those stones after the witchcraft trial and she had told him the full truth. Knowing that a few weeks before when he had told her to stay put in the glade and in that moment, she had wanted to leave him and to be gone forever without a trace forever. However, Claire couldn't leave Jamie back then when he'd brough her to Craigh na Dun and presented her with the choice. Despite the violence and superstition and danger, she would choose the 18th century world a thousand times over simply because that world included Jamie.
As Claire and Frank reached the outskirts of the Lallybroch lands; she could see the chimney stacks and top floors of the family home peeking out among the rolling hills. She felt an enchanting stirring in her breast as though she were finally coming home. All these past years, home wasn't in America, she couldn't call that a home. That was merely a house with hot showers and without smelly stables or chamber pots.
This was home.
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She saw an older man that she didn't recognize working in the fields, but close to the path. Claire called out to him. Frank had been getting more comfortable with the horse and swung off the animal to the ground and then reached up his hands to help her get down.
When Claire first stepped onto the ground, she indulged herself for a moment, just wanting to feel the earth, Lallybroch land, beneath her feet. The old man looked at Frank expecting him, as the man, to talk; but then he looked at Claire when it was obvious that Frank was deferring to her.
After initial pleasantries, Claire got to the matter at hand, "I'm looking for Mistress Jenny Murray. Is she about?"
The man's face saddened, "Aye, but ye might be careful about ye visiting. They is mournin' Mister Jamie's passing."
Claire suddenly felt light-headed and swayed backwards, supported by Frank's chest. "Mister Jamie's passing?" Claire repeated slowly.
"Aye, 'twas about a week past it was. Sad business for them. He came sick with the flux and no one around knew what to do for him. 'Member some years back, there was a Lady Lallybroch who was a healer of some sorts and she might've done something, but 'tis over now. Put him in the ground two days ago."
"Jamie died last week?" Claire repeated, unbelieving, still not able to process this horrible news. "Only a week? All this time—all these years. He's survived these last seven years. I was here—in Scotland I mean-a week ago. If I had gotten here…. Oh, God!" Claire turned her face away, not wanting to show her tears.
The old man behind her tipped his hat, "Sorry mistress, to bring such sad tidings for ye as well. Go with God, mistress, sir." The old man went back to his work, leaving Claire and Frank alone.
Frank stood there, watching his wife's heart break for another man…again. He wanted to comfort her as any human would want to comfort someone in pain and he tentatively put a hand lightly on her shoulder.
Claire recoiled immediately from his touch. She turned towards him, no longer bothering to hide her tear-stained face. "I-I need some time," she pointed to some tall haystacks in the distance. "I need some time alone and you need to be okay with that. You may think me unfair, but I just need you to wait here. Okay?"
Frank didn't respond right away.
"Okay?" Claire insisted, louder this time.
Frank could only anemically nod and Claire tore away from him at a fast sprint, needing privacy and space as she once more tried to rebuild her life from ashes and ruins.
And Frank once more felt like he wasn't a person with his own thoughts, feelings, and desires. He was only a character, a supporting player in Claire's drama, merely being carried along the ebbs and tides of her story and her life.
He sank to the earth about ten feet from the tethered horse and bowed his head.
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Frank could no longer hear Claire's muffled sobs. But that didn't make the waiting any easier. He knew deep in his soul that Claire would never mourn him like that. She would shed a tear or two because he was 'good' and 'kind' and a 'good father to Brianna' and that would be the end of it.
He felt numb at that knowledge, wanting to blight out this reality. Frank wasn't really sitting here in the dirt on James Fraser's lands in 1753 while his wife sat heartbroken fifty feet away crying for her other husband.
The feeling of numbness quickly gave way to the feel of cold steel at this throat. Frank could sense more than actually see, a towering presence above him, blocking the sun. Frank wanted to turn and look up at the figure, but the knife at his throat stayed his movements.
"Ye have a few breaths to explain yeself so choose wisely."
During the war, Frank had been far removed from battle. That lack of fighting experience made it difficult for Frank to find his voice now.
The Scot continued, his voice sounding as sharp and steely as the blade at Frank's throat. "I saw Jack Randall die with my own eyes at Culloden Moor, so I truly doubt you're that man. But there's one way to ken fer sure. I gave that vile rapist a singular injury."
The blade moved from Frank's throat to his pants. "Ye able to take a piss standing up?"
With the blade gone from his throat, Frank was now able to look up and see his aggressor. The man was tall and strongly built with wavy red hair and blue eyes that matched Brianna's. Fraser eyes, Frank knew.
Frank raised his hands to show he posed no danger and scrambled to his feet. "I'm not Jack Randall. I'm not. Name's Frank."
Now the Scot looked stunned and recoiled a step backwards. "Frank?" he repeated. "Claire's Frank?"
Now Frank was surprised. "You know about me?"
"Where is Claire?" the Scot said, looking frantically around. When Frank didn't answer right away, he punctuated the question with the blade at Frank's face.
"Where is Claire?" the Scot demanded through his teeth.
Frank pointed at the haystacks. "She's over there. She just learned that…that…Jamie…died last week."
The Scot's eyes widened in surprise and confusion at the statement and then understanding. The man started to run towards Claire and then stopped and came back to Frank, weapon once more poised at him.
"Prove that yer Frank. I won't be leaving ye idle on me land unless I'm satisfied with who ye claim to be. What is Claire's birthday?"
"Excuse me?" Frank asked. That was not the question he was expecting.
"When was she born?"
"October twentieth," Frank answered, not wanting to give the year.
"What year?" the Scot pressed.
Frank debated his options, he knew enough to not going around advertising their familiarity with the twentieth century. "In '18." Frank finally answered.
"Ye's trying my patience. The full year."
There it was, cornered into the full truth, "1918."
The Scot still wasn't satisfied, "When I sent her back, she had-."
"When you sent her back?" Frank interrupted. Comprehension came upon him and he looked at this man again with the full weight of knowledge. This was Jamie. This was the man that had stolen her and saved her and bedded her. From the looks of the Scot, it appeared that he could fuck Claire quite well. No wonder Claire was so devoted to the man and Frank's old ire and anger flared up again once more.
He had often wondered about this man and imagined him, wondered what he would say to this Jamie, how he would deal with him. He knew that Claire had compared him—his personality, his looks, his prowess in bed—with her other husband and had found Frank wanting. Claire was with Frank because of circumstances, because of obligation, because somehow he had 'won' by default, but Claire wasn't with him by choice or because she wanted to be. Everyday of their marriage since Claire had come back through the stones had felt like rejection and here was the source of that rejection before him. Rejection made flesh.
Frank had wondered about this day every since Claire came back to him. He knew that one day there would be a reckoning, a confrontation about the past, but he had no idea that it would come in this form—hurtled back two hundred years and looking into the face of his ghostly rival. Knowing this man's mouth and eyes had traversed every square inch of his wife's body, knowing this Scotman's mind knew of her reactions and sounds while making love just made Frank feel weak and nauseous. Frank didn't want to confront any man who held such knowledge about his wife, especially when that man would likely be proven better in every single way.
Frank couldn't help but imagine this strong, rugged man before him lifting his wife's skirts and pulling up his kilt (like all Scots after Culloden, he wasn't wearing a kilt at present, but Frank was certain he had regularly worn one before) and then this Jamie would pound away on his wife, his Claire, until she screamed with pleasure. That image had haunted him for years and now made worse that he had a face, a voice, and a body to go with his imaginings.
Frank's inner pride wanted to re-establish some semblance of dominance, but he wasn't off to a great start. It just wasn't in his nature. "You're, you're Jamie. You're Claire's… But that man said…"
A shadow passed over the man's face, "My nephew, wee Jamie, died last week, God rest his poor soul."
Frank was sorely disappointed that this Jamie wasn't the one who had died. He tried to feel guilty for thinking such things, but he couldn't quite manage it. As awful as it felt ten minutes before that his wife was behind a haystack crying for another man, that seemed far more preferable now than dealing with the reality that the man was standing before him and very soon, would be reunited with Claire. Imagining that scene, anticipating what he would inevitably be forced to overhear was hellish.
Jamie started again with his question, "When I sent her back, she had a certain medical condition. What was that medical condition?"
"She—she was pregnant," Frank replied. He expected a follow-up question about that pregnancy, but it didn't' come and he could only assume that Jamie wanted details from Claire and not from her other husband.
"Ye—ye wait here," Jamie said as he started toward the haystacks. A knife-edged sharpness ran through the Scot's command. The iron-willed tone called Frank back to the present.
"I'll not be ordered by you and Claire is my wife. She…" Frank called to him.
Jamie paced back to the older man, "I am advising ye to stay here as I doubt ye want to overhear our business. And listen to me well on this point, Frank Randall, in this time and in this place, that woman is Claire Elizabeth Fraser, Lady of Broch Tourach and my wife and I will no see her disrespected," Jamie paused and lessened some of the bite from his tone. "I will also no dishonor her or those she holds dear. But I aim to go see her now and ye best sit down where I found ye and no interfere."