#Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower”

[whenfrasermetbeauchamp]

Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower.” From the side of the mountain above, the broch that gave the small estate its name was no more than another mound of rocks, much like those that lay at the foot of the hills we had been traveling through.

We came down through a narrow, rocky gap between two crags, leading the horse between boulders. Then the going was easier, the land sloping more gently down through the fields and scattered cottages, until at last we struck a small winding road that led to the house.

It was larger than I had expected; a handsome three-story manor of harled white stone, windows outlined in the natural grey stone, a high slate roof with multiple chimneys, and several smaller whitewashed buildings clustered about it, like chicks about a hen. The old stone broch, situated on a small rise to the rear of the house, rose sixty feet above the ground, cone-topped like a witch’s hat, girdled with three rows of tiny arrow-slits.

…

“Should we knock?” I asked, a bit nervous. He looked at me in astonishment.

“It’s my home,” he said, and pushed the door open.

He led me through the house, ignoring the few startled servants we passed, past the entrance hall and through a small gun room, into the drawing room. It boasted a wide hearth with a polished mantel, and bits of silver and glass gleamed here and there, capturing the late-afternoon sun. For a moment, I thought the room was empty. Then I saw a faint movement in one corner near the hearth.

She was smaller than I had expected. With a brother like Jamie, I had imagined her at least my height, or even taller, but the woman by the fire barely reached five feet. Her back was to us as she reached for something on the shelf of the china cabinet, and the ends of her dress sash dipped close to the floor.

Jamie froze when he saw her.

“Jenny,” he said.

The woman turned and I caught an impression of brows black as ink-squills, and blue eyes wide in a white face before she launched herself at her brother.

“Jamie!” Small as she was, she jarred him with the impact of her embrace. His arms went about her shoulders in reflex and they clung for a moment, her face tight against his shirtfront, his hand tender on the nape of her neck. On his face was an expression of such mingled uncertainty and yearning joy that I felt almost an intruder.

Then she pressed herself closer to him, murmuring something in Gaelic, and his expression dissolved in shock. He grasped her by the arms and held her away from him, looking down.

The faces were much alike; the same oddly slanted dark blue eyes and broad cheekbones. The same thin, blade-bridged nose, just a trifle too long. But she was dark where Jamie was fair, with cascades of black curly hair, bound back with green ribbon.

She was beautiful, with clear-drawn features and alabaster skin. She was also clearly in a state of advanced pregnancy.

Jamie had gone white at the lips. “Jenny,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Oh, Jenny. Mo cridh.”

Her attention was distracted just then by the appearance of a small child in the doorway, and she pulled away from her brother without noticing his discomposure. She took the little boy’s hand and led him into the room, murmuring encouragement. He hung back a little, thumb in mouth for comfort, peering up at the strangers from behind his mother’s skirts.

For his mother she plainly was. He had her mop of thick, curly black hair and the square set of her shoulders, though the face was not hers.

“This is wee Jamie,” she said, looking proudly down at the lad. “And this is your uncle Jamie, mo cridh, the one you’re named for.”

“For me? You named him for me?” Jamie looked like a fighter who has just been punched very hard in the stomach. He backed away from mother and child until he blundered into a chair, and sank into it as though the strength had gone from his legs. He hid his face in his hands.

His sister by this time was aware that something was amiss. She touched him tentatively on the shoulder.

“Jamie? What is it, my dearie? Are ye ill?”

He looked up at her then, and I could see his eyes were full of tears.

“Did ye have to do that, Jenny? Do ye think that I’ve not suffered enough for what happened—for what I let happen—that ye must name Randall’s bastard for me, to be a reproach to me so long as I live?”

Jenny’s face, normally pale, lost all vestiges of color.

“Randall’s bastard?” she said blankly. “John Randall, ye mean? The Redcoat captain?”

“Aye, the Redcoat captain. Who else would I mean, for God’s sake! You’ll remember him, I suppose?” Jamie was recovering enough of his customary poise for sarcasm.

Jenny eyed her brother closely, one arched brow lifted in suspicion.

“Have ye lost your senses, man?” she inquired. “Or have ye taken a drop too much along the way?”

“I should never have come back,” he muttered. He rose then, stumbling slightly and tried to pass without touching her. She stood her ground, however, and gripped him by the arm.

“Correct me, brother, if I’m wrong,” Jenny said slowly, “but I’ve the strong impression you’re saying I’ve played the whore to Captain Randall, and what I’m askin’ myself is what maggots you’ve got in your brain to make ye say so?”

“Maggots, is it?” Jamie turned to her, mouth twisted with bitterness. “I wish it were so; I’d rather I was dead and in my grave than to see my sister brought to such a pass.” He seized her by the shoulders, and shook her slightly, crying out, “Why, Jenny, why? To have ye ruin yourself for me was shame enough to kill me. But this…” He dropped his hands then, with a gesture of despair that took in the protruding belly, swelling accusingly under the light smocking.

He turned abruptly toward the door, and an elderly woman, who had been listening avidly with the child clinging to her skirts, drew back in alarm.

“I should not have come. I’ll go.”

…

 She eyed her brother, standing at the window with his legs braced wide apart, hands on the sill and back stubbornly set against her. She bit her lip and a calculating look came over her face. Quick as lightning, she stooped and her hand shot under his kilt like a striking snake.

Jamie let out a roar of sheer outrage and stood bolt upright with shock. He tried to turn, then froze as she apparently tightened her grip.

“There’s men as are sensible,” she said to me, with a wicked smile, “and beasts as are biddable. Others ye’ll do nothing with, unless ye have ’em by the ballocks. Now, ye can listen to me in a civil way,” she said to her brother, “or I can twist a bit. Hey?”

He stood still, red-faced, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. “I’ll listen,” he said, “and then I’ll wring your wee neck, Janet! Let me go!”

No sooner did she oblige than he whirled on her.

“What in hell d’ye think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Tryin’ to shame me before my own wife?” Jenny was not fazed by his outrage. She rocked back on her heels, viewing her brother and me sardonically.

“Weel, and if she’s your wife, I expect she’s more familiar wi’ your balls than what I am. I havena seen them myself since ye got old enough to wash alone. Grown a bit, no?”

— Outlander/Cross Stitch

Gif: fangirlish.com (Claire, Jamie, Donas)

Photos: Starz, Season One, Episode Twelve, April 25, 2015

Photo: tvfeels.com (Lallybroch) 

Gif: smartbitchestrashybooks.com (Jenny & Jamie)

Book: Outlander (Cross Stitch), Diana Gabaldon, 1991

Tumblr: September 20, 2018, WhenFraserMetBeauchamp 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿❤️🇬🇧

WFMB’s Tags: #Outlander #Season One Episode Twelve #S1E12 #Lallybroch #Outlander/Cross Stitch #Chapter Twenty-Six #Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower” #Correct me, brother, if I’m wrong #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Donas #Jenny Murray #Ian Murray #Ian Mòr #Jamie Murray #Wee Jamie #Jamie Òg #Young Jamie #61 #092018

#Outlander #Season One Episode Twelve #S1E12 #Lallybroch #Outlander/Cross Stitch #Chapter Twenty-Six #Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower” #Correct me brother if I’m wrong #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Donas #Jenny Murray #Ian Murray #Ian Mòr #Jamie Murray #Wee Jamie #Jamie Òg #Young Jamie #61 #092018

[renee-writer]

Exchange Student Chapter 4 Grand Tour

He leads her outside after dinner. It is late summer with still plenty of light to see the grounds.

“This place is amazing! What it most have been like to grow up here.”

“Aye, as I grow older, I see how blessed I was and am. As a bairn, “ he shrugs,” it was just home.”

“Home,” said wistfully as she touches the brick that is older then America. “I can't recall having one.”

“A home?” He asks as he leads her towards the tower that is part of what he wishes to show her.

“Yah. I had one with my parents, before they died. But I was five and can’t recall it. Then, I traveled the world with Uncle Lamb. This will be the first place I've spent a year at since I was five.”

“Wow. This is the only place I've called home.”

“I am not sure wish is better but, I intent to enjoy being in one place this year.”

“Here. See. The tower known as Broch Tuarach.”

“Broch Tuarach? Gaelic?”

“Aye. It means north facing.”

“North? But it faces all directions. With it being round.” He laughs as he leads her around and shows her the door.

“Faces north, eh?”

“Good one.” She laughs with hin.

“You know I am technically Lord Broch Tuarach.”

“Really?” she looks from the old tower to him.

“Aye. Being the oldest son. If such would still be done. If this land was still filled with tenants like it was in my great-great-great grandsire's time. Now I am just plain James Fraser.”

“Well, I like just plain James Fraser.”

“Do you?” He blushes again. She finds it very sweet.

“I do. So, show my around and tell me about growing up here.”

For the next hour, he does. Walking her around the grounds, he told her about playing shinty with the other lads, about learning to milk a coo, ride a horse, separate grain, and all the other farm chores.

“What was the worse?” she says as she wipes tears away caused by her laughter. They have made there way to the old mill pond.

“I would say collecting eggs. Chickens can be vicious.”

“The best?”

He longs to say being with her, now. But is both to shy and to afraid to. “Right here. Swimming here after a long, sweaty day.”

“Brilliant. Ever skinny dip?” That blush again as his head lowered. “Oh you have.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone, Including Janet. Swear it.”

“I thus swear.”

“Okay. It was two summers ago. Me and my mates, Rupert and Angus, we did. It was full dark as we dared not do it in the light. It was so free to swim around without our trunks.”

“Yes it is.”

“So, you have?”

“Several times. Once with a group of girls. This was in Paris. I was ten. The second tine was with my boyfriend, at the time. We were in Sweden. The sun was just going down. I cane close to.. I thought I loved him. Now I am glad I didn’t.”

“Why?” He is manly trying to picture her naked with another lad.

“He told me a week later he was in love with someone else. A mate of his.”

“A lad?”

“Yah. I obviously wasn’t right for him. Though we did kiss and touch in the water. It felt good. Maybe he is bi. Either way, I am glad it didn’t happen.” She sighs and turns to face him. She had been looking out over the still waters. “Have you ever gotten close?”

“Nae,” a soft shy smile,” The only time I've sewn a naked lass is on the telly and internet. I've kissed a few lasses but ne' made out. Does that make me a freak.”

“No. It makes you a well raised fifteen year old. The right one will come along.”

“Aye. Come Claire. Let's back. Will be dark soon.”

“Okay. Thank you for showing me around Jamie.”

“You are welcome. It was fun to see her through another’s eyes.” He starts them back and she reaches for his hand. With a jolt he feels all the way to his half hard cock, he takes it.

#my writing #modern au #exchange student #grand tour #outlander fanfic #outlander fandom

[bee-kathony]

The Oath | Ch. 11 “Need” 

a/n: thank you everyone who has left kind comments on this story! I will be posting the next chapter on Sunday and then continuing as normal on Wednesday :) 

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10

August 8th, 2019

After Frank showed up and ruined their evening by demanding that Claire come with him, Claire had spent the night cleaning up Jamie’s bloody hand. His knuckles were split and the skin around them was angry and red. As she touched the skin lightly with an alcoholic swab, Jamie winced, cursing under his breath.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s going to sting a bit.”

“Aye, it does,” he said through this teeth.

“Do you get into fights often?”

Jamie looked at her, a smug expression on his face. “Nah, och well maybe a few when I was younger. Just a stramash here and there wi’ the lads.”

“A stramash,” Claire repeated, a smile on her lips as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“A wee fight,” he smiled back softly. Slowly, he reached his uninjured hand up to cup her cheek, “Claire, I’m verra sorry ye had to see me like that, I canna hold my temper sometimes. I’d understand if ye were scairt of me now.”

Sighing, she turned her head, kissing the inside of his palm. “I’m not scared of you. Perhaps I was a bit frightened, but no… I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” he grinned. “Because ye need no be scairt of anyone or anythin’ when I’m wi’ ye.”

“And when you’re not with me?” She paused her work on his hand, holding it in her lap.

“I’ll not be far,” he ran his thumb over her cheek.

The air between them was buzzing with an electricity that made Claire’s heart beat fast. Shaking her head slightly, she bent it back down to continue to tend to Jamie’s hand. Just a few minutes later, she had it cleaned up and bandaged.

“Don’t go punching anyone for at least a week alright?”

“Aye, Sassenach,” he blushed.

Claire stood from the ground and held out her hand to help him up. When he came to his full height, Claire was standing close to him, her nose just a breath away from his chest and she looked up at him.

She thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he took a step backwards, running his unharmed hand through his hair. “Would ye like to go to Lallybroch next weekend? That is if yer free?”

“Lallybroch? Your house?”

“Aye, well ’tis Jenny and Ian’s now — her husband. My Da left it to me, but I didna have much use for a big ol’ grand house and they’ve bairns to fill it wi,” he shrugged then his expression softened and he placed his hand over her stomach.

“I’d like them to meet ye both,” he smiled. “If ye want to meet my family?”

Claire covered Jamie’s hand with hers, squeezing it gently. “I’d love to meet them. Do they know?”

His cheeks blushed pink, “Aye, they ken. It might have come up a few weeks ago.”

“What did they think? That I was some gold digger after you and your successful business?” Claire sighed, letting her hand fall to her side.

“Nah,” Jamie shook his head.

“What is it?”

“Och, ’tis nothing,” he smiled, but Claire could tell there was something else.

“Jamie, you better tell me before I meet them…”

His hand slid from her stomach and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “My sister Jenny, well—“ he sighed, his shoulders heavy. “She thinks ye to be some kind of whoor since ye dinna ken who the father is.”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, that was not it.

“Oh.” Claire gathered her first aid kit, walking back into the kitchen to put it away.

Jamie cursed under his breath, following after her. “She doesna even ken ye Claire, ye mustn’t take it too seriously.”

“Well she’s right though isn’t she?” Claire said, her back facing him, her hands on the counter in front of her. Claire wasn’t embarrassed of her baby, nor was she embarrassed of Jamie. But the fact of the matter was that she had had a one night stand with a stranger and had gotten pregnant. Of course, it could still be Frank’s, but Claire shoved that thought aside quickly.

“Sassenach,” Jamie reached out, touching her elbow. “Ye are the furthest thing from a whoor. Yer beautiful. And smart, a good doctor wi’ a kind touch…. I know it.”

Her shoulders sank and she turned to face him. “Then I must be on my best behavior,” she smirked. “I’ll show her I’m no whore.”

Jamie laughed at hearing her speak in such a way. He’d never met a woman who swore as much as she did. “Ye’ll be meeting my godfather, Murtagh as well. I’ll ask him to come over,” Jamie smiled. “He was my Mam and Da’s best friend, been around all my life.”

“And he helps you with Fraser & Co. right?”

“Aye, he started it wi’ my Da and now wi’ me,” Jamie smiled sadly.

Claire reached up, cupping his cheek, “You miss them?”

“Every day.”

“I miss my parents as well,” Claire agreed, dropping her hand from his cheek to her stomach. “I wish they were here to meet the baby.”

“I wish that as well, Sassenach.”

Claire glanced at the clock on the wall, it was past eleven at night and Geillis had been gone for just over an hour. She knew Frank would be at the hospital all night from the beating Jamie had given him; he was also very drunk and would be hungover as well as in pain.

“Jamie,” Claire looked up at him. “Would you mind staying the night? Or at least until Geillis comes back? I just… don’t want to be here alone.”

“Och, of course, Claire,” Jamie smiled, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.

“I’ll um, just make up the couch.”

What she wanted to do was ask him to her bed and not even to sleep with her, but to hold her. Claire walked to the small hall closet and pulled out a blanket and pillow for Jamie, setting it up nicely on the couch in the living room. It was probably not long enough for him, but it would have to do.

“I hope this is alright,” Claire waved her hands at the makeshift bed. Jamie smiled, sliding his arms out of his jacket and took a seat, his hands patting the cushion.

“Tis perfect, Sassenach.”

Nodding, Claire grabbed her phone and started walking back to her room.

“Claire?”

“Yes?” She turned back to him.

“Would ye,” his cheeks turned red as he sat on the edge of the couch, one hand holding a shoe he’d been taking off. “Would ye like to come and sit wi’ me for awhile? My hand,” he held his bandaged hand up, “Tis hurts a wee bit and ye always make me feel good.”

Jamie mentally cursed himself for saying such a stupid thing to her, but Claire smiled and walked back over to him. Sitting beside him, she pulled his arm around her shoulder and leaned into him as they laid back against the couch. Neither of them spoke, but simply lay there listening to the other breathing.

Two hours later, Geillis came home to find Jamie laying on the couch, his arms wrapped around Claire — both asleep. Geillis couldn’t help herself as she tip toed over to them, taking out her phone and snapping a pic. It was their first “family” photo and she knew Claire would secretly be happy she had taken the pic.

“Night, love birds,” Geillis whispered and went off to her own bed.

Being a light sleeper, Jamie had woken up when the door opened, but kept his eyes shut. He’d have to ask Geillis for the picture she’d taken, but that could wait until tomorrow.

++++++

A week passed and finally, Claire and Jamie drove up to Lallybroch — the place where they first met. A strange expression crossed over Claire’s face and Jamie noticed.

“What is it, Sassenach?”

Looking up at the estate, she remembered that she wanted to know if Lallybroch really meant “lazy tower”.

“Aye, it does,” Jamie grinned and pointed up to the large stone tower near the back. “Broch Tuarach means north facing tower.”

“But it’s circular,” Claire laughed as they stood on the gravel outside of the house. “How can it be north facing?”

Jamie smirked, staring down at her. “The door faces north, Sassenach.”

“Bloody Scot,” Clare rolled her eyes and followed him into the house. They were staying for the weekend and Claire was only slightly nervous about meeting his family — considering the situation.

“Dinna fash, Claire,” Jamie whispered to her as he set their bags down. “They’ll be in the kitchen, then.”

He took her hand, leading her through the house. It looked different in the daytime. It also looked different with less people and less alcohol coursing through her system. God, what she wouldn’t do for a dram right now.

Claire had only heard Jenny and Murtagh’s voices in the hall that night, as Jamie hadn’t wanted anyone to see them sneaking up to the library. When she laid her eyes upon his sister, she was taken aback; she wasn’t at all what she pictured.

Hair as black as the night, small frame that just reached Jamie’s chest — Jenny Fraser Murray looked almost nothing like her tall red haired brother. Claire made a mental note to ask Jamie for a picture of his parents later on.

“Janet!” Jamie embraced her, kissing the top of her head. “Tis good to see ye.”

“Aye, ye too mo bhràthair,” The woman smiled, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair as a big sister would do. Claire’s eyes followed Jamie as he then embraced a man who must be Murtagh — a tall fellow with a thick beard and kind eyes.

Jamie came to stand beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, making her feel safe, guarded. Not that she needed to be afraid of them, but she couldn’t help but feel inadequate.

“This is Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie said proudly. “And this is my bairn,” his hand slid over her stomach and Claire’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s so nice to meet you both, I’ve heard so much about you from Jamie.”

Jamie’s godfather, Murtagh walked over to her, immediately embracing her. “We’ve heard all about ye, Claire. It’s good to finally meet the woman Jamie canna stop talkin’ about.”

Her cheeks blushed red and hot as she released him. She still felt the cold stare of Jenny in the corner and took a step forward out of Jamie’s reach and held out her hand to Jenny.

“Hi Jenny,” Claire waited, hand outstretched. “Thank you for having me in your home,” She added.

With a look over her shoulder at her brother, Jenny then cast her gaze to Claire, having to look up slightly at her. Then Claire’s heart leaped as she saw a familiar smirk on the woman’s lips and suddenly she was being embraced by Jenny Murray.

At once, Claire felt accepted. Like she belonged in whatever weird way that she did. No matter what happened between her and Jamie, they had this baby and this baby girl now had more family to love and protect her.

“Where’s Ian, Jenny?”

Jenny slid her arm around Claire’s waist, squeezing it a bit. “He’s wi’ young Jamie and Maggie in the stables, feeding the horses.”

“And Katherine?” Jamie smiled.

“Just laid her down in her crib for a nap,” Jenny smiled back and then looked up at Claire. “I’ve the three bairns, my youngest is but a few months old.”

“I’d love to meet them,” Claire grinned. Cousins. Her baby would have cousins. Growing up, Claire had always wanted siblings and cousins and she loved her Uncle Lamb, but she always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a big house with people running around it.

“Och, ye will, Claire. They’ll be screamin’ the second they get inside. The weens love meetin’ new people,” Jenny laughed.

“Ye’ve only just got here though, how about I show ye where ye’ll be stayin’ — ye’ll both be in Jamie’s old room.” Claire tensed at that and Jamie coughed awkwardly from the corner in the kitchen.

“Two rooms, Janet.”

Jenny nodded, understanding crossing her face. “Ah, two rooms. Well, Claire ye can still have Jamie’s old room. Tis nicer than the guest room which is where I’ll put Jamie.”

“Thank ye, Jenny. I can show her,” Jamie held out his hand to Claire for her to take. “We’ll be back down after we settle in.

A distinct Scottish noise come from Murtagh and Claire turned her head to see him wink at Jamie and had to try her hardest not to laugh.

“Well that went better than I thought,” she sighed as Jamie led her up the stairs.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “At first I thought Jenny was goin’ to snap yer head off, but I think she’s trying to understand and just accept what we have goin’ on.”

They walked down the same hall as that night, past the same pictures, the same doors. “That’s the library,” Claire commented as they passed it.

Jamie squeezed her hand, “Aye, tis.”

They both laughed, if only from a kind of bashfulness that came with remembering what occurred in that very room. Then Jamie opened a door further down the hallway and Claire was in his room. It was clean. Simple. And very Jamie. Or at least the Jamie that had lived here those years ago.

The bed was huge, as it had to be for someone as tall as him. A four poster wood bed with grey linen sheets and comfy looking pillows. Because Jamie only visited Lallybroch and didn’t live here, most of the personal effects that made a room its owners were gone. But there will still traces of Jamie here. Books on the shelves, a Scottish rugby team poster on the wall by the dresser.

“It’s nice,” Claire walked over to his desk, fingers tracing over a few of his items. Her eyes landed on a journal and she opened it, flicking through the pages.

“Och, dinna look at that,” Jamie came over to her quickly, shutting it fast.

“Wot? Why not?”

“Tis nothing,” Jamie laughed nervously.

“What’s in the journal, Jamie?” Claire smiled, trying to open it again.

“It’s just… well, ’tis wee stories I wrote as a lad. I dinna ken why it’s still out here in the open for anyone to be readin’,” He blushed, pulling it out of her hands.

“Will you ever let me read something you’ve written?”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded, hiding the journal behind his back. “But no today, Sassenach.”

“I won’t forget you agreed,” Claire smiled and walked over to the bed, plopping down with a sigh, “God, I could just fall asleep right here, I’m so tired.”

“Then take a nap, Sassenach.” Jamie smiled down at her as he placed her bag near what must be the closet. “We dinna have anythin’ to do.”

“What will you do?” Claire asked as she moved back on the bed.

“I’ll go and see Ian for a bit, visit my horse Donas,” Jamie nodded.

“That sounds nice,” Claire said slowly as her eyes fluttered shut. She didn’t hear Jamie leave the room, but knew that he’d left and she rolled to her side letting sleep take her.

++++++

Jamie had been nervous about introducing Claire to his family. Mainly because it wasn’t the traditional way of things. His father had told him to find a lass and marry her then start a family. Jamie had gotten those things a wee bit out of order.

He left Claire asleep on his bed, curled up on her side with her hand on her stomach. It was a beautiful sight to see, her so round with his child growing inside. At least he hoped it was truly his daughter.

Ian was where Jenny said he’d be in the stables. Young Jamie — named after him — and Maggie were leaning over the gate to feed hay to a horse named Brimstone, a mare with a lot of spirit.

“Och, Jamie lad, tis good to see ye around here. Ye brought her then?”

Nodding, Jamie couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his lips. “Aye, I did. She’s takin’ a nap upstairs. She gets tired a lot as the bairn grows.”

“I ken all about that,” Ian ruffled his hand through Maggie’s curls. Jamie squatted to her height, pinching her cheek.

“How are ye lass? Do ye remember me?”

“Of course I remember you Uncle Jamie, I saw you two weeks ago!” The little girl burst into giggles and Jamie picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

“Ye and Claire are havin’ a girl, are ye no?”

“Aye, a wee lassie,” Jamie smiled and then blew a raspberry on the side of Maggie’s stomach, only making her laugh more.

Ian smiled watching his best friend and daughter and then noticed Jamie’s bruised and bandaged hand. “What did ye do this time, man?”

Jamie followed his gaze to his hand and flexed it, still a bit sore. “Claire’s ex,” Jamie’s brows rose and he carefully set Maggie down on her feet and she ran off to where her brother was feeding another horse.

“He came by the other night, demandin’ that Claire come wi’ him and that the bairn was his,” Jamie sighed, crossing his arms tight over his chest.

“Is it his?” Ian asked.

“I dinna ken. Claire is afraid to find out, so I told her we wouldn’t, but it’s killing me,” Jamie’s shoulders sagged with the weight of the pressure he’d been holding up. He wanted to know and very badly, but he didn’t want to push Claire into anything.

“Of course it is,” Ian clapped his hand on his back. “Tis only normal that ye’d want to know if the bairn is yers or not. Will you stay wi’ her, if the lass isna yers?”

Jamie turned to face his brother-in-law, “Of course. I made her a promise that I willna break. She doesn’t have anyone.”

“Just because she doesna have anyone, doesna mean that she must rely only on ye brother,” Ian said, shrugging as he returned to his kids. Jamie knew that Claire was strong and that she didn���t need him. But Jamie wanted Claire to need him — to want him to stay and be with her. And she’d told him as much. But Jamie also wanted to have every part of her and then he remembered that this visit to Lallybroch wasn’t exactly just for Claire to meet his family.

He walked back into the house and upstairs to what had once been his mother and father’s room, but was now Jenny and Ian’s. Jenny had kept all of their Mam’s jewelry and had told Jamie where to find their mother’s wedding ring should he need it.

Jamie found it. A beautiful simple silver band with thistles carved into it and took it from the box and stashed it in his pocket. He didn’t know when, but only hoped there would be a time that he would need it.

Chapter 12: Conversations 

#the oath #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #chapter 11 #need #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #mclairefras #curlsgetdemgurls

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 1 : The Ghost

Second Wife Table of Contents on Tumblr

Second Wife on AO3

"'When I came back...it was different...I'd walk through the fields, and folk would squint at me, suspicious, thinking me a stranger. Then their eyes would go big as they'd seen a ghost, when they knew me.'

He stopped, looking out at the window, where the brambles of his mother's rose beat against the glass as the wind changed. 'I was a ghost, I think.' He glanced at me shyly. 'If you ken what I mean'" (Voyager, 456).

      Arriving at Lallybroch again, Jamie was a husk, a hollow man.  He had left his heart behind in Helwater, Willie’s desperate voice in his ears as he rode away.

      Now he wandered the halls at Lallybroch like a fearful ghost, memories lying in wait behind every corner. 

     He didn’t want the Laird’s room back.  He’d assured Jenny of that the instant he’d returned.  But he couldn’t help passing it on occasion, and once, when the door was open, his eye caught sight of the blue walls with their cream-colored leafy design. He had a flash of memory, as real as day:

     Claire was there, a vision in her white nightdress, wrapped in a shawl.  Standing in front of the tall casement window with the moonlight shining through it.  Asking him why Broch Tuarach was called a north facing tower, when it was round. 

     And then he remembered sensations.  Taking her in his arms, her warm body leaning against him, his arms wrapped around her, her soft curls brushing his face, and her shoulder making the perfect resting place for his chin. Sweet kisses.  Running his hand down the curve of her hip and pressing her body to him as they laughed together. Feeling certain of the rightness of Claire in this place, with him.  And then making love to her in that bed, a gentle joining that whispered ‘I love you’ with every touch.  What he would give to kiss her, to hold her, to have her body next to him one more time.  When the memory burned away, like mist in the morning sun, Jamie could have cried.  He felt desperately alone.

     There was no place safe at Lallybroch.  Anywhere he went, Claire had been there with him.  Or he had been there without her, and the place bemoaned her absence just as he had grieved it as well. He saw the entry to the priesthole, and that triggered another flood of memory:

      Few things had filled his heart after Claire’s departure.  In the moments he came down from the cave, the excited chatter of his nephew Wee Jamie and his niece Maggie, along with the gangly pre-pubescent Fergus and Rabbie, drove out the darkness for moments.  When he could relax, when they knew the patrol was not about, he would take Margaret on his lap and the boys would press close for him to tell them stories, the legends of their Scottish ancestors.  And for a precious few moments, surrounded by warm bodies and sweet faces, he would forget.

      With brand new baby Ian in his arms, that precious bairn, he again thought of Claire.  Was she safe?  What did their son look like?  Did he have dark hair like Brian Dubh?  Or red, like his own?  When the soldiers had come and he had held Ian close, putting his index finger into the tiny mouth to quiet the baby, Jamie had felt the same desperate emptiness as he had felt when he knew Claire was with child again, there in the camp close to Culloden.  He could not keep the things he loved close to him; he endangered them just by his presence.  He had sent Claire away, certain he would die, whether from a wound in the battle or from a broken heart.  And now he knew, that birth-day at Lallybroch that he must not hurt wee Ian, and that would mean saying goodbye.  Again.

     But Wee Ian was grown now; a lad of 12, who had no real memory of his uncle at all.  Fortunately, Jenny and Ian had both told their son about his Uncle Jamie.  Mostly Ian, for Jenny would not wish her son to admire the exploits Ian happily recited.  So though Wee Ian did not remember Jamie, he quickly began following his uncle about like a red-haired puppy, making up for the lost years.

     Jamie found moments of peace in the stable, caring for the horses.  It was healing for him to brush them after a ride, to check their hooves, to feed and water them, to train the young colts.  They didn’t ask questions like the prying neighbors and well-meaning tenants.  But they did stir memories of Helwater and Willie:

      Willie woke his heart up once more.  Watching him grow, Jamie felt like he could see his son Brian through all the years he had missed.  Jamie could easily bring Claire to mind, but he had always drawn a blank imagining their child. 

      Isobel would walk Willie in his pram, and she made sure they came by the stables so Jamie could see him. She would hold Willie on her hip, his chubby fingers excitedly pointing out the horses.  “Weeeeee,” he would say, doing his best to mimic the whinnying of the large beasts. 

      Jamie witnessed some of his first steps, heard some of his first words, and watched Willie grow.  When Willie was old enough to walk and talk, he quickly demanded to spend much of his time at the stables, and Jamie had the pleasure of teaching his son.  He would lift his warm body up to the saddle, and hold Willie’s hand as he gently led the horse forward, watching that sweet face as it lit up in excitement.

      And then it became apparent that once again, Jamie would have to say good-bye.  He was weary of it, even though he knew he was heading home to Lallybroch.

      It had once been home, but eleven years had changed everything.  Now there were dark-haired twins Michael and Janet Murray, Janet arguing away with Wee Ian, like they were play-acting the childhood of their feisty mother and hot-headed uncle.  There was willowy teenager Kitty as well.  Wee Jamie was twenty-three, married, with bairns of his own.  Margaret was also married, and now it was her babies, not Maggie, whose warm bodies Jamie cuddled close in the middle of the night, whose sweet faces gazed up at him as he told them the things he could not speak of to any other.

      And yet, he still felt empty.  After the bustle of the day, the family would retreat to their own homes, their own rooms, and Jamie would be left.  He would stay in the common rooms as long as he could, and only when he was near dead with exhaustion would he go to his empty bedchamber and sleep alone.

     “I’m weary of it,” he spoke to the darkness in his room.  “Weary of the loneliness.  Weary of feeling like the world has continued without me, as if I havena even been missed.”

     And then, there was Hogmanay.  The old year was ending, the new year arriving.  Jenny kept him, Ian, Fergus, Wee Jamie, Michael and Wee Ian fair hopping with her demands.  Bringing water for washing, keeping the wood boxes full for baking and cooking, moving tables, retrieving greenery boughs from the forest, killing fowl, lugging bottles of whisky from storage, and doing errands to town ‘til they all started hiding in the stable and out in the field just so she wouldn’t see them loitering and give them another job to do. 

     The women folk kept the ovens blazing, baking bread and pies and bannocks and cakes, stewing fruit and roasting meat until the tables groaned under the weight of it all.

     At that Hogmanay, there was something magic in the air.  The glow of candles and fire, the smells of food and evergreen boughs, the sounds of laughter and music.  He could feel other ghosts there: Brian Dubh Fraser, Ellen Caitriona MacKenzie, and William wandered with him.  Jamie held back from the company and chatter, creeping about the halls as invisible as a spirit.  Then those two precious girls found him; lovely Marsali, with her cheery smile and blonde hair, and sweet little Joanie, brown-eyed, with hair as fiery as his own.  They danced with him out on the floor, their small warm hands clinging to his.  Warm bodies, sweet faces.  He hadn’t felt happy in so long.

     When they pointed out their mother and Laoghaire met his eyes; when he discovered she was a widow, alone with her two precious daughters, a faint spark in his heart took hold, a hunger kindled that could not be satiated any other way.

     His sons Brian and Willie were out in the world without him.  Jamie Fraser was already a father; but he was beyond ready for someone to call him Daddy.

Chapter 2 : Mistress MacKimmie She has a familiar face, in a world where everything has changed.

#Jamie fraser #Laoghaire MacKenzie #CanonCompliant #Why did Jamie marry Laoghaire? #Why did their marriage fall apart? #Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

[magnoliasinbloom]

Someone to Stay - AU

Previous chapters

Chapter 7

The rolling green dominated the landscape. The Range Rover came to a halt in front of a sprawling stone house, somehow managing to look older than the hills it stood upon.

“Lallybroch.” Jamie swept his hand, encompassing the house and the land and seemingly everything around them.

Claire gazed out of the windshield, entranced by the ancient feel of the very stones. “This is not a manor house, Jamie. This is a castle.”

“Ach, no,” he said, ducking his head modestly. “Truly, ‘tis only a farm. There’s a broch, but it’s old and crumbling now. We can visit it later, if ye like.”

“What’s a broch?” Claire unbuckled her seat belt and stepped out of the car.

“A tower, of sorts. The auld lairds of Lallybroch would be called Lords Broch Tuarach, after the north-facing tower.” Jamie reached for their bags in the backseat and joined Claire, taking her hand as they approached the massive front door.

“A tower doesn’t really have a face, you know,” Claire teased.

“Weel, the door faces north. That’ll do.” Jamie smiled, and made to open the door.

“Shouldn’t we knock?” Claire felt nerves and trepidation, about to meet the famous Jenny and the rest of the Jamie’s family. She knew how much they all meant to him, and how big a step this was for them.

“’Tis my home. No need.” He stole a quick, soft kiss to quell her obvious nerves and then called out, “Hello the house!” He dumped the bags by the staircase. Claire stood next to him, taking in her surroundings.

Everything looked antique, but not in a museum-like way. Everything, from the furniture to the paneled walls, looked loved, cared for. Carved tables and tapestries mingled with a modern cordless phone and lamps. Uncle Lamb would have a field day, she thought.

Thundering footsteps broke into her reverie, and a tall gangly teenager came tumbling down the stairs. “Uncle Jamie!” In a blur, Jamie was rocked back in a fierce hug.

“Ian, lad!” Jamie squeezed and lifted the boy straight off the ground. They slapped each other on the back in a great show of affection before Jamie let him go, and slid an arm around Claire’s waist.

“Ian, this is Claire. Sassenach, this is Young Ian, my nephew and godson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Claire said sincerely. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” Young Ian grinned easily. “Welcome!” He picked up their bags and shot up the stairs two at a time. “I’ll just put these in yer room! Mam’s in the kitchen!”

Jamie and Claire held hands as they walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. They were assailed by the aromas of fresh baked bread and something delicious and steamy bubbling away on a stove. Claire half expected it to be an ancient cast-iron affair, but it was quite modern, by the rest of Lallybroch’s standards.

Jenny’s back was to them as she washed dishes at the sink. Jamie put his finger to his lips and blinked at Claire. He tiptoed (as much as a man his size might) and prepared to scare Jenny by tickling her ribs. His hands reached out but were stopped by a sudden, “Don’t even think about it, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”

Jenny craned her neck over her shoulder and gave them a wicked smile. “Hey there, little brother.” Her hands never stopped working, even as Jamie smiled abashedly and gave her a peck on the cheek. She turned off the water and wiped her hands on the apron she wore, engulfing Jamie in a warm embrace. “It’s been too long,” Jenny said, pushing back and smiling. She looked over his shoulder at Claire, who witnessed the encounter wistfully longing for family.

“And this is Claire, I presume.” Jenny stepped around Jamie, giving her a quick appraising glance—cordial, but guarded. Claire extended her hand, which was enveloped in Jenny’s cool grasp.

“It’s great to meet you. Jamie’s missed Lallybroch terribly, and all your children.”

Jenny’s eyebrows rose like dark wings. Her eyes had that slanted look identical to Jamie’s, resting on high cheekbones reminiscent of Viking royalty. “I’m sure he did. Weel, dinner is stew. ‘Tis something I can leave on the stove and no’ worry, since I’ve been tending the goats and sheep, and cooking for Hogmanay with Mrs. Crook.”

“She’s the housekeeper slash cook, but she’ll be off wi’ her own family for Christmas,” Jamie interjected.

“We can sit down to eat, now ye’re here.” Jenny squeezed Jamie’s hand and turned to the stove. “Young Ian, Jamie, Maggie, Kitty! Dinner! Come wash up!” She glanced at Jamie. “Could ye get Ian from the barn? He’s been tending to the hay now Rabbie’s gone home fer the holidays.”

There was a meowing at the kitchen door as Jamie approached it. He opened it to let a grey cat in, who pranced inside as though he owned Lallybroch. From the way Jenny bent down to coddle it, Claire suspected it might be the case.

“I see Adso of Melch is still alive, Jenny,” Jamie said, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“He is.” Jenny stood and toed the cat away from the stove. “Ye wee fiend, get on wi’ ye.”

Adso stopped in the middle of the kitchen, as soon as it spotted Claire. Jenny looked appraisingly at the cat, as though almost willing the cat to respond in some way. Claire decided to follow Jenny’s example and squatted, staring into its green eyes.

The cat slowly walked over to her, sniffing about her knees. It purred softly; Adso located her hand and pressed against it, enticing Claire to rub its ears. She obliged, marveling at the soft fur and turned to Jamie, who smiled down at her. “He likes ye, Sassenach.”

Jenny let out a contained breath, and the first truly welcoming smile bloomed on her face. “Never mind my bonny cheetie. Go fetch Ian, if ye please. And shut the door, before we freeze. Claire, we’re so glad to have ye.”

_______________________________________________________________________  

“Let me get this straight. If Adso didn’t like me, Jenny wouldn’t either?”

“Adso is held in very high regard around here, Sassenach. He’s an excellent judge of character. He led Jenny onto a nanny who would steal from her purse and a drunken horse handler.”

They trudged up the stairs after bidding the family good night. Dinner had been superb, Jenny and Ian and their children all gathered at the table. The babble and laughter of a large family tugged at Claire’s heartstrings, making her long for one of her own. The children’s ages ranged from Jamie’s namesake at 18 who attended uni at Glasgow, and Young Ian at 14; the girls Maggie and Kitty who were 12 and 9 respectively. Ian (the elder) had presided over dinner in his role of father—a far cry from the rock star life he led on tour with The Clan.

“And what is that Melch in his name?” Claire took Jamie’s hand as he led her around the dark upstairs hallway.

“Our mam always had a cheetie. They were all named the same, after a German saint. Adso of Melch, Adso of Milk, ye ken,” Jamie said with a smile.

They walked up to a solid wooden door. Jamie pushed it open, to reveal a bright fire set in the grate, and both their bags in the room. Claire swallowed nervously and glanced at Jamie.

They hadn’t slept together thus far, though they had participated in some hot and heavy (emphasis on the hot) make out sessions at Claire’s and at Jamie’s flat. Hands roving, breath panting, Jamie had given her space and time to express what she wanted and when she wanted it. Young Ian had plainly made some assumptions of his own.

And why not? They were both consenting adults in a relationship and what they did (or didn’t do) in bed was entirely their own business. Space and time—the continuum of which was grinding to a halt, as there was nothing Claire wanted more right then and there than to feel Jamie’s arms around her and—

“Claire. I can sleep elsewhere.” Jamie squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Or on the floor if I can have the quilt. Ye don’t have to—”

Claire stopped his words with a kiss her hands tangled in the ruddy mess of his hair. His hands gripped her waist as he walked her back towards the bed, kicking the door shut behind them. They tumbled together onto the carved wooden bedstead, the frame creaking slightly.

“Won’t they hear?” Claire asked breathlessly.

“The walls are made of solid stone,” Jamie mumbled, his lips on her neck. “We can be as loud as we like.”

His hand crept under her sweater; higher and higher, until she could feel it caressing the underside of her breast. It was only then that she opened her eyes and met his own, whiskey and azure, everything bathed in the light of the slowly burning fire laid in the hearth.

Jamie’s hand stilled, and he brought his forehead to hers. “Claire, I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?”

She almost didn’t recognize voice as her own, so high and gasping, “Yes. Yes, I’ll have you.” Permission granted, his hands were all over her body all at once. Skimming down her back, leaving tingling desire in their wake, gliding over her navel. Their clothes came off in a flurry of wool and jeans.

Slowly and reverently Jamie helped her shed her bra and underwear, his boxer briefs following suit. Completely exposed to each other, Jamie laid his hand on her bare hip, staring at her flush curves gilded by firelight.

“Ye are so beautiful, mo nighean donn.”  

Claire felt suddenly shy and made to cover herself, but Jamie stopped her. “No, Sassenach. I want to look at you.” Claire blushed but let him gaze, slowly growing bold enough to return it.

His body came closer to hers, with his own muted fiery glow. He kissed down her neck, licking here and there. His large hands, calloused from playing guitar, teased and nipped at her breasts. Claire’s hands drifted down his back, pressing and urging him ever closer.

As his touch strayed lower, his intentions became clear. Claire raised herself on her elbows, effectively dislodging Jamie’s head from her stomach. His eyes held a question even as they seared with want.

“Jamie… no one’s ever—I mean—” Her cheeks burned red as she gestured with meaning.

He smiled and stretched up to kiss her gently. “Do ye want me to?”

“I don’t know. Won’t it… will it—”

“Let me taste ye.” Jamie trailed fingers up her leg. “Tell me if I’m too rough, or tell me to stop altogether if ye wish.” He brushed his lips over her belly, eyes blazing up at her.

Claire surrendered, falling back on the pillows and putting her arm over her eyes. Her knees trembled as he settled between them, parting them open and his arms locked around her thighs. She felt a brief kiss (right there! she thought incoherently) before she was flooded with pleasure, his tongue working magic on her most secret of places. She gasped as Jamie anchored her body to the bed with his arms, desire shooting through her veins. There were sounds coming from her lips she had never made before. Fleetingly she thought of covering her mouth before the feeling climbed higher and higher until it broke over her, making her shudder in release.

“Oh Jamie…” Her hand traced his jawline, as he smiled at her and kissed the inside of her thigh. Jamie moved and rose over her, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself and found it arousing.

He ground his pelvis gently into hers, swallowing her moans as her legs wrapped around him. Claire could feel the length of him sliding against her, and she urged him to her, hands on the small of his back.

Jamie braced himself on his forearms, and aligned himself at her slippery cleft. With a final nod from Claire, he eased himself inside her, slowly but inexorably moving forward as she dug her fingers into his back. The sensation was intense as he withdrew and pushed inside, again and again. Jamie held Claire close, the hair on his chest tickling her as they panted and he groaned and she whimpered with pleasure.

Their bodies rocked together as though they had known each other for years, simply waiting for the chance to join. Claire lost herself in pure sensation; the weight of his body perfect on hers, the spicy scent of him mingling with the smokiness of the fire, the mixture of Gaelic and English words he poured into her ear as he thrust faster and faster.

Feeling surged as they both chased the illusive spark of completion. Jamie’s hand splayed on her hip, and hitched her leg higher along his body. Her back arched instinctively. As he shifted, he hit a spot deep within her from a new angle, and in a few quick motions Claire shattered, crying out against his shoulder.

Jamie followed soon after, the tension breaking free as every muscle quivered, his mouth a wide O of relief and wonder. Their eyes met, half-lidded with satisfaction. Claire smiled languidly, running her hands through Jamie’s red curls. He withdrew gently, kissing Claire over and over, his lips at the hollow of her neck where perspiration shone and her pulse raced.

The heady feeling gradually dissipated, and the winter chill stole back into the room, making Jamie and Claire shiver with something more than spent desire. Still smiling, they crawled beneath the covers; Jamie pulled Claire close to him, her back to his front as he settled behind her, his arm holding her tightly.

“Oh, Claire… tha gaol agam ort,” he breathed against her skin.

“What does that mean?” she asked drowsily.

“I’ll tell ye tomorrow,” he said, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “We have time. I want to show you the loch, and the village, and take ye on a tour of the farm. I think ye’ll like the wee beasties and…”

She drifted off to sleep, his voice murmuring in the dark, safe in the knowledge of love and safety in Jamie’s arms and in her heart.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander au #jamie and claire #someone to stay #smutty smut lovemaking i *tried* #consent is sexy

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Not an ask but just a bit of kudos, I am really diggin "Tales from the Past". I'm very curious to see if Claire thinks it all a big coincidence and how Uncle Lamb will react to all of the info they find? Thank you for the lovely writing.

Tales From the Past | Part I, Part II

Scotland was unlike anything I had ever seen before.  The land was an unbelievable shade of green and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. The image I had of my witch and whisky maker family fit perfectly within this landscape. The rolling hills leading to towering mountains, and the glistening lakes reflecting the scenery around them gave the air of magic and endless possibilities. The deeper into the Highlands we travelled, the easier it was to see how the Scots, and my Scots in particular, transitioned and settled in the mountains of North Carolina. There was a familiarity between the two, but whereas Scotland felt old and full of legends, the North Carolinian mountains had an air of youthful mystery in comparison.

“Are we there yet, Uncle?” I asked as yet another town flashed beyond the car windows.

“Not yet my dear. We’ll be there in no time at all, just enjoy the scenery. Maybe you could come up with your own legend by the time we get to our destination!” He cheered then went back to humming a nameless tune.

I sighed and looked longingly out the window. I just wanted to be there, I wanted to see their home and find out more. “Are we going to Broch Morda and Lallybroch?” I asked not five seconds later.

“No, Claire.” Uncle Lamb said with authority. “We’re headed to a town called Inverness. My correspondent who can trace their lineage back to Lallybroch itself lives there. She’s more than willing to tell her family stories and that of her husband’s as well.”

“Fine.” I grumbled, “I still wish we were going straight to Lallybroch. Something is pulling me in that direction, we need to go there.”

“Patience my dear, we will get there, just after we’ve heard what these Murray’s have to say.” Lamb winked.

Inverness was beautiful, tucked away at the top of Loch Ness I could see the appeal and history all around, but I was restless.

“How long do we have to be here?”

“Long enough,” He laughed guiding me towards the door. “I thought you wanted to hear the legends?”

I groaned, “I do but I want to go see Lallybroch more!”

“Let’s see what they have to say first. We’ll need their story to help further our investigation, despite your curious insistence!” Uncle Lamb cut me off before I could speak further.

“Fine,” I murmured into my arm that rested on the door. My excitement crushed for a moment.

The countryside blurred by until the faintest idea of a town sprung up in spires and stone.

“Inverness?” I asked looking to at Uncle Lamb. He grinned and nodded, weaving our way through the streets to the tea room where the mysterious Murray’s awaited our arrival.

“Here we are, m’dear!” Lamb exclaimed throwing the car door open. “Would you get my satchel from the boot? We may need to take photographs and extra pens and paper! You never know what all they’ll have or have to say!”

His excitement was contagious and I felt my own lift to a nervous bubble. I still longed to see the fabled home, but deep down I knew I needed to hear what the Murray’s had to say.

“Are you Quentin Lambert?” A tall and lanky man with jet black hair and gray eyes asked as he approached our car.

“That I am! You must be Alexander Murray,” Lamb greeted, clasping the man’s hand.

Mr. Murray chuckled and nodded. “Aye, and this is my sister Jennifer.” He gestured to short girl with the same black hair and gray eyes.

“We’ve already got a kettle on, please join us inside.” Her smile was kind, but wary.

“Claire! Don’t forget the books!” Uncle Lamb called from over his shoulder absentmindedly as he entered the quaint stone building.

I took a moment to breathe in my surroundings. The bustle of people and their cars contrasting against the ancient stone buildings. If I closed my eyes and blocked out the modern sounds I could believe I was there when it all began. I could feel the clean Scottish air as it wrapped itself around me and those on the streets, smell the the roasting meats from taverns and hearth fires as well as fresh bannocks and bread, and I could imagine the sounds of wagon wheels and horse’s hooves on cobble and splattering mud. My imagination took me to a world where I could imagine my whisky making Scot walking down the street, and with a swish of a kilt he was gone.

“Miss Beauchamp?” I jumped, startled, my eyes flying open as the pack fell to the street. “Och, sorry. I dinna mean to give ye such a fright. Yer uncle was asking for ye. I came to fetch ye inside.”

My cheeks reddened from getting caught in my fantasy. The real world felt foreign and distant compared to where my mind had just held me. I slowly retrieved Uncle Lamb’s bag and followed Jennifer Murray inside.

“Claire! Claire! There you are, what kept you? No matter, you really must hear what young Mr. Murray has told me about his family! There was a tale that originated from a great uncle of sorts, and that very uncle could be the James Fraser we are striving to find! But I’m very much more fascinated in this enthralling tale of a cave, espionage and freedom! Please, come sit. Sit and listen!” Lamb managed to get all of this out in a single breath, his face red, but eyes alight with excitement. I noticed his hands were already ink-stained and smudged, his left worst of all.  

“Breathe Uncle.” I said, laying a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sure Mr. Murray doesn’t wish to recount the tale again.”

“I dinna mind at all! Would ye like some tea before I start?” Alexander Murray gestured to the barely touched tray of tea and shortbread.

“Yes, thankyou.” I replied, pouring my own cup and grabbing a biscuit.

“As I was telling your very enthusiastic Uncle, my family has many tales and legends as does most here in the highlands. But one, we can go so far to say, is one of the more famous ones.” he said lowering his voice with a wink. “This one legend was said to be the Laird of Broch Tuarach during the uprising of Prince Tearlach in 1745. It’s said that the Laird was spared at the battle of Culloden or most likely escaped the clutches of the British and fled back to his homeland. His hair was a fiery red, easily spotted and gave him little chances to hide. My–” he paused and then gestured to his sister, “–our great-great-great grandmother was this Laird’s sister. She hid him in a priest hole that her recently dead sister-in-law had told her to build. You see the Laird’s wife was a Sassenach and a faerie.

“The folk in the highlands were wary of her and her healing abilities, even though the laird loved her more than life. She was among those caught in the crossfire of Culloden. The Laird being so distraught had nearly given up the will to live and when he was well enough to stand, decided to hide in the hillside to better protect his family.”

“Och! You’re tellin it wrong Sawny!” Jennifer interrupted.

“Och aye? Am I? Weel why dinna you tell it then and let me save my voice!” he said and smugly crossed his arms and legs into a relaxed position.

“I will then!” She settled herself deep into her chair.

“As my brother said, our great-great-great grandmother was the sister to the Laird who became legend, and it is from her that we get our story. Before the days of Culloden and the blackened soul of Prince Tearlach set this bonnie nation into strife, the Murray’s and Fraser’s lived peacefully on the estate. The young Laird had taken a faerie to wife, but all that knew her well enough said she was kinder than of any fae, and that she loved the Laird and his family to the ends of time. It was when she caught a vision of great strife and suffering for her beloved’s people, she told her good sister to plant crops that would yield a great amount, and prepare hidden storages including a priest’s hole under the kitchen cellar. The fae and her husband rushed out to protect the people and try to stop the horror she had seen from coming to fruition.

“They had earned the trust of Prince Tearlach, and made their way into his inner council. Night after night, day after day, the Laird tried to convince the Prince of his doomed cause, but to no avail. The horror still approached and overcame the people of this good nation. Killing thousands, destroying homes and the highland culture at it’s roots. The faerie wife, so distraught at the destruction of her adopted home, begged for her people to save the Scots, to turn back time and not let it happen, but they didna answer. Instead, it’s said she curled up on a faerie hill just outside Inverness and died of a broken heart. Unable to save her beloved nor her new people, and the old ones wouldnae have her back.

“However, the Laird did survive! He made his way home to Broch Tuarach where his sister tended to his physical wounds, but nothing could take away the pain he felt at the death of his wife. He hid for months in the priest’s hole, listening to raid after raid from the British soldiers and he could have it no more. He was too much of a danger to his family, and he couldna bear to lose another part of his heart. One night, he hid himself deep into the caves of the hills that surrounded his property with naught but a dun bonnet to his name. Just far enough that he would pose no danger, but close enough that if he was needed, he could be called upon. For seven years he hid by himself in the caves, coming out at night, clad in brown from head to toe, hiding the flames of his hair under bonnet and cloak of night to deliver fresh meat of his kills to his people and family.

“The Laird’s most faithful servant would risk his life week after week to bring the Laird fresh ale, clothes, and news of the town and of his family when the laird could not make his way down the mountain. On a day, not unlike today, where the sun shone high and the temperature mild, the servant raced up the hill bringing his lairdship fresh supplies, only to be stopped by a wicked cluster of British soldiers. They accused the lad of stealing and chopped his hand off for his crimes, then stole the Laird’s supplies for their own gain. Outraged the Laird tended the lad as best he could in the cave before taking him to the estate for proper healing. It was then the Laird decided that his time in the caves were at an end. He had to stand, he needed to fight the cruelty and oppression being imposed on his people.

“Seven years since the uprising, and there was still a traitor’s reward for the Laird. The laird asked his brother-in-law to turn himself in, grab the stirling reward and feed the family and people he could no longer protect.”

Jennifer stood up and went to the window. I blinked trying to come back to the world around me. The tale she had spun so vivid in my mind, like that was the true reality and not this tea parlour.

“What happened to him? The Laird?” I asked, desperate to hear more.

She turned, the light a halo around her silhouette, “The Dun Bonnet Laird went to prison to save his family. If you go back to our family’s ancestral home and speak to the locals they may tell you of him in a different way, the story altering from family to family. But one thing is for sure, they say on the old fire feasts, ye can see the Dun Bonnet standing at the mouth of his cave, keeping his vigil for all who are under his protection.”

#Tales from the Past #The Dun Bonnet's Tale #featuring: uncle lamb #featuring: jenny and ian's great great great grandchildren #claire is one step closer to finding jamie #only two more chapters after this! #;mod wtt #shortiemcbealle

[atheart150]

J/C AU  Broch Tuarach

Broch Tuarach  

A special shout out to The Beatles for Twist and Shout.

The bar was slammed.  They had more patrons tonight than some Friday or even Saturday Nights and it was only a Tuesday.  Jamie was’na supposed to be working either.  He had a date.  He’d just stopped in to pick up some cash and then be on his way, but only one bartender on, with a crowd like this, spelled disaster.  And his partner, his godfather, Murtagh, was running around like a chicken without his head on.  Murtagh did'na like crowds; he did’na deal with them well.  Weel, that was a bit of an understatement.  It was’na that Murtagh did no deal with crowds well, not that exactly.  It’s that he did’na deal with them at all, unless ye wanted some sort of bar fight to be the end result.  No, Jamie was the people person of the team, Murtagh was the stock expert; he ken his libations well and made the bar a local favorite because of it.

This Open Mike Night idea had been an inspiration.  Tuesday Nights were usually dead, so one night his sister Jenny and her husband Ian where hanging out at the bar and Ian gets this idea.  Ian grabs Jenny and, using a guitar left on stage, they performed a song, just Jenny sing’n and Ian play'n back up, like they do sometimes at home, only at home the bairn usually sing along too.  Then one of our regulars approached Ian asking if she and her sister could sing a song and would Ian would accompany them as well.  After that Ian opened it up for anyone else who wanted to give up a song and three more did.  Ian accompanied each of them, once on the piano.  Folks whistle'n, singing along and wave'n arms in the air like they were at a concert.  Some even danced.  All just for fun, ye ken.  That was a month ago.  A couple of regulars mentioned that they had such fun, asked us if we were going to do it again.  So we repeated it the following Tuesday and found we had a couple of new customers and two of them had pretty good pipes on them as well.  So it's a regular Tuesday night thing the bar does now.  Ian contacted some of his mates that were in a garage band together back in school and they came in last week and played along with Ian for free beers.  Now no one is a professional by any means but they come to drink and stay to sing, or maybe, on Tuesdays, it's the other way 'round now, he was'na really sure.   Either way bar business had increased and by the looks of tonight, business has more than doubled.  Everyone was having a good time and it's a bit different from the usual karaoke.  They've had some come from as far as Inverness for chance to sing with a live band.  No bad for a little hole in the wall pub in Broch Mordha.  Ian, smart lad that he is, had a play list printed and the singer has to pick a song from the list, but the band had a pretty diverse repertoire; everyone seems to find something on the list they wanted to sing. They even have a Country-Western Song…Ok, so it's Garth Brooks and not Reba McEntire….

Jamie immediately went behind the bar, put his phone and keys down and started to help Willie catch up.  The two of them work well together and can handle the loaded bar as a team.  Murtagh walked by carrying a case of BrewDog.

“I need another hook up of Innes, and better get another Gunn ready.  They are hitting them hard.”  Jamie barked as Murtagh passed.  “I need more Margarita mix too.  These gals are drinking them faster than I can mix ‘em.  Them and the whiskey sours.  What is it with women and little umbrella drinks anyway?   Sweet and fruity, yuck” and Jamie made a face.  “Give me a decent shot of Laphroaig or Glenlivet any day of the week,” he commented and gave his godfather a smile.

“Yeah, weel ye and me can pour us a few tonight after we close, aye?  Until then, keep make’n the pay’n lasses happy and don’t let me hear that ye ran out of the wee umbrellas or garnishes!  Like lambs to the slaughter…” Murtagh said with a huge grin and scooted back past Jamie on his way out from behind the bar. “I’ll change yer hook ups now.  I’m going to the cellar to get more tonic and seltzer for ye anyway.  Just keep ‘em happy, aye?  These lasses do’na drink all that much but they are bringing in the lads that will” and he disappeared around the corner.

The time flew by.  Willie and he had a rhythm going.  The bar was on fire.  He loved working when it was like this.  It got his heart pumping and his adrenaline flowing.  It was one of the reasons he and Murtagh opened the place to begin with.  It was a dump when Murtagh first found it.  Took almost a year of hard work, work'n night and day, but with the help of friends and family, they got it up and running.  The bar was a success now.  They even owned the building.  The bar downstairs and a small 2 bedroom flat upstairs.  Ned Gowan was god sent when it came to getting their alcohol and food licenses; without him Broch Tuarach would not exist.  Ok, so they did'na really have a tower, it was more of a turrett  but yes, the door did face north.  Tonight made all those early struggles and lost sleep well worth it.  Now if he just had someone to share it all with...

“What are ye still do’n here?  I thought ye had a date?”  Murtagh asked a while later as he passed Jamie while carrying up more ice.

“Shite” Jamie muttered.  “Got so caught up in helping ye out I forgot to call Mary and cancel.  I’ll just step out in the alley and take care of that now.” He said to Murtagh.

“Tisst, ye go and have ye date with the wee widow lady” Murtagh said with a knowing smile.  “Willie and I’ve got this.”

“The day you work behind this bar, aulde man, will be the day I….” and Jamie smiled, not finishing the thought.  He actually did not know what he would do without him.  Murtagh had filled huge void in his heart when his da died.  Kept him sane and alive.

“Willie, I've gotta make a call.  I'll be right back.”  So he stepped out back, into the alley, found Mary MacNab in his contacts, called and apologized, but he would have to cancel tonight.  Said he’d call her some other time and reschedule.  They both knew he wouldn’t.  Just as well he thought as he pressed the red button on his cell to hang up.  It would really only be the second date and he did not think it was going to go anywhere already.  She had come in two weeks ago for this Open Mike thing with a group of girlfriends.  She was a widow, she said, and seemed nice enough, all be it a little shy and a little frumpy, if truth be told; no confidence in herself at all.  But with a few drinks in her, she had gotten brave and written her digits on a bar napkin and slid it to him along with a pretty good tip.  He did’na have the heart not to call her.

Coffee, just coffee.  Short and sweet.  Just a little somethi’n to give the lass a boost to her confidence for the next guy she meets.  She had taken him by surprise when he walked into the agreed Coffee Shop and saw her sitting there with what turned out to be her 10 year old lad, Rabbie.  The kid was nice enough and the same age as Young Jamie, his sister’s oldest.  They had talked about the new Star Wars movie, Rogue One, fishing and local soccer clubs.  Boys at that age needs a father and that had sent up Red Flags for him.  No way was he ready to be one of those, especially on a first date.  It wasn’t that he did not like bairn.  He loved Ian and Jenny’s brood, all five of his nieces and nephews, truly and Jenny pregnant with number six.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want a family of his own either... someday.  He wanted kids, twelve he always replies when a date asks and then laughs to himself as he watches the panic come to their eyes.  Yes, an even dozen; his very own soccer team with one extra for substitutions.  He would have that family when he found the right lass, nay, the right woman.  That was part of the problem.  He had lots of lasses interested in him, tons, young and pretty lining up to give him their phone numbers....  but that was the catch, wasn’t it?  

“Ye do’na need a lass, Jamie, what ye need is a woman,” Murtagh told him in no uncertain terms one night when he told his godfather about yet another disastrous date he’d had.

Maybe Murtagh was right.  He ken it was’na Mary he was looking for.  Mary had been persistent and would not let him leave the coffee shop until she had a roped him into a second date.  He really did have to leave.  It was his turn to open the bar and he was late already, so he had unwisely agreed to it.  So the bar, being too busy for him to walk out on was the perfect excuse.  He’d shut this dating Mary thing down before it got complicated and she got hurt.  

He quickly text Jenny, told her to find a sitter and get her arse down here to help ASAP as he walked back into the bar.  

He’d just finished the text and put the phone in his back pocket, not watching where he was going as he made his way through the crowd to the bar.  He just about knocked a patron over, walked right into her as she was walking by.  With cat like reflexes, he managed to grab her by the arms to prevent her from falling on her arse.  There was a small jolt that hit him the moment his hands made contact with her bare arms; like there was an electrical current running from her to him in through one hand, coursing through his entire body and then back out through his other.  It left him feeling like he'd just grabbed hold of a plug and gotten a small shock, leaving the hairs on his arms standing on end.  The way she shuttered, he ken she’d felt it too.

Christ, she was tall for a lass.  Finally, a tall one.  He was so tired of meeting women he could’na look in the eye without stand’n them on a box.   And talk about bonnie...her eyes, gazing into them was like look'n at sunlight filter through a glass of finely aged whiskey.  He found himself making a small whimpering noise.

She had all this beautiful, shoulder length, curly hair that framed her face.  A brunette.  He usually went for blondes but hers was not the normal drab brown, her hair had all the colors of a burn to it.  Shades of chestnut, amber and even auburn.  Her hair seem to have a life of it's own, like it was it's own unique entity, all wild and unkept; he was mesmerized by it.  He had to stop himself from letting go of her arm and running his fingers through it right then and there.

“A bhithfhathast a ‘bualadh mo chridhe, ma tha thu nach’ eil a creutair as àlainn mo shùilean riamh chunnaic” he said quietly under his breath as he slowly looked her over.  (Be still my beating heart, if you are not the most beautiful creature my eyes have ever beheld).  Victoria Secret model gorgeous, for sure.  He’d let her model knickers for him anytime.  And legs… hers went on forever and her short little polka dot skirt made sure you could appreciate them.  She had a white blouse on, untucked and tied at the waist, that was unbuttoned just one button too many, making him want to see if he could get a look at her breasts if the shirt moved the right way.  He did not think she was wearing a bra either; he swore he could see a hint of her cherry red nipples through the thin material.  He sighed as he thought about his thumb rubbing that..

“Hey, my eyes are up here” she commanded as she thumped him hard in the shoulder then took her open hand and waved it in front of her bosom in an attempt to get him to look up.

“Huh?” Jamie said realizing he was caught staring at her like he was 13 go'n through puberty, look'n at his first pin-up.  She had a natural beauty to her.  She appeared to be wearing hardly any makeup at all.  Amazingly beautiful white skin, like porcelain.  None of that dark eyeliner that made the lasses look so Goth either.  No bright red lipstick, just a soft pale pink.  It made him wet his lips with the thought of kissing them.

“Pardon me,” she said.  “Did you say something?” then added an “Oops,” as something fell to the floor.  She turned and bent at the waist to pick it up.

“What an arse,” he whistled under his breath.  Before he knew it he had taken a step forward and with both hands, made a very subconscious choice of reaching toward her bent frame to lay hold of it; ready to grab both cheeks and pull them to his already very alert crotch.  God he wanted to feel that up against him every night before he fell asleep.  Then he thought, there was no way in the world he would ever sleep if that arse were pressed up against him.  Certainly, very specific parts of his nether region would be wide awake and raring to play.  Jesus, where hell had this woman been hiding his whole life?  Why the hell did'na he ken her?

He glanced up and saw Murtagh look’n right at him, making him turn red.  His godfather could read him like a book, ken exactly what he had been think'n. That wasn't embarrassing.

“Here, let me get that for ye,” he said quickly, breaking eye contact with his godfather.  He placed a hand lightly on her lower back, stooping to pick it up whatever it was she was reaching for.

“You're standing on my sweater” she said in a dry, slightly hostile voice.  She turned and looked at him.  She almost fell over.  He had the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen and crazy, wavy red hair, wearing it a little longer than most of the guys she dated, and just the hint of a beard.  Very sexy, she thought.  She just wanted to rub her fingers over that scruffy strong jaw line, maybe while kissing that soft mouth.  She resisted the urge to stroke his lips with her finger. He turned red in the face as he lifted his foot and the two of them, together, stood, each holding a piece of the sweater.  

“I'm so sorry about your sweater....” He said at the same time she said “Jesus, you're a tall one.  Finally.  I'm so tired of meeting men that have to stand on a box just to have a conversation with me....” and they both started to laugh.

She shifted, adjusting her stance and started to wobble.  She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.  “Damn Geillis.” she muttered under her breath.  She should have worn flats, but Noooo, Geillis had selected the entire ensemble and that meant these bloody heels; she could hardly stand in them let alone walk.  But she had lost the bet, fair and square, and Geillis was taking full advantage of it.  A night out with the girls if Geillis won and as the winner, she got to chose the when, where, how and what.  How Geillis knew about this bar was beyond her.  It took them almost an hour to get here; they came all the way from Inverness.  But this Nordic God standing in front of her, ruined sweater or not, was well worth the drive.

“Aye?” He said.

“Sorry,” she said.  “I'm just talking to myself.”

“Oh?  Do that often do ye?” He asked and smiled the most endearing half smile she has ever seen.  She could not stop staring at this man in front of her.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, where the bloody hell has he been hiding her whole life?

“As a rule, no.  But tonight all the rules seem to be broken.” she said and smiled at him.

Her smile, it took his breath away.  It lit up the dark bar.  “Give me yer sweater and I'll have it cleaned and get it back to ye.  I'm sorry I'm such a clot-heid and stepped on it to begin with” he said and gently took the sweater from her.

“You don't need to do that, really,” she replied.  “I was the one that dropped it on the floor.  I can wash it when I get home, no worries.”   She noticed that he had licked his lips for the third time as she took her sweater back from him.  Each time she had thought he was going to kiss her, but he hadn't tried... yet.  The night was still young....

“No, I want to, ye ken.  No actually, I need to, I must insist.  I stepped on it, I should pay to have it cleaned.”  This time when he reached for it, she took it and held the sweater against her chest.

  “No, no thank you,” she said firmly.  She needed to get away from this man.  She needed air before she did something foolish.  “I was on my way to the loo.  I need to go” and she pointed her index finger over her shoulder.  

“Oh.” he said with a hint of sadness.  “Oohhhhh,” he added.  “Do ye need me to show ye where it is?”

'Ah, no.  I think I can read the signs...” and she pointed to the one that says Lavatories.

“Oh right,” he said.  “Weel I'd better get back to the bar.  It's pretty busy tonight.”

“Yes, it is fairly crowded in here.  Do you come here often?”  She asked and then blushed at why she really wanted to know.  She'd know where to find him if he did not pluck up the courage to ask for her phone number.

“Come here often?  Yeah, you could say that.  Weel, I best get back...” and he started to back away.

Well, see you around then.” and she turned, wobbled a bit, which made him smile, and walked away toward the loo.

“Uh ok, then.  Perhaps I'll see ye later then, aye Sassenach?” he said to her back as he watched her walk away.  That lovely round arse make'n that skirt swing like a flag in a breeze.  It was a thing of beauty to watch.  He smiled as she wobbled again.  The woman had 5 inch stilettos on, which clearly she could not walk in.  He was most definitely going to see her again, before this night was over, if he had to pull the fire alarm to do it.

  He started to turned and made his way back to the bar, totally ignoring his godfather's raised eyebrow when Laoghaire stopped him.  “There ye are, Jamie. I've got more drink orders that need fill'n” and she smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes.  “Where were ye?  I looked everywhere fer ye.”

“Laoghaire, Willie's at the bar.  He is perfectly capable of mix'n ye drinks or pull'n a beer fer ye.  Now get on with ye” he said with irritation in his voice and he glanced back one last time as the verra bonnie woman wobbled toward the ladies loo. And he smiled.

Laoghaire followed Jamie's gaze and watched as the brown haired bitch had to put her hand against the wall to steady herself as she walked.  Drunk forbye she thought.  She then looked back at her Jamie's face.  Ooohh, he liked her, she could tell.  Well, she'd fix that.  Jamie was hers.

Once he got back behind the bar, it had been non-stop pouring drinks since. Hardly a chance to breathe let alone look for her.  He hoped she had'na left already.

“Jenny!” Willie called out and Jamie looked up from pulling two Heineken from the ice, pop'n the caps and sliding them to Laoghaire to add to her tray.  She already had the 4 margaritas and 1 vodka tonic and 1 whiskey sour.  All in the proper glasses with the proper garnishes, thank you very much Murtagh.  No wee umbrellas needed.

“Hey Jen, grab an apron and come relieve me” Jamie said.  “I need to help Murphy out in the kitchen and run the dishes.  We are going to run out of glasses if this keeps up” and he smiled at her.  What he was really going to do is give the bar a quick walk through to see if he could find the sassenach again.  He had let her get away without getting her name or phone number, the dolt that he was.

“Oh no ye don't,” she answered sharply.  “I'll go help Murphy in the kitchen and I'll find Murtagh to do the dishes.  Where is the wee grommel, anyway?  Taken a break in the alley, I suppose?”

“No, I needed another case of Ayinger and needed new hook ups on Guinness and Stella Artois so he's downstairs.  He should be up any minute” he answered.

“Good, then I have time to let my husband ken I am here” she said as she walked away, waving her hand over her shoulder.

Weel, at least Murtagh had not said anything about the lass when he had asked for the new hook ups.  That's a good thing, Jamie thought to himself.

“Hello again.”  A soft voice came from the other side of the bar.

He looked up to see who said 'Hello' and it was her.  Elbows tucked into her sides and leaning over the bar like she had read his mind earlier and ken he wanted to look down her blouse.  She had lovely wee breasts from what he could see of them.  He instinctively ran his moist tongue over his lips.  “What can I get ye?  On the house, for me step'n on ye sweater earlier.”

“Courage.  I need liquid courage” she said with a laugh.  “What do you have that meets that requirement?”

She smiled at him.  It made him stop breathing for a second.  She smiled not only with her lovely mouth, but with her eyes.  Not afraid to show the little lines at the corners when she did.  

“Oh, so you work here, do you?  Well, if you're offering to buy, I best tell you, I’m not cheap,” she said.  “Whiskey.  A good one, not that well drink crap you use in the mixed drinks either.  Make it neat.  Please.  And thank you.”  Her gaze never wavered.

  He laughed at that.  No one, in their right mind would ever think this woman was cheap.  She was a lady, for sure.  A strong, self-reliant one ta boot.  He wanted her, bad and he let her see it in his face.  “That would be either Laphroaig or Glenlivet.  Name your poison.”

Her smile broadened and she laughed.  Out loud.  Not a silly lassie giggle.  A real laugh and she leaned a little further forward… nope, no bra.  Now he ken he had to have her.  “If you're giving me a choice, I'll take the Laphroaig. I can buy my own drink, you know” she said and showed him her wallet.

“Aye, I don't think yer a vagrant, if that's what ye mean.  Let me rephrase that... I'd like to buy ye a drink, if I may...” and he placed his hands on the bar and leaned in so his face was a mere 6 inches from hers.  “I think ye're verra, verra pretty and I am quite smitten with ye.  I'd like a chance to get to know ye a wee better and perhaps ye'll give me yer name and phone number before ye go.  I'd like to see more of ye.  A lot more...aye?”

She opened her mouth to say something in reply, when one of the barmaids walked up, knocked her intentionally and starts calling out drink orders to him. Just interrupts their conversation.  Damn Geillis.  Damn stilettos.  It was a good thing Claire had been leaning on the bar or she'd have fallen over.  Claire turned and stared at the barmaid, her mouth slightly agape at the little blonde's rudeness.

“Laoghaire!” Murtagh called out from the other end of the bar.  “I'm make'n ye drinks.  Come over here and repeat the order ta me” and he waves his hand at her.

  Laoghaire looks at Jamie and then at Murtagh then back to Jamie.  “Ye always make my drinks for me, Jamie.  We're a team, aye?”  Eyes begging for him to make her order; lips pouting, eyelashes fluttering.

“Laoghaire.”  Murtagh says a little rougher.  “I'm make'n ye drinks.  Leave Jamie be.  Can ye no see he has a customer.”

Jamie smiles at his godfather, to thank him and turns to get the Laphroaig to pour her drink.

Laoghaire gives this new friend of Jamie's the once over from the top of her crazy, ugly brown hair all the way down to those stupid high heel shoes the woman could’na even stand in.  She then looks at her in the face and whispers, “He's mine, ye ken.  You stay away from him.”  Laoghaire, with a flip of her own blonde hair, turned on her heels and went to fetch her drink order from Murtagh.

Jamie, oblivious to Laoghaire's comments, turns around with a shot glass and the Laphroaig.  “Can ye make it down to the end of the bar in ye wee heels, then?  And he nods his head to the front end of the bar where it was less crowded and quieter.  “There's an empty stool for ye to sit and maybe I ken talk to ye for a bit, while it's slow, aye?  Ye can tell me all about why ye need courage...somethi'n tells me it's a fair good tale you'll tell.”

She laughed and nodded her head.  “I can walk in them.”  She starts to wobble down the bar to the available stool, steadying herself by placing a hand on a patron or two's shoulder when she needed to as she walked.  She downed the first shot in one swallow and slammed the glass down on the bar.

“Barkeep, I think I need another” and she tapped the bar next to the glass with her finger.  “Hit me again, please.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow and poured her a 2nd.  “Start talking.  What ever are ye afraid of?”

“I lost a bet and here I am.” She said resting her cheek on her hand.

Jamie mimicked her by leaning against the bar, placing his head between both fists.  Faces no more that a few inches apart.  “Why does that require liquid courage?” He asked.

“Because the winner got to select the night's activity, which is why we are here, and I am wearing clothes that I own but would never wear together as an outfit or in this fashion.”  Claire sat up and waved a hand down the front of her body as if it proved just how foolish she looked.

“Well if loosing a bet brought ye here to this bar, then I'm glad for it” he said.  “If that friend selected your clothes, and it's a change for you, then embrace it, for you look bonnie, verra bonnie indeed, Sassenach.  Although you might rethink the shoes, before ye hurt yerself.  Mark my words, ye're gon'na twist an ankle in them before the evening is through” he said as he reached out and tucked a wandering curl back behind her ear.  “I still do'na see the need for courage though.”

“Because, part of loosing the bet and the reason I am here and in this outfit, is I have to get up on that stage and sing.  Oh, and dance too” and she laid her forehead on the bar with a moan.  

Jamie could not help himself.  He bust out laughing.  Loudly.

“It's not that funny” she growled, raising her head from the bar and shooting him a look that clearly screamed she was feigning anger.

He laughed at her again.

And she smiled and giggled.  “Now you know why I need courage.  Hit me again barkeep.  My friends will be coming to lay claim to my body soon, the witching hour is almost upon us.  And I will never be able to show my face in this bar, nay, this town, again.  Maybe not even where I work if things go really badly.” She takes the whole shot, again, in one swallow.  “This is exactly why I do not attend Office Christmas Parties.”  She taps the bar next to her shot glass.  “One more before the executioner arrives, my good sir.”  

“I think I'd better cut you off, until after yer wee song and dance.  I'll pour as many as ye like after.”

“Promise?”

“Aye.  You are stouthearted for a lass, I'll give ye that.  Now let me come around and I'll help ye to yer friends.”

“Claire, there ye are.  I've been look'n everywhere fer ye.”  Suddenly, out of nowhere, Geillis was there with her arm around Claire.  “I thought ye said ye needed to use the loo one last time before we went on stage and yet I find ye here, with yer head in an empty glass.”

“My liquid courage,” Claire turned and said to her friend and held up the empty shot glass.  “He cut me off until after the show anyway.  Have you met my Nordic God, Geillis?  And Claire turned her head and looked at Jamie.

“Jamie?” Geillis said incredulously as she looked up at him.  “Jamie's the guy you've been non-stop yammer'n about for the last hour and a half?  Seriously? He's your Nordic God?” and she started to laugh.

Jamie stood there looking totally confused.  Women often had that effect on him.  He never understood their little in-side jokes.

“Yes.” Claire simply said.

“Geillis” Jamie started. “Geillis Duncan, ye ken this woman?  Is she here with yoo?” he asked in a voice that  was almost pleading for her to say yes.  “How is it, with all the others you have tried to set me up with, this one I have never met?”

“Aye, Jamie.  Claire's with me.  All three lasses I have introduced ye to, and I would'na call them friends, only acquaintances, ye have never called for a 2nd date.  Claire is a co-worker as well as a friend, why would I ruin that by introducing her to you?  Plus she is'na blonde.  Ye have a preferred type, remember?”  There is a flash of what looks almost like light in her eyes, then she does this apprising the situation glance thing by looking back and forth between Claire and Jamie as they are paying more attention to each other than anything else in the entire bar... they both, clearly, have little heart eyes for each other.  She smiles, one of her wicked, all knowing smiles

. Jamie knows that can'na be a good thing, no with Geillis.

  “Claire” Geillis starts and gentle grabs Claire's closest shoulder to get her attention.

  Claire turns her attention from Jamie to Geillis and blinks.

“Claire, I'd like to introduce ye to an old friend of mine, James Fraser.  James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, to be exact, the, verra single, Laird of Broch Tuarach, his family's estate.  Jamie, I'd like to introduce you to one of my co-workers at the Inverness Hospital, Claire Beauchamp, the verra single Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be exact, one of the staff OBGYN Doctors at the hospital.  And she took a step back to let that information sink in, her eyes never leaving their faces as they both turned and looked at each other in a whole new light.

“This is like Christmas has come early,” she said under her breath and claps her hands together quietly.  “Now that ye are properly introduced, I need to have 1/3 of my singing group back because we are up next.  Come Claire, Louise is waiting.  You can talk to Milord after ye sing” and she grabs Claire's arm and pulls her from the stool.

“I'm sorry Jamie, I should have said something....”

“I'm sorry Claire, I should've told ye...”

They said at the same time.

Jamie watched as Geillis dragged Claire away.  Claire wobbled and stumbled the entire way.  “Mo Sorcha” he whispered quietly.

  “What about the light?” Willie asked as he stood beside Jamie.  “Who is the Neighan Donn?  I've never seen her in here before.  She's bonnie Jamie.  She yer's?

“She will be before the end of the night if I have anything ta say about it, Willie.”  He turned and walked back to put the bottle of Laphroaig away until after her song.  He needed to find a better view of the stage.

“Next up is... One of Broch Mordha's own, Geillis Duncan....” Ian said into the microphone.  Some of the locals and two entire tables near the front all started clapping.

And up walked Geillis, a lass Jamie'd never seen before and Claire.  Claire seemed to be holding her own in those stiletto's right now.  She fidgeted with her shirt collar and smoothed her skirt and then took a mike.  The three of them stood there, Geillis had on a navy, sleeveless dress with white polka dots, Claire with her full navy polka dot skirt with white top and the nameless lass, maybe Louise, with a navy blouse with white polka dots and a fitted, plain navy skirt.  All three in high heels.  All three had mikes.

Ian cleared his throat.

  “Oh,” Gillis smiled and whispered to Ian what song they were going to be singing.

Ian smiled.  “Really?” And he raised an eyebrow.  “It's no on the list Geillis, ye ken.”

“Tell me ye and the lads do'na ken it by heart!  It's probably the first full song ye every played together, aye?” and she turned back around to to face the crowd.

“Alright fella, the lady wants Twist and Shout by the lads from Liverpool.  1.  2.  Ah 1.2.3.4.”

Claire sings lead, and she's got a nice voice.  Gillis and the other lass, Louise sing the back up.  All three dance the same steps and are almost synchronized... every once and a while one of them is off.  Claire throws a little change and instead of girl she changes it to lad while looking directly at Jamie. Her little skirt is swing in time with the band as she steps forward and back, side to side and shimmies her shoulders while they perform.

Well, shake it up, baby, now (Shake it up, baby) Twist and shout (Twist and shout) C'mon c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now (Come on baby) Come on and work it on out (Work it on out)

Well, work it on out, honey (Work it on out) You know you look so good (Look so good) You know you got me goin', now (Got me goin') Just like I knew you would (Like I knew you would)

Well, shake it up, baby, now (Shake it up, baby) Twist and shout (Twist and shout) C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now (Come on baby) Come on and work it on out (Work it on out)

You know you twist your little girl (Twist, little girl) You know you twist so fine (Twist so fine) Come on and twist a little closer, now (Twist a little closer) And let me know that you're mine (Let me know you're mine)

Well, shake it up, baby, now (Shake it up, baby) Twist and shout (Twist and shout) C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now (Come on baby) Come on and work it on out (Work it on out)

You know you twist your little girl (Twist, little girl) You know you twist so fine (Twist so fine) Come on and twist a little closer, now (Twist a little closer) And let me know that you're mine (Let me know you're mine)

Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now (Shake it up baby) Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now (Shake it up baby) Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now (Shake it up baby)

When it's over the bar erupts into cheer.  Jamie looks over to see Jenny and Murtagh stand'n right next to him.

He is beaming with pride.  Ear to ear grin.  His hands hurt from clap'n so hard.

“Care to tell me just who she is now or are ye gon'na make me wait until after closing?” Jenny turned to look at him as she rubbed her rather large baby bump. She wanted to see her brother's face as he told her he had finally found his heart.

He turned and looked down at Jenny.  “Claire, Jenny. Her name is Claire” as he rolled the name around in his mouth like a finely aged whiskey.  He walked out from behind the bar to the stage and lifted Claire down.  She rested her arms on his shoulders and ran her fingers through his soft red curls.  He did’na set her feet on the ground, instead he wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed her as he walked away from the crowd.  They Tingled all the way.