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Chapter Text

I didn't want to leave him.

That was what went through her mind as Claire touched the stone. She felt her body being pulled this way and that. The screaming in her head was so loud it pounded in her ears. Everything she had been through these past three years flashed before her eyes like a film as she fell through time. At one point, she thought she saw Frank in the distance. She tried calling him, but her mouth didn't seem to be working.

Claire was lying on her back on the damp ground as she opened her eyes, blinking from the daylight that assaulted her senses. Her eyes filled with tears at the realisation - Jamie was gone.

She sat up quickly, which made her feel dizzy. She looked sadly at the ring Jamie had given her, when her brain suddenly registered the distant sound of cannon fire. She looked out into the distance as the loud blasts filled the air. Could it be?

She stood up and walked quickly down the fairy hill and when she reached the bottom, the lack of road confirmed her suspicion. She was still in the past. Her heart leapt with joy and fear. Something went wrong, she didn't want to risk trying the stones again and so now her promise to Jamie was broken. She knew he would be angry but she needed to find him and fast.

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The dogs in the yard began to bark as Claire walked up the path to Lallybroch. Ian opened the door to see what the commotion was about when he noticed her coming through the arch .

"Claire?!" He said in surprise. "Is Jamie not with ya?" He asked in dismay.

She shook her head in response. Ian could see that she was tired and hungry from her long journey. So he guided her into the house and closed the door behind them.

After she was rested and fed she told Jenny and Ian what had happened, leaving out the time travel part of course.

"Jamie wanted me to go somewhere safe, but I couldn't do it. I began walking back towards Culloden to find Jamie when I met Murtagh. He was following Jamie's orders and taking the Fraser men back to their homes. He didn't want to betray Jamie's wishes and so he insisted on bringing me here instead."

"Where is Murtagh then?" Jenny asked.

"He's riding back to Jamie, to fight at Culloden".

"So, Jamie doesne’ ken you're here?!" Ian inquired.

"No, he doesn't." Claire admitted.

"Meladie! You're here!" Fergus shouted with surprise. He ran to give her a big hug. Claire held him tightly to her. He had managed to deliver the deed to Lallybroch Which made young Jamie the legal owner to the land, thus keeping the Murrays and the estate safe.

"Is Melord not coming home?" Fergus asked anxiously.

Claire's face fell in trepidation , would Jamie be lost to her forever? It was hard waiting around in the house, not knowing what had become of him. Did he survive or did he die as he promised her he would. Every day she would stand outside watching the road, hoping, praying he would come back to her.
Early in the morning on the third day Jenny and Claire rushed outside at the sound of a wagon coming into the front yard.

"Jamie!" Claire couldn't believe her eyes. He was alive. Barely. "Jamie, can you hear me?" She asked climbing into the wagon to examine him.

"Can ya speak?" Jenny tries her luck at a response.

"Am I dead?" Jamie whispered , his breath raspy and slow.

"No brother. You're home, in Lallybroch." Jenny tells him.

"Lallybroch…Claire…gone."

"I'm here, Jamie... I'm here." She tells him reassuringly but he doesn't register her words. "He's delirious and feverish. Help me get him into the house."

"Don't you dare die on me James Fraser." Claire whispered under her breath.

Claire tended to Jamie's wounds as best she could, barking orders at Jenny and anyone who dared to come near. In the next two weeks Jamie was recovering slowly. His wounds were healing nicely, but his fever kept him in and out of consciousness most of the time. Jenny and Claire took turns to sit with him. It was Jenny who was sitting with him when he finally woke up.

"Wa-ter…" Jamie whispered as his eyes opened, settling on his sister. Jenny helped him sip the cool liquid from the cup. His fever had broken, and she was just getting up to call Claire when Jamie grabbed her strongly by the arm, he was surprisingly strong for a wounded man.

"Why?" He whispered. When Jenny looked at him confused he continued. "Why didn't you let me die?" He finished the question.

"As much as I'd like to take credit for savin' your sorry ass , It wasn't me who did so brother, it was Claire.'' It was Jamie's turn to look confused.

"No….no, she's gone..." And as if by magic, there she was.

"Jamie, you're awake." Claire rushed to his side. She placed her hand on his forehead, the fever had gone. She smiled down at him.

"Claire? You're really here?" Jamie touched her hand to make sure he wasn't still delirious. "What are you doing here? I thought I sent ya back…" he stopped his words, remembering Jenny was still there listening. "I sent ya away…I saw ya go with my own eyes."

"I know…I wanted to do as you asked, as I promised…and I tried but I just couldn't do it." She said in earnest.

Jamie tried to sit up, and Claire helped him do so. He asked his sister for some privacy and she gave it. With Jenny gone, Claire explained in detail what had happened to her.

"mo dhia." Jamie exclaimed. He lifted his arm slowly and placed it gently on Claire's flat belly, silently asking. Claire covered his hand with hers reassuringly. "The baby is fine." She smiled. Jamie shed a tear of joy and proceeded to tell his wife what happened to him on the battlefield, how he killed Randell, and how he was saved from execution by a debt of honour.

"I'm still a wanted man, a traitor to the crown." His mouth was very dry and he coughed slightly, so Claire helped him take another sip of water.

" I know, we'll deal with that soon, but right now you must rest and eat, keep your strength up. you're going to need it." Claire was relieved Jamie was alive and on the mend, but they were not out of danger yet.

Chapter Text

It had been three weeks since Jamie came home when the first British patrol came by. Fergus noticed them first and ran to the house to warn them. Jamie and Claire hid together in the priest hole. The two soldiers questioned Jenny and Ian , and promised a substantial amount of coin if they were to divulge the whereabouts of Red Jamie. They denied any knowledge on the subject and the soldiers left them.

“I canna stay here any longer." Jamie stated once out of their hiding place. The British had sent soldiers to Lallybroch three more times in the past three months, and arrested Ian twice in search of him.
"I'm putting everyone here in danger."
"Where will we go?" Claire asked. There was no question in her mind about it, if Jamie was leaving she would be going with him.
“WE won't be going anywhere, I must go alone…”
“No!” Claire exclaimed loudly. But Jamie held her arms tightly keeping her steady.
“Listen to me, Sassenach. There's a cave I know of, not far from here, it's well hidden, in the woods. I'll be safe there. And you MUST stay here.” Jamie said the last bit with such conviction that left no room for argument. “I'll be safe enough,but it's no place for a woman in your condition. I willina allow it.” Hearing the conviction in his voice Claire didn't press the matter any farther, she took a deep breath and hugged him tight. Her head rested on his chest and she could hear his heart beating steadily which gave her a sense of calm.

They made love slowly that night before he left, knowing they'll be separated for a time and not knowing how long, they moved as if in slow motion, commiting each other to memory. When they were both spent from the effort they were lying in bed, Jamie was propped up on his elbow, while rubbing the yet invisible swell of Claire's belly, where his child was growing safe and sound.
"I'm worried for ya Sassenach, if I could, I'd try and send you back through the stones again. But now that you're here, wi’ me, I dinna ken if I could say goodbye to ya a second time…."
"I'll never leave you again." Claire looked into his deep blue eyes.
They slept peacefully that night, in each other's arms.

Jamie kissed his sleeping wife goodbye as he crept out of the house in the dead of night.

6 months passed slowly, Jamie would come up to the house once in a while to see that all was well, and to deliver whatever meat he could hunt in the forest to feed his family, the British soldiers kept coming round and pestering Jamie's family with his whereabouts. but it was time now for the baby to arrive into the world. Fergus was sent to fetch Jamie early one morning to tell him the good news. And he didn't hesitate for a moment, this time he would be there for his wife at the birth of their child, no matter how dangerous.

Jamie held Claire's hand and she squeezed him tightly while a wave of pain flowed through her as the next contraction surged.
"I'm never letting you into my bed again!!" Jamie blushed as Claire screamed with another contraction.
"I can't do it…" she breathed heavily. The midwife handed him a damp cloth and instructed him to place it on Clairer's forehead to wipe away her sweat. She wasn't accustomed to having the man in the room during birth , but Claire insisted he be there. Jamie wasn't too comfortable being there either, not sure how he could help.
"Aye, ya can Claire" the midwife's voice commanded, "ya have to."
Jamie was feeling nervous, he'd never seen Claire willing to give up on anything and it scared him now to hear her words of defeat.
"Almost there, give me a big push, come on mistress." The midwife insisted. Her calm and commanding voice gave Jamie comfort and strength to stay where he was. Watching his wife suffer was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. His words echoing in his mind ‘I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours' his mind came back to the present as Claire gave one last push, and their baby was there. The silence in the room was deafening.
"She's not crying…" Claire whispered under her breath panting. She was tired and spent, but her baby wasn't crying. Panic set in immediately...

Chapter Text

Claire wasn't prepared to lose another child.
"Give me my baby." She ordered the midwife with panic etched in her voice. The midwife handed the bundle over. Claire placed her mouth over her baby's nose and sucked gently. Her mouth filled with fluid and she spat it out repeating her action once more, she then placed her mouth over the baby's mouth and filled her lungs with air. The baby gurgled and coughed and let out a loud cry to everyone's relief.
"It's a miracle! Said the midwife. “meal do naidheachd! She congratulated them both. “I'll leave you now." The midwife finished up her work and left them alone.

Jamie sat besides Claire in the bed holding her close. Watching their beautiful baby girl as she began to suckle on her mother's breast.
"I ken you're not a witch Sassenach, but somehow you brought her back…" Jamie said, his voice cracking with joy and amazement.
"Our daughter lives because of you." He said "and for that I'll be eternally grateful." He kissed his wife on her lips and caressed his daughter's head gently.
"I'm as astonished and grateful as you." Claire looked up at her husband with tears of joy in her eyes.
They sat in blissful silence for a while when Jamie broke the silence
"Ya dinna really mean what ye said before, did ye?" he asked with concern.
"About what? Claire asked.
"About…never taking me into your bed again" he said sheepishly.
Claire smiled and chuckled lightly. "of course not." She assured him with a kiss.
Jamie smiled with relief.
"Would you like to hold your daughter?"
"Aye. I would like that verra much." Jamie scooped his daughter up in his arms for the first time. He felt such pride and joy swell up inside him that tears began to fall down his cheeks.
"You're a Bonnie wee thing." He whispered to her in Gaelic.
"What should we name her?" They both asked in unison and laughed. Jamie continued first.
"Well, I had thought she would be a lad, and we'd name him after my father, but that is not the case. Would ya like to name her after your mother perhaps?" He offered.
"My mother's name was Julia."
Jamie frowned at the name.
"How about we combine our mothers names into a new one?" Claire suggested.
"I dinna see how…"
"Ellena. Ellena Faith Fraser." Claire declared decisively. And Jamie nodded in agreement.
"Aye. I like the sound of that."
Jamie stayed with Claire and his baby girl for two glorious weeks before he went back to dwell in his cave in the woods.
He watched his daughter grow up from afar. Catching glimpses of her whenever he could and trying to spend as many precious moments as he could with his wife and daughter.

Every once in a while, Claire would join Jamie in the woods. It was a lovely morning filled with birdsong, rustling leaves, and a baby's soft gurgle.

Jamie sat leaning against a thick oak, his face etched with weariness but softened by love. Claire sat beside him, nursing their now 3 week old daughter, Ellena. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, creating a peaceful, almost ethereal atmosphere.

“She's a hungry little girl, isn't she?” Claire whispered.

Jamie chuckled softly, reaching out a calloused hand to stroke Ellena's tiny head.

“Aye, takes after her mother. Always wanting more.” He teased.

Claire playfully swats at his hand, a smile on her face.
They share a look of deep affection, the weight of the world momentarily lifted. But the moment didn't last long. Suddenly, the birdsong was interrupted by a sharper sound. The sound of approaching hooves, distant but distinct.
Jamie's eyes snapped to attention, his hand instinctively reaching for the dirk hidden beneath his plaid. Claire's smile fades, replaced by a flicker of fear.

“Jamie? What is it?” Claire whispered.

“Redcoats. Comin' this way.” He whispered back.
Jamie rises swiftly, his movements silent and deliberate.

“We need to hide. Now.”
Claire quickly bundles Ellena up and wraps her tightly in a shawl, pressing her close to her body protectively..

“Into the cave, hurry.” Jamie ushers them inside carefully yet swiftly.

They scramble into the dark cave together, Jamie leading the way. Once inside He stands by the entrance checking the surrounding area, his eyes scanning for any sign of the approaching patrol.

The sound of horses growing closer, the clatter of hooves and swords clancking more distinct.
They huddle together deeply in the dark cavern, hidden well behind plants and rocks, the rough stone cold against their backs. Claire holds Ellena close, her heart pounding in her chest.

“What if they find us?” Claire's mind was racing.

“They won't. Just stay quiet.” Jamie whispered reassuringly.

But as if on cue, Ellena lets out a piercing cry, shattering the tense silence.

“Shhh, Ellena, shhh…”

She rocks the baby gently, desperately trying to soothe her.

“Give her to me Sassenach.”

He takes Ellena, cradling her in his strong arms. He begins to hum a low, Gaelic lullaby, his voice rough but gentle. It seems to have a calming effect, and Ellena's cries subside slightly, dwindling to soft whimpers.

The sound of the horses grew deafeningly close. Voices can be heard, speaking English with harsh accents.

“...did you hear something corporal?.” one soldier was heard beyond the bushes.

“I thought I heard a baby..” the small company of soldiers looked around silently, listening intently.

Jamie presses himself against the rocks, his body shielding Claire and Ellena. He closes his eyes, praying silently. Ellena whimpers again, a soft, pathetic sound.

Claire covers her mouth with her hand, stifling a sob. She looks at Jamie, her eyes filled with terror.

“Jamie…” she whispered under her breath.

He meets her gaze, his expression grim but resolute. He squeezes her hand, offering a silent promise: he will protect them, no matter the cost.

The Redcoats stayed for a moment longer before passing on by, not finding anything, their voices fading into the distance. After what feels like an eternity, the sound of the horses disappears completely.

Jamie didn't move, waiting until he's certain they're gone. Finally, he slowly rises, his muscles stiff and aching.

“They're gone.” He stated.

Claire lets out a shaky breath, relief washing over her. She reaches for Ellena, her hands trembling.

“Oh, Jamie... that was too close. Too close.”

He pulls them both into a tight embrace, holding them close.

“Aye... we'll wait till dark, then I'll take ye back to Lallybroch.”

He looks down at Ellena, his face etched with a mixture of love and concern.

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It was Ellena's 3rd birthday, and Jenny had given birth to another son.
Jamie was at the house for the double celebration when the redcoats arrived to spoil the party. Jamie managed to hide from them this time but it was a close call and he was afraid that he was putting everyone in danger once again. So Jamie came up with a plan to give himself up to the Red coats. Jenny, Ian and Claire would get the money and they'd be safe. Claire wasn't convinced.

“They're not hangin' or executing Jacobites anymore, I'll most likely be taken to prison.” he reasoned with them.

“ Haven't ya seen the insides of enough jails for one lifetime brother?!” Jenny raised her voice at Jamie.
“I'd rather that, than hiding like a coward for God knows how many years in that tiny cave sneaking and skulking around like a rat, and if my capture keeps ya all safe then so be it!” Jamie replied, his voice raised in frustration.

Chapter Text

The weight of the impending separation hung heavy in the air, a palpable dread that permeated every touch, every glance, as Jamie and Claire moved with a desperate tenderness. Their lovemaking that night was not a celebration, but almost a eulogy, each caress a whispered goodbye, every kiss a desperate plea against the inevitable. Their bodies, so familiar, became canvases upon which they painted their memories, their shared history etched in every curve and hollow. It was a symphony of whispered promises, unspoken anxieties, and raw, unadulterated passion – a fierce, burning love that sought to consume the grief and despair, if only for a few precious moments before the cruel hand of fate snatched them apart. They clung to each other, desperate to imprint every sensation onto their souls, knowing that when the dawn broke, this physical embodiment of their bond would be a memory, a bittersweet ache in the vast emptiness that lay ahead.

Claire watched from the window as Jamie was dragged away by the red coats on that dreadful morning. She promised Jamie she would stay out of sight, but as the wagon pulled away from the courtyard she slowly walked outside to catch one last glance at her husband's face before he disappeared from sight. Ellena was right behind her.

“Da!” Ellena called out as she ran after her father. Claire quickly picked her up and held her tight.
“Daddy is going away for a while sweetheart, we'll see him again soon, I promise.” Claire whispered sadly, trying to convince herself as well as her child.

Jamie was sent to Ardsmuir prison. He wasn't allowed any visitors, but he was allowed to receive letters. Claire wrote to him as often as she could, telling him about life at lallybroch, herself and their daughter; some letters were never delivered, the British army didn't pay much heed to their prisoners' mail getting lost in transit; and they did not allow them to write back either. This was the latest letter Jamie received.

September 20th, 1749

My Dearest Jamie,

The days here at Lallybroch move with a quiet, heavy tread, each one marked by your absence. The house feels vast and echoing, even with little Ellena’s laughter rippling through the rooms. I find myself, more often than not, gazing towards the hills, imagining you there, free, rather than confined and far away, and not a moment passes that my heart doesn’t ache with longing for you. I pray each night that you are safe and that God keeps you in his protection. I know that you are probably in a dark and wretched place but there is some joy to be had, I don't know when this letter will reach you, so when you read this you might have another daughter or son, I'm pregnant. I know that me, Ellena and the new baby are always with you in our hearts wherever you are.
Our little lass is growing fast and her mind is as quick as a mountain stream. She’s taken to running about the house, exploring every nook and cranny with an insatiable curiosity that often mirrors your own. Her toddler steps are now surer, and She has such spirit in her, I see her talking to the horses, trying to get the attention of the chickens. She is just like you, curious, and full of spirit.
I swear, Jamie, she has your very eyes, clear and bright, holding such depth and compassion. When she looks at me, sometimes, I see you there. It’s a mixture of joy and pain, a constant tug at my heartstrings. She misses you dearly as do I.
I have been tending to the sick and wounded in the nearby villages and crofts. It gives me something to do in your absence. And don't worry Jenny is looking after me, making sure I don't overdo it.
Jenny and Ian are well, though the farm keeps them busy, as always. They are a great help, of course, lending a much needed hand with the day-to-day running of Lallybroch and Fergus is a big help watching Ellena when I need a break. Jenny is strong, as always, she is much like you in her fierce spirit and unwavering loyalty. They all speak of you often, their love for you unwavering, and the hope they hold for your swift return, is as strong as mine. They miss you dearly just as much as I do, and I know that they yearn for the day when you can be home again.
I know that these words on parchment can hardly bridge the gap between us, but I hope that they reach you and bring you some small comfort in these dark times. My thoughts are with you every moment, my love, and I long for the day when I can finally hold you in my arms once more. Until then, be strong, be safe, and know that you are loved beyond measure by your family. We await your return with hearts full of hope and unwavering faith.

Forever yours,

Claire.

Jamie finished reading the letter and tears ran down his cheeks.
“Bad news?” John Grey asked with concern.
“No…” Jamie explained, wiping his tears away.
“My wife is expecting another bairn.” he said joy mingled with the sadness of not being able to be there with her.
Lord John became friends with Jamie over time while in prison, the conditions were very harsh on the prisoners, but Jamie was treated with A bit more respect than the rest, him being a leader of sorts to his inmates. He would dine with John Grey once a month, and play a game of chess now and then to gain Jamie's trust and respect in return.
They were in the middle of a game of chess when John handed him the letter.
“Would ye mind very much if we finished our game another time?” Jamie asked, wanting to be alone. John nodded with understanding. He placed a hand on Jamie's thigh to show his love and support, but was greeted with a hostile look from Jamie.
“Remove your hand, or I will kill you.” He stated menacingly.

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9 months past quickly in the highlands of Scotland the fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls of Lallybroch. Claire gripped Jenny’s hand, her knuckles white. A low moan escaped her lips, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

“Breathe, Claire,” Jenny urged, her brow furrowed with concern. “Just like we practiced. That’s it. Good lass.” She wiped Claire’s forehead with a damp cloth, her touch firm and reassuring.

Another wave of pain crashed over Claire, stealing her breath. She squeezed Jenny's hand harder. “It feels…it feels like I’m being torn apart,” she gasped, tears welling in her eyes.

“Aye, well, bairns have a way of doing that,” Jenny said gently, her voice tinged with a seasoned weariness. “It’s a hard thing, bringing life into the world. But you’re strong, Claire. You’re stronger than you think.”

The silence was broken only by Claire's ragged breaths and the rhythmic creaking of the bedstead. Finally, with a final, earth-shattering push, a cry pierced the air. A strong, healthy cry.

Jenny expertly cut the cord and wrapped the baby in a soft blanket. She handed him to Claire, who gazed down at the tiny, wrinkled face with a mixture of exhaustion and overwhelming love.

“He’s here,” Claire whispered, her voice thick with tears. “He’s finally here.”

“Aye, he is. A fine, bonny lad,” Jenny agreed, a small smile playing on her lips. “He’s got his father's eyes, I think.”

Claire looked up at Jenny, her joy shadowed by a deep sadness.

“Jamie should be here,” she said, the words barely audible.

Jenny’s smile faded, replaced by a shared sorrow. “Aye, he should be. God knows I wish he was.”

A heavy silence descended, filled with the unspoken worry and the constant fear that gnawed at them both.

"What will you name him?" Jenny finally asked, breaking the silence.

Claire looked down at the baby in her arms, a decision already made in her heart. "Brian," she said softly, "Brian William James Fraser." Her voice cracked with emotion. "Brian, for your father. William, for your brother. And James, of course, for Jamie."

Jenny nodded, a flicker of approval in her eyes. "Good strong name."

Later, after Claire had rested, Jenny brought in Ellena, her four-year-old daughter, to see her newborn brother. Claire held out the baby to her.

"Ellena," she said softly. "This is your little brother, Brian."

Ellena peered at the sleeping infant, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then, she reached out a tentative finger and gently touched his cheek.

"He's so wee," she declared, her eyes wide. "Like a lil’ mouse." She said with a Scottish lilt.

Claire chuckled, despite the ache in her body. "Yes, he is. But he'll grow. And you'll be a wonderful big sister to him."

Ellena looked up at Claire, then back at the baby. A small smile spread across her face. A tiny spark of hope, a glimmer of light in the midst of the darkness, ignited within the walls of Lallybroch. Despite the hardship, despite the waiting, a new Fraser had arrived, carrying with him the promise of a future, and the enduring love of a family determined to survive. The house was brimming with happiness yet tinted with sadness at Jamie's absence.

Chapter Text

Lord John Grey was standing opposite Jamie in his office. The air was cold and damp despite the fire burning in the hearth.

“Ardsmuir is to be closed, Fraser.”

Jamie looks at him, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“And what will become of the prisoners?” Jamie asked with concern.

“Transportation. To the colonies. America.” John replied.

A beat of silence. Jamie's jaw tightened.

“So, exile…” he breathed out.

“I... yes.”

Lord John shifts, his gaze dropping momentarily.

“There's something else I must confess. The first few letters you received...from Mistress Fraser. They were intercepted.”

Jamie's head snaps up, his eyes blazing.

“Intercepted? By whom?”

“By the prison authorities of course. When I discovered it, I ordered that all letters addressed to you be brought directly to me instead.”

“Your debt of honor was repaid, why would ye help to protect my family?”

“You should know that I read those letters too.” John answered avoiding the question. It distracted Jamie enough.

“You read my letters?”

Lord John winces, his face etched with slight fear and shame.

“At first... yes. I did. I confess, I read a few. But then...then I learned of your wife. Of your children. And I stopped.”

Jamie stares at him, suspicion warring with something akin to understanding. When Jamie didn't reply John continued.

“I stopped because... because I realized I was intruding on something sacred. And because, Fraser, I... I care for you. I wish to earn your trust, and perhaps even your... Your affection, for the sake of our…friendship.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath.

“Which is why I have arranged for you to be transferred inside Britain.”

Jamie frowns, confused.

“Transferred? Where?”

“To an estate in England. Hellwater. It belongs to a distant connection of mine. You will serve out the remainder of your sentence there. It will be... tolerable. More so than the colonies I'm sure, and closer to your family.”

Jamie looked surprised and confused.

“I dinna ken what to say…” Jamie whispered.

“I will visit you when I can.” John continued.

Jamie looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. The genuine affection in John's eyes.

“You would do all of this... for me?” Jamie inquired.

“I would.”

Jamie nods slowly, the anger receding, replaced by a quiet gratitude and understanding.

“Thank ye, John. For everything.”

A small, relieved smile touches Lord John's lips.

“You're welcome…Jamie.”

Lord John arranged for Jamie to be a horse groom for Lord and Lady Dunsany in an English countryside estate named Hellwater. As the family was English Jamie had to conceal his identity as a Jacobite rebel and went by the name Alexander McKenzie.

He had been a groom for almost a year now. The family was kind to him, and he worked hard. But he missed his wife and children dearly.
He was feeding the horses when he suddenly looked up to find a familiar face staring back at him.

“Claire?” He was too shocked to say more. He moved towards her and she to him until they were both hugging each other tightly. She could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. The warmth of him enveloped her; it felt so good.
Jamie pulled back slightly and held her face in his big hands. Tears were rolling down her cheeks with joy and Jamie's eyes couldn't hold back the tears any longer, they wept together.
He then placed his lips on hers and kissed her gently and longingly until they were interrupted.
“Da!” Ellena, now a young lady of 7, crashed into her father with glee. Jamie was awed by his daughter's presence and beauty.
“mo leannan, how you've grown.” he said with a smile.
“ I missed ye Da.”
“And I, you. I thought of ye every day “ Jamie hugged his daughter tight.
“There's someone else who'd like to say hello.” Claire spoke up as a young boy , four years of age poked his head from behind his mother in a shy fashion.
Jamie looked at his young son standing there before his eyes. It was like looking into a mirror, the same ginger curls framing his chubby face, the big blue eyes staring back at him in wonder.
“This is Brian William James.” Claire introduced him. “Your son.”
Jamie didn't want to scare him , so tried hard to keep his tears at bay.
He took a deep breath and smiled.
Brian noticed his big sister hugging this man, this familiar looking stranger and knew in his heart he could trust him. He left his mother's side and closed the gap between his father and himself. Jamie crouched down and held out his hand to him.
His large hand closed gently over the small hand of the boy and guided him closer.
“Are ye my Da? He asked in a small innocent voice.
Claire made sure to tell her children about their brave father as they were growing up without him. So even though they didn't know each other, the children felt like they knew him from the many stories their mother told them, keeping his memory alive in his absence.
“Aye, Aye I am.” Jamie said proudly, and they embraced. Jamie could no longer hold his tears back as he held his children close. Claire was also shedding tears of joy at the sight.

“Sorry to interrupt this joyous occasion..” Lord John came up the path towards them.

John explained to Jamie that he tracked his wife and children down and did everything in his power to make it possible for them to come and live here at Hellwater with him. They looked at each other with mutual understanding and affection.

“Thank ye, John, truly.” Jamie exclaimed with unshed tears in his eyes.

“My pleasure.” John answered with a genuine smile.

John led them to a small cottage at the end of the road behind the stables.

“This will be your logging from now on. And I've arranged for Mistress McKenzie here.” He nodded towards Claire. “ to be in the employ of Lord and Lady Dunsany as a physician, I've heard she's a marvelous healer.”

Jamie gave John a hug and thanked him again.

The children were playing outside after John left them to visit with Lord Dunsany up at the big house, to announce the arrival of their new physician.

“Alone at last…” Jamie whispered. “you're really here…” he said in disbelief.
He hugged her close and they kissed with hunger and longing.
After some time Jamie reluctantly pulled away.
“But…I must go back to work now Sassenach, The horses need tendin’.” He said sadly.
Claire nodded her head in understanding.
“I must go and introduce myself to Lord and Lady Dunsany.” she answered, leaning her forehead on his.

“Aye...and remember to introduce yourself as Claire McKenzie, not Fraser…” he whispered.

“Yes. I will. I'm so happy.” Claire exclaimed with a smile.

Jamie smiled at his wife, and kissed her lips again.

“So am I Sassenach, so am I.”

Jamie and Claire stepped outside together, their children were running around in the garden, when they noticed their parents walking towards them.

“Da!” Ellena exclaimed with excitement. And ran to her father with open arms.

“Where are ye going?” She asked, looking up at Jamie. Brian joined his sister at Jamie's side.

“I'm going back to the stables, to work, mo ghraidh.”

“Can I come too?” Both the children asked in unison.

“I think it's best if you go with your mother now mo leannan, I'll see you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the end of the day. Jamie got cleaned up and was now in the cottage with the children. Claire was still up at the main house, impressing her new employers, tending to a sick servant girl.
The children had had their supper and were now lying in bed ready to sleep.
Jamie was tucking them into bed when he noticed his daughter holding something in her hand.
When he looked closer he recognized what it was. A small wooden figurine in the shape of a stag that he had carved for his daughter while hiding away in the cave a few years ago.

“Ye still carry it with ya?” Jamie asked Ellena, his voice shaking with emotion.

“Aye, ma told me ye made it for me when I was a bairn…when ye were hiding from the English…”

“Aye…I did.” he said, reaching out his hands to take the stag. “May I?” Ellena passed the wooden figurine to her father for closer inspection. He recalled carving it with love and care as a gift for Ellena before his unfortunate departure. He handed it back to her and kissed her forehead.

“Are the English still chasing ye?” Brian piped up to ask innocently, lying by his sister.

Jamie smiled at him with pursed lips.

“No, mo leannanan, not anymore…”

“So why can't we go home to Lallybroch ?” Ellena questioned him further.

“Ye dinna let me finish mo leanbh…they'll no’ chase me, so long as I am here…”

“Is this ye'r prison then?!? Where ye've been all this time?” Ellena asked, confused. It didn't look like a prison, at least not the way she had imagined it.

“Yes and no, It's complicated, mo ghràidh…I hope we'll be back there soon, but for now, I'm just glad we're together.” he sighed.

“And now, it's time to sleep mo chridhe…”

“Where's ma?” Brian asked in a whiny tone.

“She's tendin' to a lassie who needs doctorin'.” Jamie explained patiently. Their mother often tended to the sick and injured back home, so the children were used to her being absent at times.

“Can ye lie down wi' us then? Mama always lies down wi’ us..” Ellena explained to her father.

“Aye…” Jamie obliged and climbed into the bed with his children. He lay down between them, his large frame taking up most of the space in the bed, but the children didn't seem to mind, they cuddled up close to him and Jamie wrapped his arms around them both as they settled comfortably beside him.

“Can ye tell us a story?” his son asked.

Jamie began telling them a bedtime story about the shy Gille Dubh, he stroked their heads as he spoke in a soft voice, until they both fell fast asleep in his arms.
He watched them sleep, both his children resembled him remarkably, not only in looks but they both smiled in their sleep, as he did. He smiled sadly, regretting all those times he missed putting his children to bed , and all the other moments in their life he had missed.
As he lay there Jamie prayed to God that he should never part from them again.
He didn't recall falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, his eyes opened to the sound of the door closing gently and the floorboards creaking.

Jamie climbed carefully out of bed and left his children asleep and went to greet his wife who just walked through the door of their little cottage.

Jamie grabbed her waist tightly and pulled her to him. He wasn't gentle about it and he kissed her lips in the same fashion. Hard and hungry. After a few moments they stopped for air. Jamie leaned back slightly, reached up and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Claire's face, his fingers lingered on her soft skin.
“I've missed you so much.” She whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
“And I you.”
Jamie took her hand in his and guided her to their bedroom and bolted the door behind them.

Claire told Jamie everything, how Lord John came to Lallybroch to fetch them. And how she wasn't sure she could trust him at first, but once he explained the situation Claire was thrilled beyond belief. They packed their bags and were ready to leave by the end of the day.

“He even apologized for not being able to bring this about sooner…He truly is a good man.” Jamie nodded in agreement and smiled.

“Fergus wanted to come too,” Claire continued. “but Ian asked him to stay behind, to help with the crops and the like…” Claire explained further.

“Aye, I'm sure it's been hard on all of ye , I'm sorry I couldn't be there to help.” Jamie said sadly, looking at the floor with shame. Claire pressed her hand on his cheek, caressing him gently.

“You sacrificed yourself to save us all, don't you dare feel guilty about that.” She lifted his chin,shifting his gaze to look in her eyes. Jamie sighed deeply and held her face in his hands.

“I can, and I will…but for now, I'm only grateful you and the bairns are here wi' me.”

He wasted no more time talking and kissed her lips tenderly, he then reached for the laces on the front of her dress, quickly undoing them as he pressed soft kisses to her neck.
Claire shivered with anticipation as Jamie's fingers skimmed her exposed skin, pushing the fabric of her dress aside to reveal her chemise underneath. He trailed his fingers along her shoulder, reveling in the feeling of her beneath him.
“Jamie…” Claire gasped, her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his hand brush against her nipple.
Jamie's eyes darkened with desire as he watched Claire's reaction to his touch. He slipped his hand under her chemise, cupping her breast and rubbing his thumb over her swelling nipple.
Claire moaned, her head falling back as Jamie continued to tease her. She reached for the ties on his breeches, eager to feel him against her. Jamie helped her, kicking off his breeches as Claire pushed her chemise down over her shoulders, and let it pool at her feet. As Jamie pulled his shirt over his head, a charge of electricity filled the room. The sight of his naked body took her breath away. Taking in the way his body changed, darker skin, slightly thinner and more tightly knit muscles.
Their lips came together in a fierce passionate kiss. Their naked bodies pressed tightly against each other.
Jamie's hands roamed over her naked body, exploring every inch of her, Claire did the same to him. Her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest and then slid slowly to his back tracing those horrific yet familiar scars. Jamie lifted her up to him, her arms now holding on to his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the bed.

“It's been a while since I've done this…” he breathed heavily as he lay her on the bed, leaning over her.

“Me too...” she whispered back with a nervous smile.

Jamie kisses her again, this time a more gentle kiss. She placed her hands on his face keeping him close, but Jamie pinned her arms above her head holding them there with one hand while the other hand caressed her body.

“Do it now and don’t be gentle.” Claire whispered urgently when he released her from his kiss.

Claire arched her body towards him, desperate to have him inside her, and within moments, Jamie plunges into her with a primal urgency.

“Oh, Jamie! “ she gasped.

He moved faster and harder until Claire climaxed with a loud guttural sound.

“Give me your mouth, Sassenach.” He whispered as he took her mouth in his.
Claire kissed him back, and sucked his lip hard as she shuddered, waves of pleasure continuing to course through her.
Jamie groaned with pleasure. Her warm, writhing body brings him to climax as well, his whole body trembling as he releases himself inside her.

“Oh, God, Claire.”

He looks down at her with sweet tenderness. He’s wet with sweat and tears, holding himself still as a stone when it was over, and lay down limp beside her.

Lying in Jamie’s arms. Claire stirred from a contented stupor. They fit well together, her head curled in the hollow of his shoulder, in the moments after they’ve made love. As Jamie’s hand lazily caresses Claire’s body.

“Your breasts are like ivory. Christ, to touch ye, Sassenach...with your skin like white velvet, and the sweet long lines of your body...God, I couldna look at ye, and keep my hands from you, nor have ye near me, and not want ye…”

Claire smiles at him sweetly, before Jamie continues.

“I saw ye so many times. Ye came to me so often. When I dreamed.
When I was so afraid and so lonely. When I needed ye, I would always see ye,
smiling, with your hair curling up about your face. But ye never touched me.”

“I can touch you now….”

Claire reaches up to his temple and draws her fingers along his jaw then around to the nape of his neck lingering, savoring, remembering every texture.

“Don’t be afraid…” she said.

“There’s the two of us now.” Jamie completed her sentence.

They both fell asleep, Claire's head resting on his shoulder, his arm holding her tightly to him.

Chapter Text

Sunlight streams through the small window of the cottage, Claire was dreaming of butterflies fluttering around her, but as she came back to awareness she realized those butterflies were Jamie's long ginger curls touching her face as he kissed her neck.

“Jamie… what time is it?” She whispered sleepily.

He kisses her again, deeper this time. Claire sighs, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

“It's almost dawn, Sassenach..” he whispered into her shoulder.

He trailed kisses up her neck and along her jawline, and then back down towards her breasts.

“You'll be late for work.” She said breathlessly. “Lord Dunsany will have your hide if you don't muck out his prize stallion in time for his departure this morning.”

“Och, the horses can wait a wee bit. My wife needs tending to first.”

He captures her lips in another tender kiss, deepening it slowly. Claire sighed contentedly, her hands rising to tangle in his hair once again.

“You're incorrigible.”

“Only for you, mo nighan don.” He pulls back again, a playful glint in his eyes. “Besides, there are worse ways to be wakin' up...” he teased.

He moves to capture her mouth once more. Claire moans softly, arching into him.

“Mmmm, true. I just... I still can't quite believe we're here. Together.”

“I can hardly believe it myself. Now, hush. Let me show ye just how much I've missed ye.” he ordered.

He kissed her deeply, and Claire forgets, for a little while, the world outside the cottage walls. She pulls him closer, eager to lose herself in him once more.

A bit later Jamie got out of bed and began to dress for the day. He was adjusting the buckle of his belt and reached for his boots.

“Are you certain about this, Jamie? Brian is only four. seem awfully early to begin riding…”

Jamie scoffs, a playful glint in his eye.

“Early!? Sassenach, I was riding a pony myself by the time I was three. The wee lad has Fraser blood, doesn't he? It’s in his nature to ride.” He said with confidence.

“That may be so, but… I just don’t want him to get hurt. He's still so young.”

“He'll be fine, Claire. I won't let him out of my sight. And Ellena will help me look out for him too. She's a braw big sister. Now, you go on and dress yourself. I’ll see to the bairns.

“Just be careful, Jamie. Promise me.” Claire sighed, but a small smile played on her lips.

“I will. I promise. Now, I must be going.” Jamie finished fastening his boots.

He stood up and gave Claire one last kiss before leaving the room, a contented smile on her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It's grand to have ye both here. Now, are ye ready to go for a ride? “ Jamie asked his children. He had finished with the Master's horse and was preparing his children for their first riding lesson.

“Aye!” Ellena jumped in excitement.

“Horsey! Daddy! Horsey!” Brian exclaimed.

The early morning sunlight streamed through the open stable doors. Jamie stood beside two small ponies, one a gentle grey and the other a dappled brown. Ellena clutches her father's hand nervously. Brian, a younger boy of four, bounced with unrestrained excitement.

“Alright, my wee ones! Today is a grand day, indeed. We're going to learn how to ride proper.”

“Ride the horsey!” Brian said, still jumping up and down.

Ellena clang tighter to Jamie's hand.

“Da, are you sure? It looks awfully high up. I'm scared.”

Jamie knelt down to his daughter.

“Now, nighean ghaisgeil. There's nothing to fear. These are gentle ponies, I ken them well. This grey one, they call her Silver.” Jamie stood up and stroked the grey horse’s back gently. “And this brown one's name is Rusty. They’re as kind as can be.”

“I want Rusty!” Brian declared.

Jamie chuckled.

“Aye, you may have him, Brian ruadh . But first, let's learn the proper way to climb on their back. Ellena, you go first.”

Jamie guided Ellena towards Silver.

“Now, see this little stool here? It's to help you reach. Place your foot on it, nice and steady. That's it. Now, hold onto the saddle horn with one hand, and swing your leg over Silver's back.” He instructed.

Ellena hesitantly followed her father's instructions, looking a bit worried.

“Like this?”

“Aye, Perfect! Just like that! Now, sit up straight, but not too stiff. Relax your shoulders.”

Ellena sat, a little wobbly but managed to hold on.

“Have ye never been on a horse mo leannan, at Lallybroch?”

“Mama said it was too dangerous, but…”

Jamie could see she was holding something back.

“But?” He tried to encourage her to continue.

“Promise ye won't tell mama?” She asked nervously.

The corner of Jamie’s lips curled into a smile.

“I canna promise that…but it's best to get such things off ye'r chest.”

“Fergus might get in trouble if I do…”

“Well, he's no’ here….so?”

Ellena told her father that Fergus, who was like a big brother to her. Took her horse riding a few times without Claire knowing about it.

“Well, I dinna like that you deceived ye'r mother so, but I'm glad you have a big brother back home to teach ye what I could not…” he said with a sad smile.
“Well, how does it feel?”

“She's… she's taller than I thought.”

“She is, but you're doing wonderfully. Now, to hold the reins. See these leather straps? Hold them gently, one in each hand, but don't pull too hard. We dinna want to hurt or scare Silver.”

Jamie adjusted the reins in Ellena's hands. And placed her legs in the stirrups. Making sure his daughter was securely seated in the saddle.

“Now, wee lad, it's your turn.”

Brian rushes forward, filled with enthusiasm.

Jamie lifted Brian onto Rusty, his small legs dangling from each side of the ponie's large belly.

“Alright...Hold on tight! Now, to make your pony move forward, give a gentle squeeze with your legs. Not too hard! And to stop, pull gently on the reins. Remember, gentle is the key.”

“Let's go Fast!” Brian yelled with glee.

“Easy there, lad! One step at a time. We’ll start with a slow walk. I'll lead them around the yard, just so you can both get the feel of it.”

Jamie took the lead ropes and began to walk slowly around the yard, with Ellena and Brian riding the ponies. Ellena looked more comfortable, while Brian was still bouncing with excitement.

“That's it! You're both doing verra well! Remember, you should talk to your ponies, let them know you're there, kind words.”

“Hello, Silver. You're a pretty pony.” Ellena did as she was told.

“Go, Rusty! Faster!”

Jamie chuckled.

“Not too fast just yet, Brian. Patience. But you’ll get there in time. You both will. You'll be riding like the wind before you know it. Now, let's do a few more laps before we move on.”

Jamie continued to lead the ponies, the horses' hooves kicking up small clouds of dust. Ellena and Brian were both starting to grin, their initial fears forgotten with the thrill of it.

“McKenzie!“ a sharp female voice came from behind him.

“My lady.” Jamie turned and bowed.

“Get my horse ready, I wish to ride.” Geneva ordered. “And you'll accompany me.”

“Yes my lady, right away.” Jamie gave another polite bow and led the ponies back to the stables, the children's lesson cut short.

Geneva, being the youngest in the Dunsany family, at 18, she was spoiled, and reckless. Ever since Jamie arrived at Helwater she took a shine to him, giving him more attention than the other groomsmen, he knew she was smitten with him, but he put her in her place first chance he got, telling her he's married man, but that didn't stop her from teasing him and trying to get him alone every chance she got, today was no exception.

Jamie was preparing Geneva's horse when Claire appeared at the stables.

“My lady, may I present my wife, Claire” Jamie introduced them.

Geneva looked her up and down with disdain.

“Charmed I'm sure.” She answered.

“My lady.” Claire gave a small bow of respect in return.

“You're English!” Geneva exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes.” Claire answered with a tight smile.

“You never told me you married an English woman.” She turned to Jamie again.

Jamie only smiled and nodded. His children watched the exchange in shy silence.

“Well, you're full of surprises I must say.” She smiled seductively and walked out to wait for her horse.

Claire and Jamie exchanged looks. “Well, she's charming.” Claire whispered to Jamie.

“Aye, and a spoiled brat to boot.” He whispered back, raising his eyebrows and smiling. Jamie finished preparing the horses and led them outside when they heard another lady's voice.

It was Isobel, Geneva's sister, telling her she'd been called by their mother for an urgent matter. Geneva being the spoiled child that she was refused to go and insisted she must go out for a ride. Isobel gave up and left them.

Claire took the disappointed children back to the cottage while Jamie was forced to accompany Geneva for a ride.

The wind whipped Geneva's hair across her face as they rode, the vast expanse of Helwater estate stretching around them. "Faster, McKenzie! You’re slower than a snail!" she called, her voice laced with playful mockery.

Jamie urged his own horse forward, his expression a mask of patient endurance.
"As you wish, my Lady," he replied in a terse manner.

She glanced back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Don't sound so glum, McKenzie. It's a glorious day for a ride."

He suppressed a sigh. Glorious indeed. He'd much rather be spending precious time with his wife and children or even mucking out the stables would be better than this. At least there he wouldn't have to endure her constant needling.
"T’is, my Lady. Though the clouds look rather threatening."

Geneva dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "Nonsense! A little rain never hurt anyone."

“Famous last words” Claire's words echoed in Jamie's mind grimly. Sure enough, moments later, the first fat drops of rain began to splatter on the ground, quickly escalating into a downpour.

"My Lady," Jamie urged his horse closer, the rain already plastering his hair to his forehead. "We should head back. The ground will get slippery, and you'll catch your death of cold."

Geneva, however, didn't seem to hear him. Instead, a manic grin spread across her face. She spurred her horse forward, breaking into a gallop. "Catch me if you can, Mac!" she shrieked, her laughter echoing in the sudden deluge.

Jamie swore under his breath. "My Lady, wait!" He had no choice. He couldn't let her ride alone, not in this weather. With a resigned sigh, he kicked his own horse into a gallop, the mud splashing up around them.

He struggled to keep her in sight, the heavy rain stinging his eyes. She was a skilled rider for one so young, and her spirited laughter fuelled his reluctant pursuit. It was reckless and foolish, and yet, a small part of him couldn't help but find it thrilling.

Finally, they arrived back at the stables, soaked to the bone and gasping for breath. Geneva, though shivering, was still alight with exhilaration.

"That… was… magnificent!" she declared, her chest heaving.

Jamie dismounted stiffly, leading his horse towards the stable. Water streamed off him. He was soaked to the bone. "Magnificent for you, perhaps," he grumbled, his voice low and laced with thinly veiled resentment.
Geneva's laughter faded slightly. Seeing him cold and wet, his usual amiable expression replaced with a weary frown, sparked a small flicker of guilt within her. Though she loved to annoy him.

"Oh, McKenzie, don't be such a grump," she said, trying to regain her playful tone.

Jamie stopped, turning to face her, his expression still dour.

"A grump?! You deliberately ignored my warnings and put yourself, and me, at risk."

He turned away, resuming his task of tending to the horses. Geneva stood there, the vibrant joy drained from her face. She'd pushed him too far this time. More than that, she realised that she'd pushed her own luck; she knew that what she did was wrong, but his reaction only hurt her pride, and as a Lady she didn't take too kindly to being told off by someone of a lower class than her. She was used to getting her way, and it didn't sit right with her that he was angry at her.

The cold rain continued to fall, mirroring the chill that had settled between them. She knew she should apologize, but the words caught in her throat. She mumbled, almost as if to herself.

"I'm going upstairs".

Then she turned and hurried away, leaving Jamie to the rain and the horses.

The next day the small cottage was filled with the sounds of crackling fire and Jamie's congested breathing. Claire made sure the children stayed away, she arranged for Lady Isobel to look after them while she tended to Geneva and her husband.

Claire was now kneeling beside him, a concerned expression on her face. Jamie was lying in bed, pale and clearly miserable. A thick woolen blanket pulled up to his chin. He grumbles under his breath.

“Here, drink this. It's willow bark tea. It'll help with the fever.”

Jamie turns his head away with a groan.

“Ach, I dinna want any more o' your teas Sassenach. They taste like boiled dirt.”

“Well, you're not exactly in a position to be picky now are you? You were soaked to the bone yesterday, riding about in that downpour with Lady Geneva. Now look at you.”

Jamie sighs dramatically.

“I had to escort her, Sassenach. I dinna have a choice about it.”

Claire raises an eyebrow, dipping a cloth in a basin of cool water.

“No choice? I thought I saw a glint in your eye when you came back.”

“Dinna be daft.” Jamie coughed. “I was soaked and freezing!”

Claire gently places the cool cloth on Jamie's forehead.

“She obviously has a crush on you…”

“A crush?” he said, confused.

“Yes, it means she fancies you.” Claire explained.

“Oh, I ken that…are ye jealous Sassenach?” He teased.

“Should I be?”

Jamie shook his head no, but stopped abruptly as it made him slightly dizzy.

“Well, I was tending to her earlier, giving her some elderberry tea for her cough. We got talking and she told me she's betrothed to a Lord Ellesmere…”

“Aye, I heard the other groomsmen and staff whispering about it. some old, gout-ridden English lord with more land than hair. She's no’ happy about it at all from the looks of it.”

“Well, I could see that much.”

Jamie coughed again, a long, rattling cough.

“Easy now. Just drink the tea.”

“I dinna understand why she's making such a fuss.” he continued.

“look who's talking and stop trying to change the subject…in any case I do understand, She has no say in her own life. A lady being bartered off for land and titles. It's not exactly a happy prospect, is it?”

Jamie looked at her, his eyebrows knitted with a frown, but made no reply.

“A woman should have a choice. Being forced into a marriage is cruel and unfair.”

“We were forced to marry, Sassenach. We turned out just fine. No?” his breathing heavy with the strain from all the coughing.

“That was different….you had plenty of hair for starters.”

Jamie laughed which then turned into a bout of more coughing.

“Sorry…Now, are you going to drink the tea or do I have to force it down your throat?”

Jamie stared at her for a moment, then sighed and took the cup. He took a small sip, then grimaced in disgust.

“It still tastes like dirt.” he complained, his tongue darted in and out of his mouth to try and get rid of the bad taste in his mouth.

Claire smiles wryly.

“Perhaps I'll ask Lady Dunsany for some whiskey later, for now, finish up the tea and try to get some rest.”

Jamie reluctantly drank the rest of the tea, the prospect of whiskey lifted his spirits somewhat. He then settled back against the pillows. Claire smoothed his hair back from his forehead.

“Well done. Now close your eyes. Rest. I'm here.”

He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged. Claire watches him, her expression a mixture of love and concern.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie returned to his full health a few days later. Thanks to Claire's good medical skills and kind touch.

By now they settled into a daily routine that kept them busy. Jamie worked at the stables with the horses, Claire tended to any sick or injured servants or family members. The children spent the mornings with a tutor, after which Ellena would help her mother with picking herbs and keeping the “doctor's office” tidy and clean. Brian would spend his time with Jamie and the other groomsmen learning all about horses and other such things.

Nine months had passed since Lady Geneva was married. She had arrived last night back at Helwater to visit her family, heavily pregnant.
The fire in the hearth had died down to glowing embers, casting long, dancing shadows across the small bedroom. Claire sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing her stays. Jamie, already in his nightshirt, sat beside her. The air hung heavy with the scent of soap and woodsmoke.

“I've been hearing a lot of whispering.” Claire said. “About Geneva.”

Jamie sighed.

“Aye, well, folk are rarely quiet about anything, especially when it's a good piece of gossip.”

Claire turned to him.

“It’s more than just gossip, Jamie. They're saying it's not her husband's child.”

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Lord Ellesmere is a… a man of advanced years. And not known for his virility, as I recall. But surely Geneva wouldn't risk such disgrace?”

Claire shook her head. “Risk it, or perhaps she was forced to? The maids all seem to tiptoe around the subject like they’re afraid of waking the dead. They hint at things, half-finished sentences… it’s driving me mad trying to piece it all together.”

"And what have you pieced together, Sassenach?" Jamie asked, leaning back on his elbows.

Claire hesitated before continuing in a hushed voice.

"That it seems almost certain Lord Ellesmere has not been intimate with his wife. And that the baby...belongs to someone else.”

Jamie considered this. "Who then? Lord Dunsany wouldn’t leave her unsupervised."

"That's the question, isn't it?" Claire said, her voice low. "The maids whisper of a… a young stablehand she favored. But that seems too obvious, too reckless even for Geneva."

"Aye, and Dunsany's men would have dealt with a stablehand caught near her. They’re no’ fools." Jamie agreed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Someone she could see without raising suspicion. Someone closely acquainted with the family perhaps…"

"Perhaps," Claire agreed, a glint in her eye.

Jamie shook his head slowly. "I can't say for certain, Sassenach. It's all speculation. We should be careful not to spread these rumors, even if true."

"I know, I know," Claire said, leaning against him. "But it's hard not to wonder, isn't it? Especially when the consequences for Geneva - and for the child- could be so dire."

Jamie wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.
"Aye, it's a tangled web. Best to focus on what we can control. And right now, that's sleep. The bairns will be awake bright and early, demanding breakfast. Enough gossip for one day…"

They lay down under the quilts together. Claire sighed and nestled closer to him. feeling his warmth seep into her chilled bones.

"Jamie?" she said softly, her voice laced with a nervous excitement.

“Mmmm.” He hummed in response, his hand stroking her arm.

Claire took a deep breath. "There's something else I need to tell you."

Jamie turned his head, looking at her in the dim light filtering from the embers. "Aye? What is it, mo nighan don?"

She reached out and gently placed her hand on his chest. "I... I think I'm pregnant."

A slow grin stretched across his face, radiating pure, unadulterated joy.
“Aye, I had my own suspicions about that.” He sat up, pulling Claire with him, his hands cupping her face.

“You still keep track?” Claire asked, astonished.

"Aye" He breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "How long have ye known?"

Claire nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "A few weeks, maybe. I… I wanted to be sure before I told you."

Jamie pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair.

"A bairn," he whispered, his voice choking with emotion. "Another bairn. Och, Claire, this is… this is the best news I could ever receive. "

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Thank ye, Sassenach. Thank ye for giving me such a gift."

“It is you who has given me a gift, Jamie.”

Claire smiled and she kissed him, a tender, loving kiss that spoke volumes.

Jamie pulled her close again, wrapping his arms protectively around her.

"Rest now, mo chridhe," he whispered, his voice filled with contentment.

"Rest, and let us dream of the wee one to come."

Claire nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength of his love surrounding her. The troubles of Geneva Dunsany, the whispers and the scandals, faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the precious life growing within her, and the love she shared with the man beside her.

Chapter Text

Helwater Estate, 1752

Lady Geneva was lying pale and sweating in the large bed, her face etched with pain. Claire was examining her, checking that everything was ok.
Silence hung heavy in the room for a moment, punctuated by Geneva's ragged breathing. Then, a sudden gasp from Claire.

“Oh, dear God…”

“What is it? What's wrong?” Lord Dunsany asked in concern.

“The baby is… breech. It's facing the wrong way. And Lady Geneva is hemorrhaging rather badly.” Claire said , her brow furrowed with concern.

“What does that mean? Is she going to… is she going to die?” Lady Dunsany exclaimed, her voice rising in panic.

“I won't let that happen, your ladyship.” Claire said reassuringly.

“I need some help. You, fetch me fresh linens, as many as you can, and hot water.” Claire ordered the chambermaid.

“My Lady, you can hold Geneva's hand, reassure her. I need to turn this baby around.”

Claire worked quickly and efficiently, her movements precise and deliberate. The room was filled with the sounds of Geneva's cries, Claire's instructions, and the hushed prayers of Lady Dunsany.

“Alright my Lady, give me a push! I need you to push! I'm turning the baby… it's going to be painful, but we need to do this.”

Claire, her sleeves rolled up, her hair coming loose from its pins, was focused intently on the birthing process. Lord and Lady Dunsany were standing anxiously at the foot of the bed, their faces drawn with worry. A low moan escapes Geneva's lips.

“I can’t…” Geneva whispered weakly.

“I know, my Lady, I know it's hard.” Claire said firmly. “But you're doing wonderfully. Just a little bit more. Push when you feel the next contraction.”

“Is… is she alright, Mrs McKenzie? She seems so… weak.” Lady Dunsany said worriedly, ringing her hands together anxiously.

“It's been a difficult labor,my Lady, but I'm doing everything I can.”

Geneva suddenly cried out as another contraction hit her. Claire coached her through it, her voice calm and reassuring.

“Good, my Lady, good! That's it. Now, rest. Save your energy for the next one.”

The struggle seemed to go on for an eternity. Geneva was visibly weakening. Her face was deathly pale. Lord Dunsany stares on, his face a mask of horror.

“She can’t… she can’t hold on much longer.” Lady Dunsany said with fear in her voice.

Claire ignored them, her focus solely on Geneva.

“Almost… almost there… Just one more push, Geneva.”

With a final, desperate groan, Geneva pushed. Claire let out a breath of relief.

“I've got it! I've got the shoulders. Push, Geneva!”

A moment later, the sound of a baby's cry filled the room. Claire quickly cleaned and wrapped the child, then handed him to the chambermaid standing nearby.

“The baby is fine, my lady. A boy.” Claire said, turning back to Geneva, her face etched with exhaustion.

But Geneva didn't respond, she was unconscious. Claire worked tirelessly, fighting to bring her back. The room was silent except for the rasping breaths and the frantic beating of the Dunsanys' hearts.

“Is… is she going to make it?” Lord Dunsany asked , barely a whisper.

“I don’t know. I’m doing everything I can.” Claire answered.

Minutes stretch into an agonizing eternity. Finally, Geneva regained consciousness. Claire let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Welcome back, my Lady. The bleeding is now under control. She's going to be alright.” Claire smiled with relief, placing her hands on her belly tenderly, silently hoping and praying that the birth of her child will go smoothly.

Lord and Lady Dunsany rushed to their daughter's side, their faces illuminated with relief and joy.

“Geneva, my darling girl! You're alive!”

“Thank you, Mistress McKenzie. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You saved her life. You saved them both.”

Geneva managed a faint smile. Lord Dunsany took Claire's hand, his eyes filled with gratitude.

“I don't know what to say. You are a miracle worker, mistress. We are eternally in your debt.”

“We will never forget what you have done for us. Never.” Lady Dunsany agreed.

“I'm just glad they're both safe. Now, Geneva needs rest. And you both do too. Let's get her settled.

Claire glances at the sleeping Geneva, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. She had faced death and won. And for now, that was enough.

Three days had passed since the birth of Lady Geneva's son. The scent of hay and horseflesh hung heavy in the air of the Helwater stables. Jamie meticulously brushed down a chestnut mare, the rhythmic swish of the brush a comforting sound amidst the quiet of the late afternoon. He was just finishing off for the day when he heard it – a murmur of voices walking into the stables and settled in the next stall.

He paused, his hand still on the horse. Lord John and Lady Geneva. He recognized their voices instantly. He wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, but the stalls offered little in the way of soundproofing. Jamie crouched down so as not to be seen.

"Ellesmere is dead?" Lord John's voice was a breathy whisper.

"Died in his bed, I received word just a few moments ago…nobody else knows…” came Geneva's voice.

Jamie frowned. Lord Ellesmere, the man Lady Geneva was married to. He hadn't seemed unwell the last time Jamie had seen him.

"Do you know what this means? we are free, John." Geneva continued, her voice regaining confidence. "Free to marry. Free to raise William together."

Jamie stiffened. William? He knew that was the name of Geneva's child.

"Free?" John's voice dripped with bitterness. "Is that what you call it, Geneva? Free after you blackmailed me, threatened to ruin me?"

There was a pause, a rustle of fabric. "I… I am sorry, John. For that. Truly. I was desperate. But it is over now. And I am… we could be happy together." Her voice softened, almost pleading. "We can have a life together. A real family."

Jamie's fingers combed through his hair, trying hard to process what he was hearing. Blackmail? What was going on?

"Happy?" John repeated, the word laced with skepticism. "You forced my hand, Geneva. You threatened to expose… everything about me. Do you think I can simply forget that?"

"But you know about the baby now, John. William is your son. Our son. Doesn't that change things?" Geneva's voice held a quiver of hope.

Jamie felt a jolt run through him. John's son? Jesus Christ.

He strained to hear John's reply. "Yes. It does change things. It changes everything.”

“I can’t bear to see William grow up without knowing his father. Knowing… knowing the truth about his parentage.” she sighed, a long, weary sound that spoke of immense internal struggle.

"Don't you see my dear, If anyone finds out he is my child, that I bedded you right before your marriage…it will not only ruin my reputation but your family's as well, and I couldn't live with that..."

There was another pause, thick with unspoken emotion. Jamie could practically feel the tension radiating through the thin wooden partition. Their voices faded into a lower tone, Jamie couldn't make out what was said.

Then, he heard the soft rustle of clothes, the sound of retreating footsteps.

They had left.

Jamie remained frozen on the floor of the stall, his heart pounding against his ribs. He waited until the sound of their footsteps faded completely before finally raising to his feet, his legs numb.

Lord Ellesmere was dead…Geneva blackmailing Lord John…William… Lord John's son…

He leaned heavily against the chestnut mare, the familiar scent of the stables suddenly suffocating. The pieces of the puzzle swirled in his mind, a chaotic jumble of secrets and betrayals. He had stumbled upon a truth so explosive, so potentially ruinous, that it left him breathless.

***********************************************************************************

The Fraser family were seated around a simple wooden table. Plates were laden with a hearty stew. Ellena carefully cut a piece of bread. Brian was bouncing slightly in his seat.

“Mama, Mistress Figg taught me a new stitch today! It's called a 'feather stitch.' See?” Ellena pointed to a small piece of fabric with uneven stitching.

“It's lovely, sweetheart. Very delicate. You're getting quite the seamstress. Soon you'll be skilled enough to help me with sutures as well as mending clothes.” Claire exclaimed with excitement.

“I helped with the horses today! I held the bucket while Da brushed Chestnut! He let me brush him too, but only for a little bit. Then I sat with Mr Quinn.” Brian shared.

“Did you now? I'm sure Chestnut appreciated that. Did Mr. Quinn give you any hard words today?” His mother inquired.

“No! I read three whole pages! About a cat and a mouse!” He answered proudly.

“How lovely, dear. Well done.” Claire exclaimed and turned to Jamie.

“And how was your day?”

Jamie grunted slightly.

“Aye, fine…” he answered, his mind preoccupied.

Claire noticed her husband's peculiar behavior but didn't say anything about it.

“I had a rather interesting day. A poor fellow with a severely broken leg. A gardening accident, it seems. I managed to set it, hopefully, it will heal correctly.”

A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the clinking of spoons. Brian drummed his fingers on the table. Claire was watching Jamie, concern knitting her brow. He seemed lost in thought, picking at his food without much interest.

“Jamie, is everything alright? You're very quiet tonight.” Claire broke the comfortable silence.

Jamie looked up at her , his face blank.

“Aye, Sassenach. Fine. Just... weary.”

Claire reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.

“Weary, or troubled? You haven’t touched your stew…”

Jamie sighed, looking at his bowl. He took a mouthful of stew and chewed quietly.

Claire lowered her voice slightly.

“Jamie, you know you can tell me anything. Did something happen?”

“Aye, something happened. I overheard…” he began but changed his mind at the last minute. “…something.” he finished.

“Overheard what?”

Jamie glances at the children, then back at Claire. He lowered his voice even further.

“I’d rather not say at present..”

“Jamie! You can't leave me hanging like this…”

“It’s no’ something to share lightly, Claire. I feel… uneasy about it. I wish I hadn't heard it myself but…”

“Uneasy enough to tell me you heard something, but not uneasy enough to tell me what it is? That makes no sense, Jamie.”

Jamie ran a hand through his hair, clearly conflicted.

“It involves…things that…that I canna share.”

“Well, I can see something is weighing heavily on you. That makes it my burden as well.”

“Da, you look sad.” His daughter said with a concerned voice.

Jamie forced a smile at Ellena.

“Just a wee bit tired, mo leannan. Nothing for you to fret about. Finish your dinner.”

Jamie looked at Claire, his eyes pleading with her to drop the subject.

Claire sighed, yielding for now.

“Alright. But we will talk about this later...”

Jamie nodded slowly, but his expression remained troubled. He picked up his spoon and forced himself to take another bite of the stew, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere.

Later, Claire was in her shift, folding her corset and dress, placing them gently on the back of a chair, getting ready for bed. Jamie did the same, his breaches folded neatly, his shirt hanging low over his hips. The silence was thick after the bustle of putting the children to bed.

“So, Now that the children are asleep, will you share what was troubling you at dinner?”

Jamie hesitated, removing his shirt and placing it on the back of the chair. He turned to face Claire, his expression troubled.

“I overheard something in the stables…” he began, realizing he couldn't keep this from her any longer.

Claire's brow furrows.

“Go on..” Claire urged.

Jamie walked towards the bed, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“It was Lord John. And...and Lady Geneva.”

Claire walked over to the bed, concern etched on her face.

“And? What did you hear?”

Jamie finally met her eyes, his voice low and grave.

“You were right, Sassenach. William...Lord John is his father.”

Claire's eyes widen, and she gasps softly.

“Lord John?” They had heard the rumors about Geneva's baby, but this was completely unexpected.

“Aye. Apparently Geneva threatened to expose John to everyone if he didn't bed her. She somehow knew about his… his preference for men.”

Claire's mind immediately went to Jamie's time in prison with Lord John as the governor at Ardsmuir, and had to ask the obvious.

“Did he…did he take you to his bed?” She asked, her voice laden with fear and disgust.

“No.” Jamie said abruptly. “He wanted to…but…no…” he reassured her, taking her hand in his for comfort. His words calmed her mind, understanding that John was truly a good man and a friend to Jamie, certainly after all he did for them.

Claire's heart ached for John. She knew the risks, the constant fear he must live with and how much it must have hurt him to be used like that.

“Oh, Jamie. How awful for him. To be blackmailed like that…”

Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, guiding her to sit beside him.

“Aye. I dinna ken what I would do in his place…It's a dangerous secret, Sassenach. One that could ruin him entirely.”

He squeezes her hand, his eyes filled with concern.

“You're right. It would destroy him. His reputation, his career… everything.” Jamie nodded his head in agreement.

“I ken it’s a lot to keep, but we must never speak of it to anyone.”

“I promise.”

Jamie pulled aside the covers and slid into bed, Claire followed him, his hands holding her hips, pulling her close.
The weight of the secret settles between them, heavy and unspoken. After a silent moment, Jamie pulls Claire tighter against him.

“Let's forget about it for now, Sassenach.”

He leans in, kissing her deeply. Claire responds, pushing her worries aside for the moment, seeking comfort and solace in his embrace.
The candle flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls as they lost themselves in each other. Later, they lay entwined, exhaustion pulling them under.

The next morning Jamie and Claire were called into the main house. Claire was sitting on the couch in the drawing room , Lady Dunsany was sitting beside her, a faint smile on her face. Lord John Grey was standing by the hearth while Jamie was pacing restlessly by the window. They had been called in by her ladyship. Though they didn't know what for. Jamie was concerned, perhaps he was seen in the stables last night after all.

“You've a steady hand, Mistress. Geneva owes you her life, and her son's as well. It seems inadequate to say "thank you," but believe me, it comes from the deepest part of my heart.”

Claire looked up, and smiled faintly.

“You're welcome, your ladyship. It was my duty as a healer. And Geneva is strong .”

Jamie stood behind Claire, his hand resting on her shoulder, looking down at his wife with a mixture of love and concern.

“There is duty, yes, but also gratitude. And… a desire to see justice done. Jamie Fraser, I understand you are still under parole.” her ladyship turned her gaze towards Jamie.

Jamie's head whipped up fast, eyes wide with panic. She used his real name.

Lady Dunsany continued unfazed.

“Lord John has told me everything. Don't be alarmed. My husband has considerable influence in London. I'm sure he would speak on your behalf to have you released from the conditions of your parole. His influence, combined with Major Grey's… it might be enough. We would do it as a recompense for saving Geneva.”

Jamie was stunned, this was extremely unexpected and not at all what he thought this meeting to be about.

“A pardon? To be free and return home?” Jamie said in astonishment.

Claire's eyes lit up with hope.

“Jamie!” She said with choked emotion turning her head around to look at her husband. Jamie looked down at Claire, then back at Lady Dunsany then at Lord John, suspicion clouding his face.

“What’s the condition?” He asked suspiciously.

“There is no condition. Your service here, your wife's kindness to Geneva… It is reason enough. I simply wish to see a good man returned to his home.”

Lord John's expression was unreadable masking his emotions as he stared directly at Jamie.

Jamie steps forward, meeting Lord John's gaze.

“Aye. I am grateful, you're ladyship. But tell me, Lord John, would you truly ask this of your King? Would you risk your standing for a Jacobite rebel?”

“I would do what I believe is just, Fraser. For a friend.” he smiled ever so slightly.

Jamie looked from Lord John to Claire, then back to Lady Dunsany.

“Then I accept.” his lips curling into a small smile.

Claire stood up and rushed to Jamie, tears welling in her eyes as she hugged him tightly.

“Oh, Jamie!”

“Then it is settled. We will speak further in private, John.” Lady Dunsany proclaimed.

Lord John nods curtly, his face unreadable.

“As you wish, your ladyship.” Lord John offered a perfunctory bow and exited with lady Dunsany, leaving Claire and Jamie alone with their emotions.

Jamie and Claire were standing in the opulent room. The air crackled with unspoken emotion. Jamie's hand instinctively finds Claire's, his grip firm but gentle.

“Can ye believe it, Sassenach? A pardon..”

Claire looked at him, her eyes shining, a tear tracing a path down her cheek.

“I... I don't know what to say. It feels like a dream. After all this, after everything that's happened…”

“Aye.”

He raises their joined hands and kisses her knuckles, his voice thick with emotion.

“Home, Claire. We could be going home, to Scotland.”

Claire's hand instinctively went to rest on her belly.

“With Ellena, and Brian, and...this little one.”

“Our bairns will be raised on Scottish soil.”

Jamie places his own hand over hers, His eyes soften. He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her.

“I never dared to hope, Claire…. Never truly dared…”

“I know... it's almost too good to be true.”

She leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence.

“Aye. So it would seem.”

He kisses her forehead, his voice rough with emotion.

Claire looks up at him, her eyes filled with love.

Jamie cups her face in his hands.

“Are you ready to go home?” she asked with a smile.

“Je suis prest.”

He leaned down and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss filled with hope and the promise of a future finally within their grasp.

Chapter Text

Jamie received his pardon from the king a few weeks later. They were now preparing to leave. The carriage was being loaded with trunks and boxes. Claire and Ellena were saying goodbye to Lord and Lady Dunsany. Brian was busy petting the horses attached to the carriage. Jamie was standing a short distance away from his family with Lord John. They spoke quietly, away from the others.

“Before you leave, there's something I need to say.” John began.

“Aye?”

“I know you were at the stables that night… the night I spoke with Geneva.”

Jamie's expression remained unreadable. He didn’t confirm or deny.

“I am… eternally grateful for your discretion, Jamie.”

“There was no need for you to tell me about it, John.”

“Perhaps. But I needed you to know that I know. And that your silence… it has not gone unnoticed.”

Jamie nods, a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

“I did what I thought was right. For A friend." Jamie echoed John's words, They both smiled knowingly.

“I understand. You are a good man, Jamie Fraser. And a good father.”

He glances towards Claire, Ellena, and Brian.

“I truly wish you all the best, back in Scotland.”

“And I you, John. Ye deserve happiness, too.”

They clasp forearms, a moment of silent understanding passing between them.

“Take care, John.”

“Farewell, Jamie. Godspeed.”

Jamie turned and joined his family. He scooped Brian up in his arms, the boy giggled with glee. Claire smiles at him, her eyes filled with anticipation.

Jamie looked back at Lord John one last time, a faint smile gracing his lips. Then, he helped his family into the carriage, ready to finally go home.

Lord John watches them go, a complex mix of emotions playing on his face. He remained standing there as the carriage pulled away, disappearing down the long drive, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their journey back to Lallybroch lasted ten days, the bad winter weather forced them to travel slow and steady, with nightly stops along the way, to get a good night's sleep, and for the horses to get food and rest as well.

The children were extremely excited when Lallybroch finally came into view. They'd been gone for a whole year and were looking forward to seeing their aunt and uncle and their cousins as well. Jamie looked at his home with tears of happiness in his eyes. He couldn't believe he was finally home, a free man. With Claire by his side, and his children here with him, his heart was bursting with joy.

Jamie had sent his sister a letter a couple of weeks prior to their departure, informing her of their arrival, everyone was filled with joy at the wonderful reunion.

The carriage rattled to a halt in the front courtyard of Lallybroch, the crisp March air stinging Claire’s cheeks despite the welcome sunshine peeking from behind the clouds. As Jamie jumped out of the carriage, the front door burst open and Jenny practically flew down the steps, Ian hobbling hard on her heels.

“Jamie!” Jenny cried, her voice thick with emotion. “Claire! You’re here, you’re really here!”

Jamie helped Claire down from the carriage and turned to face his sister, scooping Jenny into a fierce hug that lifted her slightly off her feet.

“Aye, Jenny, I’m home.” His voice was rough with emotion.

Ian followed, his handshake with Jamie strong and warm, a hearty hug accompanying it.

"Welcome home, Jamie lad. Welcome home, Claire. It's been too long. It's good to see ye again. Ye're lookin' well."

“Aye, good to see ye Ian.” Jamie embraced his brother-in-law.

Claire stepped forward, embracing Jenny warmly.

"Jenny, it's wonderful to be back."

Jenny beamed, her hand instinctively going to her stomach.

"Aye, three months gone. And you! Jamie told me in his letter that Ye’re…” Jenny’s eyes looked at Claire’s still flat belly.

Claire laughed, relief and happiness bubbling up. “Yes. Three months gone myself.”

Jenny squealed with delight, hugging Claire again. “Oh, this is wonderful! Two bairns close on each other, isn't it grand?”

Jamie, still grinning, nodded, his gaze sweeping over Lallybroch, taking it all in.

"”Aye. Ti’s grand, Jenny. More grand than I dared to dream." His voice still full of emotion.

Jenny laughed. “Och, it will be wonderful! Two little cousins, born so close together! We’ll have our hands full, that’s for sure.”

Ellena stepped forward, her eyes wide as she looked at Jenny. "Auntie Jenny!"

"Sweet, dear Ellena" Jenny said, kneeling down, her voice softening. "You've grown since I last saw ye. And this braw lad canna be wee Brian?" She smiled at her nephew, who clung a little tighter to Claire's hand but offered a small, hesitant smile back.

"Aye," Jamie said proudly, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

One by one, they were enveloped in warm hugs from Jenny and Ian. Then, as they turned towards the house, a figure emerged from the doorway, taller and broader than Jamie remembered.

“Milord! Milady!” Fergus’s French accent was still present, but his voice was deep, no longer the boy he remembered but a young man. He bowed deeply, his eyes shining with genuine pleasure. “Welcome home.”

“Fergus!” Jamie cried, surprised and delighted. “Look at ye! Ye’ve grown into a braw man!”

Fergus straightened, grinning. “Aye, I have. It has been some years, Milord. It is good to see you both back where you belong.” He offered a hand to Jamie. "Milord, I am overjoyed to see you."

Jamie hugged Fergus firmly, a deep affection in his eyes. “And I, lad. I am glad to see you too." Tears stinging his eyes.

The courtyard was suddenly filled with a rush of younger figures. Jenny and Ian's children, Young Jamie, Maggie, and Kathrine, tumbled out, their eyes wide with curiosity and excitement.

“Uncle Jamie! Ellie! Brain! Auntie Claire!” they shouted, a chorus of childish voices.

Ellena and Brian, initially hesitant, were quickly drawn into the boisterous welcome. The air was thick with laughter, hugs, and excited chatter as everyone moved into the house, the warmth within a stark contrast to the chill outside.

Inside the house, a fire blazed merrily in the hearth. Jenny bustled about, directing young Jamie and Maggie to fetch chairs and bring out food. Ian poured drams for the adults, his smile never faltering.

Once everyone was settled, a platter of oatcakes, cheese, and cold meats was placed on the table. The children eagerly devoured the food, their earlier shyness forgotten in the excitement of the reunion.

“So, tell us everything,” Jenny said, settling into a chair beside Claire, her eyes bright. “How was Helwater? Was it as dreadful as you thought?”

Claire took a sip of water, glancing at Jamie, who was watching her with a soft expression. “It was… not as dreadful as it could have been. The Dunsany family were… kind. In their way. The children loved the countryside. And Jamie… Well, Jamie made the best of it.”

Jamie chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “Aye, ‘made the best of it’ sounds about right. It was…tolerable, in a way. But it’s good to be home.” He looked around the room, at Jenny, Ian, the children, at Fergus standing respectfully nearby.

“It’s good to be back where I belong.” he smiled.

Ian raised his dram. “To home and family. Slàinte mhath!”

Everyone echoed the toast, the clinking of glasses filling the room.

As the evening wore on, talk flowed easily. Jenny and Ian recounted happenings at Lallybroch, the struggles and triumphs of managing the estate in Jamie’s absence. Jamie and Claire shared carefully chosen snippets of their time away, focusing on the positive aspects of Helwater, the children's adventures, and their relief at Jamie’s pardon.

The younger children, tired from their excitement, began to droop. Young Jamie and Maggie helped to carry the younger ones upstairs to bed. Fergus quietly cleared away the remnants of the meal.

Finally, as the fire burned low and the only sounds were the crackling logs and the gentle murmur of voices, Jamie rose, offering his hand to Claire. “Come on, Sassenach,” he said softly, his eyes full of tenderness. “ I reckon we’ve earned a bit of peace and quiet in our own bed.”

Claire smiled, taking his hand. “We have indeed.” She kissed Jenny and Ian goodnight, promising to catch up properly in the morning.

As they climbed the familiar wooden stairs, hand in hand, the weight of the past years seemed to lift just a little more with each step. They reached their old bedroom, the room where they had shared so much of their life together before. It felt like coming home in more ways than one.

Jamie closed the door behind them, turning to Claire, his expression filled with a depth of emotion that words couldn’t capture. “Welcome home, Jamie,” she whispered, drawing him into her arms. “Welcome home.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three months had passed since their return. Both Jenny’s and Claire's bellies were well rounded by now, showing the infants growing inside them. Claire kept busy with the children, and managing her small herb garden she planted with Jenny a few weeks ago. The children were reacquainted with their cousins and felt at home once more, enjoying the freedoms they didn't necessarily have during their time in England.

Claire had noticed a few spots of blood once or twice during the past few weeks so Jamie insisted she take to her bed to rest . She tried to object but Jamie was just as stubborn as she was, and his insistence paid off in the end.

It was late afternoon when Jamie pushed open the bedroom door, a wide, hopeful grin plastered across his face. He carefully balanced a plate in one hand, presenting it like a precious offering.

"Sassenach?" he called softly, his voice laced with anticipation.

Claire was nestled amongst the pillows on their bed, a book lying open but clearly forgotten in her lap. Her eyes widened as Jamie entered, and then narrowed in playful suspicion.

"What’s all this then?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Jamie beamed, striding further into the room, placing the plate on the bedside table.

"Look what I have here for ye," he announced with a flourish, turning the plate so she could get a proper view. "A wee surprise."

Claire leaned forward, her eyes widening further as she took in the sight. Her breath hitched slightly. On the plate sat what could only loosely be described as a cheeseburger. A thick, hand-formed patty of beef was nestled between two halves of a bread roll, a slice of pale cheese half melting precariously over the side. Alongside it, a generous pile of thick-cut rustic looking potato wedges, glistening with fat, waited to be dipped in a small bowl of dark, reddish-brown sauce.

"Jamie…" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Is… is that…?"

"Aye," he said, his grin widening impossibly. "It is. Your cheese-bur-ger.” He said slowly, the word feeling foreign to his tongue. “Like you’ve been telling me about. Well," he amended quickly, "as close as I could manage. Remember you mentioned ye miss it? From ye'r time…you said."

Claire’s eyes instantly welled up, shimmering with unshed tears. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob. She looked from the plate to Jamie, her expression a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

Jamie's grin faltered slightly. He stepped closer, his brow furrowing with concern. "Oh, Claire, mo chridhe… Is it no’ right? Did I get something wrong…?" He gestured vaguely at the plate, his excitement draining away, replaced by a worried frown. He’d worked so hard to get this right, to bring her a little piece of her past.

Claire shook her head vehemently, tears now tracing shimmering paths down her cheeks. "No, no, Jamie! Oh, you ridiculous man." She reached out a hand, her fingers trembling slightly, and touched his arm. "It’s… it’s perfect." Her voice cracked on the word. "It’s just… it’s just…" she took a shaky breath, and laughed.
"These are happy tears, Jamie. Very, very happy tears."

Jamie’s frown slowly melted away, relief flooding his face. "Happy tears? Because of the… bur-ger?" he asked, still a little bewildered but undeniably pleased.

"Because of the burger," she confirmed, nodding emphatically.
"And because of you. Because you remembered. Because you went to all this trouble. Bloody hormones, but mostly… mostly you." She gestured to the plate again, her eyes shining.
"It’s the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me." Her voice softened, thick with emotion. "I love you so much."

Jamie’s heart swelled in his chest. He reached out and gently cupped her face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "And I love you, Sassenach. More than words can say." He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his voice husky. "Now, are you going to eat your burger before it gets cold?"

Claire sniffled and nodded, a genuine smile finally breaking through her tears. She picked up the cheeseburger, her fingers wrapping around the hard crusted bread roll. She inhaled deeply, the aroma, even if unfamiliar, filling her senses. She took a bite, her eyes closing for a moment as she chewed.

"Mmmph," she hummed, opening her eyes again and looking at Jamie.
"Oh, Jamie, this is…" She searched for the right word.
"Well, It’s… not exactly like I remember," she admitted honestly, "the bread’s different, and the… 'ketchup' smells… interesting," she wrinkled her nose playfully at the walnut ketchup. "But it’s… it’s incredible. Truly. Because you… you listened. And you tried." She took another, bigger bite, savoring the unexpected flavors.

Jamie watched her, his heart swelling with pleasure. He felt a warmth spread through him, a profound sense of satisfaction at seeing her so happy. "Is it truly alright?" he asked again, wanting to be absolutely sure.

"Alright?" Claire scoffed good-naturedly, taking another chip and dipping it generously in the walnut ketchup. She popped it in her mouth with a satisfied sigh. "It’s delicious. You are a miracle worker, James Fraser." She chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed.
“Here, you try some.” Claire offered him the bun and Jamie took a large bite and chewed thoughtfully.
“Mmm, it's not bad, but I prefer a good haggis any day.” He said with a mouthful of food.
Claire smiled before asking. "How did you even manage this?"

Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, watching her eat with an adoring gaze. "Well," he began, a sheepish grin returning to his face, "I asked Mrs. Crooke first, about the… 'burger' you described. She was a wee bit confused, mind you. ‘A cake of minced beef in a bun?’ she kept saying." He chuckled. "But she was kind enough to try. And then, well, I asked around the villagers for… beef, of course. And the cheese, thankfully we have plenty of that about. And bread rolls. I told her they must be rounded as ye described it to me.” He shrugged. "And potatoes for the ‘chips’ were easy enough. Mrs. Crooke fried them up in some butter."

He gestured to the dip. "And… well, the walnut relish… that was Mrs. Crooke’s idea. Said it was the closest thing to…the sauce ye described...” He chuckled again. "Maybe not quite like ye’r ‘ketchup’ made wi’ tomatoes but…”

"Jamie. It’s… wonderful." Claire reached out a hand, still chewing, and took his. Her eyes shone with affection. "You’re wonderful. Thank you, Jamie. Thank you for being so… thoughtful."

Jamie grinned, his eyes darkening. He took the plate from her hands and set it aside on the bedside table, the makeshift cheeseburger momentarily forgotten. He leaned down and kissed her, a slow, lingering kiss. The taste of cheese and walnut ketchup lingered faintly on his lips. Jamie broke away reluctantly with a soft moan.

“Claire, ye know we canna…” after Jamie convinced her of bed rest, Claire mentioned that perhaps they should abstain from physical intimacy for the last few months before the birth, just to be safe.

“I can't, but you can...or rather, I can for you.” her hand slid down his chest and rested on the firmness of his crotch.
He firmly detached her hand and gave it back to her.

“No Sassenach, it wouldna be right.”

“Why ever not?” Claire asked, surprised.

“Well, I wouldna feel right, Sassenach. To take my pleasure and not be able to give ye yours…it just wouldna feel right, is all.”

“Jamie, you're too sweet for words.”

“I am not sweet.” He said with indignation. “But I'm no’ a selfish…Claire stop that” her hands were skilfully unbuttoning his breaches as he tried to protest.

“Can you wait several more months?” she asked, pulling his breaches down from his hips.

“I could…I waited five years and I can…”

“No you can't…” she said with a cheeky smile, looking at the evidence in front of her.

“But…” he began.

“Two against one…” Claire said, leaning down. “You lose.”

Claire's bed rest seemed to help, she was now eight months pregnant, the bleeding had stopped. She would get out of bed for short periods of time , but Fergus and Jamie made sure she didn't over exert herself. She would go for short walks in the yard or stay at home and knit or read a book. Ellena would sometimes sit with her and read to her, or bring in herbs from the garden and help her bind them together for drying. Brian would visit her in the mornings and bring her a small bouquet of wildflowers before bedtime.

One night Claire carefully instructed Jamie on what she would need for the birth.
“Jenny will probably be indisposed.” She explained. “Either giving birth or having just done so.” Jamie listened nervously. “And there might not be enough time to explain it all to the midwife.” She continued. Jamie had a far-off look on his face.
“Jamie?! Are you listening?”
“Aye” he whispered.
“I know it sounds scary, and it is, I'm scared too…but I need to know you'll be there for me.”
“I dinna ken if I…” he said with a shaking breath.
“You must Jamie…please…I need to know I can count on you…” she looked at her husband with a pleading look in her eyes. Jamie nodded his head and grabbed her hands in his reassuringly.
“Aye.” he said with all the confidence he could muster.

Turns out Claire was right. Four weeks later Jenny began her labor early that morning. Claire was still on bed rest and couldn't help her sister in law, luckily the midwife was called and was assisting her at the moment.
Fergus was instructed to occupy the children for the day, so he took them all down to the stream for berry picking and some trout fishing.
The muffled cries from Jenny’s chamber were a constant, rhythmic counterpoint to the rising crescendo of Claire’s own labor which began a few hours later. Jamie paced the length of their bedroom, the floorboards creaking under his anxious strides. Claire walked slowly beside him, face pale and damp, gripping his hand with surprising strength as another contraction seized her.

“I’m here Sassenach. I'm here.”

“Breathe… just breathe.” Claire told herself through clenched teeth.

“ Are you… are you alright?” Jamie asked with concern etched on his face.

A strained smile flickered across her face.

“As alright as a woman in the throes of birthing is likely to be. But… you’ll need to… to listen to me, Jamie. The midwife… She's with Jenny. And… the contractions are coming… quickly now.”

He could hear the frantic rush of the midwife’s footsteps in the hallway, a fleeting shadow at the door before she disappeared again in the direction of Jenny’s room.

“She’ll be back. She’ll be back soon.” Jamie tried reassuring his wife, as well as himself.

“Perhaps. But… just in case… You need to… to help me. Remember what I told you… about… about the head… the crowning…”

His eyes widened, a raw panic threatening to overwhelm him. He remembered her lessons, her calm, measured explanations weeks ago, preparing him for this very eventuality. But theoretical knowledge felt flimsy now, confronted with the visceral reality of his wife’s pain.

“Claire… I… I dinna know if I can…”

Just then another contraction gripped her, she squeezed his hand tighter. Breathing heavily as the surge rose to its peak and slowly subsided.

“You can, Jamie Fraser. You must. For me… for our baby. Just listen… Feel here…”
She guides his hand to her swollen belly.

“When you feel it… hardening… that’s a contraction. and when I tell you… I need you to… to help.”

Minutes stretched into an eternity, each contraction a wave pulling Claire further and further into the depths of labor. Jamie, his face etched with worry, tried to follow her instructions, his voice a low murmur of encouragement and fear mingled together. Claire was on all fours now, Jamie bent on the floor beside her.

“Aye, I feel it, lass. It’s coming hard and fast now. Tell me what to do, Claire. Tell me.”

“When I push… Jamie… support my back… and… and down here… “ she said panting, gesturing towards the lower part of her abdomen. “…gentle pressure. And… and when you see the head… just… just be ready.”

He nodded, his throat tight. He could hear Jenny’s cries escalating now, a mirror of Claire’s own struggle, though Claire remained remarkably focused, her nurse’s mind still sharp even in the face of agony.

“Now, Jamie…push with me…”

He braced himself, his hands trembling as he supported her back. He watched her face, contorted with effort as she let out a guttural scream, and felt a surge of helpless love and fear. He had faced down armies, endured floggings, but this… this was a battle of a different kind, he once told her he couldn't bear her pain, it would take more strength than he has, but now in the middle of it all, he found that strength, somehow.

Then, amidst Claire’s groans and his own ragged breaths, he saw it. A dark crown of hair, slick with moisture, emerging. His breath hitched. He looked at Claire, her eyes wide and fixed on him, a wild mixture of pain and determination in their depths.

“Jamie… support the…head…gently.” she gasped between breaths.

He did as she instructed, his large hands surprisingly delicate as he cradled the tiny head. He felt a primal instinct take over, a fierce protectiveness rising in his chest. He followed Claire’s whispered, raspy directions, his heart pounding in his ears. Shoulder, then another shoulder, and then, with a final push from Claire and a gentle tug from Jamie, a slippery, squirming body slid into his hands.
A cry, thin and wavering at first, filled the room.

A cry of life.

Jamie stared, speechless, at the tiny babe in his hands, covered in blood and amniotic fluid, yet perfectly formed, miraculously whole.

It was a girl.

Chapter Text

Just then the midwife rushed into the room, breathless and flustered.

“Forgive me, Mistress Fraser! Mistress Murray…she's had a healthy lad… I just… oh! You’ve done it! You’ve done it yourself!”

She bustled forward, her eyes widening as she saw the baby in Jamie’s arms and Claire, lying back, pale and exhausted but alive.

“Saints be praised! Let me see to the wee bairn…a Bonnie wee lassie, Mistress Fraser…”

She expertly took the baby from Jamie, wrapping her in a soft shawl. Jamie helped carry Claire to the bed and knelt back down beside her, his hand stroking her damp hair.

“Ye did it, Sassenach..” he laughed nervously.

Claire managed a weak smile.

“And you…” Her voice was faint. “…you delivered our daughter, Jamie. You brought her into this world.”

“Aye, Master Fraser, you did a fine job. Though, let’s just check on Mistress Fraser here…” the midwife examined Claire, her brow furrowing slightly. “Blood loss is a wee bit… heavy.”

Claire nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“Jamie… the… the herbs… by the bed… strong brew… now...”

Jamie scrambled to his feet, his earlier panic replaced by a focused urgency. He found the prepared infusion Claire had shown him weeks ago, the herbs carefully measured. He brought it to her lips, supporting her head as she drank.

The midwife continued to work, her experienced hands moving quickly and efficiently. The tension in the room remained thick, but it was mingled now with a fragile hope. Jamie watched Claire, his heart aching with love and fear. He had promised to be by her side, and he had done more than that. He had been her strength, when she needed him most.

After what felt like an eternity, the midwife straightened up, a small smile gracing her lips.

“That’s it. The worst has past. She’s weak, mind you, but she’ll mend…Ye did well, Master Fraser. Truly well. Ye saved your wife’s life.”

Relief washed over Jamie in a dizzying wave. He sank back onto the stool beside the bed, his body trembling with exhaustion.

“Thank you, Jamie. Thank you… for everything.”

He looked up at her, tears blurring his vision. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

“Dinna be thanking me, Sassenach. Ti's I who should be thanking you for being so strong… for guiding me. And…” He looked towards the swaddled bundle in the midwife’s arms. “…thank you for her. Our daughter.”

The midwife chuckled softly, handing the baby back to Jamie.

“Go on…Hold your wee bairn properly now. And what will you be calling this wee lass, Master Fraser?”

Jamie looked down at his daughter, her tiny face peaceful in sleep. He looked at Claire, her eyes filled with love and exhaustion.

“We haven’t decided yet, have we, Sassenach? But… she's here. She’s really here. And you… ye’re safe. That’s all that matters. Sleep mo nighan don, sleep now…”

He cradled his daughter close, feeling the tiny flutter of her breath against his chest. The cries from Janet’s room had quietened, replaced by the soft murmur of happy voices. Jenny's birth was quick this time, after so many births, her body worked smoothly and her son arrived safely. They named him Ian.

Ellena and Brian were called in to see their new baby sister.

“She's so tiny.” Ellie exclaimed quietly, not wanting to disturb.

“Can she play wi us?” Brian asked innocently.

“Not really…” Claire whispered to her inquisitive son.

“She's too small to do anything really…” Claire let her head fall back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

“Best be off now children…let ye'r mother rest now.” Jamie ordered gently, ushering his children out of the room.

Life, in all its messy, precarious glory, had burst forth at Lallybroch that day. And amidst the exhaustion and the lingering fear, there was an overwhelming, profound happiness. They were all safe. They were all together.

Later that night, the soft crackling of the fire was the loudest sound in the room. Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, the tiny bundle in his arms nestled against his chest. His eyes, usually fierce and bright, were softened with an unshakeable tenderness as he gazed at his daughter. He murmured to her in Gaelic, words of love and welcome, promises to keep her safe and cherished always. He traced the delicate curve of her cheek with a calloused finger, marveling at the perfection of her fair skin, her hair already a dark shade of brown, like her mother's.

a soft whimper broke the peaceful silence. The baby stirred in his arms, her tiny face scrunching up.

“Ye're so wee.” He whispered in awe. “Dinna fash yerself. I'm here.”

Jamie watched her for a moment, then with a sigh, he gently nudged Claire's shoulder.

“Sassenach,” he whispered, his voice low and warm. “I think our wee lass is hungry.”

Claire’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep but instantly softening with a mother’s love as she saw Jamie and the baby. A tender smile touched her lips.

“Is she?” she murmured, her voice still raspy. She pushed herself up slowly against the pillows, wincing slightly.

Jamie carefully placed the baby in her arms, supporting her head with his large hand. Claire cradled her close, her gaze fixed on her daughter's face as she instinctively brought her to her breast. The baby latched on eagerly, and a peaceful quiet settled back into the room, broken only by the soft nursing sounds.

Claire looked down at their daughter, her own weariness fading a little as she gazed at the tiny face nuzzling against her. "Oh, Jamie," she whispered, her voice full of emotion, "She's perfect.”

Jamie stood up and grabbed the glass of water by the bed, he helped Claire sip some water and placed the cup back on the table.

“Aye. She’s beautiful,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “just like her mother.” he smiled and kissed Claire on her forehead, sitting back on the bed beside her, leaning close so he could see both of them. He watched the rise and fall of Claire’s chest, the gentle flutter of the baby’s eyelids. Contentment washed over him, a deep, profound happiness that settled in his bones.

"We should think what to name her," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jamie nodded, his gaze still fixed on their daughter.

"Aye, we should. Have ye been thinking on it, Sassenach?"

Claire shifted slightly, still cradling the baby close.

"I have…" She looked up at Jamie, her eyes shining with affection. "I was thinking… we could call her Jamie."

Jamie blinked, a surprised laugh escaping him.

"Jamie?" he repeated, his brow furrowed in gentle amusement. "Claire, ye canna call a lassie Jamie."

"Why not?" Claire challenged playfully, a hint of her old spirit returning. "You were so wonderful, Jamie. You helped me so much. You were so strong and calm through it all. It feels right."

He reached out and gently stroked her hair, his heart swelling with love for her.

"I am honored, Sassenach, truly. But Jamie is… it's a man's name. A fine name, mind you," he added with a wink, "but not for a wee lassie, besides, Brian already bears that name for my sake."

Claire sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright. But it was a lovely thought, wasn't it?"

"T’was," he agreed, his smile warm. "But perhaps… we can find another way to honor ye’r… admiration for my fine skills.” He grinned teasingly.

Claire rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. "Alright, fine. What names have you been considering, then?"

Jamie’s face softened in thought.

“How about ‘’Sorche”?”
“Is that Gaelic?”

“Aye.”

“for what?”

“‘Claire’”

She blushed and pondered the name for a moment.

"I'm not sure about that, I think it strange to call her by my own name…What about… Janet?" Claire suggested suddenly, her voice thoughtful. "She's a strong woman, our Jenny. Loyal and true."

Jamie’s face softened. "Janet," he repeated, a smile spreading across his face. "Aye… I like Janet. It's a good, solid name. But…it feels like it's lacking…”

Claire’s smile widened.

“There's still one more name to consider…”

Jamie looked at her suspiciously.

“Go on…”

“Your second name.”

“Alexander?”

“Alexandra. Alexandra Janet Fraser.” She looked down at her daughter, still nursing peacefully. “Welcome to the world, little Lexie.”

Jamie leaned closer, pressing a kiss to Claire’s temple and then a feather-light kiss on the baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, wee Alexandra. My verra own Sawny. Your mother and I, we love you more than words can say.” He settled back against the pillows, the firelight dancing in his eyes, as they both watched their newborn daughter, Alexandra Janet, sleeping contentedly in her mother’s arms.

“How dreadful of me, I didn't think to ask, how's Jenny doing? Is she alright?”

“Aye, Ian said they're both healthy and well.”

“Oh, I'm glad to hear that. Does he have a name?”

“Ian - it's about time one of the bairns should be named after ye.” Jamie parroted Ian's words when he told him how Jenny named their son. Claire and Jamie laughed softly together at Jenny's amusing words.

~~~~~~~

Everyone was slowly adjusting to life with two new bairns in the family. Claire and Jenny were back on their feet after a few days of rest.

A week later, the soft morning light, still tinged with a pre-dawn coolness, filtered through the small bedroom window at Lallybroch. Claire, nestled in the crook of Jamie's arm, gently nursed tiny Lexie, the baby’s soft breaths barely audible in the quiet room. Jamie watched them both, a mixture of contentment and a certain underlying unease swirling within him.

He shifted slightly, the bed creaking softly. Claire glanced up, her eyes still shadowed with sleep, meeting his.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice low, not wanting to disturb the sleeping babe or the rest of the house.

“Mornin’,” Jamie replied, his voice equally hushed. He traced the delicate line of Lexie's cheek with a gentle finger. “She’s a bonnie wee thing.”

Claire smiled, a tired but radiant smile. “She is.” She shifted Lexie, offering her the other breast.

A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by Lexie’s soft suckling and the distant crow of a rooster. But Jamie’s mind was already wrestling with the day ahead, and the days ahead, and all the days beyond.

“Sassenach,” he began finally, his voice a touch more serious, “Lallybroch… it’s… well, it’s rather full now, isn’t it?”

Claire nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “Yes. It is. With Jenny and Ian and their children, and Ellie and Brian… and now Lexie… It’s a lively house, certainly.”

Jamie chuckled, but it lacked its usual heartiness. “Lively is one word for it. Lately, I feel like I canna swing a cat without hittin’ a wean. Not that I would, mind you. But…" he trailed off, searching for the right words.

Claire understood. She’d felt it too, the constant hum of activity, the noise, the lack of… privacy. Even in their own bedroom, the walls felt thinner somehow, the sounds of the house seeping in. They cherished the boisterous family life, but sometimes… sometimes they longed for quiet, for space that was truly their own.

“I know what you mean, Jamie,” she said softly. “I love having everyone here, and Lallybroch is home… but…”

“But,” Jamie finished for her, “it’s no’ just ours anymore. Not truly. And with three bairns o’ our own… well…” He sighed, running a hand through his already tousled red hair.

Claire looked at him, her brow furrowed in concern. “What are you thinking, Jamie?”

He hesitated for a moment, then looked out the window towards the rolling hills in the distance. “The Fraser lands are vast. There’s plenty o’ room. I was thinkin’… perhaps… we could build our own house. No’ far from Lallybroch, mind you. Close enough that we’re still part o’ the family, but… with our own space. Our own hearth.”

Claire’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of excitement sparking within them. “Our own house? On Fraser land?” She considered the idea. “That… that’s a lovely thought, Jamie. A place that’s truly ours. For us and the children.” She imagined a smaller, more intimate space, designed just for their growing family. The idea held a certain allure.

Jamie nodded, encouraged by her reaction.

“Aye. We could choose a spot. Overlookin’ the glen maybe, or by the burn. Somewhere peaceful, but still close enough to help Jenny when she needs it, and for the bairns to play with their cousins.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Claire agreed, her voice filled with dawning enthusiasm. “Imagine – a bit more quiet… It would be good for all of us.”

But Jamie’s brow was still creased with worry. He shifted again, drawing Claire closer, Lexie snuggling deeper into her embrace. “A house is just one thing, though, Sassenach. A fine thing, to be sure. But there’s the weans to think of. All three o’ them. And buildin’ a house… it'll costs us. Coin we might no’ have in abundance just now.”

Claire nodded, her own practical nature kicking in. “the finances. That’s always the crux of it, isn’t it?”

Jamie looked at her, his blue eyes searching hers. “I’ve been thinkin’… about our future here, at Lallybroch, for all of us. I need to provide, Claire. I need to make sure we can feed and clothe them, and give them a good life.” He paused, then a spark of determination lit his eyes. “I’ve been givin’ thought to openin’ a distillery.”

Claire blinked, surprised. “A distillery? For whiskey?”

Jamie nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Aye. Scotch whiskey. Fraser whiskey. It’s in our blood, Sassenach. And folk are always thirsty. It could bring in good coin, I reckon. Give us independence. Give us a way to provide for our family, and maybe even employ some folk from the village.”

Claire considered this, her mind already racing with practicalities. “It’s… an interesting idea, Jamie. It would certainly be a venture. But distilleries require investment, don’t they? And permits, not to mention the taxes… and you’d need to learn the trade properly, if you haven’t already.”

“Aye, there’s that,” Jamie conceded. “But I’m a quick learner, Sassenach. And I ken folk who know about whiskey-makin’. I could learn.”

Claire nodded slowly. “It’s something to think about, certainly. But don't think you have to bear the whole weight of it alone."

He looked at her, a question in his eyes. "What are ye sayin'?"

"Well," she started, a little hesitantly. "I was thinking…I could go back to helping people. With my… skills."

Jamie's brow furrowed deeper. "Ye mean… yer healings?"

"Yes," Claire said, emboldened now. "Why not? People get sick and injured here just the same as anywhere else. I could open a… a clinic, perhaps. Charge a small fee for my services. It would bring in some coin, and it would… keep me busy. Give me something beyond nappies and… and keeping house.”

“Oh aye….ye need a purpose.” Jamie recalled her words when they were in Paris trying to keep the Jacobite rebellion from happening. Jamie sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "It’s just… this time ye’ve got three bairns, Claire. Three wee ones needin’ ye’r attention. Runnin' a clinic… wouldn’t that take ye away from them?"

Claire softened her tone, understanding his concern. "Not entirely, Jamie. I can set my own hours. Work from home. Perhaps even have someone help me with the children while I see patients. We could make it work….I need to use my skills, Jamie. It’s part of who I am."

Jamie looked at her intently, searching her eyes. He saw the familiar spark of determination, the unyielding spirit he loved so fiercely. He didn’t fully understand this need of hers, this yearning for something beyond the traditional roles of wife and mother. He’d seen her thrive in Paris, and at Helwater for a time, seen her come alive when she was using her knowledge, even in the face of danger. And he trusted her. Even when he did not entirely comprehend.

"Aye," he said finally, his voice softer now.

"Thank you, Jamie." She kissed him gently on his cheek.

Jamie kissed her back on her lips, a longer, more lingering kiss this time, the weight of their growing family and future plans settling between them.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Lallybroch yard, painting the stone walls in hues of gold and amber. Claire sat on the front steps, her gaze soft as she watched Ellie and Brian chase each other through the long grass, their childish shrieks echoing on the breeze. Lexie, nestled in her mother's arms, her tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically. Jenny was in the kitchen with Mrs Crooke preparing their evening meal.

A smile touched Claire’s lips. This, she thought, was happiness. Simple, pure, and utterly precious.

The rhythmic thud of hooves on the track leading to the house drew her attention. She shaded her eyes,Two riders appeared in the distance, Jamie’s familiar figure unmistakable on his towering stallion. Beside him, Fergus bounces lightly on a smaller horse.

“Da!” Ellie squealed, abandoning her game to race towards Jamie as he dismounted gracefully, Brian hot on her heels.

Jamie grinned, scooping Ellie up and swinging her high, then ruffling Brian’s red hair as he knelt down. “Aye, mo leannan, I'm home.”

Fergus, dismounting gracefully, offered a shy smile to Claire. “Milday.”

“Fergus,” Claire greeted warmly, rising to meet them. “You both are back in good time. Find what you were looking for?” She smiled at Jamie.

Jamie set Ellie gently down, his gaze meeting Claire’s, a spark of excitement alight in his blue eyes. “Aye, Sassenach, we did indeed.” He walked towards her, his hand finding the small of her back, drawing her a little away from the children who were now clamoring around Fergus, eager for attention. He kissed her lightly on the lips.

“Come inside,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “Let me tell ye about it properly.” He glanced briefly at the sleeping baby in his wife's arms. “Is she sleeping, our wee Lexie?”

“Only just, thankfully,” Claire chuckled softly. “She’s been a real terror today. Come, tell me everything.” She reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his, and led him towards the house, leaving Fergus to entertain the children.

Inside, the familiar warmth and scent of Lallybroch enveloped them. Jamie led Claire to the small sitting room, pouring them each a dram of whisky from the decanter on the sideboard. Claire placed their sleeping infant in the bassinet and turned her attention to Jamie.

He took a long sip of his drink, then turned to Claire, his smile wide and genuine. “It’s perfect, Sassenach. Just what we were hoping for. A beautiful spot, by a burn, sheltered from the winds, and plenty of trees for building.” He gestured expansively, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “Imagine it, Claire. A new house, built by our own hands, for our family. We can start as soon as we’ve gathered enough timber. I'm hoping to begin building in the spring.”

Claire’s heart swelled with happiness at his words. “Oh, Jamie, that sounds wonderful! Truly.” She reached out, cupping his face in her hands, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I knew you’d find the perfect place.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes softening. “Aye… well, it might take a wee while, but…” He trailed off, a thoughtful expression clouding his features for a moment.

Claire sensed a shift. “But?” she prompted gently.

Jamie sighed, taking another sip of his whisky. “It’s just… building a house costs money, Sassenach. And… well, we’ll manage, o’ course...”

Claire nodded understandingly. She knew they were comfortable, thanks to Lallybroch and the modest income from their tenants, but grand houses required grand sums.

Jamie’s gaze drifted towards the fire, a faraway look in his eyes. “There is… something I’ve been thinking about.” He hesitated, then continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do ye recall me telling ye about Ardsmuir? And some of the talk amongst the prisoners… about the Jacobite gold? On Silkie island”

Claire’s breath caught in her throat. She remembered the hushed whispers he’d recounted from his time in prison, the legends of hidden treasure.

Jamie nodded slowly. “Aye. It was only talk, mind ye, likely naught but a fanciful tale to keep spirits up in that wretched place. But… I canna help but think… if it were true… well, it could make all the difference, Sassenach. It could speed things along with the house, and make things easier for us, for the bairns.”

Claire’s stomach clenched. Danger. The word flashed in her mind, bold and stark. “Jamie, no. Don’t even think about it.” Her voice was firm, unwavering.

He looked at her, surprised by her vehemence. “What? Why?”

“Because It’s dangerous, Jamie!” she exclaimed, her voice rising slightly before returning to a whispered tone. “It's Jacobite gold, if you get caught with that…the British will lock you up for good… It’s just not worth it, Jamie.”

Jamie placed his whisky glass down on the table, turning to face her fully. He took her hands in his, his thumbs gently stroking her knuckles. “I ken yer worried, Sassenach.” He searched her eyes, his own earnest and sincere. “And I’m not saying I’m going to rush off to Silkie Island tomorrow. Dinna fash yerself so.”

He paused, considering his words. “But… Claire, think of it. If that gold is there, just waitin’… it could be a blessin’. A way to make our dreams for this family come true faster, easier. I’m no’ a fool, Sassenach. I’d be careful, I promise ye. I’d take precautions, and Fergus would come wi’ me. We’d be in and out, like shadows in the night.”

Claire shook her head, her anxiety refusing to recede. “But why risk it at all, Jamie? We’ll build the house. We’ll work hard, we’ll be careful with our coin, and we’ll have our house in due time. We don’t need to chase after legends and risk everything for it. You're finally free, Jamie…”

Jamie listened patiently, his gaze unwavering as she spoke. He squeezed her hands gently. “I ken that, Sassenach. But what good is freedom if I canna give ye what ye need.” He sighed softly.

“Jamie…” Claire interrupted but he quickly continued.

“Let’s just… keep it in mind, shall we? As a….last resort, if we truly need it. If the building takes longer than we can bear, or if we run into unexpected costs. Something… to keep in mind, as ye might say.”

Claire looked at him, searching his eyes, trying to gauge his true intentions. She saw the glint of adventure, yes, but also a genuine desire to provide for his family, to make their lives easier. She didn't want to risk what they finally had.

“Promise me,” she said softly, her voice pleading, “promise me you’ll not go after that gold, not now when you're finally free.”

Jamie smiled, a reassuring, tender smile. “let's leave it for now, Sassenach.” He leaned in, kissing her forehead gently. “Now, come. Let’s go see our bairns. I’m sure Fergus has had enough of them by now.”

Just then, Jenny’s voice, sharp and clear, echoed from the hallway. “Jamie! Claire! Supper’s ready! Are ye two going to stand in there talking all night, or are ye coming to eat before it gets cold?”

Jamie chuckled, taking Claire’s hand again.

As they walked out of the sitting room, Claire glanced back at Jamie, a lingering worry still nagging at her heart. The gold was a shadow on the horizon, a potential danger that she couldn’t quite shake off. But for now, as she heard the excited chatter of her children and the comforting presence of her family gathered around the supper table, she pushed the unease aside and focused on the warmth and love that surrounded her at Lallybroch. For tonight, at least, that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~

After a satisfying dinner, everyone retired to their respective rooms. Lexie was finally asleep after stirring a big fuss during dinner, Claire placed her gently into her bassinet and turned to see Jamie standing by the bed in nothing but his shirt. They hadn't been intimate since Lexie was born, Jamie respected the fact that her body took its time healing from the birth, it had been almost three months. But she finally felt ready. Claire, clad only in her shift, walked over to him and put her arms around his neck to pull him into a passionate kiss.
Jamie understood her silent beckoning for him, but he was slightly apprehensive.

"Are ya sure ye ready, Sassanach? " He asked as their lips parted.

"Yes." She said in a raspy whisper and kissed him again, just to prove her point.

"Lord knows I want ya, but…" Jamie mumbled in between kisses.

Claire's eyebrows went up in surprise, she put her hands on his hard chest and leaned back to see his face more clearly.

"But…? "

"Well, I'm…it's just that….what if…" he stammered.

"Well come on, out with it". She demanded playfully.

"I…When Lexie was born….I…I dinna ken if I could go through that again…" Jamie confessed.

"You're worried I might get pregnant?"

Jamie frowned and nodded.

"Jamie, you really shouldn't worry about that now, I'm fairly certain that my nursing Lexie prevents me from baring another child at least for the time being, and I've been taking herbs and tonics that can help prevent it."

"Is that so?" Relief flooded his voice.

Claire nodded and smiled before she spoke.

"But if it's possible, I love you even more for your concern."

Upon hearing this, Jamie helped Claire out of her shift and proceeded to remove his shirt with one swift move, lifted Claire up effortlessly and laid her down on the bed, he leaned over her , covering her body with his, leaning on his hands so as not to crush her completely. He kissed her lips and then her neck. She arched her head back to give him better access to it. He trailed more kisses down her chest and when he reached her breast he fondled it with one hand while sucking gently on her nipple. Claire moaned with pleasure at the sensation. Jamie came back up to her lips and whispered into her mouth in between kisses.

"Sshh Sassanach, you'll wake the bairn." He whispered with a cheeky grin. But Claire wasn't in the mood for jokes.
"I want you inside me" she panted breathlessly.

He positioned himself at her entrance, and penetrated in one swift motion, Claire gasped at the pleasurable intrusion and spread her legs wider to accommodate him. Jamie pushed himself gently deeper inside her.

"Did I hurt ya?" Jamie said in a low husky voice.

"No." She whispered back with a smile.

Jamie slowly pulled himself almost all the way out and thrust his hips against hers once more. He moved slow and steady at first and after a few more strokes he picked up the pace, finding a rhythm.
She moved with him, enjoying the friction. His movements were becoming even faster and she found it hard to keep up. Every thrust was faster and deeper. They were both grunting and moaning with pleasure, Claire cried out in ecstasy as she reached her climax , Jamie followed soon after with his own release with a moan and a grunt.
Surprisingly the baby slept on, despite the noises in the room. Tired and spent, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

A few hours later Claire was roused by the baby who needed to be changed and fed, But for some reason she refused to go back to sleep. She was clean and her belly was full, Claire tried everything but to no avail the child just wanted to cry.

"Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!" Claire swore under her breath. "go to sleep already! Please Lexie…"

"What's wrong wi' her?" Jamie asked from under the covers, his voice sounding raspy from sleep. The noise had woken him from his blissful slumber.

"I don't know, I've tried everything, she just won't settle down, she's not feverish or anything like that…."

Jamie heard the slight panic in his wife's voice and got out of bed, quickly put on his shirt and walked over to the chamberpot to relieve himself, then proceeded to wash his hands in the water basin, as Claire had instructed him to do before handling the baby. When he was done he walked over to Claire and took Alexandra from her aching arms.

"Go back to bed Sassanach, I'll be wi' her."

Claire would have argued with him about it, but she was so tired she just said a quiet thank you and followed his advice, Claire must've fallen asleep right as her head hit the pillow . When she woke up again it was still dark outside and there was no sign of Jamie or Lexie. Claire got up and put on her dressing gown and walked out the room. She didn't get far when she noticed Jamie laying on the sofa in the sitting room with Lexie wrapped up on his chest with a blanket covering them both for warmth. Jamie was whispering to her soothingly in Gaelic, stroking her tiny fingers with his. Claire stood quietly watching them together and it gave her such pleasure it sent goosebumps up her back. She stood in silence enjoying the sight.

After a few minutes Claire walked up to them quietly not wanting to disturb the tranquil atmosphere. She rested her hand gently on Jamie's shoulder and he smiled up at her with content.

"How did you manage to settle her?" She whispered.

"Well, I just spoke to her. Ye can talk to a wee one in a way you canna talk to anyone else. Ye can pour out ye'r heart to them wi’out choosing your words or holding anything back at all. And that gives them comfort. " Jamie explained.

"Come back to bed?" Claire asked.

Jamie nodded in response and they all went upstairs and slept peacefully the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks passed uneventfully, the morning stable air, thick with the scent of hay and horse sweat, buzzed with childish curiosity. Jamie, his broad shoulders easing the weight of a saddle, smiled at his two eldest, Ellena and Brian. Ellie, at eight, was sharp-eyed and quick-witted a spitting image of her grandmother. Five-year-old Brian, all tousled red hair and boundless energy, was his father through and through.

“Da, why does Bobby eat so much oats and we only get a bowl of porridge?” Brian demanded, his brow furrowed with the injustice of it all.

Jamie chuckled, ruffling Brian’s hair. “Because a bhalaich.", Bobby pulls a cart, wee man. Ye dinna haul heavy loads, do ye?”

“I could!” Brian puffed out his chest, flexing a surprisingly sturdy arm.

Ellie, ever the more pragmatic one, rolled her eyes at her brother. “Ye can barely lift a bucket of water, Brian.”

“Haud yer wheesht.” Jamie said to his daughter, winking at Brian. “He’ll be strong as an ox one day, just ye wait.” He turned back to Bobby, patting him hard on his neck.

Ellie, who had been quietly observing the large mare in the next stall, gestured towards her. “Da, look at Pixie. She’s got a belly like a… like a sack of potatoes!”

Jamie followed her gaze and his grin softened. Pixie, their sturdy Highland mare, was indeed heavy with foal. “Aye, she does, doesn't she?”

Brian, forgetting oats and porridge entirely, hopped closer to Pixie’s stall. “Is she eating all the potatoes in the fields, Da?”

“No, ye daftie,” Ellie scoffed before Jamie could answer. “She’s not full of potatoes.” She leaned closer, peering at Pixie’s swollen belly. “she's havin’ a bairn…”

“Like Ma had Lexie in her belly?” Brian asked.

“Aye.” Jamie answered. Hoping they would drop the subject.

No such luck.

“Da? How do the bairns get into the bellies?” Brian inquired further.

Jamie’s smile faltered ever so slightly. He scratched his stubble, suddenly aware of the distinct lack of instruction he’d received on this particular parental duty. How should he be explaining the birds and the bees to his children? That felt more daunting than Culloden.

“Well, it grows in there like… like a seed, ye see?”

Brian’s confusion deepened. “A seed? In her tummy? Did she swallow a turnip seed, Da? Is a turnip growing inside her?”

Ellie, however, was slightly quicker on the uptake. “No, Brian, not a turnip seed. Da means… a baby seed. Isn’t that right Da?” She turned her intelligent gaze to Jamie, pinning him under her bright blue scrutiny.

Jamie cleared his throat, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his spine despite the cool stable air. “Aye, well… sort of like that. It’s… it’s a wee foal, ye see. A baby horse.”

“But how did it get in there?” Brian asked again, his voice full of innocent inquiry.

Jamie sputtered. “Well, ah… ye see… it’s… the… the… big horse, the… the stallion, he… he put it there.” He knew he wasn't explaining it very well and felt ridiculous saying those words aloud.

Ellie tilted her head, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did he feed it to her?”

Brian gasped, his eyes widening further. “Did he eat it first and then spit it into Pixie’s tummy?”

Jamie’s breath hitched. He could feel his ears burning. “No, no, nothing like that! Och, it’s… it’s… it’s a wee bit complicated.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it further before he continued. “Come here, a ghràidh.” he said, patting the spot beside him on a big bail of hay.

He paused, running a hand through his hair, and gave a little awkward shrug before continuing .

“A man gives a wee seed, and the woman carries it in her belly, just like soil cradles a seed in the spring. And wi’ time, warmth, and care—out grows a bairn. So, Pixie and the stallion… they… they… liked each other very much.”

Ellie’s expression remained skeptical. “Liked each other? Did they get married?”

Brian nodded enthusiastically.

Jamie groaned inwardly. Heavens help him. He glanced desperately towards the stable door, as if hoping Claire would magically appear and rescue him from this excruciating interrogation.

“It’s not…, no,” he stammered, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “It’s… it’s a… a…ye, ye see…Ye ken how the bees fly from flower to flower, aye?” Jamie said suddenly filled with confidence.”They carry a bit of each bloom wi’ them, helpin’ new life to grow. It’s much the same wi’ folk. When two people love each other deeply—it’s a bond that goes deeper than words or kisses. Their love becomes a place where life can begin.”

Ellie had noticed her father’s increasingly flustered state. A tiny smile played on her lips. “So, you’re sayin’ Pixie and the stallion got married and then a seed grew inside her tummy and turned into a foal?”

“Aye, lass, that’s… that’s… a very good way to put it,” Jamie said, latching onto her slightly more sensible summation with relief. He dared not elaborate further.

Brian, however, was still struggling with the mechanics. “So when I marry, I'll give my wife a seed? Do I have to get a bag of seeds like a farmer?”

Jamie threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Och, Brian, enough questions for one day, eh? How about ye help me brush Bobby and we’ll leave the mysteries of foals and bairns to the… to the grown-ups to ponder?”

Just then, the stable door swung open and Claire stepped in, Lexie nestled snugly in a sling against her chest. She surveyed the scene – Jamie looking red-faced and flustered amongst the horses, and Ellie and Brian regarding him with expressions of mingled curiosity and confusion.

“Everything alright in here?” Claire asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She’d clearly caught the tail end of the conversation.

Jamie turned to her with an expression of desperate gratitude. “Aye, Sassenach, just… just explaining to the weans about… about where bairns come from.”

Claire's eyebrows arched. She looked from Jamie’s bewildered face to the children’s expectant ones. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Oh, really? And how far did you get with that explanation?”

Ellie, ever eager for knowledge, piped up. “Da said Pixie and Bobby got married’ and a seed grew in her tummy!”

Claire bit back a laugh. She stepped forward, gently stroking Pixie’s flank. “Well, he’s not entirely wrong, is he? Though perhaps a little bit… vague.” She winked at Jamie, who only managed a weak, grateful smile in return.

Turning to the children, Claire knelt down, her voice gentle and clear. “Come here, my loves. Let’s talk about Pixie and her baby in a way that even your father can understand, shall we?”

Jamie leaned against Bobby’s stall, letting out a long, silent sigh of relief. He may be a warrior, a landowner, a husband, and a father. But sometimes, he was intensely grateful for a wife who could explain the most baffling mysteries of life to his inquisitive bairns, leaving him to simply muck out the stalls in peace. For now, at least. He suspected this wouldn't be the last time he'd be stumped by their endless questions. But, for today, Claire had saved him once more. And for that, he was eternally grateful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late afternoon when Jamie, Ian and Fergus came back from working in the fields, winter was coming up fast and they needed to work hard before the cold set in. Claire was sitting in the house, watching Lexie roll over for the first time. She stood up and picked up her daughter. When the men came in with Ellena and Brian close behind them.

"What a clever girl!" She praised her.

"What's happened?" Jamie asked, walking over to them, taking Lexie in his arms, giving her a gentle kiss on her small head.

"She rolled over!" She beamed.

“Well done Lexie!” Her big sister exclaimed happily.

"Is she no’ meant to do that?" Jamie asked with a smile.

"Yes," Claire laughed. " but not so soon."

"Aye, well, yer a smart wee lassie then". Jamie smiled and gave them both a kiss." just like ye’r mother ".

“I'm hungry!” Brian complained.

Jamie ordered everyone to go and wash up before dinner. The children obliged with grumbling voices.

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the faces gathered around the long wooden table in the Lallybroch dining room. The aroma of roasted mutton, turnips, and oatcakes filled the air, a comforting fragrance against the chill of the approaching Scottish winter.

Jenny was serving a generous portion of mutton to young Jamie.

“Eat up, Young Jamie. We’ll need all our strength for the tasks ahead, won’t we, Ian?”

“Aye, that we will, dearest.” Ian replied Heartily. “Winter’s breath is on the wind already. We’ve brought in the last of the barley, but there’s still the butchering to be done proper.”

Jamie nodded in agreement, eyes thoughtful.

“The pigs are fat enough, we can start wi’em next week. Fergus, you’ll be wanting to help with the hunting this year? Venison would see us through the worst of it.”

“Aye, Milord. I’m a better shot than ever. I can bring down a stag with you.” Fergus replied eagerly, puffing out his chest.

Claire smiled at Fergus.

“That would be wonderful, Fergus. And we should think about drying as much of the venison as possible. And the berries too, Jenny. We gathered a good haul this autumn, didn’t we?”

“Aye, the berry bushes were generous this year.” Jenny replied. “They’re already stewing down in the cellar for jam and preserves. And we’ll be drying apples and herbs too. We need to be thinking about butter as well. The goats are still giving milk, but it won’t be long before it slows with the cold. We should churn a good batch this week.”

“Margaret and Ellena are good little churners now, aren’t they, Jenny?” Ian gestured to the girls.

Margaret grinned, from beside Ellena.

“Aye! We can churn fast!”

Ellena nodded in agreement.

“And we don’t spill as much as young Jamie used to!” She added and they both giggled.

Young Jamie spluttered, feigning offense. Laughter rippled around the table, even little Brian and Michael giggling at their older siblings. Lexie and young Ian, nestled in cradles near the fire, remained blissfully unaware of the lively chatter around them.

Claire turned to Jamie.

“Speaking of preparations, have you given any thought to Yuletide and New Year? It’s not so far off now.”

Jamie stroked his chin, considering.

“Aye, the bairns will be expecting a feast. And we’ll need to cut down a good Yule log. Perhaps a grand feast here at Lallybroch, Jenny? All the tenants from Broch Murdah?

Jenny beamed.

“Aye. I’d like that, Jamie. A proper Scottish Hogmanay, with the first-foot and all the traditions. We haven’t had a good celebration since… well…since before…”

The word hung unspoken in the air, heavy as the coming winter clouds. 'Before' meant Culloden, before the world had shifted on its axis for them, before the vibrant pride of Scotland had been subdued. A silence fell, punctuated only by the crackling fire and the soft gurgles of the infants.

Jamie's voice was low, breaking the silence.

“Do you remember, Ian, the gatherings we used to have before? The clan chiefs, the pipers, the dancin’… The men were… were proud. They walked tall.”

“Aye, Jamie. Proud as peacocks.” Ian’s own voice husky in reply.

“Every man - ready to stand for Scotland. Now… we’re like ghosts in our own land. Whispering in corners, hiding our kilts and tartans.”

Jamie clenched his fist on the table, his knuckles white.

“They may have taken our swords from our hands, but…” He glanced at Claire, then lowered his voice further. “…they haven'a taken everything.

Claire laid a hand on his arm, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and understanding.

“a man canna be broken entirely. Not when he remembers what he once was.”

He sighed, then forced a lighter tone, turning back to the practicalities.

“But for now, we focus on winter. Keeping everyone fed and warm. And…” Jamie looked around the table, a spark of hope in his eyes. “…and building for the future.”

“Building?” Jenny asked in surprise. “What building are you talking about, brother?”

Jamie smiled, looking fondly at Claire.

“I’ve been thinking… Come spring, I want to start building a new house. For Claire and me…and the bairns.

Jenny’s eyebrows shot up, and she stared at Jamie, momentarily speechless.

“A new house?” Jenny exclaimed. “But… where? And why? This house is grand enough, surely?”

“This house is fine and braw, I ken that. But… Claire and I need our own space. A place of our own. I’m thinking… further up the hill, overlooking the glen. A stone house, strong and sturdy. With a proper garden, and maybe even a glass house for Claire’s herbs and such.

Claire’s eyes shone with surprise and delight. They had discussed it in private but She hadn't expected Jamie to announce it so suddenly.

Jenny recovered from her initial surprise, a slow smile spread across her face.

“Well, Jamie Fraser! A new house. You always were one for grand schemes. But…”
She looked from Jamie to Claire, her expression softening. “…if that’s what you want, then good luck to ye both. And you know Ian and I will help in any way we can. Though mind you, I’ll be expecting to be invited to the housewarming! Father would be proud of ye.”

Jamie smiled warmly at his sister, as Claire squeezed his hand affectionately.

The conversation turned back to the more immediate concerns of winter preparations, but the air was lighter now, filled with a new sense of purpose and anticipation. Amidst the looming shadows of the past and the uncertainties of the future, a spark of hope had been ignited, the dream of a new home, a symbol of resilience and the enduring strength of family and love.

After dinner, Claire walked into the bedroom having just finished putting the children to bed. Closing the door behind her, she noticed Jamie was standing over an old crate. When she moved closer Claire noticed his hand was clutching the fabric of his kilt fondly.

“I miss wearing it.” He said sadly, fingering the warm soft fabric of his plaid. Hidden in his chest at the foot of the bed. After Culloden the king had passed a decree forbidding the Scots from wearing their tartans, the conversation at the dinner table was still fresh in his mind.

“You will wear it again. I promise.” She hugged him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Och, Aye?”

“The ban will be lifted in about fifteen years from now.” she said encouragingly.

“Fifteen years?” Jamie sighed. “If only I'll get to live that long.” Jamie said sadly. Placing his hands on hers.

“You will….if I have anything to do with it.” Jamie smiled and turned to face her.

He kissed her lips tenderly when suddenly their bedroom door burst open as Brian came running into his parents room, and clung to his mother's shift tightly.

“Brian whatever's the matter?” Claire asked kneeling down to look at her son, making sure he wasn't hurt or injured in any way.

“The Kelpie, the Kelpie dragged me into the water…” Brian gasped in terror.

“Sshh It's alright a bahlaich, ye'r safe at home, no Kelpie here.” Jamie lifted his son and hugged him tightly whispering soothing Gaelic words.

Once he was calm he laid Brian down in their bed, Claire settled beside him, stroking his head for comfort, to calm him down some more. His breathing slowed as he sighed with relief. Claire looked up at Jamie standing beside the bed watching them.

“Why do you fill their heads with such nonsensical stories? Claire asked exasperated.

“It wasna me…” Jamie said defensively. “…not this time anyway…besides I've heard these stories since I was a wee lad his age or even younger and…”

“And how many times did you run in the middle of the night into your parents' bedroom in terror?” Claire interrupted him, giving him a knowing look.

“I dinna…I went to Jenny's.” he confessed, his face turning red. Jamie explained that he was too embarrassed to show he was frightened to his father, so he would go to Jenny's room instead.

Claire chuckled at the thought. And turned back to her son.

“Who told you about the Kelpie Brian? she asked her son, still stroking his red curls.

“Fergus..” he whispered sleepily.

“I'll speak wi' him in the mornin’. Dinna fash a bahlaich. I'm here. Perhaps I should tell him another story te take his mind off this one…”

“Are there any Scottish stories that don't involve monsters and ghosts?” Claire wondered.

“Not many…” he confessed.

“Why is that exactly?”

“I dinna ken…” Jamie answered with a frown. “Maybe, the more ye hear these stories the braver ye become…that's why the scots and highlanders in particular are verra verra brave and fearless warriors..” he explained with satisfaction.

Claire wasn't impressed by that. She didn't approve of scaring children, no matter the outcome.

“I suppose in these times you have to be…” she sighed sadly.

“Are men no’ brave and fearless in ye'r time then?” Jamie asked in a whispered voice, curious.

“Well. Some are…I certainly saw many brave and fearless men during the war, but…there certainly was no real need for it otherwise…” she said contemplating.

Jamie looked into her eyes and nodded his head with understanding.

Brian had fallen back to sleep as his parents spoke softly beside him, their voices lulled him into a peaceful slumber. Jamie carried him back to his own bed, leaned over his son and said a quick prayer in Gaelic Before returning to his own bed to sleep beside his wife.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving tiny embers dancing in the shadows, turning the room cold and dark. Jamie sat bolt upright, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Sweat slicked his skin despite the chill that seeped in from the unsealed window. He dragged in a ragged breath, trying to outrun the lingering tendrils of the nightmare.

Beside him, Claire stirred, her own sleep disturbed by his sudden movement. She blinked in the dim light, her hand reaching out instinctively. "Jamie?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, "What is it? Are you alright?"

He flinched almost imperceptibly as her fingers brushed his arm, then forced himself to relax, though the tension remained coiled tight in his muscles. He pulled back slightly, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her.

"Just a dream," he said, his voice rough, barely a whisper. He stared into the dying embers of the fire, seeing not flames but flickering images of darkness and pain.

Claire sat up properly now, concern etched on her face as she watched his rigid posture. She knew that tone, that withdrawal. "Another dream?" she pressed gently, her voice softening with understanding.

He sighed, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "Randall," he finally admitted, the name itself tasting like ash in his mouth. "Wentworth."

The word hung heavy in the air between them, weighted with the unspoken horrors of that place. Claire's heart ached for him, for the man she loved who carried these invisible scars within him. She waited patiently, letting him find his way, knowing from previous experience pushing him would only make him retreat further.

After a long moment, he continued, his voice low and strained. "It was… it was the same. The smell… the cold… the… touch." He shuddered, his shoulders bunching up. "His hands…" He didn't need to explain further. Claire knew. She knew the specifics weren’t important, only the suffocating terror that lingered in his memory.

He swallowed hard, struggling to articulate the fragmented images that still clung to his mind. "I could feel… I could feel it all again, Claire. The… the pain, the… His voice…" He squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the memory, but it was etched too deeply, a brand seared onto his soul.

Claire listened intently, her gaze unwavering, offering him a silent space to unburden himself. She could see the raw pain in his face, the way his body was still coiled with tension. The instinct to reach out, to hold him, was overwhelming, but she remembered his initial flinch. She knew this was not a time for physical comfort, not yet, not until he had spoken the darkness out into the light.

"I'm sorry, Jamie," she said softly when he fell silent, her voice a gentle anchor in the storm raging within him. "You're here now, with me. You're safe."

He shook his head slowly, opening his eyes, but his gaze was still unfocused, lost in the labyrinth of his memories. "It felt so real, Claire. God, it felt so real. Like I was back there..."

"I know," she said, her voice laced with empathy. "Nightmares can do that. They can trick your mind into believing it's happening again."

He turned slightly then, his eyes finally meeting hers. They were dark with the remnants of fear, but there was a flicker of trust in their depths. He looked at her, really looked at her, as if grounding himself in her presence.

"It’s been years, Claire," he whispered, his voice laced with a weary confusion. "Years. Why does it still…?"

"Because it was a terrible thing that happened to you, Jamie," she said gently, her voice unwavering. "Terrible things leave scars, on the body and on the mind. And sometimes, those scars ache, especially in the dark."

He was silent for a moment, absorbing her words. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he reached out a hand, not to her, but towards her, hovering as if unsure. Claire waited, her heart aching. He took a shallow breath, then shifted, turning fully towards her. His hand landed on her arm, his fingers curling around it, seeking connection, seeking reassurance.

"Hold me, Sassenach," he murmured, his voice a plea. "Please."

Relief washed over Claire, warm and gentle. He was letting her in. He was ready. She moved closer, sliding across the bed until she was nestled against him, her arm wrapping around his back, pulling him close. He leaned into her, burying his face in her hair, seeking solace in her familiar scent.

She held him tightly, her hand stroking his back in slow, soothing circles. She didn't speak. didn't need to. The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the quiet strength of her embrace, were all the comfort he needed.

Slowly, gradually, she felt the tension in his body begin to ease. His breathing deepened, becoming less ragged, more even. The tremors that had shaken him subsided. He was still holding onto her tightly, but now it was a hold of comfort, of reassurance, not of desperate fear.

After a long while, his breathing evened out completely. He was still nestled against her, heavy with sleep, but the nightmare seemed to have loosened its grip. Claire remained still, holding him, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled at her too. She shifted slightly, easing them both down until they were lying side-by-side, still entwined. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers, the weight of his arm draped across her waist. He was asleep now, finally at peace.

As she drifted back towards sleep herself, a faint smile touched Claire's lips. Just a few hours earlier, young Brian had crept into their room, his face tear-streaked and pale, whispering about monsters in his mind. She and Jamie had comforted him, reassured him, tucked him back in, telling him it was just a bad dream.

And now, here was Jamie, her strong, brave warrior, seeking the same comfort, the same reassurance, from her. It was a gentle reminder that nightmares weren't just for children. Everyone had their own monsters lurking in the shadows of their minds, some fantastical, some painfully, tragically real. And sometimes, all anyone needed was to be held close, to be reminded that they were safe, that they were not alone in the darkness. She closed her eyes, the warmth of Jamie beside her a comforting anchor, and drifted off to sleep, the thought lingering in her mind: Some dreams are only myths and some are very real, indeed.

Chapter Text

Everyone was jolly this Hogmanay. It was Jamie's first Christmase and new years in Lallybroch since going to prison, and indeed since he was a young lad. All worries of the future were forgotten for now.
The lively fiddle music filled the great hall of Lallybroch, bouncing off the stone walls and mingling with the happy chatter and laughter. Torches cast flickering shadows, illuminating the swirling bright dresses as the families and friends spun and leaped in a joyous reel. Jamie stood back for a moment, leaning against a sturdy oak beam, his heart swelling with a contentment he hadn't felt in what seemed like a lifetime. He watched Claire, her cheeks flushed with warmth from the dancing and the fire, swaying gently with four month old Lexie cradled in her arms. Lexie, bless her tiny heart, was fast asleep despite the noisy room, her little face peaceful.

Claire caught his eye and smiled, a deep, knowing smile that reached all the way to her sparkling eyes. She tilted her head slightly and mouthed, "You Happy?"

Jamie chuckled softly and pushed himself off the beam, making his way over to her. The music dipped for a moment, giving him a chance to be heard.

"Happy," he echoed, his voice thick with emotion. He placed a hand lightly on Claire’s arm, his thumb stroking gently.

"More than happy, Sassenach. Blessed." He glanced around the room, taking in the boisterous scene. "Look at them. Truly blessed."

He paused, his eyes catching Jenny and Ian across the room, their shoulders shaking with laughter as they teased each other.

"Even Jenny seems to be in good spirits." He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes.

Claire chuckled.

"Don't let her hear you say that out loud. Yes, even Jenny is yielding to the Hogmanay spirit. It's good for her, Jamie. Good for all of them."

"Aye," Jamie agreed, his gaze softening as he watched Ellena and her cousins Margaret and Katherine twirl and giggle, their youthful energy infectious.

"The bairns… they’re growing up so fast." He said somberly.

"They are," Claire agreed, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. "Enjoy these moments, Jamie. They are precious."

He nodded, his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her gently closer.

"I am, Sassenach. Every single moment." He inhaled deeply, the air filled with the scent of pine needles, roasting meat, and the sweet tang of heather ale.

"It's good to be home."

"It is," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder.

A burst of louder music signaled the start of another lively tune, and Claire straightened, a renewed energy filling her.

"Come on, Jamie.” Claire passed Lexie to the maid. “You can't deny me a turn on the floor." She offered him her hand, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

Jamie laughed, shaking his head, eyes sparkled with amusement. "Claire Fraser, you never give up, do ye?"

"Never," She confirmed, her grin widening. "Especially not when it comes to dancing with my husband."

As they moved towards the dance floor, Jamie’s eye caught Fergus across the room. He was standing just outside the swirling throng of dancers, near the window, engaged in an animated conversation with a young woman Jamie didn't recognize.

She was slender, with golden wavey hair, and a bright, intelligent look in her eyes. They were both smiling, their heads close together, and Fergus gestured excitedly as he spoke.

Jamie nudged Claire gently as they moved together to the music. "Did ye see Fergus over there?" he murmured, nodding subtly towards their adoptive son.

Claire followed his gaze. "Oh, yes. He's been talking to her for a good while now."
She observed them for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Pretty girl, who is she?"

Jamie shook his head. "I dinna ken. Remind me to ask Jenny later…Looks like he's found a braw way to celebrate Hogmanay." He winked at Claire. "We'll find out more later. Wouldn't want to interrupt a budding romance, would we?"

Claire chuckled, a light and airy sound that warmed Jamie’s heart.

"Indeed not. Let's let young Fergus have his moment. For now, Jamie Fraser, your moment is on the dance floor with me."

And with that, she placed her hand firmly on his chest, and they enjoyed swirling and twirling, laughter and music enveloping them, the warmth of family and friendship, a comforting blanket against the Highland winter and the lingering shadows of the past. Jamie kept a fond eye on Fergus from time to time, a gentle smile playing on his lips. content for now to revel in the joy of Hogmanay and the precious gift of being home, surrounded by those he loved.

Jamie’s heart near bursting with contentment, swayed gently to the lively fiddle music, Claire nestled securely in his arms.

“You’re far too good for the likes of me on the dance floor, Sassenach,” Jamie chuckled, his breath warm against her ear.

Claire laughed, leaning back to look at him, her eyes sparkling. “Nonsense, Jamie. You’re a marvel. Though you’re stepping on my toes a bit less now than you were earlier.”

“Practice makes perfect, is that how ye say it, Aye?” He grinned, squeezing her hand before the music shifted to a faster reel. “Come on then, Let’s show them how it’s done.”

They threw themselves into the energetic dance, laughing and twirling amidst the throng of family and friends. When the music finally slowed, Jamie guided Claire towards a table laden with desserts, his eyes scanning the room.

“I see Fergus is still glued to that lass,” Jamie murmured, accepting a sliver of shortbread from Claire. “Think he’s finally found someone to take his fancy?” he said with his mouth full.

Claire followed his gaze. “Looks like it. Go on, you nosy Highlander, ask Jenny who she is.”

Jamie chuckled and kissed Claire lightly on the temple. “Right you are.” He left Claire by the table and squeezed his way through the crowd, nodding and smiling to neighbours and relatives until he reached Jenny, who was deep in conversation with Ian and Mr Grant.

“Sister,” Jamie began, clapping Jenny on the shoulder gently. “Have ye a moment?”

Jenny turned, her shrewd eyes twinkling. “For you, brother, always. What is it?”

“Fergus,” Jamie gestured subtly with his head towards a corner where Fergus, looking uncharacteristically tongue-tied, stood with a young woman. “Who is the lass he’s been speaking wi’ all evenin’?”

Jenny followed his gaze, a smile softening her features. “That’s Mistress McKimmy’s eldest daughter, Marseli. A sweet lass, from what I hear.”

“Mistress McKimmy?” Jamie frowned, trying to place the name. “Doesnna ring a bell.”

Jenny pointed across the room, toward the doorway near the pantry. “Over there, Jamie. By the window, talking to old Mistress Hughes.”

Jamie’s eyes followed her direction, and then…froze. His breath hitched in his throat. Standing by the window, her back mostly to him, but undeniably visible, was a woman with familiar blond hair. Even from this distance, he recognized the set of her shoulders, the proud lift of her chin.

It was Laoghaire MacKenzie.

His blood ran cold. Disbelief warred with a sickening wave of anger. He turned back to Jenny, his voice barely above a whisper. “Jenny… why… why is Laoghaire here?”

Jenny blinked, confused by his tone. “Laoghaire McKimmy, you mean? She’s a widow now, poor soul. Lost poor Master McKimmy these past few months. She lives in the village, Jamie. Has two daughters, Marseli and Joan. I invited her to the Hogmanay, same as I invited half the village. Seemed only neighbourly.” She shrugged. “Why? Is there a problem?”

Jamie stared at his sister, aghast. “A problem? Do ye not ken what that woman did to Claire? She accused her of witchcraft! She tried to have her burned at the stake! She was behind all that madness at Cranesmuir!” His voice rose with each word, his composure cracking under the weight of the unexpected encounter.

Jenny’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. “Laoghaire? That Laoghaire? Accused Claire of witchcraft? Jamie, I… I knew there was talk, some whispers after Claire arrived, but I never knew…” She looked genuinely shocked, her face paling beneath her rosy cheeks. “She never….she just came across as a grieving widow trying to make her way.”

Jamie shook his head, simmering with a rage he hadn’t felt in years. Last time he laid eyes on her, he was told to thank her. She somehow helped them with Simon Fraser to join the cause, before Culloden. But it hadn't changed his animosity towards her, never fully forgiven her for what she did to Claire. He glanced back towards Laoghaire, and then his heart lurched. Across the room, Claire, who had been chatting with mistress Grant, had finally glanced towards the doorway. Her beaming smile faltered, then vanished, replaced by a look of utter shock, then slowly evolving into something far more dangerous – a rigid stillness, a chilling horror in her eyes.

He saw Claire’s hand tighten on Mrs Grant’s arm, her knuckles white. He could practically feel the memories, the fear, the fury flooding back into her. He had to get to her. Now.

“Jenny,” Jamie said urgently, gripping her arm. He trailed off, not wanting to say the words aloud, but the image of Claire and Laoghaire facing off in the middle of his Hogmanay celebration was vivid and terrible.

He turned abruptly and began to push his way back through the crowd, his eyes fixed on Claire, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He could only pray he could reach her before years of buried resentment and pain erupted in the middle of Lallybroch’s joyous Hogmanay.

Jamie grabbed Claire by the arms as he reached her. Slightly out of breath.

“What is she doing here?” Claire asked through clenched teeth. Jamie let out a heavy sigh through closed lips.

“A misunderstanding , Sassenach. Jenny didnna ken about her...” Jamie explained.

Just then Jamie noticed Fergus grabbing Marseli by the hand and began guiding her towards them, in the hopes of introducing her to his parents. Jamie swallowed nervously as they approached.

“Milord, Milady…may I present Miss Marseli Mckimmy.” Marseli gave them a short bow.

Jamie turned as he heard the name, a warm smile ready, which faltered only for a fraction of a second as he took in Marseli’s face. He knew that familiar tilt of the head, the set of the chin. Laoghaire’s daughter. He met Claire’s gaze and offered a reassuring squeeze of her hand.

“Marseli,” Jamie bowed his head in greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Lallybroch.”

Claire was distracted by the sight of Laoghaire but managed a greeting of her own. Not knowing yet that Marseli was her daughter.

“And where do you live, dearest?” She inquired politely, trying to focus.

Marseli curtsied prettily.

“I live down in Balrigen with my mother and sister.” Marseli explained.

“How lovely. Are you enjoying the Hogmanay celebrations? Fergus seems very taken with you…” Claire smiled.

Fergus puffed out his chest proudly.

“Taken indeed, Milady! Because Marseli has done me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife!” Fergus announced.

Just then, a sharper, higher-pitched voice cut through the festive air.

“Marseli? What in God’s name is going on here?”

Laoghaire strode towards them, her eyes narrowed, her gaze raking over the group. She stopped dead when she saw Marseli holding Fergus’s hand, her expression shifting from confusion to thunderous rage. Her gaze landed on Jamie, then Claire, and then back to the young couple. Understanding dawned, and a gasp escaped her lips.

“Marseli… you and… him?” Her mother exclaimed.

Marseli’s smile faltered, and she stepped closer to Fergus, seeking his reassurance.

“Ma…aye. Fergus and I are to be married. We… we love each other.” Marseli stammered.

Laoghaire’s face contorted. She pointed a trembling finger at Fergus.

“Him? This… this French bastard? You would marry him? Have you lost your senses, lass?”

“Mistress… with respect, I am Fergus Fraser, and I love your daughter with all my heart. And she loves me.”

“Love? Don’t speak to me of love! You are not fit to wipe the dirt from her shoes! Marseli, come here this instant! We are leaving.” Laoghire grabbed her daughter's hand.

“Ma, no! I will not! I am staying with Fergus.” She snatched her hand out from her mother's grasp.

Laoghaire’s eyes flashed with fury turning to Jamie.

“James Fraser, you will put a stop to this nonsense! This is… this is preposterous!! She is my daughter!” Laoghire raised her shrill voice at him.

“Laoghaire…calm yerself will ye. Marseli is of age. And if she and Fergus wish to marry…” Jamie tried to reason with her

Laoghaire interrupted him, voice rising again.

“Of age? She is barely out of leading strings! She knows nothing of the world! And you… You would allow this?”

“Laoghaire, please.” Claire joined in, trying to stay civil. “Let us not make a scene. Perhaps we can talk about this calmly elsewhere.“ her bitterness towards her momentarily subsided.

“Calmly? How can I be calm when my daughter’s future is being ruined before my very eyes? James Fraser, I need to speak with you. Alone.” Laoghaire declared.

She fixed Jamie with a steely gaze, her meaning clear. Claire stepped forward, her arm instinctively going to Jamie’s.

“There’s no need for that, Laoghaire. We can all discuss this together.” Claire said defensively.

Laoghaire ignored her.

“Alone, Jamie. It is a private matter.” She insisted.

Jamie looked at Claire, seeing the worry in her eyes. He placed his hand over hers, with a reassuring squeeze.

“It will be alright, Sassenach. Trust me. I’ll be but a moment.”

He detached his hand from Claire’s gently and turned to Laoghaire, nodding his head towards a quieter corner of the hall.

“Come then, Laoghaire. Let’s have this private word you so desire.”

Claire watched them go, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach, but she trusted Jamie's words. She turned back to Marseli and Fergus, offering them a kind smile.

“Don't worry, you two. I'm sure Mr Fraser will deal with it.”

Meanwhile, Jamie led Laoghaire to a less crowded alcove, away from the Hogmanay festivities. As soon as they were out of earshot, Laoghaire spun around, her face a mixture of anger and something else… something unsettlingly familiar.

“You cannot allow this marriage, Jamie. You simply cannot.”

“Laoghaire, as I said, it's not for me…”

“you have influence!” She interrupted his words. “You are the Laird! Tell him no! Send him away!”

“Send Fergus away? He is like a son to me, Laoghaire. And he loves your daughter. Do you not want her to be happy?”

“Happy? With… with him? Of course not! She deserves better! Someone of quality, of standing… not a…”

“Not a what?” Jamie's voice was steady and threatening. “Someone not born into a fine home? He has my name. Fergus is a good man. He is honest, and brave, and he will cherish Marseli. What more could you want for her?”

Laoghaire’s voice softened, taking on a sickly sweet tone that Jamie knew all too well.

“Jamie… Do ye not understand? It is not just about Marseli. It is about… us.”

Jamie’s jaw tightened. He saw where this was going.

“Us?” Jamie raised his voice in a menacing way. “Laoghaire, there is no “us.”

“Don’t say that! Ye know it’s not true! I still love you, Jamie. I have always loved you! And you… you must still feel something for me, deep down. Or else you wouldn't have invited me here.”

She pleaded and stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch his chest. Jamie recoiled slightly.

“Laoghaire, stop. This is… inappropriate. And it has nothing to do with Marseli or Fergus.”

“Oh, but it does! It does indeed! Because I will not allow this marriage….Unless…”

She paused, letting her words hang in the air, her eyes locking onto his.

“Unless you make it worth my while.”

Jamie stared at her, disbelieving.

“Worth your while? What exactly are ye suggesting lass?” he said with disdain.

“You know what I’m suggesting, Jamie. Take me to ye'r bed, to prove that you still desire me, that ye still feel for me… and I will give my blessing to this… this union. I'll Let them have their happiness. If you give me mine.”

Jamie burst out laughing, a harsh, incredulous sound.

“A Dhia, Ye are… ye are ridiculous, lassie! Do you truly think I would do such a thing…?”

“Think of Fergus and his happiness! Is one night with me such a great price to pay for his lifetime of joy?”

Jamie stood in silence for a moment taking in the absurdity of her words.

“I love my wife. And I will not betray her, nor myself, for your twisted whims. You are grasping at straws, lass, clinging to a fantasy that never was!”

Laoghaire’s face hardened again, the pathetic plea replaced by cold fury.

“Then so be it, James Fraser. If you will not cooperate… then neither will I. Marseli will not marry this… french bastard. And you will have only yourself to blame for their unhappiness.”

“Laoghaire, listen to me.” Jamie grabbed her arm with a force full of fury. he wasn't having this. “Dinna do this.” He said gruffly. “Dinna ruin your daughter’s happiness because you are bitter and jealous of me and what I have with Claire. Is your own selfish pride worth more than Marseli’s joy? Think, lass, think for once of someone other than yourself!”

Jamie let go of her arm as her eyes narrowed, considering. Then, slowly, a sly smile spread across her face.

“Perhaps… perhaps you are right, Jamie. Perhaps I am being foolish. Marseli’s happiness… yes, that is what matters most. If she truly loves this Fergus… then who am I to stand in their way? Very well. I… I will consent to the marriage. For Marseli’s sake.”

Jamie studied her face carefully, suspicion still gnawing at him, but he desperately wanted to believe her. He let out a relieved breath.

“I am glad to hear ye say it. For Marseli’s sake, and for yours. Now, Let’s go back and tell them the good news.”

Laoghaire allowed a thin, brittle smile to remain on her face as they walked back towards the Hogmanay celebrations, Jamie unaware of the poisonous thoughts churning beneath her carefully crafted façade.

After it was settled between them, Laoghire left with her girls. Claire and Jamie helped to clear up the mess of the celebration before retiring to their bedchamber upstairs. The children all fast asleep quickly after all the festivities and excitement of the day.

The embers in the hearth were still glowing a soft red, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the bedchamber. Claire was unlacing her stays, her back to Jamie, who was already shedding his waistcoat. The quiet of Lallybroch had settled in around them after the boisterous Hogmanay celebrations. The bairns were tucked away, dreaming, and the last of the guests had long since departed.

“Jamie,” Claire began, her voice soft, almost hesitant. She turned, her unbound hair tumbling over her shoulders. “What was it Laoghaire wanted with you, earlier?”

Jamie paused, and ran a hand through his hair, a weary sigh escaping him. “Och, Sassenach,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but he knew that tone rarely fooled her. “Just… Laoghaire being Laoghaire.”

Claire’s brow furrowed. “Laoghaire being Laoghaire? Jamie, don't be obtuse. I saw the way she was looking at you. It was hardly subtle.”

He shrugged, finally pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto a stool. “She asked me… if…”

Claire’s eyes narrowed slightly, he glanced at her over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He knew this was coming. "If what?”

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension. Claire waited, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, betraying nothing of the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Jamie sighed again, scrubbing his face with a damp cloth. “She… well, she suggested… that I were to bed her, only then would she give her consent to the marriage..”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. Claire’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but the change in the room was palpable. The soft red glow of the embers seemed to intensify, burning hotter, reflecting the fire kindling in her own chest. Her eyes darkened, the familiar sapphire turning almost stormy.

“She… suggested…what?” Claire repeated, her voice dangerously low and tight. “In my own home, after we’ve just hosted her for Hogmanay, dared to suggest you take her to your bed?”

Jamie turned fully to face her, finally meeting her gaze. He saw the flash of anger, the barely suppressed fury, but beneath it, he also saw something else – a familiar flicker of possessiveness, a fierce protectiveness that always sparked something within him.

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. "Aye, she did. Bold as brass, the lass is." He shook his head, the amusement genuine. "Told me she knew I must be lonely."

Claire’s eyes widened slightly, more in disbelief than surprise. “Lonely?!”

He laughed again, a proper, hearty laugh this time. “Aye, well, Laoghaire sees what she wants to see, doesn’t she? And hopes for what she wants to hope.” He moved closer to Claire, reaching out and gently taking her hands in his. His laughter faded, replaced by a look of gentle understanding. "Dinna fash yourself, Sassenach. I told her off, of course."

“Of course…” Claire echoed, but the edge in her voice was softening, replaced by something else – a hint of reluctant amusement.

“Of course,” Jamie confirmed, squeezing her hands. “I told her that my bed is already warmed, and by a woman who sets fire to my soul, not just my body.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. He sat by the window and hugged Claire close to him.

Claire’s lips twitched, a small, reluctant smile breaking through her anger. “You said that?”

“Aye, I did. Truly, Sassenach, it was… almost pathetic. She looked so…” he searched for the word, “desperate. And sad.”

Claire’s anger had completely dissipated now, replaced by a strange mix of emotions. She wasn’t surprised. Laoghaire's persistent pursuit of Jamie had been an unwelcome thread woven through their lives for years. And yet, hearing it, even now, still pricked at her, a tiny sting of irritation. But more than irritation, she felt a wave of… pity. For Laoghaire, yes, but also a deep, profound love for the man holding her tightly, who so effortlessly dismissed another woman’s blatant advances.

“Poor Laoghaire,” Claire murmured, more to herself than to Jamie.

Jamie nodded, his gaze softening even further. “Aye, poor lass. She’s… lost, I think. Forever chasing something she canna have. But…enough of Laoghaire…” He dropped her hands and reached for the laces of her shift. "Let’s talk of more important things, shall we, mo nighan don?"

His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned into his touch, the earlier tension melting away, replaced by a different kind of heat.

“And what might be more important than Laoghaire’s brazen attempts to steal my husband?” Claire teased, tilting her head back to look at him.

Jamie’s eyes darkened, the amusement replaced by a raw, smoldering desire. He finished unfastening her laces and her shift pooled at her feet. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her jaw.

“Proving to you, Sassenach,” he whispered, his voice husky, “that there is but one woman in this world, in any world, who could ever warm my bed, and set fire to my soul. Only one whose name is etched on my heart, and whose touch makes me forget every other woman that ever drew breath.”

He pulled her close, his body pressed against hers, the heat of him radiating onto her bare skin. He kissed her then, a deep, possessive kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a kiss that tasted of reassurance, of adoration, of a fierce, unwavering devotion that eclipsed any fleeting temptation, any foolish proposition from another woman.

He swept her up into his arms, carrying her effortlessly to the bed. He laid her down gently, his gaze never leaving hers. He knelt beside her, his hand tracing the line of her collarbone, his fingers burning a path of fire across her skin.

“Ye’re mine, Claire,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Mine in body and soul. And no one, not Laoghaire, not time, nor death itself, could ever change that.”

He shed his own remaining clothes, his eyes locked with hers every moment. And then he was beside her, his skin against hers, the familiar comfort and thrill of their bodies intertwined. He made love to her then, with a slow, deliberate passion that was both tender and fiercely possessive. Each touch, each kiss, each thrust was a reaffirmation, a silent vow whispered against her skin. He showed her, in the language of their bodies, in the depths of their connection, that she was everything to him, his only desire, his unwavering anchor in a world that often felt chaotic and uncertain.

As they lay entwined in the aftermath, the soft glow of the embers reflecting in their sweat-sheened skin, Claire felt a profound sense of peace settle over her. Laoghaire’s foolish attempt had been nothing more than a fleeting shadow, easily banished by the enduring light of their love. Jamie was hers, and she was his. And in the quiet intimacy of their bedchamber at Lallybroch, that was all that truly mattered.

Next morning Jamie was out in the courtyard, sweeping the straw and tending the horses when Laoghaire came round the corner holding a large pistol.

“If I can’t have ya, James Fraser… then the Sassenach whore can’t either.”

Laoghire said through tears and rage. She lifted the pistol and released a loud shot at Jamie before he had time to register her words. And then another.

Claire’s blood ran cold as she heard the thunderous sound from inside the house. She pushed past the front door , dropping to her knees beside Jamie. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

“Jamie!”

She ripped open his shirt, her fingers probing for wounds, confirming the gruesome reality. Rage, cold and fierceness, welled up inside her. She stood, her eyes locking onto Laoghaire, who still stood there, a grotesque statue of vengeful madness.

“Get out! Get out of here, you monstrous bitch! Get out now, before I do something you will truly regret.” she yelled.

Laoghaire stared back at her, a flicker of something – fear? – crossing her face for the first time. Then, slowly, deliberately, she lowered the pistol, turned, and walked away, disappearing into the winter morning.

Claire didn’t watch her go. She turned back to Jamie, her mind already racing, already in doctor mode.

“Help!! Fergus! Jenny! Help me get him inside. Quickly!”

With Fergus’s help, they carefully carried Jamie into the house and laid him on the large oak table in the kitchen. Claire, her hands trembling but resolute, began to assess the damage. Two bullet wounds, one in his chest, dangerously close to his heart, the other in his arm. There was no time for fear, no time for grief. Only action.

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Inverness 1945

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth of Reverend Wakefield’s study, casting dancing shadows across the shelves lined with dusty books. Outside, a chilly Inverness evening was settling in. Frank Randall sat hunched in an armchair, the lines of worry etched deeper into his face with each passing week. Reverend Wakefield sat opposite him, his gaze sympathetic.

“Frank, my dear boy,” Wakefield began gently, his voice a soothing balm in the tense atmosphere, “I understand… truly, I do. But the police… they’ve exhausted their leads. There haven’t been any sightings, any… anything.” He gestured helplessly with his hands. “There’s simply… nothing.”

Frank ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “But she wouldn’t just vanish, Reverend. Not Claire. We were happy, we were… on our honeymoon. It doesn’t make sense.” His voice was thick with a mixture of grief and disbelief. “They keep hinting… the police, I mean… that she ran off. With another man. As if Claire…” He trailed off, the very suggestion an insult to her memory.

Wakefield sighed, placing a comforting hand on Frank’s arm. “I know, Frank. It’s… unthinkable. But we have to be realistic. Sometimes, in these situations, the answers… they aren’t the ones we want to hear.”

Just then, the door to the study creaked open and Mrs. Graham, Reverend Wakefield’s housekeeper, entered carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits. She moved with a quiet grace, her presence a familiar comfort in the old house. As she set the tray down on a small table, she spoke, her voice surprisingly firm.

“Begging your pardon, gentlemen,” she said, her eyes flickering between Frank and the Reverend, “but I couldn’t help but overhear…”

Frank looked up, a flicker of weary curiosity in his eyes. Wakefield raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Graham, a hint of gentle amusement in his expression. “Yes, Mrs. Graham. We were just… discussing the lack of any progress, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Graham poured tea into delicate china cups, her movements deliberate and calm. She handed a cup to Frank and then to the Reverend before taking one for herself and settling into a nearby chair. “There are stories about Craig na Dun, Reverend Wakefield knows that well enough.” She glanced at the clergyman, who nodded slowly. “Stories whispered by the wind itself, passed down through generations in these parts.”

Frank took a sip of the hot tea, the warmth a small comfort. “Stories?” he asked, his tone skeptical but faintly intrigued. “Fairy tales, I presume?”

Mrs. Graham’s gaze was steady and direct. “Not fairy tales, Mr. Randall. Folk tales, perhaps. Tales of the standing stones. They say… They say they are more than just stones. They are a place...A doorway of sorts.”

Wakefield chuckled softly, but there was a hint of something else in his tone – a touch of reservation, perhaps. “Mrs. Graham has a fondness for the local legends, Frank. They are charming, of course, but…”

Mrs. Graham interrupted him gently, her voice unwavering. “But sometimes, Reverend, the old ways hold a grain of truth that the new ways miss. The stories say that Craig na Dun is a portal through time.”

Frank’s cup paused halfway to his lips. He stared at Mrs. Graham, a confused frown creasing his brow. “Time… travel?” he repeated slowly, the words feeling foreign and absurd in his mouth.

“Aye,” Mrs. Graham nodded, her eyes shining with an inner conviction. “People vanish at those stones. And sometimes… sometimes they return. From another time.”

Wakefield coughed lightly, trying to steer the conversation back to more rational ground. “Mrs. Graham is referring to old legends, Frank. Tales of people lost in the hills, perhaps, their stories embellished over time.”

“No, Reverend,” Mrs. Graham insisted, her voice gentle but firm. “These are different stories. They say the stones can take you back. To the past.”

Frank remained silent for a moment, staring into his teacup as if searching for answers within the swirling liquid. He looked up at Mrs. Graham then, his expression a mixture of disbelief and… something else. Desperation, perhaps? He was grasping at straws, and this, however fantastical, was a straw nonetheless.

“How far back?” he finally asked, his voice low and almost hesitant.

“It varies,” Mrs. Graham replied, “According to the stories. But often… often it’s two hundred years...”

Wakefield cleared his throat again, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“Mrs. Graham, while these tales are… colorful, I hardly think they are a realistic explanation for Mrs Randall's disappearance. We must consider more… grounded possibilities.”

Frank ignored the Reverend, his gaze fixed on Mrs. Graham.

“Two hundred years…” he murmured, his mind racing.

Two hundred years ago…1745. The Jacobite Rising. His own area of expertise. He, a historian, was considering… time travel. It was ludicrous. And yet… and yet, the alternative was worse. The thought of Claire simply gone, run off, vanished into thin air… was unbearable. This, this fantastical notion, was at least something.

He sat up straighter in his chair, a new energy sparking in his eyes.

“No,” he said, his voice gaining strength, “no, Reverend, with all due respect… the police have their theories, and they are… inadequate. And while I appreciate your efforts, they too have yielded nothing. But,” he turned back to Mrs. Graham, his gaze intense, “this… this is different.”

He looked around the room, as if seeing it anew. “We’ve been looking in the wrong place. Or rather… the wrong time.” He stood up abruptly, pacing the room, his historian’s mind suddenly engaged, buzzing with possibilities, however improbable they seemed.

“If… if what you say is true, Mrs. Graham,” he said, his voice gaining conviction, “if Claire somehow…somehow went back… then she’s not lost. She’s just… somewhere else. Somewhere in the past.”

He stopped pacing, turning to face both Wakefield and Mrs. Graham, his eyes burning with a newfound determination.

“There’s one way to find out if there’s any truth to this… this extraordinary idea,” he declared, his voice ringing with resolve. “I need to use my knowledge of history. I need to look into the past. If Claire is there… if she truly is… I will find her. I have to.”

He looked out of the window, towards the dark hills and the distant, silent stones of Craig na Dun. The impossible idea, the ridiculous notion, had taken root. And in Frank Randall’s heart, a flicker of something akin to hope, however fragile and improbable, had begun to ignite against the despair. He would search for Claire, not in the present where she had vanished, but in the mists of the past, where she might, impossibly, be waiting.

Chapter Text

Jamie sat on the edge of a chair nearby, shirtless, slumped, his breathing shallow. Blood was flowing freely from his upper arm where one lead ball had gone clean through. But it was the other—lodged beneath his collarbone—that threatened to undo him.

Claire stood in front of him, sleeves rolled, hands already stained. Fergus and Janet both hovered by the hearth, pale but steady.

"Hold still," she murmured, her voice low but firm.

He shifted slightly, a soft groan escaping his lips. "Aye, Sassenach, I'm tryin'. But ye have fingers colder than the burn."

She ignored the complaint good-naturedly, focusing on the raw, angry hole in his upper arm. The ball had gone clean through, a messy exit wound on the back matching the ragged entry on the front. She pressed a linen pad soaked in alcohol to the wound.

He hissed, biting back a cry. "Christ!

“Sorry.” she said, her eyes meeting his briefly. They held a depth of shared understanding born of countless injuries and years together. "Keeps the germs, the rot out." She examined the wound again, probing gently. "No signs of bone shattered, thank God. And it missed the artery clean. A little lower and…" She shivered.

"But it didnae," he said, his breath coming a bit easier now that the initial sting was fading. "Saved for something else, then."

"Don't jest about it," she chided, though a hint of relief softened her tone. She poured more of the clear liquid over the wound, letting it run through. He tensed again, but held still this time.

"That's as clean as I can make it now," she said, wiping her hands on a cloth. She stitched the wound up and covered it with clean bandages. ”there..." Claire said, voice tight with control as she finished up, "but the chest wound’s different. The pellet’s still inside."

Jamie didn’t look at her. He stared into the fire, sweat glistening at his brow. Claire reached for his good arm. "I need you on the table.”

He made a sound low in his throat—half protest, half effort—as he pushed himself upright and staggered toward the table. Claire and Fergus helped ease him down onto his back, arranging folded blankets beneath his head. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, muscles trembling.

“It’s lodged deep." She said after closer examination.

Jamie’s eyes flicked to the bottle in her hand, then to the blade beside it. He shifted with a wince.

“If it’s deep, maybe ye ought to leave it be...”

"No," she said firmly, not looking up. "If it stays in, it could fester. Travel. Kill you." She stated.

He grunted, leaning back as she approached. "You always paint such cheerful pictures."

"You always act like your body’s made of granite," she snapped, then softened her voice. "You’re bleeding, Jamie. A lot. And it’s close to your lungs.”

Claire uncorked the small brown bottle and held it up.

"Take the laudanum."

He didn’t answer, only reached for the whisky bottle near by and took a long swallow, jaw tight. The light from the fire picked out the lines of tension in his face, the sheen of sweat at his temples.

"Here," she said, holding out the laudanum.

He eyed it like it was poison. "I’ll take the whisky, but I’m no’ touchin’ that. Makes my heid float clean away from my body."

"You need it," she said, calm but firm. "You’ll flinch when I go in. And if you flinch, I could pierce...”

Jamie turned his head away. "No. I need my senses.”

"You need not to move," she snapped. “If you twitch when I’m inside that wound, I could pierce your lung.”

He said nothing.

"Jamie," she said, quieter now, leaning over him, her hand brushing lightly against his jaw. "Please. Don’t be brave for the sake of it. Let me do this safely.”

His eyes found hers—blue and dark with pain—

“For once in your life, could you just do as you're told?"

He looked at her then, long and quiet. She was flushed, eyes glassy—not with tears, not yet—but with sheer, trembling frustration and fear. After a long moment, he took another long swig from the whiskey and nodded once.

She spooned the dose into his mouth. He swallowed with a grimace, then lay back down on the table and closed his eyes.

"Fergus," she said, "hold him down, brace his shoulders. Don’t let him move."

"Oui, Milady," he whispered, stepping to Jamie’s side and gripping tight.

Claire took a breath, steadying her hands. Then she picked up the scalpel.

The incision was slow and deep. Jamie hissed as the blade split flesh, his jaw clenched so tight his neck trembled. Blood welled up instantly, spilling over his ribs.

She wiped it quickly, fingers working fast, efficient. Her other hand reached for the forceps.

Jamie groaned—low and raw—as she began to probe.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry Jamie, Just a moment more.”

His body tensed under her, every muscle pulled taut. Fergus pressed down harder, bracing him. Claire dug deeper, following instinct and experience, trying not to think of the delicate tissue just beneath her reach.

Then—her forceps hit something solid.

"Got it," she breathed.

Jamie arched suddenly with a ragged cry, the force of it nearly knocking her hands off target. His head rolled back, his face white with agony.

"Jamie—stay with me!" Claire said sharply.

But his eyes were fluttering now, breath shallow, skin slick with sweat. The laudanum had dulled his senses, but the pain had still broken through.

One more twist, one more pull—she felt the pellet slide free.

And then, with a choked breath, Jamie went limp.

Fergus caught his arm before it slipped from the table.

Claire barely noticed—her whole focus on the wound, on the blood, on the precious little space where breath and silence met.

"It’s out," she whispered, almost in disbelief. The pellet dropped into the basin with a dull, metallic clink.

Fergus stepped back, pale and shaken. Claire grabbed clean cloths, pressing them to the wound with shaking hands. Her voice was calm, but only just.

"He’s just fainted. His pulse is steady."

She cleaned and stitched in silence, the fire crackling softly behind her. Jamie lay unconscious, his face quiet now, softened into a kind of uneasy peace.

When it was done, and the wound cleaned and bandaged, Claire sat down beside him, her bloody hands resting on her knees. She stared at him for a long moment.

“You daft, stubborn Scot,” she whispered, brushing damp hair from his brow. “You never make it easy.”

Finally, as dusk began to fall, Claire straightened, exhaustion weighing her down, but a flicker of hope in her eyes.

She had done it.

She had removed the pellets. Now, it was up to Jamie’s strength, and her nursing, to see him through.

It was a long week, but Jamie had finally fought off the fever and was recovering nicely. They had managed to walk him slowly up the stairs to the bedroom where he would be more comfortable and have more peace and quiet.

The sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Jamie was lying down in bed propped up against several pillows, his face pale. Claire was fussing over him, changing and adjusting his bandages. Jenny stood by the door, arms crossed, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Are you comfortable, Jamie? Do you need more water? Perhaps a bit of broth?”

“I'm fine, Sassenach.” Jamie grumbled. “Just... bored. And itchy. This blasted wound itches like the devil's own backside.”

Don't scratch it!” Claire said sternly. “You'll undo all the stitches if you do. And as for being bored, read a book. Talk to your children. Anything but try to take the roof off this house with your grumbling.”

“Aye, he's been a right pain in the arse all mornin'.” Jenny added with amusement. “Like a bairn denied his sweeties.” Jamie looked at her with daggers in his eyes.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Ian walked in his face etched with worry.

“I'm sorry to bother ye, but young Andrew McMillan just arrived, he says his younger brother Thomas is took bad wi' fever, and his mother's fair distraught. They need ye’r help Claire.”

Claire's face clouded with concern. She glanced back at Jamie, her brow furrowed.

“I should go, Jamie. I can't leave Thomas suffering. But…” She looks at Jamie pleadingly. “You promise me you'll stay put? No heroics. No trying to chase after the children. You are to rest and heal.”

Jamie put on his most innocent face.

“Of course, Sassenach. I'll no' move an inch.”

Jenny snorts loudly.

“Dinna worry yourself, Claire. I'll keep an eye on him. He'll no' be liftin' a finger without me knowin'. And Fergus is here too, he can help. You go and tend to the sick. We'll manage.”

“Alright. Thank you, Jenny.” Claire was relieved but still hesitant.

“Jamie… please. Behave yourself.”

She planted a quick kiss on his forehead and hurried out the door with Ian.

As soon as Claire was gone, Jamie's innocent facade dropped. He turned to Jenny with a mischievous grin.

“Well now…”

Jenny wagged a finger at him.

“Don't even think about it, James Fraser! I swear, you're worse than the bairns when they've had too much sugar.”

Jamie knew Claire would be angry with him if he disobeyed her words, so he managed to pass the time in peace and quiet, though trying to occupy himself was proving harder than he thought, there's only so many books he could read with only one good arm. Jenny had gone downstairs to help get supper ready after Jamie finally fell asleep.

A few hours later Jamie was rudely awakened by a loud scream piercing the silence, Brian's high-pitched screech echoed in Jamie's ears.

“What in God's name…?” Jamie gasped.

Pain shot through his collarbone and shoulder as he pushed himself upright, ignoring the throbbing. He swung his legs out of bed, gritting his teeth. The floorboards felt cold beneath his bare feet. He stumbled towards the door, holding his injured arm.
Jamie stumbled down the corridor when he found Brian sobbing, clutching his hand, blood smeared across his face and clothes. Jamie's dirk lay discarded nearby on the floor.

Jamie knelt down awkwardly, picking up his blood stained dirk.

“Brian! Lad, what happened? Let me see... Oh, Christ.”

He gently took Brian’s hand, his own face pale at the sight of the cut, deep and bleeding profusely. His son was hysterical.

“It hurts, Da! It hurts so bad!” Brian wailed.

Jamie tried to sound calm despite his own pain and rising panic.

“Aye, It's a deep cut. Dinna fash, we'll get it seen to. Can ye walk a bhalaich?”

Brian just shook his head, sobbing harder. Jamie knew there was no time to waist. He scooped the boy up carefully, biting back a cry as the movement and strain jared his wounds. Dirk still in his hand. He began the slow, painful descent of the stairs, each step agony.
When he got down the stairs, Jenny appeared at the bottom, having heard the commotion.

“Jamie Fraser! What in God's name are ye doin' out of bed?!” Jenny said, alarmed and furious. “And what's happened to wee Brian?! Ye're both covered in blood!”

Jamie gasped, dropping the dirk to the floor, gripping the banister to stop himself from falling.

“There's No time, Jenny! Brian's cut himself – bad! He needs help! Fetch Claire!” His voice was low and raspy.

Jenny stormed forward, taking Brian from Jamie's arms with surprising ease despite his weight.

“Claire!? She's still in the village! Ye stubborn fool, look at yourself! Ye've opened yer stitchin’! Claire will chew ye'r hide! Get down the rest of these stairs and sit yerself down before ye fall! Jenny scolded her brother.

“Ellena! Maggie! To the kitchen, quickly!” Jenny ordered.

Jenny practically dragged Jamie the last few steps, her focus shifting now between the two injured family members. They reached the kitchen, where Ellena stood looking pale with worry for her father and brother.

“Ellena, fetch me the clean cloths from the chest mo ghraidh!” Janet ordered firmly, getting her out of her daze.

“Maggie, fill the basin with water and put it over the fire to boil! And you, Jamie, sit! Now!”

Jenny efficiently sat Brian on a stool and began to assess his hand, gently cleaning away the blood as she was taught by Claire. Brian whimpered but held still under his aunt's firm touch.

“There, wee man, deep breath now. Auntie Jenny will make it better. It's a nasty cut, but it'll heal.”

“I want Mama!” The six year old cried out.

Jenny turned to Fergus who just walked in the room hearing all the commotion.

“Fergus, saddle the fastest horse and ride like the devil to the village! Find Claire! Tell her Brian is hurt, and Jamie's bein' a fool openin’ his wound! Go!”

“Aye.” Fergus nodded and rushed away quickly.

Jenny continued to tend to Brian, cleaning and binding the wound with practiced hands, Jamie was slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, a dark patch spreading on his shirt where the wound had split open. He watched Brian, his face etched with pain and worry.

Jenny glanced at Jamie, her expression softening slightly but still stern.

“See what happens when ye dinna listen? Ye were healing fine... now look at the mess ye've made. Can ye get over here, or must I drag ye to a seat too?”

“Brian... is he alright?” Jamie asked weakly, not caring about himself at that moment.

“Aye, He will be. You, on the other hand…”

Jamie managed to shuffle over to a chair and sank into it, holding his shoulder in pain. Ellena came over and stood close to her father, wide-eyed at the sight of him.

“Da?” She asked in a whispered voice.

Jamie noticed his daughter from the corner of his eyes and managed a weak smile.

“It's alright a leannan. Take care of your brother. Aye?” He managed to reassure her.

Jenny finishes with Brian, tying off the bandage securely. Ellie went and stood holding on to her brother to comfort him as her father instructed.

“There ye go, Brian. Keep pressure on it, aye?”

“Aye, Auntie.” Brian nodded tearfully.

“Good lad. Now, let's see to this other bairn who thinks he's invincible.”

Jenny moved towards Jamie, concern overriding her annoyance as she saw the extent of the new bleeding. She lifted his shirt gently to assess the damage. She set the clean bandages in the boiling water as Claire instructed them to do the first time around.

Half an hour later Claire burst into the kitchen, her face worried, cloak damp from the ride.

“Jenny! Fergus said... Oh, God.”

Claire took in the scene. Brian's bloody bandaged hand and tear stricken face, Jamie slumped and pale in a blood stained shirt, Jenny tending to his reopened wound. Ellena looked anxious. Lexie was fussing in the corner.

after a quick assessment of the situation Claire rushed to Jamie's side.

“Jamie! What happened?!”

“Brian... cut himself…” Jamie whispered and groaned.

“I can see that!” Claire exclaimed in Frustration. “I mean this!” Gesturing towards him. “I leave you alone for a few hours...!”

“He heard Brian scream, Claire.” Jenny explained. “Ran down the stairs like the house was burning, carrying the wee lad himself.”

Claire sighed, shaking her head.

“Oh, Jamie. You fool.” Jamie was too weak to argue. Claire immediately took over from Jenny, assessing the damage, preparing to clean and restitch his wound.

Later, after Brian's hand was properly disinfected and bandaged by Claire, and Jamie's wounds were cleaned and restitched, everyone was relatively settled. Claire was tidying up her medical supplies, Brian was sitting at the table eating some bread and honey, Jamie was looking regretful but still in pain.

Claire turned to Jamie, her voice weary but sharp.

“Right...Now that everyone is bandaged and mostly in one piece... Jamie, why in God's name was your dirk lying about where a six-year-old could get his hands on it?”

“lyin' about?” Jamie said defensively, despite his weak state. “I was busy gettin' shot at! I hardly had time to think about such-”

“Yes, well…” she interrupted him. “Honestly Jamie, I leave you for a few hours and I come back to find you bleeding all over the kitchen floor, our son with a nasty gash from your weapon, and poor Jenny frazzled from trying to keep you both alive! It's a miracle you didn't break your neck tumbling down those stairs carrying him!”

Jamie just looked away, unable to formulate a defence. He knew she was right, even if the circumstances were justifiable. Jenny gave a snort of agreement from across the room. Brian looked up at his father, then at his mother, a little scared by the raised voices but mostly grateful for the quiet relief from the pain.

“Just…let's get you back to bed Jamie…and this time stay there.” Claire sighed, rubbing her temples. “Please. For all our sakes.”

She helped him up, Jamie leaned heavily on her and Fergus joined in supporting Jamie from the other side, both guiding him slowly back up the stairs. They leave him alone to nurse his physical wounds and the sting of her well-deserved scolding.

Claire walked back downstairs her eyes instantly finding her son where he sat on the bench, small shoulders hunched, cradling his bandaged hand. Her heart clenched at the sight—the tears already dried on his cheeks, the telltale streaks of dirt and guilt smudged along his face. The dirk lay across the table, far too large for such small hands, and beside it, the half-whittled shape of a wooden figurine.

She knelt in front of him, brushing a curl from his brow, her voice low but firm.

“You could have cut your fingers clean off. You know better than to take your father’s dirk without permission.”

His lip trembled, but he didn’t look away. “I wanted to make somethin’ for Da. To make him happy.”

The explanation struck her deep. She took a slow breath, steadying herself against the ache of love and worry. Her gaze softened.

“That’s a kind thought, darling. Truly. But you’re not old enough to be handling a blade like that—not on your own. It’s not just about rules. It’s about keeping you safe.”

He sniffled, eyes wide and damp. “I’m sorry.”

Her arms wrapped around him, drawing him close. He nestled into her shoulder, small and warm, his breath hitching against her neck.

“I know,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “Next time, ask for help.” She leaned back to look at his small face. “I'm sure once your father is feeling better he'd be more than happy to help you make something, together.”

He nodded and leaned against her once more, and for a long moment, neither moved—just the quiet rise and fall of breath, the soft weight of forgiveness settling between them.

Days turned into weeks. Claire never left Jamie's side, tending his wounds, coaxing him to drink broth, whispering stories of their children. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Jamie fought his way back from the brink.

He was alive.

He was going to live.

April 1754

The Highland air was crisp and carried the scent of pine and damp earth. Claire breathed deeply, the spring sunshine warming her face as Jamie led them along a faint track through the heather, his body still slightly aching from his injuries. Ellena skipped ahead, her red hair bouncing, while Brian trailed behind, picking up smooth grey stones from the path.

“Are we nearly there, Da?” Ellena called back, her voice bright with anticipation. “Where are we going anyway?”

Jamie grinned over his shoulder at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Patience, mo ghraidh. Almost there. It’s a surprise.” He winked at Claire, his hand brushing against hers as he walked.

Claire returned the smile, as they rounded a bend in the path and emerged into a small clearing. A burn, crystal clear, tumbled over smooth rocks and snaked through the glen. Grass, still tinged with winter brown but with the promise of green, surrounded it, and beyond, the majestic mountains rose in silent grandeur, Broch Tuarach, the north facing tower, stood majestically in the distance.

The wind tugged gently at Claire's shawl as they stood on the marked-out ground. Brian was already skipping ahead, tracing a line with his foot. Ellena walked more slowly, looking around at the view. Jamie stood with his hands on his hips, a broad smile on his face as he surveyed the layout.

“Well, here we are.” Jamie gestured with a sweep of his arm. “It doesna look like much yet, I grant ye, but this is the start of it. The bones of our new home.

Claire was holding Lexie, who was nestled against her shoulder.

“So this is where you and Fergus have been sneaking off to for the past two weeks?” Claire asked with a smile.

Jamie nodded, smiling in return. “I would have started sooner, but ya didna let me leave my bed let alone step outside…” “And with good reason…” she retorted.

Brian interrupted their budding argument.

“Is it invisible? a magic house?” He asked in earnest.

Jamie chuckled, walking over to place his large hand on Brian's shoulder.

“Nay, mo ghille. Not invisible. Just... waiting to be built. See? This line here…”

Jamie stepped into the largest wooden outline, beckoning them closer. Claire shifted Lexie in her arms, adjusting her hold as Jamie continued.

“This will be the heart of the house. The main room. And here will be the kitchen, where ye'r mother will work her wonders at the hearth. Plenty o' space for a roasting spit, a big kettle for stew, and a table for us all to gather round.

Claire tracing the imaginary wall with her eyes.

“A big hearth... oh, that will be lovely. Will there be a window here?”

“Aye, Sassenach. A bonnie big window right there. And another looking out towards the burn. Plenty of light for ye.” He smiled at his wife with pride.

“And through here…there will be stairs…leading to what will be..” Jamie moved to an adjacent, smaller section. “will be our bedchamber. Yer mother's and mine. A good-sized room, eh? Room for a proper sized bed.” He winked at Claire.

Claire blushed slightly and smiled.

“It looks perfect.”

“And down the hall, will be three rooms.” He then steps into another area. “This is for the two of ya, and wee Lexie of course.” He added with a smile.

Brian ran into the empty space on the ground.

“My room! My room!” Brian squealed in delight.

Ellena walked in more sedately, looking critically at the size.

“Will there be space for a bed? And my books?”

Jamie squatted down to their level.

“Aye, plenty o’ space. We'll build ye proper beds, and maybe a shelf for Ellena's books, and a chest for Brian's treasures. Windows looking out this way, see? Ye'll be able to watch out for intruders.”

“Will I be able to climb out the window?” Brian asks with excitement.

“No, Brian.” Claire answered gently. “The windows are for looking out, not climbing out.”

Jamie stood up.

“Right then.This one here. the larger of the two, will be a shed.” He gestures towards two smaller, separate outlines a short distance from the main building. “For storing peat and wood for the fire, tools, drying herbs maybe, Sassenach?”

Claire nodded in agreement.

“Yes, that would be very useful.”

“And this little one…” Jamie grinned slightly. “...will be the privy.”

Both Claire and Ellena manage a polite smile at the practicality. Brian giggled.

Jamie then walked back towards the main house outline, stopping at a smaller section connected to the kitchen area, but with its own separate outline.

“And last, but certainly not least…” He turned to Claire, his expression softening. “...this is for you, Sassenach.”

“For me?”

“Your surgery.” He said with a warm smile. “A room of yer own. Separate from the main house, so folk coming to see ye won't disturb us, and they'll have privacy. Plenty of light from this window here. Room for a table, yer chests of medicines, maybe even a wee cot if ye have someone who needs watching overnight.”

Claire's breath catches. She looked down at the outlined space, then back up at Jamie, her eyes shining.

“Oh, Jamie. It's... it's perfect. My own space to work. You thought of everything.” She said softly, tears welling up in her eyes.

Jamie stepped closer, and put an arm around her shoulders, careful of Lexie.

“I thought of you. I want ye to have what ye need. A place to heal folk, to help. And a solid roof over all our heads. A place that's truly ours.”

He looked from Claire to Ellena, then Brian, then back at the ground where the house will stand. Lexie gurgled softly against Claire's shoulder, as if approving.

Claire leaned into him slightly. Enjoying the quiet serenity.

“Will we help build it, Da?” Ellie asked with enthusiasm.

“Can I carry stones?” Her brother copied her excited tone.

“Aye, ye can both help. We'll all build it together. Stone by stone.”

They stood there for a moment, the outlines on the ground no longer just lines, but the beginning of a life. The wind whispered past, carrying the scent of the moor.

Ellena gasped. “Oh, Da, it’s beautiful!” She ran towards the stream, Brian hot on her heels.

Jamie watched them, his face alight. “Aye, isn’t it just? What d’ye think, Sassenach?”

Claire gazed around, taking in the wild beauty. “It’s… it’s lovely, Jamie.”

A surge of emotion welled up in Claire. She stepped forward and kissed him, a deep, heartfelt kiss showing her gratitude.

“Thank you, Jamie,” she murmured against his lips. “It’s…perfect.”

“Aye, I thought ye’d like it.” He grinned again, then gestured to the stream. “Let’s have our picnic here, shall we? While the bairns explore.”

They unpacked the basket, laying out oatcakes, cheese, and apples on a blanket Claire had brought. The children were soon engrossed in playing by the stream with stones and leaves, their laughter echoing through the quiet glen.

The sun hung low in the Highland sky, its golden light spilling over the hills like honey. A breeze stirred the heather and tall grasses, carrying with it the soft scent of warm earth and pine. The faint gurgle of a nearby stream played a quiet tune, and the world felt hushed, as though the land itself had paused to breathe.

Claire spread the wooly blanket over a patch of soft moss, patting it flat before easing herself down with Lexie in her arms. The baby cooed softly, cheeks rosy, hands flailing at the play of light filtering through the birch leaves overhead.

Jamie stood nearby, hands on his hips, watching their two older children chase each other barefoot through the grass.

“Mind the edge of the stream, a leannan,” he called, voice warm but firm. “I’d rather not fish ye out this time.”

Ellie, all wild red curls and quick feet, twirled to a stop and grinned. “I wouldna fall, Da. I’ve the balance of a cat!”

“Aye, a sleek wildcat- fierce, stubborn and far too clever for her own good...” Jamie chuckled.

Claire looked up from where she cradled Lexie, the baby now curled against her chest with a thumb in her mouth and eyelids growing heavy. She smiled at the scene before her—Jamie’s large form beside Brian’s small one, the flickering shadows of leaves dancing on their shoulders.

“She’ll be asleep soon,” Claire said softly.

Jamie glanced back, a softer light coming into his eyes. “It's been a while since I've touched ye proper, Claire. Every minute I've not had my hands on ye has been one too many.”

“Da!” Ellie interrupted. "Can ye tell us a story?" She asked brightly, plopping down onto the blanket and leaning against Claire’s side. “Tell us the one about the kelpie who tricked the soldier.”

Jamie sat down across from them with a sigh, crossing his legs, one arm resting on Brian's chest as the boy crawled into the crook of it.

“No kelpies today, mo ghraidh. I’ve a mind for another tale.” He lowered his voice, letting it ripple like the tide. “Have I ever told ye about the selkie who left the sea for love?”

Ellie shook her head.

“Well then,” he said, gaze drifting toward the line of distant hills where the sky met the land, “there once was a crofter who lived near the shore, alone but for his faithful dog. One day, walking the sands at dusk, he found a seal’s skin—soft as silk and warm from the sun. And beside it, a lass, bonnie as the dawn, wi’ hair the color of sand and eyes the grey of storms.”

As he spoke, the rhythm of his voice blended with the rustling trees and the soft hum of insects. Claire gently rocked Lexie, her own eyes closing for a moment. The sun warmed her skin, the scent of wild thyme brushing past on the breeze.

Brian leaned his head back against Jamie’s chest looking up at his father with a frown. “Did she ever come back?” he asked as Jamie finished the story.

Jamie looked down at him with a soft smile. “On quiet nights, when the wind is low and the sea calm, they say a great seal lingers by the shore, singing a song only her children can understand.”

Claire caught Jamie’s eye, her heart tugged by the softness in his voice. Lexie slept soundly now, her breath warm against Claire’s collarbone. Ellie sighed and leaned back against her mother’s side, while Brian turned toward the stream again, scanning it as though a silkie might rise from the waters.

This, Claire thought, is peace. Not grand, not loud—but full. Full of the voices she loved most, the safe weight of a sleeping child in her arms, and the deep comfort of Jamie’s presence beside her, steady as the mountains around them.

And for a little while, the world was only this—soft laughter, warm earth, and the sound of love.

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The hearth burned low, casting a gentle amber glow across the stone walls of their chamber. They had a wonderful day out with the children, who were now fast asleep in their beds back at Lallybroch. Outside, the wind rustled through the trees in the dark of night, brushing against the windows like a lullaby. Jamie lay on his side, one arm tucked beneath Claire’s head, the other curved over her waist, drawing her close. Their legs were tangled under the woolen quilt, the scent of peat smoke, pine, and something unmistakably them curling in the stillness.

"I dinna think I'd ever get a moment alone wi' ye again, Sassenach..."

Claire sighed softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I know, but it was a good day.”

“Aye,” Jamie murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “It was.” He pulled her a little closer, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “You looked bonnie there in the glen—wi’ Lexie sleepin’ on your chest and the light in your hair. Like some wild woodland goddess.”

She chuckled, her fingers idly tracing the shape of his collarbone. “Hardly. I probably smelled like stale milk and herbs.”

“Mm. That’s the smell of home to me,” he said, nuzzling into her hair. “Of peace.”

They lay in quiet for a moment, the kind that stretches gently, without weight. Then Jamie said, “I’ve been thinkin’ about the house. Where we stood today—by the stream? It felt right, did it no’? The bairns will love it there.”

Claire smiled. “It felt like it was already ours somehow. I could see it. A garden for herbs, chickens underfoot. And plenty of trees out front, for Brian to climb.”

“And wee Lexie too…when she’s old enough” Jamie added with a smile.

“Can you believe Fergus and Marsali will be wed this summer.” Claire said hopefully.

“I still see him as that half-starved lad in Paris, swaggering too big for his boots.” Jamie said fondly.

“He’s grown into a good, handsome man,” Claire said. “Like his father.”

Jamie snorted. “I hope he doesna inherit my temper.” Claire smiled.

So,” she murmured, “have they decided where they’ll live after the wedding?”

“Aye,” Jamie said, his voice soft and steady. “They’ll go to Balrigen. Marsali’s sister Joany still lives there, and the house is big enough. It’s close by, and it’ll give them some space—some privacy to start their life.”

Claire lifted her head slightly, watching his face. “And what of Laoghaire?”

He let out a breath through his nose, the memory still bitter. “She’s been arrested. Charged for carrying a pistol—and for attempted murder. She’ll be in the cells for a while, at least.”

Claire didn’t reply, only let her hand rest over the old scars on his arm and chest.

Jamie continued, quieter now. “she'll not bother us any longer. It’s just as well, Fergus can still help me with the new house, and the distillery—we’ve much to build, and I’ll need his hands. But at day’s end, he can go home to his wife. As he should.”

Claire smiled faintly, resting her head back down. “Sounds like a good plan.”

“Aye,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“Do you ever wonder… how long will we have this peace?” Claire asked, her voice softer now.

He was quiet for a moment, the firelight flickering in the space between them.

“Sometimes. But when I do, I remind myself—peace is a thing you hold when you can, not something you wait for.”

Claire rested her forehead against his chest. “There’s always something coming, like a shadow just out of sight. Not clear. Just… a sense. That the world won’t stay still for long.”

Jamie ran his hand slowly down her back, soothing. “Ye ken the future better than I, Sassenach.”

"I need to tell you something," she said, voice barely above a breath. "It’s about what’s coming."

His body stilled beneath her hand, but he didn’t speak, waiting.

“There’s going to be another war,” she continued. “A big one. In about a year’s time. The British will be fighting the French—again. They call it the Seven Years’ War where I come from, it spread from France to the Americas, India... everywhere”

He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening slightly around hers where their hands lay joined between them. “Another war,” he murmured. “They never get their fill, do they?”

“No,” she said. “They don’t.”

She hesitated. “What’s worse is… many Scots fought in it or will fight for the British.”

He shifted, drawing back just enough to look at her fully, blue eyes shadowed. “Scots? For the British?” He scoffed, the sound low and bitter. “After what they did at Culloden? After the Clearances? Christ, I cannae fathom it.”

“I don’t understand it either,” she admitted, reaching to smooth the furrow between his brows. “But I know it happened or rather will happen. My uncle Lamb — he found records, remnants. He told me about Highland regiments marching under the Union Jack. At least the fighting won't be happening here, most of the fighting takes place in Nova Scotia.”

“New Scotland?” Jamie raised his eyebrows.

“Yes. It's a colony along the coast of North America, many Scots were settled there after Culloden.” She said sadly.

His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching with restrained anger. “Maybe they were forced into fighting for them, Or maybe there were those who forgot what was done to us.” He looked away, eyes fixed on the ceiling, voice low. “I could never…I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” she whispered, and pressed a kiss to his temple, soft and lingering. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Silence settled between them again, thick with the weight of history and grief. She curled closer, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“I wish I could tell you how it all ends, or if it will affect us at all.” she said. “But I don’t know. I only hope that—for now—we can stay clear of it.”

His arms closed around her, strong and warm. “Then let’s do that,” he murmured. “Let the world burn around us if it must. I’ll keep you safe…we’ve the bairns tucked safe in their beds, your heartbeat under my hand, and a roof that still holds.”

She smiled faintly. “Yes. That’s all that matters.”

Jamie tilted her chin up and kissed her, slow and tender. “Then let that be enough, mo nighean donn. For now.”

Jamie’s kiss deepened, still unhurried, still warm, like the way a fire lingers low after a long day. His hand slid from Claire’s back to the curve of her hip, anchoring her to him, his touch reverent.

She shifted slightly, their legs still tangled, and looked into his eyes, the embers catching in the blue like starlight over water. There was no need for words; she knew that look—knew what he asked, what he offered. Not just desire, but comfort. Devotion. Home.

Her fingertips brushed the line of his jaw, rough with the day’s stubble. “Still think I smell like milk and herbs?” she teased softly, her voice laced with affection.

“Aye,” he whispered, lips at her temple. “And it’s the sweetest scent I know.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, and she melted into him, welcoming the heat that stirred gently between them. Their movements were quiet and familiar, the slow unfolding of a love that had weathered time, war, and the impossible.

Jamie moved over her with care, the weight of him a balm, grounding her in the here and now. Claire’s hands explored the strong lines of his scarred back, her breath catching as he whispered her name like a vow against her skin.

The world outside faded—the children’s soft breathing down the hall, the flickering fire, even the whisper of wind beyond the windows. There was only this: skin on skin, breath mingling, hearts syncing with every touch, every sigh.

When they reached the height of it, it wasn’t a rush, but a quiet, powerful swell—like the tide pulling in, steady and inevitable. They held each other through it, eyes locked, fingers laced, the silence around them full of meaning.

Afterward, Jamie stayed pressed against her, still inside her, their bodies twined like the roots of an old tree. He brushed a damp curl from her brow and kissed her eyelids, her cheek, the hollow of her throat.

Claire exhaled deeply, a sound of contentment. “You make me feel… safe,” she murmured.

Jamie’s voice was rough with love. “And you make me feel alive.”

The fire murmured low, casting a gentle glow across the room. Outside, the wind curled softly through the trees, and for now, time itself seemed to pause, holding its breath for them.

They drifted together then, warm and close, the fire burning low, sleep stealing in like a tide under moonlight. And for now, the world was still.

Chapter Text

The warm hush of late August settled over the fields like a blanket, gold sun washing the heather and grass in light. Laughter drifted from under the white canopy pitched outside Lallybroch, where fiddles sang and feet tapped in time. Children darted like swallows between tables, and the scent of roasted venison, oatcakes, and honeyed apples drifted on the breeze.

Jamie stood near the edge of the gathering, Lexie nestled against his chest, soft and sleepy, her auburn curls damp with sweat from too much running around. She had one hand wrapped tightly around the laces of his shirt, the other clutching a torn bit of bannock she’d long forgotten she was eating. A smear of jam glistened on her cheek.

“Ye’ve done yourself in, mo chraidh,” he murmured to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She gave a small giggle, and a sigh as she burrowed deeper into the crook of his shoulder.

He turned his head slightly and caught sight of Ellena, barefoot and determined, gathering long stems of wildflowers near the edge of the field. She was threading them into a circle with the precision of a weaver.

“I’m makin’ it for Marseli,” she called to her father without turning around, voice loud over the music. “She should look like a queen.”

Jamie chuckled.

“She’ll be a lucky queen, wi’ that crown on her head. What flower is that?”

Ellie held one up. “Bluebell. For grace. And purple clover—for loyalty.”

“Well,” Jamie said, kneeling slightly to adjust Lexie’s wrap, “ye’ll have to make one of those for your mother, I'm sure she'll look bonnie. Have you seen ye’r wee brother about?”

As if on cue, Brian came barreling out from behind a haystack, waving a wooden sword Jamie had carved for him months ago after the unfortunate mishap with his dirk.

“Da! I saved Ma’s apple tart!”

He skidded to a stop in front of Jamie, grinning proudly. His cheeks were red as his hair, looking wind-wild.

“Did ye now?” Jamie raised an eyebrow. “From what, a mouse?”

“A goose! It came right up like it was gonna eat everythin’. So I chased it off, like a warrior. I did a lunge!”

He demonstrated, nearly falling over.

Jamie laughed, the sound rich and warm.

“Well then, Fraser warrior,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small piece of dried fruit. “Yer bravery earns ye a ration. Dinna tell I spoil ye.” he handed the candy to Brian with a wink.

Brian snatched it with delight and was off again, red curls billowing behind him.

Jamie stood for a moment, the weight of Lexie against his chest, the scent of honey and sweat in her hair. Around him, nieces and nephews danced. Jenny was red in the face from both heat and scolding one of her bairns for tipping over a pitcher of cider. Fergus and Marseli were spinning under the arch of an old tree, her golden hair flying behind her like a banner.

Claire came up beside him, her cup half-full, her cheeks flushed from laughter and wine.

“I saw that goose,” she said, leaning into him. “It was terrifying.”

“Oh aye,” Jamie said solemnly. “A savage beast to be sure. Lucky we had a seven-year-old on guard.” his lip curved into a side smile.

Claire smiled and looked up at him, brushing a curl off his forehead.

“You look happy.”

“I am,” he said, voice low and sincere. “More than I deserve.”

“You deserve all of this, Jamie. Every moment.”

He looked at her then—really looked—and for a breath, the world stilled. The music, the laughter, the fire and sun and food—it all blurred at the edges while he traced the lines of her face with his eyes.

“I love ye, Sassenach,” he said simply.

She smiled and tilted her head.

“I love you too.”

She touched his hand lightly, a fleeting brush, and they stood like that for a moment—watching their children dance in a world they had somehow survived to build.

“Look at them, Jamie.” She said with pride and joy. “And Marsali… she's absolutely glowing.”

Jamie’s eyes fixed on the newlyweds, a deep satisfaction in his voice.

“Aye, Sassenach. She is bonny indeed. And Fergus... I've not seen him look sae happy since... well, since ever…”

“Can we dance, Da? Will you dance with me?” Ellie had delivered her flower crown to Marsali and came bounding up to Jamie with big blue eyes and flushed cheeks.

Jamie smiled down at her.

“Aye, lass, soon as my feet remember the steps. Perhaps after another wee dram…”

Just then came a stillness—small at first, like a hush moving through the grass. One by one, heads turned toward the rise at the far end of the field…

A rider was approaching. A British soldier.

Claire shaded her eyes as she rose to her feet.

Jamie handed Lexie off to his wife and stepped forward, jaw tightening. For a moment, the world held its breath.

The rider dismounted, careful, precise. He removed his hat with practiced formality as he walked, the scarlet of his coat catching the last slant of sunlight.

“Lord John, how nice to see ye,” Jamie said with a smile as he recognized his friend, his voice rich and wary all at once.

He reached out and the two clasped hands, briefly—an old camaraderie between soldiers and something quieter, more complicated.

“Jamie,” the Englishman replied. “Forgive the intrusion. I’d not meant to arrive in the midst of festivities.”

Jamie chuckled, though his eyes searched the man’s face.

“Ach, ye came at the best time. My son Fergus just got married.”

Seeing there was no danger, Claire joined them, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

“You’re always welcome, John. We’re glad to see you.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding politely to her. “The Highlands are as beautiful as ever in late summer.”

The musicians struck up again, the crowd, sensing no danger, returning to food and dance. Jamie gestured toward the table.

“Come. Have a drink—eat something.”

John hesitated.

“I thank you. But there is... a matter I must speak to you about. I’m afraid it’s not entirely celebratory.”

Jamie’s smile faded, and Claire’s brow creased.

“Aye?” he said, voice lower now, quieter beneath the sound of fiddles. “Best we walk, then.”

They stepped away from the celebration, toward the edge of the orchard where the sound of bees hummed and the air was cooler under the trees.

“It's Laoghaire MacKenzie,” John said, eyes fixed ahead.

Jamie’s jaw tightened.

“What of her?”

“She’s made a formal complaint. About the events in December.”

Claire gave a sharp breath through her nose.

“What?!? But, She shot him.” Claire exclaimed in disgust.

“Yes,” John said simply. “But she claims coercion. That she feared for her life. She’s seeking support from the Crown for restitution.”

Jamie turned to face him fully, his voice quiet, full of grit.

“She’s seekin’ payment.” he stated.

“And revenge,” Claire added, looking at Jamie worriedly.

“She’s not likely to succeed,” John continued. “but her petition has reached officials in Inverness. I thought it best you hear it from me.”

Jamie ran a hand on his stubbled jaw, exhaling.

“That woman will no’ rest until I’m dead or penniless.”

Claire looked to John, then back to Jamie.

“What are the chances they take her seriously?” she asked.

“Low,” John said carefully. “But not nonexistent. And you’ve made yourself... visible again. The distillery. The building. It’s drawn some attention.”

Jamie nodded, slow and heavy.

“Aye. So it would seem. Though I dinna realize that my affairs were such public knowledge..” he sighed deeply.

“Nothing happens here without the crown knowing of it, Jamie. Surely you must be aware of that.” Lord John stated with a touch of pride in his voice.

A long pause passed between them. The breeze lifted, cold air cutting through the heat of the summer sun.

Claire touched Jamie’s arm.

“What are you going to do?”

He looked at her, his shoulders squaring.

From the field, the music surged again—Marseli’s laughter rose like a bell.

Jamie turned back toward the celebration.

“I'll think of something, but not today. Today Is for family.”

John gave a small, respectful nod. And Jamie clapped him gently on the shoulder.

“we’ve time. Come. Join us. We'll talk more about it later.”

“Da! Can we dance now?” Ellena ran over, trying her luck once more. Claire couldn't help but smile at their daughter's resilience and determination. Jamie smiled as well despite the concerning news.

“Aye, Come on, then! Let's see if yer auld Da can still move his feet wi'out falling over.”

Jamie takes Ellie's hand, letting her pull him towards the boisterous dancing in the courtyard. Claire watches for a moment, Lexie nestled against her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The low crackle of the hearth filled the silence as the two men sat across from one another, the chessboard between them marked by a long, thoughtful pause.

Jamie reached for a knight, fingers hovering, then drew back, narrowing his eyes.

“Ye’ve set a trap, haven’t ye?”

Lord John gave a faint smile, one brow lifting with practiced innocence.

“Would I do such a thing?”

Jamie snorted softly. “Aye, ye would.”

John chuckled.

Jamie murmured, moving a bishop to block the attack. “We’ll see if you’re still smilin’ in three turns.”

The game had stretched long into the evening, interrupted only by the occasional refill of whisky and the muffled sounds of Claire upstairs, herding overtired children into bed. The clatter of celebration had long since died down, leaving only the ticking of the longcase clock in the corner and the occasional sleepy creak of Lallybroch’s old beams.

John studied the board, brow furrowed in mild concentration. “You’re more patient than when we last played.”

“Time and children will do that to a man.” he smiled.

John lifted his glass slightly in agreement. Another pause fell, thicker this time. Then John spoke again, quieter.

“I'm afraid I've got some sad news…Geneva died. Some months past.”

Jamie looked up, the change in tone catching him. “I’m sorry to hear that. When? How?”

“February. It was very sudden.”

A beat passed. The flames shifted in the grate.

John went on, “Isobel and I are married now.”

Jamie gave him a long, measured look. “Her sister.”

“Yes.”

Jamie nodded. “For the lad’s sake, I understand.” His mouth tugged slightly at one corner. “Ye’ve a taste for dangerous waters, John.”

That earned a small smile, but no denial.

“Yes. She was already close to William. It made sense—for him, mostly.”

Jamie nodded slowly. “We do what we must for our children.”

John’s eyes met his, the old understanding sparking silently between them.

“Aye, well…” Jamie added softly. “I hope it brings ye peace, and happiness, the both of ye.”

John’s voice was quiet. “I think it will.”

Another moment passed. John’s fingers brushed the rim of his glass.

“She’s kind,” he added. “Good to him. He’s happy. As am I.”

“I’m glad,” Jamie said. “That he’s well cared for.”

He stood then, slowly, his joints feeling the day’s weight. “I’ll leave ye to finish the whisky. We’ll speak in the morning.”

John rose too. “ What of our game?”

Jamie gave a half-smile and glanced down at the board.

“Oh,” he said casually, reaching out to slide his queen across two squares, “Checkmate.”

John blinked, looked at the board, then exhaled through his nose with a soft huff of surprise—part frustration, part admiration.

“You saw that three moves ago, didn’t you?”

Jamie shrugged, already turning for the stairs. with a smile on his lips.

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows, the quiet laughter of his victory left smouldering in the warm firelight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie woke to the soft grey light of dawn filtering through the curtains, the chill of the Highland morning seeping into the corners of the room. Claire lay asleep beside him, one hand tucked under her cheek, hair tousled spilling across the pillow. He stayed still for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath, listening to the quiet stirrings of the house beyond their door.

But the weight in his chest hadn’t lifted with sleep.

Claire stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and focused on him.

“You’re awake early,” she murmured, her voice husky.

Jamie shifted onto his side to face her more fully. “Didna sleep much.”

She reached for his hand under the blankets, fingers curling around his.

“Laoghaire?”

He gave a quiet nod.

Claire exhaled slowly. “She shot you, Jamie. And now she’s saying it was your pistol, and that you threatened her?” repeating the account from lord John's words.

Jamie nodded again, slower this time. “Lord John said she’s claiming self-defense. That I went to her house, armed. That she feared for her life.”

Claire’s brows drew together. “But that’s not what happened.”

“No. But she’s clever wi’ lies. And if she’s told the right ones to the right ears... the British may take interest.” His voice grew tight. “And if they do, well…they'll come looking for answers.”

Claire sat up, the cover slipping from her shoulders. “They’ll come looking for you. Your past. Ardsmuir. Culloden…”

He didn’t answer, but the silence was deafening.

Claire reached for his hand. “You’ve kept your head down for a long time, Jamie. We both have. And now this—after all this time…”

“I should have seen it comin’,” Jamie muttered. “She was always one to twist pain into vengeance. And if she canna get what she wants from me with sympathy, she’ll take it through scandal.”

Claire’s fingers tightened around his. “So what do we do?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I must speak wi’ Ned Gowen. If anyone knows how to keep this from becoming a noose round my neck, it’s him.”

“He’ll know if there’s a way to block the charges? Or stop them from sending someone?”

“I hope so.” Jamie looked at her, and for a moment, the mask slipped—just enough for her to see the shadow behind his eyes. “But if it comes to that, Sassenach… If soldiers do come to Lallybroch, asking questions…” She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, not wanting to go there in her mind.

Jamie closed his eyes briefly, before continuing. “I’ll ride to Inverness tomorrow. Find Ned, and pray he has some answers.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the stillness of early morning and the weight of what lay ahead. Outside, the first sounds of the day rose—boots on gravel, the call of a rooster, a dog barking somewhere near the barn. Life went on, even as the past threatened to break through the door once more.

Jamie had ridden to Inverness early the next morning to meet with Ned, it was near dusk a few days later when he returned. He rode up the familiar path to Lallybroch and was now tending to his horse in the stable.

The scent of hay, sweat, and leather filled the air, warm and earthy in the stillness of the afternoon. Dust motes spun in golden shafts of light slicing through the cracks in the stable walls. Jamie stood by his gelding, fingers working the buckle of the saddle strap, his movements slow, methodical.

Claire leaned against the stall gate, arms folded. She hadn’t spoken since he rode in—had only met his eyes once, searching for some sign of what passed between him and Ned Gowen.

Jamie finally heaved the saddle off the horse’s back with a grunt and hung it on the wooden peg. The black stallion snorted softly as Jamie reached for a handful of oats, pouring them into the feed bucket with a clatter.

Claire stepped forward, her voice low. “Well?”

Jamie kept his eyes on the horse, brushing a hand down its flank. “Ned says the charges will hold....”

Claire’s breath caught. “They believe her?”

“It's no’ a matter of belief.” Jamie turned at last, his hands resting against the stall. “The pistol being outlawed complicates it. She’s saying it was mine. That I gave it to her—or left it in her house—and came back for it with threats. Says she feared for her life and fired to protect herself.”

“But you were unarmed.”

“I was.” His jaw tensed. “But unless someone else was there to prove it, it’s her word against mine. And she’s already in custody for carrying the weapon—so she’s trying to shift blame, lessen her punishment. If she can say she acted in fear of a man already known to the Crown... well.”

Claire stepped into the stall, close enough now to lower her voice. “So what can Ned do?”

“He’s reachin’ out to the local magistrate. Hoping to settle it quietly. Maybe have Laoghaire declared unstable, or suggest she’s inventing the story to avoid a harsh sentence. But if she insists on pushing it, or if word travels farther…”

Claire’s voice hardened. “Then the British might send someone to investigate.”

Jamie nodded slowly, his hand resting on the horse’s bridle. “And I canna risk that. Not with my past. One wrong question, and they could drag it all back—Ardsmuir, Helwater, the pardon... everything.”

Claire placed her hand gently on his chest. “What are we going to do?”

He looked down at her hand, then met her eyes. “Ned says if we offer her money—enough to make her feel she’s won—she might drop the charges. Say it was all a misunderstanding.”

Claire’s mouth tightened. “She tried to kill you, and now we’re meant to pay her?”

“Aye,” Jamie said, bitterly. “That's Justice for ya .”

They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the horse chewing the only noise between them.

Jamie exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll do it. If it keeps the redcoats away from this place, from the weans... I’ll give her what she wants.”

Claire touched his arm. “And if she doesn’t stop? If she takes the money and keeps lying?”

Jamie looked at her then, something dark flickering behind his calm. “Then I’ll kill her myself. I’ll not have soldiers trampling this land again. Or my family caught in their shadow.”

He turned back to the gelding, brushing down its coat with short, deliberate strokes. Claire watched him a moment longer, then stepped closer and leaned her head against his back, between his shoulder blades, the thud of his heart steady beneath.

Together, they stood in the quiet of the stable, knowing peace was no longer promised—but determined to protect it all the same.

A week later the late summer sun hung low, casting long orange streaks through the tall windows of the drawing room. The air was heavy, the kind that held the memory of heat even as evening crept in. Jamie stood near the hearth, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight enough to betray his stillness. Claire sat at the writing desk, a thin stack of folded bills and ledgers before her, her brows knitted in silent calculation.

“It’s no’ enough,” Jamie said, voice low but sharp. “We’ve sold the barley from the lower fields, I’ve taken what I could from the house accounts—and we're still short.”

Claire looked up. “How much?”

“Near twenty pounds, if we’re to offer enough to make her back down.”

Claire sat back in the chair, rubbing her hands over her face. “We could pawn some silver. The candlesticks, the brooch Jenny left—”

Jamie turned, suddenly. “I’ll not gut this house for her. Not for Laoghaire MacKenzie and her lies.”

Claire’s gaze met his evenly. “Then we let the British come? Let them ask questions and dig up everything we’ve buried?”

His hands went to his hips, frustration pouring from him in a silent storm. “I dinna ken, Claire. I dinna ken what else to do.” his voice desperate, full of fear. It scared her.

Just then, the door creaked open. Ellena peeked her head around the frame, Brian close behind her.

“Ma? Da?” Ellena asked, hesitating. “We’re hungry.”

“You've already had supper,” Claire said gently, but distracted. “Go ask Mrs. Crook if there’s any bannocks left.”

Brian took a few steps inside. “But we finished it.”

Jamie’s eyes snapped to his son. “Did we no’ just say ye’ve had ye’r supper?” he raised his voice in frustration.

Brian shrank back slightly at his father's harsh tone. “Aye, but—”

“Then you’ll not whine for more,” Jamie snapped, voice raised even higher. “Food doesna fall from the sky, lad. You’ll eat what’s given and be grateful.”

Both children flinched. Ellena grabbed her brother’s hand, her face coloring. “We only wanted to ask,” she said softly.

Claire stood quickly. “Jamie.” She said with an exasperated tone, trying to stay calm.

He closed his eyes, jaw tight, his breath heavy through his nose.

Claire crossed over to the children, kneeling before them. “It’s alright. Go on back to the kitchen. Tell Mrs. Crook I said you can have a piece of cheese and one apple each. Then straight to your rooms, understood?”

The children nodded mutely and slipped out, the door shutting behind them with a quiet click.

Claire stood and turned, her eyes sharp. “It's not their fault.”

“I ken that,” Jamie muttered. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But I canna bear it, Claire. My own bairns, hungry in their own house because I’m feeding the lies of a woman who shot me.”

She stepped forward. “They don’t understand that. They only saw their father shouting when they were hungry.”

“I know.” His voice cracked just slightly, enough for her to hear it. “God, I know. I'm sorry.” he apologized.

She touched his arm. “We’ll find a way. If we have to sell the brooch, or the candlesticks—or the mirror in the hall—I don’t care. But we can’t lose this time, Jamie. We can’t lose you.”

He looked at her, eyes red-rimmed and tired. “She’s bleedin’ us, Claire. Inch by inch.”

“Then we stop the bleeding,” she said. “no matter what.”

A beat passed, filled only by the rustle of wind against the windows. Jamie stepped away from the hearth, pulled Claire into his arms, and held her tight, as if the walls around them might fall at any moment.
He held her tightly for a long moment, her heartbeat steady against his chest. When he pulled back, his hand lingered at the small of her back, his voice low and rough with guilt.

“I meant to finish the stonework before the frost came,” he murmured. “The new house. I wanted it ready before winter set in—for you, for the weans.” He looked away. “But it’ll have to wait now. Every coin we’ve scraped will go to Laoghaire. I’ve nothing left for timber, or labor, or even the glass panes ye wanted for the kitchen.”

Claire reached up and touched his face, gently turning him back to her. “Jamie... do you think I care about glass panes?”

His mouth twitched—half ashamed, half wistful.

“I don’t care if we’re in a house of stone or a crofter’s hut,” she said, reaching up, brushing her fingers across his cheek. “Let the house wait. Let it all wait. I don’t need timber and stone to feel safe, Jamie. I only need you.”

He looked at her, as though trying to believe it fully.

She smiled gently, her voice lower. “You’ve given me everything that matters. A home isn’t the walls—it’s who’s standing inside them.”

Jamie’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Still, I wanted to give ye something better.”

“You did,” she said, her voice firm. “You do. Every single day.”

He looked at her then, as though seeing her for the first time in days. “I’m sorry. For the shouting. For all of it.” his voice filled with regret.

Claire gave a small smile, tired but full of love. “Don’t be sorry for carrying this weight, Jamie. Just don’t carry it alone.”

He nodded slowly, forehead resting against hers once more. “As long as I have you, mo nighean donn…I can stand through anything.”

Jamie kissed her lips tenderly and held her tightly to him. They stood that way for a long moment, quiet except for the creaking of the floorboards beneath their feet and the wind tapping gently at the glass.

Two weeks later the morning air was crisp, edged with the promise of autumn. Jamie stood by his horse , tightening the straps on his saddle with practiced precision. A pair of saddlebags lay slung over his shoulder—heavy with coin, legal papers, and the first carefully bottled batch of his new whisky, meant to fetch the last bit of what they needed to pay for their freedom and safety.

Claire stood nearby, arms wrapped around herself despite the mild chill, eyes fixed on him with worry carefully masked behind her usual strength.

“You’ve everything?” she asked quietly.

“Aye,” Jamie replied, adjusting the stirrup leather. “If I ride hard, I’ll reach Inverness before sundown tomorrow. I’ll find Ned, hand over the money, and he’ll take care of the rest.”

Claire stepped forward and smoothed the collar of his coat, her fingers lingering a moment. “It’ll be over soon. And then we can breathe.”

Jamie gave her a faint smile, weary but grateful. “I dinna like the thought of leavin’ you, even for a few days.”

“I can manage,” she said sadly. “I’ve done it before.”

“Aye,” he murmured. “Too many times.”

He looked down at her then, hands finding her waist, and leaned in. Claire rose onto her toes and met him halfway, their lips pressing together—slow, lingering, full of unspoken hope and tightly-held fear. When they parted, Jamie pulled her into a strong, wordless embrace, his chin resting atop her head.

“If all goes well, I’ll be back by the end of the week,” he whispered.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said.

He released her reluctantly, turned, and swung into the saddle in one practiced motion.

Just then, hooves thundered in the distance. Both turned, startled, as a lone rider approached fast from the road—a man in a dark cloak on a grey horse. He rode into the yard without hesitation, dismounted quickly, and reached into his coat.

“James Fraser?” the man asked.

Jamie’s spine straightened. “Aye.”

The rider held out a folded parchment, sealed in red wax. “For you sir. I was told it was urgent.”

Jamie took it, brows drawn tight. Claire stepped closer as he broke the seal and unfolded the page. His eyes moved over the words—once, then again—his expression shifting with disbelief.

When he looked up, he was pale with shock.

Claire reached for him. “Jamie? What is it? What's happened?”

He looked at her, voice catching. “It's from Lord John…She’s dead. Laoghaire. She was found dead in her cell—two days ago.”

Claire froze. “Dead?”

He handed her the letter, still barely believing it himself. “The charges are dropped. There's no claim. No case. Nothing left for us to pay.” his mouth slowly curling into a smile as the realization hit him.

Claire read the letter with wide eyes. When she lifted her gaze to him again, her voice was faint. “It’s over?”

Jamie dismounted quickly, boots thudding to the ground. He closed the distance between them in a single stride and wrapped her in his arms, holding her as though he might never let go.

“Aye,” he whispered into her hair. “It’s over. We’re free.”

Claire gripped the back of his coat, pressing her face into his chest. “Oh Jamie…”

The letter drifted from her hand and landed in the dust, forgotten. Around them, the Highland wind stirred the leaves, carrying away the last shadows of Laoghaire MacKenzie’s ghost.

For the first time in weeks, they held one another not in fear, but in joy—and in that embrace was the simple, quiet miracle of being left in peace.

Lallybroch, October 1754

Outside, the cold clung to the stone like a second skin, but within Lallybroch, the air was warm with laughter and woodsmoke, the fire crackled low in the hearth, casting a soft amber glow across the dining room walls. Jamie sat at the head of the table, his red hair glinting in the firelight, his cheeks still flushed from the work he and Fergus had done that morning. Calloused hands cradled a glass of pale-golden whisky—his own, from the distillery he'd finally been able to give proper time and care.

Claire sat beside him, her fingers curled around her own glass, warmth in her eyes as she watched him speak with Jenny and Ian, arguing over the flavor of the latest batch.

“I still say it tastes like damp peat,” Ian teased, swirling the liquid before taking another sip. “But finer peat, mind ye.”

“It tastes of the hills,” Jamie countered, a glint in his eye. “Of rain and heather. That’s the way whisky’s meant to taste.”

Brian, perched between his older sisters and stepbrother at the far end of the table, coughed and sputtered as he sneaked a sip from Fergus's glass. “Tastes like burnin’!”

The room burst into laughter.

Even Claire smiled over the rim of her glass. She couldn’t remember the last time the house had felt this quiet, this safe. Three weeks had passed since Laoghaire’s death, and with it, the threat she’d held over them. They were building again. Reclaiming something close to peace.

The new house was nearly done. Jamie had said they'd move in after Hogmanay, make a fresh start in the new year. For the first time in too long, hope felt possible.

Then came the pounding on the door.

Four hard knocks—sharp and deliberate.

The room fell silent. Jamie stood first, setting down his glass. Fergus followed, exchanging a glance with Claire, who rose more slowly, unease curling in her stomach.

Fergus stood too, his jovial expression fading into something wary. “Late for visitors, no?” he nodded at Marsali to stay put.

Jamie moved toward the door, but as he neared it, it was flung open—three soldiers stepping into the hall, They didn’t wait for permission.

Claire stood, her heart immediately racing. “Jamie—” she whispered with panic.

The soldiers stepped in with the wet stink of the outside world clinging to them—red coats, boots thick with mud, muskets slung across their backs. Their officer stepped forward, a folded parchment in his hand and steel in his eyes.

“James Fraser?” he barked, voice hard and clipped.

Jamie stepped forward, shoulders squaring. “Aye. I’m he.”

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Laoghaire MacKimmie, formerly McKenzie.”

The room gasped as one. Claire’s breath caught in her throat.

“What?” she stepped forward. “That’s absurd. She died whilst in prison, Jamie wasn't anywhere near—”

“She died suspiciously. The Crown has taken an interest. The complaint was filed two weeks ago in Inverness. We are here to escort him to Fort William to await questioning.”

“No,” Claire said, moving between the soldiers and Jamie. “He hasn’t done anything. You’ve no grounds—”

A soldier grabbed her by the arm, yanking her back roughly.

She cried out in pain and shock.

Jamie moved like lightning. “Get your hands off her!” he growled.

Jamie surged forward, but another soldier struck him in the gut with the butt of a musket. Jamie grunted, staggering, then was seized by two soldiers and wrenched backward, his arms pinned.

“Da!” Brian’s voice rang out. The boy rushed forward, fists clenched.

Claire reached to stop him, but he was too quick. He landed a small, furious punch against the thigh of the closest soldier.

“Let go of my Da!”

The soldier snarled and shoved the boy hard. Brian stumbled backward, colliding into Claire’s arms with a cry of pain and surprise. She caught him, shielding him, her heart thudding like a drumbeat in her ears.

“You bastards!” Claire shouted, rising to her feet.

Jamie’s eyes flared. “You touch my wife or bairns again and I’ll—”

“Try that again,” the officer said coldly ignoring Jamie's threat, stepping closer, “and I swear to God, you’ll be shot dead where you stand.”

Jamie stilled, his chest heaving.

Claire cradled Brian close, his face buried in her shoulder, his breath shaking with silent sobs.

“Jamie—” she whispered, her voice cracked, her eyes wide with fear.

He looked at her, breathless but steady, pain in his eyes but no fear.

“I’ll be alright,” he said softly trying to catch his breath from the blow. “I'll be alright, They’ll not keep me long,” he said, though she wasn’t sure if it was meant for her or the children.

They dragged him from the room.

Fergus followed them out, shouting after the soldiers in French, his voice rising over the chaos. The children had gathered near the doorway, stunned into silence, Ellena holding Lexie protectively who was crying from all the shouting and commotion, Brian white as chalk.

Claire dropped to her knees as the door slammed behind them, her hand pressed to her mouth, the taste of whisky still on her tongue, now bitter and hollow.

He was gone.

And everything warm in the room turned cold.

Chapter Text

One Week Later

Fort William, November 1754

The cell stank of wet stone, old piss, and the blood of men who’d stopped counting the days. A single high window let in a sliver of gray light and cold air. Jamie sat hunched on the narrow bench, his hands swollen and bruised, wrists rubbed raw from the chains they’d only just removed.

He hadn’t slept properly since the second night. Not after the first round of questioning. The second had been worse. Not from the questions—they hadn’t changed. But from the fists, the kicks, the casual backhand of authority meted out by men too young and too eager to earn favor from their superiors.

“Why did you kill her?”

“You’ve always hated her, haven’t you?”

He answered the same every time: “I didna kill her.”

Sometimes calmly. Sometimes through clenched teeth. Sometimes not at all.

They brought in a man from Inverness—a magistrate with cold eyes and ink-stained fingers. He asked the same things, but in a voice that tried to sound fair, reasonable. Jamie didn’t trust it. Reason had nothing to do with this. Someone wanted him locked away—or hanged—and Laoghaire’s death had offered the perfect excuse.

"Let’s not waste the Crown’s time, Fraser. You were seen entering her cell. Hours later, she’s dead. Don’t insult my intelligence with stories of mercy and useless words."

"You can insult ye’r own if you like. I told ye—I spoke to her. She was alive when I left."

"And why would you visit her at all? After she put a ball in your shoulder and tried to ruin you in every way that mattered?"

"Because she wouldna stop. Even behind bars. Lies. Threats. I went to end it—peacefully, if I could.”

“Peacefully. Right. A convicted Jacobite rebel visits the woman who tried to kill him, alone, unguarded—and she ends up dead. Is that what passes for peaceful in the Highlands?"

"I ken what it looks like. But I’m no’ a fool, nor a butcher. I didna kill her."

"Convenient, that no one saw anyone else go in. Just you. No one else logged. No one else heard a sound."

"Then someone lied."

"Spare me the stories. You were there. You had motive. You had opportunity. You’ve got a past soaked in blood and rebellion—and now you expect me to believe you walked away from the one person who made a game of destroying you?"

"Aye. I walked away. Because I still had somethin’ left to lose." His voice growing with anger.

"Your pride, maybe. Not much else.” the man said with a sneer.

“My family." Jamie whispered in defeat.

The magistrate stepped forward, voice lower now, but biting.

"Save the noble act, Fraser. You’re a dangerous man hiding behind your wife and children. But in here—on this side of the bars—you’re just another killer who finally got the reckoning he deserves."

"If that were true, I wouldna have waited so long. I’d have done it when she raised the pistol at me." He growled in frustration.

"Then why’s she dead?" The man pressed further.

"I Don't know. But I didna lay a hand on her. You’ve my word, whether you believe it or no'."

"Your word means nothing in here. And unless someone crawls out of the stonework with a confession, you’ll hang for this. The only question left is whether you’ll face the rope with a lie on your tongue, or a scrap of truth."

Jamie looked up slowly, jaw tight.

"Then take your questions and bring your rope.” He spat. “I’ve told my truth.”

The man left him alone after that. Jamie rested his head back on the cold stone wall with a loud sigh and closed his eyes. They didn't come to question him again for almost a week, but nothing changed. On the seventh day, the door to his cell clanked open again.

He didn’t lift his head right away—his back ached, his temple still sore where he’d been struck the day before.

But then he heard it.

Her voice.

“Jamie.”

His head snapped up.

Claire stood in the narrow stone doorway, wind-chilled and pale but unmistakably her. Behind her was Ned Gowan, holding his hat in his hands like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“Christ,” Jamie breathed with surprise and relief.

Claire rushed to him, but the guard moved to block her. Ned stepped in quickly, speaking low and sharp, and after a tense moment, the guard relented and let her pass.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands flying to his face, her eyes wet with disbelief and fury.

“Jamie,” she whispered. “What have they done to you?”

He leaned forward, letting her touch him, but gently—there were bruises even she couldn’t see yet.

“I’ve had worse,” he said hoarsely, trying to reassure her with a smile.

“You shouldn’t have had any,” she snapped, her voice trembling. “You’re not even charged yet. They have no real evidence...”

He glanced past her to Ned, who stepped forward.

“I’ve filed motions, evidence that you were nowhere near the lass when she died.” the old lawyer said.

“But I was.” Jamie confessed.

“What?” Claire said, astonished. “When?”

“I went to see her after leaving Ned in Inverness, before coming home.”

“Jamie?! Why?”

“I thought I could speak wi' her, make her see reason…she was alive when I left her.”

Jamie said nothing for a long moment. Just looked down at his own hands, battered and shaking slightly.

“They’ll no’ listen. No matter what I say...”

“Don’t say that,” Claire said sharply.

“It’s the truth.” He looked up at her, voice low. “They’ll make an example of me if they can. A Highlander turned soldier, turned criminal. It fits their story too well.”

“We’re not giving up,” Claire said, her eyes fierce now. “I don’t care what they say. You didn’t kill her, and I will prove it no matter what.”

Jamie swallowed hard and looked at her. Her jaw was tight, her eyes wide and wet, hair windswept and wild. And for the first time since he was dragged from Lallybroch, he felt the ache in his chest shift—no longer from fear, but from love.

“Are the bairns safe?” he asked.

She nodded and leaned in, pressed her lips gently to his.

He closed his eyes. Returning the kiss with a fierceness and longing.

For a moment, the cold and the stone and the bruises fell away.

When the guard stepped in and barked that the time was up, Claire didn’t flinch. She squeezed Jamie’s hand once more, then rose. Ned gave him a firm nod.

“We’ll get it sorted,” the lawyer said. “You have my word.”

Jamie watched them go, the cell door slamming shut behind them like thunder.

He was alone again.

But not quite empty, there was a sliver of hope planted in his heart.

****************************

Two days after the bells of Hogmanay had rung in the new year, the Fraser family stood again by the fire. The house was quieter now—no guests, no laughter echoing off the beams. Just the slow tick of the old clock and the breath of the fire, burning low with the scent of pine.

Claire stood at the window, her hands folded in front of her, eyes fixed on the frost outside. Marsali sat with Ellena and Brian near the hearth, Lexie curled up like a kitten against her sister’s side. A book lay open in Brian’s lap, but none of them were truly reading.

Not tonight.

Snow blanketed the Highlands in a deceptive stillness that belied the ache pressing on Claire’s heart. The room was filled with the scent of pine, the gentle hum of the hearth, But without Jamie, it all felt like echoes.

Jenny kept herself busy in the kitchen, her hands moving briskly, though her eyes betrayed a quiet grief. Ian sat nearby, offering support in silence, his cane resting beside him like a companion to his burden. Fergus and Marsali tried to keep spirits high for the children’s sake—Ellena laughed at Lexie’s antics, their joy a bittersweet balm in the room’s heavy air.

Claire’s eyes lingered on the empty chair by the fire, the one Jamie always filled with his presence, laughter, and stories. He should have been here, cradling Lexie in his arms, carving the roast, leading the Hogmanay toast. Instead, he sat behind cold stone walls, falsely accused of Laoghaire’s murder.

Brian asked where his father was. Claire knelt beside him, brushing his red curls from his brow, and whispered, “He’s not with us now, but he’s thinking of you. Just like we’re thinking of him.” She didn't add how each day without Jamie stretched longer than the last, or how justice felt like a far-off promise.

Suddenly The silent melancholy was broken by the dogs barking, then silence.

The door creaked.

Claire’s heart hammered once, sharply, and then again as she turned toward the hall.

She heard the front door open. And then—

Footsteps.

Heavy.

Familiar.

Jamie stepped into the room.

His hair was longer, beard grown in, and he looked thinner, older, wearier—but whole.

Brian was on his feet first.

“Da!”

The boy barreled into him, slamming into Jamie’s legs and wrapping his arms tight around him. Jamie let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob, and dropped to his knees.

He held his son fiercely, eyes closed, cheek pressed to Brian’s hair.

Ellena came next, arms thrown around his shoulders, her voice breaking quietly,

“Da…”

Then Lexie, stumbling on unsteady feet, crying as she clung to his neck.

Jamie held all three of them in his arms, trembling with overwhelming relief and joy.

And then he looked up.

Claire was already crossing the room.

He rose slowly, arms still half-full of children, and reached for her.

They met in the middle, and she didn’t speak. She only kissed him—fierce and desperate—and he kissed her back with everything he had left.

When they finally broke apart, he looked at her with glassy eyes.

“I’m home,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Later, in their bedchamber, after the fire downstairs had faded to a soft glow and the children were finally asleep, Jamie stood near the washbasin, a towel slung around his neck. Steam still rose faintly from the water, the scent of soap and rosemary lingering in the air.

Claire gave him a shave and a haircut after which he had scrubbed every inch of himself—roughly, almost angrily—as if trying to scrape off the memory of cold stone and rough hands. Now dressed in a clean shirt, barefoot on the familiar stone floor, he looked more like himself than he had in weeks.

Claire sat at the edge of the bed, watching him with quiet eyes.

“Better?” she asked softly.

He nodded once, wringing the towel between his hands. “Aye. First time I’ve felt human since they took me.”

She walked over to him, reaching up to run her fingers through his still-damp hair.

They stood there for a long moment, simply breathing the same air, the silence full of the things they couldn’t say yet. Then Jamie pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers.

“What happened, Claire? I need to know.”

She took his hand and led him to sit beside her on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and she held his fingers between her own as she spoke.

“A British soldier—a young corporal stationed in the prison. He tried to force himself on her. She fought back. Threatened to report him.”

Jamie’s jaw clenched, his knuckles going white.

Claire’s voice softened, but did not waver. “He panicked. Hit her. She fell and struck her head. She was found by an officer the next morning.”

Jamie stared at the floor, silent.

“We couldn’t prove it at first,” Claire continued. “The garrison protected their own. But Ned kept digging. Found a washerwoman—terrified, but brave. She overheard the soldier bragging while drunk. She gave a sworn statement. Ned presented it with the timeline and the evidence from the doctor who examined Laoghaire’s body. They couldn’t ignore it after that. The magistrate had no choice but to release you. I'm sorry it couldn't have been sooner.”

Jamie let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand.

“Who was it though? Who filed the complaint against me?” He demanded in a sharp tone.

“A man by the name of Joseph Boswell.” Jamie looked confused, the name sounded unfamiliar. Seeing the look on his face Claire provided him with the rest of it.

“Apparently he was Laoghaire's friend and…lover.” upon hearing this Jamie seemed to calm himself somewhat. Putting himself in this stranger's shoes, he felt he would have done the same. His mussels relaxed as he sighed deeply in resignation.

After a quiet moment Jamie spoke again.

“She didn’t deserve what happened to her,” he murmured. “Even after all she did to us.”

“No,” Claire said quietly. “But neither did you. And now… the truth is known.”

He looked at her then, and something in his eyes broke. Not into weakness, but into weariness. Relief. Love.

“I thought of ye, every night. You, and the bairns. That’s what kept me going.”

Claire cupped his cheek. “And we never stopped thinking of you and fighting for you.”

Jamie leaned forward and kissed her—gently at first, then deeper, as if grounding himself in the reality of her.

“Welcome home, soldier.” she whispered.

When they lay down together, limbs wrapped around one another beneath the heavy quilt, the fire crackled quietly in the hearth. Jamie’s breathing slowed, his body finally beginning to release the tension of the past month.

*************************************

The wind off the moor had softened. March sunlight filtered through bare branches, casting long shadows over the heathered hills. Jamie stood at the threshold of his newly built home, the weight of winter’s trials still lingering in his bones, but warmth blooming slow in his chest.

Each morning brought the scent of peat smoke and the clatter of bairns stirring — Ellie, bright as the morning star, already reading aloud to wee Lexie, who listened with wide, solemn eyes; Brian, sword-stick in hand, guarding his sisters as though he were chief of the clan himself.

Claire’s voice was the anchor. A laugh from the kitchen, the scent of herbs drying, the press of her hand against his when memory threatened to drag him under. The memory of cold stone walls, of the clank of chains, of Laoghaire’s name spat into silence — and the look in Claire’s eyes when she first saw him free again. That was what steadied him now.

He would never forget the way they’d clung to each other, as though breath alone could hold the world together. And now — here they were. Alive. Whole. A family once more.

By the end of each day, his hands ached from timber and toil, but the ache was a good one. Honest.

His house — their house — stood tall against the Highland sky, stones he’d laid himself, wood hewn with his Fergus’s help, laughter echoing through rooms where ghosts had no place.

Some nights, he watched them all sleeping — Ellie curled in a quilt, Lexie nestled against Claire’s side, Brian flat on his back like a lad dreaming of glory. And he’d whisper a prayer, not to be spared pain, but to never again take for granted the sweetness of peace. And though the past still cast its shadow, in this quiet moment with spring creeping into the earth and the laughter of his children ringing in his ears — he knew what it meant to be truly home.

Chapter Text

The sunlight peeked through the clouds for a moment and dappled through the green leaves of the rowan tree, casting shifting patterns on the grassy patch where Claire worked. A brisk wind whipped strands of auburn hair across her face as she pegged damp linen onto a makeshift line slung between two sturdy branches. Ellena, diligently sorted sprigs of thyme and rosemary into wicker baskets, the air fragrant with the scent of rain. Lexie, their chubby-cheeked toddler, gurgled happily, batting at dandelions that sprung up amidst the long grass, a picture of innocent contentment. The clatter of wood on wood and the sounds of childish grunts punctuated the peaceful scene.

Jamie and Brian were locked in a lively, if somewhat clumsy, sword fight. Jamie, his movements fluid and controlled, guided Brian’s smaller wooden sword, showing him stances and parries.

“Good lad! Keep ye’r guard up now, like this.” He demonstrated, his own sword flashing as he blocked an imaginary blow. “Aye, that’s it! See, ye dinna want to be open like that, or ye’r enemy will be takin’ advantage.”

Claire watched them, a fond smile playing on her lips, though tinged with a shadow of concern. She shook her head, calling out, “Jamie! What in heaven’s name are you teaching the boy?”

Jamie paused in their mock duel, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he turned towards her.

“Just a bit o’ fun Sassenach. And a useful skill, mind ye.” He winked at Brian, who puffed out his chest, brandishing his wooden sword with renewed vigour.

Claire folded a freshly washed shirt with a sigh. “Useful skill? Jamie, he’s eight years old! He should be learning how to read and write, not how to…how to…” She gestured vaguely with the shirt in her hands.

“How to defend himself?” Jamie finished for her, his playful tone fading slightly, replaced by a more serious note. He lowered his sword, resting it against his shoulder. “Dinna fash Sassenach, Ye’re always tellin’ me about what’s to come. Wars and such. Do ye think the lad will be spared from it all? Best he kens how to handle himself when the time comes, wouldn’t ye say?”

Claire straightened up, placing her hands on her hips, a familiar stubborn glint in her eye. “well maybe…but not… It’s…it’s too much like…” She trailed off, unable to articulate the visceral revulsion the sight of simulated violence stirred within her, memories of battlefields flashing unbidden in her mind. “Can you not find something else for him to do? Something…useful?”

Jamie raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement returning to his face. “Useful, ye say? And what’s more useful than learnin’ to protect ye’r family, Sassenach?”

“Oh, Jamie, you know what I mean,” she said, softer now, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Something…peaceful. Ellena’s been helping me with the herbs, why don't you take Brian down to the stream and see if you can catch us a nice fish for supper? That’s useful.”

Jamie considered this for a moment, glancing from Claire to Brian, who was now looking hopefully between them. He was going to say something but their years together taught him not to argue too vehemently when Claire wore that particular expression.

“Alright then,” he conceded, a reluctant sigh escaping him. “Peaceful it is. Though a bit o’ swordplay never hurt anyone.” He tousled Brian’s hair. “Come on, wee warrior, let’s leave the swords be for now. We’ll see if we can tempt some fish from the burn. How does that sound?”

Brian’s face lit up. “Aye! Can we, Da? Can we take our fishing rods?” He dropped his wooden sword to the ground, the notion of fishing far more appealing than pretend fighting now.

Jamie grinned. “Aye, lad, we’ll take the rods. And maybe I'll also teach ye a thing or two about the highlander way of catchin’ ye’r supper, wi' ye'r bare hands and a tickle. Less dangerous than sword fights, eh, Sassenach?” He gave her a teasing wink.

Claire managed a small smile, though the knot of unease in her stomach didn't entirely dissipate.

“Well, you do have the talent of turning even the most mundane tasks into dangerous ones, Jamie. But yes, Thank you.” Claire kissed him gently on the lips before turning back to her washing, a silent prayer that the peace she so desperately craved for her family would last, even as the distant rumble of future conflict echoed in the hidden corners of her mind.

As Jamie and Brian headed down towards the burn, their laughter echoing through the glen, Ellena looked up from her herbs.

“Ma, are these herbs ready to be dried?” Claire gently stroked Ellena’s hair, her heart softening at the sight of her daughter’s innocent face.

“Yes sweetheart, let’s get these hung up in the rafters.”

The scent of wood garlic and thyme filled the air as they worked together, a small bubble of domestic tranquility in the wild, unpredictable highlands.

*********************

The crisp Highland winter air nipped at Brian’s cheeks, making them as rosy as the wild berries Jamie sometimes brought home. The River gurgled and chuckled beside them, a constant, cheerful companion.

Jamie knelt down, his hand resting on Brian’s small shoulder, pointing at the water.

“Right then, leannan. A grand day for fishin’, wouldn’t ye say?” Brian, bundled in a small wool coat that was a hand-me-down from his older cousin, nodded eagerly.

“Aye, Da! Will we use the lines today?” Jamie chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest.

“Later, wee man. Right now we’re going to do it the Highlander way. The way your granda taught me.”

Brian’s eyes widened. “Granda? He… he tickled fish?”

Jamie winked.

“The best tickler in all of the highlands, he was. And now, it’s your turn to learn.” He crouched low, gesturing for Brian to do the same. “Quiet as a mouse now. Trout are shy creatures, but they love a wee tickle under the belly.”

He showed Brian how to ease his hand slowly into the cool, rushing water, fingers spread wide.

“Feel the coolness, Brian? That’s good. Now, slip ye’r fingers gently under yon rock there. Where the shadows are.” Brian, mimicking his father, carefully dipped his hand in. He gasped as the icy water hit him.

“So cold! ”

Jamie smiled, patiently. “Aye, it takes ye’r breath away at first. But ye’ll get used to it. Now, move ye’r fingers gently, like ye’re… well, like ye’re ticklin’ wee Lexie.”

Brian giggled, the sound echoing across the water. He moved his fingers hesitantly under the rock, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Hush. Dinna scare the fish."

"Do I… do I tickle hard?” he whispered.

“No, no, gentle as a feather. They like it just so. When ye feel a wee slither, like a wet stone movin’, that’s your fish. Then, quick as ye can, scoop ‘im up!”

They stayed like that for a while, Jamie providing quiet encouragement, Brian’s little hand trembling slightly in the cold current.

Suddenly, Brian yelped, pulling his hand back empty. “He's gone! He was there! I felt him!” he squealed with delight.

Jamie clapped him on the back. “That’s it, lad! Ye felt him! That’s the first step. They’re quick, mind ye. Let’s try another spot.”

They moved further along the bank, trying different rocks and shadowed pools. Brian felt several more “slithers”, each time pulling back his hand too quickly, or too slowly, always just missing the slippery fish. He was starting to get frustrated, his bottom lip sticking out.

“I’m no good at ticklin’ fish, Da.” He said glumly.

Jamie sat beside him on a mossy rock, pulling Brian close.

“Och, dinna be daft, a bahlich. You’re doin’ grand. Takes practice is all. More practice than throwin’ a pebble to skip, eh?” Jamie winked again, remembering their earlier, less successful attempt at skimming stones.

Jamie had tried to teach Brian how to skim pebbles. He’d shown him the flat, slate-grey stones, how to hold them, the flick of the wrist, the low throw. Brian had tried, his small arm swinging enthusiastically, but each pebble landed with a disappointing ‘sploosh’, sinking straight to the bottom.

“Like this, see?” Jamie had demonstrated again, sending a flat stone skipping across the surface, leaving a trail of widening ripples. “Now you try.”

Brian tried again, with the same ‘sploosh’ result. He’d thrown another, and another, each attempt ending the same way. He’d eventually thrown his arms down in frustration.

“It won’t work for me, Da! It just sinks!”

Jamie had ruffled his hair. “Dinna worry yer head about it, lad. It takes practice. Everything worth doin’ does. Even ticklin’ fish. And we’ve got plenty of time to practice both.”

Now, sitting by the river again, Brian looked up at his father, his eyes still a little downcast.

“But I want to catch one, Da. Just one.”

Jamie smiled warmly. “And ye will, Brian. I promise ye. We’ll keep at it. Now, look here.” He pointed to a shallow pool, clear as glass. “See that wee trout, just sittin’ there, lazy as ye like?”

Brian peered into the water, his eyes widening again. “Aye! I see him!”

“Good, Now, this time, ye watch me.” Jamie very slowly and deliberately eased his hand into the water, mimicking his previous instructions to Brian. He moved his fingers with almost balletic grace under a submerged log. For a moment, nothing. Then, a flicker, a sudden movement. Jamie’s hand flashed forward, emerging from the water, a small, silver trout wriggling gently in his palm.

Brian gasped, eyes wide with amazement. “You caught him! You really caught him, Da!”

Jamie held the trout gently, letting Brian peer closer. “Aye, son. Patience and a gentle hand. That’s the secret.”

He held it for a moment longer, letting Brian admire the tiny, speckled scales. Then, with a gentle flick, he released it back into the pool.

“Why did ye let him go?” Brian asked, a touch of disappointment in his voice.

“He’s just a wee thing, Brian. Let him grow bigger, eh? We need a bigger fish to feed us all." He put his arm around Brian’s shoulders, pulling him close.

Brian leaned into his father’s side, a small smile blooming on his face. He might not have caught a fish himself, and his stones still stubbornly refused to skim, but he had spent the afternoon beside the river with his father, learning the Highlander way. And somehow, that felt like catching something very special indeed.

“Can we try the pebbles again, Da?” Brian asked, his voice now filled with a renewed enthusiasm.

Jamie laughed, ruffling Brian’s hair again. “Aye, lad. We can try anything you like. But first… we must catch our dinner, ye'r Ma will kill me if we come home empty handed.”

***************************

Jamie’s boots crunched softly on the half-frozen earth as he strode up the path, a long pole balanced across his shoulder, from which swung the gleaming body of a salmon nearly the length of his arm. Brian, his face flushed from the cold and excitement, half-ran to keep up, his small hands gripping the string of smaller trout they'd pulled from the loch.

“Da, will Ma think it’s big enough?” he asked, breath puffing visibly in the cool Highland air.

Jamie laughed, his voice rich and warm. “Big enough to feed us all and still have some left for the cat, if we had one.”

As they neared the stone cottage nestled between two birches, the door swung open. Claire stepped into the threshold, skirts swaying in the breeze, and lifted her eyes to the sight of her husband and son—and the catch dangling between them. Her brow rose.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, Jamie. That's not a fish It's a sea monster.” she exclaimed with a smile.

Jamie grinned as he lifted the salmon high. “He fought like one, I’ll give him that.”

She took the fish, her fingers brushing his for a brief moment of warmth, and turned it over appreciatively.

“We’ll eat well tonight. Brian, come and tell me how you caught him while I clean it.” Brian’s delighted laugh echoed as he followed her inside.

With the catch handed over, Jamie stepped across the threshold and into the warm hearth-glow of their home. The scent of peat smoke and drying herbs clung to the air. In the far corner, Ellena sat near the fire reading a book. She looked up as her father approached and smiled.

“Did you catch it with your bare hands again, Da?” she asked with a knowing smile. He chuckled, bending to kiss her brow.

“Nay. This time, I let your brother do the work.”

A squeal rose behind him, followed by the sound of small feet slapping against the wooden floor. Lexie barreled toward him, her curls bouncing, arms outstretched.

“Da! Up!” He swept her into his arms without hesitation, lifting her high above his head before settling her on his hip. She clung to him like a barnacle, nestling her head beneath his chin.

“You’ve grown heavier since breakfast,” he murmured.

“Da get big fish?” she asked, eyes round and serious.

“Aye. The biggest one in the loch. Nearly pulled Brian in wi’ it.” Lexie giggled, and Jamie carried her to the hearth, where Ellena moved over to make space.

The three of them sat close, Lexie tucked against him, Ellena leaning against his shoulder. The fire crackled.

Outside, the rain started up again with the wind rustling the trees with the last sigh of winter. From the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of a knife on a cutting board mixed with Claire’s quiet humming. In that moment—surrounded by the scent of hearth and home, by children safe and smiling—Jamie felt the still, powerful peace of a man who had everything he needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night settled gently over the Highlands, the wind outside whispering low against the stone walls as if reluctant to disturb the hush that had fallen over the house. The scent of roasted fish lingered in the warm air, mingled with the faint perfume of rosewater from the linens Claire had set to dry earlier. The fire in the hearth had burned low to glowing embers when Jamie rose from his chair, Lexie drowsing in his lap, her breath warm against his chest.

He shifted her carefully, one arm under her legs, the other cradling her back, and she stirred only enough to mumble a half-formed protest.

“Shh, wee lassie, Time for sleep,” he murmured, his voice a velvet hush. Up the stairs he went, taking care not to creak the boards beneath his boots.

In the nursery, the moonlight spilled silver across the floorboards, catching the worn edges of a wooden chair and a small rag doll left on the quilt.

Jamie eased Lexie into her cot, smoothing the blanket up over her chest. Her tiny hand found his thumb and held it for a moment, her lashes fluttering. He waited until her grip loosened, then brushed a kiss to her forehead and lingered just a moment longer to watch her breathe.

Down the hall, Ellena sat cross-legged in her bed, still wrapped in her shawl, nose buried in a book. Jamie rapped softly on the doorframe.

“Ye’ll go blind reading in the dark,” he said gently.

She looked up, eyes bright even in the dimness. “Just one more chapter.” she pleaded.

He came to sit beside her, the bed creaking beneath his weight. “Ye said that two chapters ago.” Ellena smiled, a secret kind of smile, and closed the book with a soft thump.

“Will you braid my hair?” He nodded, and she turned on the bed, presenting her back to him. He took up the brush from her table, slowly working it through the soft, ginger strands. It reminded him of his mother.

“Ye’re growin’ up so fast,” he said, almost to himself.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

He finished the braid and tied it off with a blue ribbon she’d chosen earlier. As she slipped beneath the quilt, he tucked it around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“Good night, mo ghraidh. Dream of peaceful things.”

“You too, Da.”

At last, Jamie stepped into the smallest room, where Brian lay already half-asleep, but with his eyes cracked open just enough to watch his father approach. Jamie sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the boy’s tousled hair off his forehead gently.

“Did you tell ye'r Ma how you pulled that fish in almost all by yourself?” Brian grinned sleepily.

“Aye. She said I was brave.”

“You were. Brave, and strong.”

There was a long pause, the kind Jamie knew meant a question was coming. Brian squirmed a little beneath the blanket.

“Do you think I’ll be as strong as you, one day?” he asked sleepily.

Jamie leaned down, his voice low.

“Stronger. Smarter too, if your mother has anything to say about it.”

Brian chuckled quietly, his eyes already drifting shut.

Jamie sat with him until his breathing deepened, steady and slow. Then he rose, heart full, and stepped quietly back toward the stairs.

The house was silent now, wrapped in the thick comfort of sleep and fire-warmed stone. At the bottom, Claire waited, a cup of tea in her hand and a knowing look in her eyes.

“All tucked in?” she asked followed by a big yawn.

Jamie crossed the room and took her hand, pressing it to his lips.

“Aye,” he said, voice hushed and content. “all but one.”

He offered his other hand and she took it.

The door to their chamber clicked softly closed behind them, shutting out the world and sealing in the hush of the Highland night. A single candle flickered on the bedside table, casting a gentle amber glow that danced across the old stone walls and warmed the curve of Claire’s cheek as she turned to him. Jamie stepped forward, hands finding her waist, pulling her gently into the circle of his arms. For a moment they simply stood there, breathing in the scent of one another—her skin touched with rosemary and lye soap, his still tinged faintly with water weeds and fish. Her hands came up to rest against his chest, over the slow, steady beat of his heart.

"You were good with them tonight,” she whispered, voice hushed and soft. “You always are.”

“They make it easy,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. “Though our lass Ellena has your stubbornness.”

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze in the low candlelight, eyes searching his. There was no need for words. The weight of the day—of simple joy, of laughter, of their children—sat between them like a blessing. He kissed her, gently at first, a slow press of lips meant to savor. Her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging it loose as his fingers found the laces at the front of her dress. The passion deepened around them as garments slipped to the floor, forgotten in soft rustles. The fire’s glow warmed the chill from the stones, and their bodies met beneath the linen, seeking comfort, closeness, and the quiet certainty of one another.

It was not hurried or frantic. There was no rush, only the deep, familiar rhythm of two souls who had weathered storms and found calm at last. Every kiss was a promise renewed; every sigh a memory shared. His hands mapped the lines of her body as though rediscovering her for the first time, and hers held him with the same fierce tenderness she had always carried. When they moved together, it was with reverence—like a prayer, like music only the two of them could hear. And when it ended, they stayed close, limbs tangled beneath the quilts, breath shared in the hush of the night.

Outside, the wind whispered through the heather. Inside, all was still. And wrapped in the warmth of love and home, they drifted into sleep, hearts full and bodies at peace.

*********************

The stone cottage stood proudly at the edge of the woods, its newly built walls still smelling faintly of lime and pine. Smoke curled from the chimney in the grey morning air, a signal of life and warmth amidst the rugged Highland landscape. Inside, the new Fraser home was grand and full of heart. The hearth crackled steadily, its fire hard-won after a long, bitter winter. Colorful rugs lay scattered on the wooden floors, a patchwork of brightness and comfort. A handsome handmade book shelve held books, herbs, and a nice collection of dishes.

Claire moved between the hearth and the table, ladling out thin porridge into wooden bowls.

Ellena, nearly twelve and tall for her age, was braiding her hair while trying to keep Alexandra, almost three years old and full of energy, from dipping her fingers into the pot.

"Ellena, could ye maybe get ye'r sister to sit down for once?" Jamie said as he came in from outside, shaking the light dusting of snow from his shoulders.

"Aye, Da," she sighed, guiding Alexandra to the bench. "Come on, ye wee scunner." Alexandra giggled but complied, hugging her wooden doll tight to her chest.

Brian, eight curious and bold, was already sitting quietly at the table with a book in his lap, flipping through pages though he didn’t yet read very fast. Claire smiled as she handed him a bowl.

Jamie leaned down to kiss Claire’s cheek, his skin still cold from the morning air.

“The mash is ready. Fergus and I will take the casks into Edinburgh next week—God willing, we’ll come back wi’ a few coins in our pockets.”

Claire gave a tight smile.

“We need them. We’ve stretched everything to its limit.” wiping her hands against the apron tied at her waist.

Jamie pulled her gently into his arms. “It’ll be enough. Somehow, it always is.”

***********************

The morning mist clung low to the fields, wrapping the homestead in a soft veil of grey-blue light. Dew beaded on the tall grass, and the air held that clean, damp scent of early spring. The wagon stood in the yard, loaded with two fresh casks of whisky lashed tight, along with sacks of oats, dried goods, and a bundled tarp in case of rain.

Jamie gave one last tug at the straps, testing their hold, while Fergus moved to hitch the second horse, his movements brisk and practiced.

“Make sure the tack’s tight,” Jamie said, eyeing the harness. “The road past the bridge'll be muddy from the rain we had.”

“You’ve told me that twice already,” Fergus replied with a small smile. “But I’ll check it again. For the third time.”

Jamie gave a quiet grunt of approval, stepping back as Fergus circled the horse. The door creaked open behind them, and Claire emerged from the house with Alexandra on her hip. Ellena and Brian trailed after her, still rubbing sleep from their eyes, their hair tousled from their pillows. Marsali followed close behind, carrying a satchel, Joany clinging to her skirts. Claire came to his side, eyes scanning his face, noting every line, every unspoken worry.

“You’ll be careful?” she asked softly. He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

“Always, Sassenach. It’ll no take more than a week or two. Just long enough to get a good price for the casks.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, but instead rose up slightly and pressed a kiss to his mouth, long and lingering.

“Don’t let Fergus talk you into anything foolish.”

“I’ll keep him on the straight and narrow,” Jamie said, with a glance at his companion. “Even if I’ve to drag him.”

Fergus placed a hand over his heart and dipped his head. “I’m a respectable married man now, Maman.”

Marsali gave a short laugh as she joined Claire, passing her the satchel. “I’ll mind the bairns with Mrs Fraser. We’ll keep the house standing for ya.”

Fergus gave her a kiss and a hug before climbing onto the bench of the wagon.

Joany tugged on Jamie’s coat as he crouched down to her level. “Will ye bring back sweeties?” she whispered.

He tapped her nose with one calloused finger. “If we pass through Leith, I’ll see what I can do.”

Alexandra wriggled in Claire’s arms, reaching toward her father, and he lifted her without hesitation. She nestled into his shoulder, thumb in her mouth, her tiny fingers curling into his shirt. Jamie closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the soft, sweet scent of her.

“Can I come wi’ ya?” Brian suddenly piped up. Jamie turned to his son.

“I need ye here lad, to look after your Ma, aye? Help with the chores, and no fightin’.”

Brian looked disappointed. “Aye…” he said looking down at his feet.

“Good lad. You too Ellena, I'm relyin’' on ye both.” Jamie kissed them both followed by a kiss on Alexandra’s temple, then passed her gently back to her mother, giving her another long deep kiss on her lips.

He glanced one last time at each of their faces, memorizing them—the red waves of Ellena’s hair, the quiet strength in Claire’s eyes, the way Brian’s chest puffed out with pride.

“God keep ye safe,” he said in Gaelic. “I’ll be back before you’ve time to miss me.”

He climbed up onto the wagon bench beside Fergus, who clicked his tongue and snapped the reins. The horses started forward with a jolt, the wagon creaking into motion. They all stood watching as it rolled down the path, disappearing into the low mist, the echo of iron wheels fading into the hush of the waking land.

The house felt quieter after the wagon disappeared into the mist, though the children's voices soon filled the silence with their usual clatter. Ellena helped Claire clear the breakfast dishes while Brian chased Joany around the yard with his wooden sword. Alexandra, blissfully unaware of any such adventures, napped in her cot with her hand nestled against her cheek. At the table, Marsali sat nursing a mug of tea, her gaze distant. Claire noticed how her fingers, normally sure and steady with a needle or a broom, now fidgeted restlessly against the cup.

“You all right?” Claire asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

Marsali looked up sharply, as though caught out in a thought.

“Aye,” she said. Then, after a beat, she added, “Just… thinking.”

Claire gave her a look that invited more, but didn’t press. She dried a bowl, set it aside, then turned back as Marsali drew a breath.

“I’ve been waitin’ for a quiet moment,” she said, voice low. “To tell ye something.”

Claire pulled out the chair beside her and sat down, softening her expression. Marsali’s fingers moved instinctively to her stomach, and though there was no real change in her figure yet, her touch was instinctively protective. She gave a small, shy smile.

“I’m wi’ child.” Claire’s face lit at once, all warmth and certainty.

She reached out, taking Marsali’s hands in hers. “Oh, Marsali. That’s wonderful. I did suspect.”

Marsali’s smile faltered for a moment, and she dropped her eyes.

“It is wonderful,” she said. “I’m glad… truly. Fergus’ll be thrilled.”

Claire squeezed her hand, noticing the catch in her voice. “But?”

Marsali sat quiet for a moment, the ticking of the clock and the distant shriek of Brian echoing from outside the only sounds.

“I just… I wish my Mam could have known,” she said softly. “Wish she could have seen this part of my life.”

Claire’s heart ached for her. She nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch.

“I ken She was no saint, but… she was my mother. And the way she went—alone in that prison—” Her voice caught, and she blinked hard. “There was no mercy in it.”

Claire reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“No,” she said. “There wasn’t. But she gave you more strength than she maybe ever meant to. And I see her in you—her boldness, her fighting spirit.”

Marsali looked at her then, Her eyes were glassy but steady.

“I dinna have a Ma now,” she said. “But… I’ve got Fergus and you. And that’s more comfort than I can say.”

Claire’s throat tightened. She wrapped her arms around the young woman, holding her close, and Marsali leaned into the embrace as if it had been needed for a long time.

“You’ll always have me, I'll always be here for you, no matter what.” Claire whispered.

Later, as the sun broke through the clouds and spilled golden light across the hills, Claire took her basket to gather herbs in the garden. Marsali sat by the doorstep, one hand on her belly, the other darning a pair of socks, her face still thoughtful, but more at peace. The house buzzed with life—Ellena singing to a sleepy Alexandra, Joany attempting to braid Brian’s hair while he squirmed in protest. Claire knelt among the rows of lavender and yarrow, the scent rising like a balm. Her thoughts drifted to Broch Murdah. She hadn’t been in over a week. She’d go again soon—walking, if need be. There might be coughs to tend, wounds to clean, or simply someone who needed listening to. This home, full of noise and children and new life, was her anchor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks had passed since Jamie and Fergus had set off for Edinburgh.

They should have been home days ago.

The late spring sun was sinking behind the trees when the distant sound of hooves stirred Claire from her anxious vigil at the window.

Her breath caught, and she stepped onto the porch, shielding her eyes against the light. But only one rider emerged from the trail.

It was Fergus.

Her heart dropped before she even saw his face—drawn, weary, dust-streaked.

He dismounted stiffly, barely managing to loop the reins around the post before she met him halfway down the yard.

“Where is he?” she asked, voice tight. “Where's Jamie?”

Fergus swallowed. “Milday…”

Chapter Text

“Where is he?” she repeated, already knowing the answer.

Fergus bowed his head. “He’s been arrested. In Edinburgh.”

Claire stared at him for a moment, the words hollowing her from the inside out.

“Arrested for what?” as if she didn't already know.

"Smuggling,” he said grimly. “And evading taxes. They seized the casks, the coin, everything. There was a scuffle in the yard near the port—someone tipped off the excisemen.”

Claire turned away, hands on her hips, staring off toward the distant trees as if Jamie might still come walking out of them.

“That stubborn, impossible Scot,” she hissed. “He promised me—he swore he wouldn't do it.” Claire paced a few steps, chest heaving. Her voice sharpened. “I should let him rot in that cell. Maybe then he’d finally learn his lesson.”

Fergus said nothing at first. He simply stood there, head bowed, until her fury cooled into something else, Something raw.

“I have to go to him,” she said abruptly. “If they’re holding him in the city—”

“You can’t,” Fergus cut in gently. “Not now. Not with the bairns. He asked me to come and tell you so you won't worry for him.” Fergus stepped closer. “I’ll think of something,” he said. “I promise you. I’ll go back, find someone who can help—bribe the right guard, speak to the right man. But you must stay.”

Claire nodded stiffly, though her jaw was tight with frustration.

“Just… tell me he’s alive. That he wasn’t hurt.”

“He’s alive. Bruised, maybe. But he was still trying to barter with the jailor when I left.”

She gave a breathless, bitter laugh, blinking hard. “Of course he was.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cell stank of damp stone, old straw, and the iron tang of sweat.

Jamie sat hunched on the wooden bench, his back aching from the cold and the blows he’d taken during the scuffle. A single shaft of light slanted down from a narrow window high above, doing little to cut the gloom. He had been in prison for almost a month now. The guard stood outside the bars, gnawing at a crust of bread with yellowed teeth, watching Jamie as one might a chained dog.

“I ask ye again,” Jamie said, struggling to keep the growl from his voice. “Send word to my wife. She’s no’ far—just north, in the hills. You’ve only to tell her I’m alive. I dinna want her to worry.”

The guard snorted, wiping crumbs off his tunic with a meaty hand. “Of course, and I’ll send a love note too, shall I? Think I’ve not seen your kind before? Highlander smugglers, always thinking you’re owed something.”

Jamie stepped toward the bars, gripping them tightly. “She’s a wise woman, a white lady. If anything happens to me, you’ll have cursed yourself tenfold.”

The guard only laughed. “Oh really? She’ll hex me, will she?”

Jamie’s temper flared and he slammed a fist against the bars.

“Ye ignorant wee toad—I’ll curse ye myself if I have to. Just send the bloody message!”

“Enough.”

The voice came from the shadows at the far end of the corridor, calm but cutting.

The guard straightened at once, stuffing the rest of the crust into his mouth.

Boots echoed on the stone floor as a figure approached, pale light catching the gleam of his silver buttons and the smooth line of his uniform.

Jamie blinked—then stared in stunned recognition.

“John?”

Lord John Grey came to a halt outside the cell, his expression unreadable.

“Fraser.”

The two men stood in silence for a long moment, the heavy air between them thick with unspoken things—friendship, duty, and something more elusive.

John turned to the guard with a curt gesture.

“Leave us.” The man scurried off, muttering to himself.

Jamie stepped back, wary now. “If ye’ve come to gloat—”

“I haven’t,” John cut in sharply. “I’ve come to offer you a way out.”

Jamie’s brows lowered. “I dinna want another pardon that comes with shackles.”

“It’s not a pardon,” John said. “It’s a trade. Your freedom—for a price.”

Jamie’s jaw tightened. “What might that be?”

“You’ll be released,” John said, evenly. “But the distillery must be destroyed. Permanently. No more smuggling, no more dodging taxes. It ends.”

Jamie’s fists clenched. “That distillery feeds my family. It’s our livelihood.”

“that's the way it has to be.” John replied. “You gambled and lost. But there’s something else.” He stepped closer, voice lowering. “There’s talk of war again. The Crown needs men. If you accept release, you’ll serve.”

Jamie stilled. “You mean as a soldier.”

John nodded. “Yes. And you’ll be under direct command of the crown. There’s no room for negotiation.”

Jamie looked away, heart pounding. Claire’s voice echoed in his head—the way she’d spoken of the coming war, recruiting highlanders. There’ll be blood again. Redcoats, muskets. Scotsman taken from farms and fields and sent to die for a country they’ve never seen.

He turned back to John, expression hard.

“And if I refuse this offer?”

“You’ll remain here,” John said quietly. “And eventually they’ll send you south to England to await trial. You know what happens to smugglers and tax evaders now, Jamie. You won’t walk away from this.”

Jamie was silent for a long moment. His hand gripped against the cold iron bars that separated them, breathing slow and deep.

John softened, just slightly. “Times are hard, Jamie. You’re scratching a living from this land. Imagine… a King’s wage. Regular coin in your pocket. Enough to provide for your family, and more.”

“Aye…Coin paid by the verra hand that crushed us at Culloden? The hand that stole our lands and outlawed our very way of life?” Jamie said in anger.

“Those days are done, Jamie! Listen to me. For Highlanders who enlist, for the new regiments… they can wear the plaid again. The bonnet. Carry your broadswords. Your muskets. You’d be fighting amongst your own kind, under your own colours, in a way. Think of it! The fighting spirit of the Gael, unleashed against the French and their savage Indian allies!”

Jamie scoffed, a harsh Scottish sound.

“Fight alongside the British? Wear their red coat? After what they did…ye ken what I carry on my back, their marks, John. Your King’s marks upon me. And you expect me to don his colours and fight for him?”

“I expect you to be pragmatic, Fraser! To see the opportunity in this. You’re a soldier at heart, Jamie. I’ve seen it myself. Army life… it suits you. Discipline, purpose, camaraderie. And think of Claire and the children. Security. Jamie! Think of their future. You know these lands, you know how perilous life is here. This is a way out. A good way out.”

“A way to betray everything I believe in! To spit on the graves of those lost at Culloden? To become one of them? Never!” Jamie spat through clenched teeth.

“It’s not betrayal! It’s survival! It’s… adapting to the times. The world has changed, Jamie. You can’t cling to the past forever. Think of the money, man! Think of the chance to wear your kilt again with pride, not as an outlaw, but as a soldier of the Crown! Think of the adventure! A new continent! Glory, Jamie!”

Jamie turned away, pacing the small cabin like a caged wolf.

“Glory bought with my soul, John? I want no part of it. Leave me be.”

“Don’t be a fool, Jamie. Think about it. Really think about it. The offer stands. For you… and for others like you. It’s a generous one. Don’t throw it away out of… pride and stubbornness. I’ll give you until morning to think it over.”

Jamie’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “will ye no’ let me see Claire?”

“I'm sorry,” John said, not unkindly. “I can't do that.”

He turned on his heel, leaving Jamie alone once more with the echo of retreating steps, the cold of the stone, and the weight of the choice ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind had turned cruel overnight. It howled through the glen like a warning, and Claire had felt it in her bones before the knock even came. A sharp, impatient pounding against the front door shattered the fragile peace of the morning.

Fergus was already moving before she could reach for the door.

“Stay back,” he murmured to her, voice low but firm. He grabbed the pistol from behind the hearth, eyes flicking toward the children—Ellena was sitting at the table with her slate, Brian near the fire with Lexie in his lap, all three of them startled into stillness.

The second knock was louder. Less a request and more a declaration.

Claire’s heart thudded.

Fergus opened the door a crack. Three red-coated men stood outside, not soldiers but excisemen. The type with no conscience and a license to destroy. One of them stepped forward, tall and broad, with a ledger in his gloved hands and a sneer on his face.

“We’re here under order of the Crown,” he said. “There’s been word of an illegal distillery on these lands. We’ll have it now.”

“There’s no distillery here,” Fergus lied smoothly, stepping further into the doorway.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Without warning, the second man shoved forward, pushing Fergus back.

Chaos erupted.

One of the men lunged toward the back door. Fergus tried to block him—his blade flashing. A scuffle, shouts. Brian, in a moment of panic, ran toward the fight.

“Brian! No!” Claire screamed. But it was too late. One of the taxmen struck out blindly, and Brian crumpled like a rag doll, hitting the edge of the table as he fell.

Ellena shrieked as Claire rushed to him, barely catching his head before it hit the floor. He was conscious, but blood poured from a gash above his eye.

“Brian… sweetheart…” Claire pressed her apron to the wound, her hands steady despite the roar in her ears. “It’s alright. I’m here.

“Where’s the still?” the leader growled, standing over her. “Tell us now, or the boy’s the first to go.”

“You bastard,” Claire spat, lifting her head. “He’s a child!”

“And you’re a liar,” he snapped. “We’ll have it one way or another.”

Fergus, chest heaving, dropped his weapon as another exciseman aimed his musket at Claire’s head.

“Enough!” he shouted. “I’ll take you to it. Just leave them alone.”

The leader narrowed his eyes. “You’ll lead us. And she’s coming too.”

“No,” Claire said sharply. “My son is hurt. I need to stop the bleeding—he could have a concussion.”

“Then we best be quick about it.” the man said, grabbing her arm and hauling her upright. “You’ll have time to play doctor after we get what we came for.”

Claire fought him, tried to pull back. “You can’t take me—”

“Either you come, or we shoot the lad. Your choice, mistress.”

Marsali sobbed. Fergus looked like he might explode with rage, but Claire could see it in his eyes—he was helpless. Her heart broke in her chest as she knelt beside Brian, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple.

“Ellena, help Marsali. Keep the cloth pressed to his head and keep him awake until I return, you understand?”

Ellena nodded, tears welling but not falling. And then Claire rose, chin high, fury in her blood, and followed the men into the cold.

They rode through the trees in tense silence, the path winding deep into the hills behind Lallybroch. The still-hidden distillery sat nestled beneath a mossy overhang, cleverly disguised.

The lead taxman surveyed it with smug satisfaction. “Found it.” Without hesitation, they began dragging the barrels into the open, smashing casks against stones, the amber liquid soaking the earth like spilled gold. Then came the torches—Fergus shouted, lunging, but was pulled back by two men. Claire stood frozen as the fire caught. She could smell it—the burning wood, the sweet sting of spirits igniting, the end of everything Jamie had built in secret.

The distillery went up in a roar of flame, smoke billowing into the sky like a funeral pyre.

“You’ll tell Fraser this is what happens when you cross the Crown,” the leader said, eyes glittering. “Next time, it’ll be your house.” And then they left. Just like that.

Claire dropped to her knees beside Fergus, who had fallen into the grass.

“They destroyed it,” he murmured, eyes on the flames. She nodded, unable to speak. Her hand trembled as she reached for his.

*************************

The sound of hooves came just past dawn the next day, crunching hard-packed mud outside the cottage. Claire was in the front room, bent over Brian, who lay tucked in blankets on the couch. His fever had broken in the night, but the deep bruise on his cheekbone and the dark red gash along his brow still made her stomach twist every time she looked at him. She stood quickly, heart racing.

The door creaked open, and Jamie ducked inside. He looked exhausted, thinner than she remembered, eyes rimmed in red—but alive. Whole.

“Sassenach,” he breathed, like a prayer. “Claire.”

She froze, somewhere between relief and rage. He crossed the room to her, pulled her into his arms—but she didn’t melt into him. Not right away. Instead, she pressed her palms against his chest, keeping him at arm’s length.

“Where the hell have you been?” she whispered, voice shaking. She knew the answer of course but her anger took over her rational mind for a moment.

His brow furrowed. “In prison. They only released me yesterday. I rode through the night—”

“They came,” she said, voice rising. “Taxmen. Six of them. Armed. Looking for your bloody distillery.”

Jamie’s face paled.

“Jesus God.”

“They nearly killed our son, Jamie.” Her voice cracked, and she pointed to Brian, who stirred in his sleep. “He was trying to help Fergus—he was caught in the middle of it all. And when I tried to treat him, they took me too. Held a musket to my back and dragged me across half the bloody Highlands while our children were screaming in this house.”

Jamie staggered back a step, as though struck by an arrow.

“Claire—Christ, I—”

“They blew it up,” she continued. “Everything. All of it - gone. They left us with nothing but ashes and an unconscious eight-year-old with a concussion.” Tears were running down her cheeks now, but she didn’t brush them away.

Jamie’s voice was thick. “I never meant for any harm to come to ye… or the bairns. I thought—”

“What?” she snapped. “That you could run an illegal whiskey business and no one would come looking for it? That we’d be safe while you sat in a cell?”

He ran a hand through his hair, sinking to sit on the edge of the couch near Brian. He looked at his son, at the bruises and the stitching, and his whole body sagged.

“I failed ye,” he said hoarsely. “All of ye.”

Claire didn’t respond immediately. Her chest was tight, like her lungs couldn’t stretch far enough. She leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, trying to keep the fury from boiling over again.

“I understand why you did it,” she said finally. “We needed the money. You felt responsible. But Jamie—” her voice broke again. “You didn’t tell me. You left me to face the consequences alone. And if anything had happened to Brian, I don’t know if I would have been able to—”

“I know,” Jamie said, standing again. His eyes were wet. “If I could go back and change it, I would. God help me, Claire, I would. But I’m here now.”

They stood there, just breathing for a moment. Claire stepped forward. Slowly. Pressed her hand to his cheek.

“Don’t make me raise our children without you,” she whispered. “Don’t give me reason to hate you.”

Jamie caught her hand, pressed it to his lips. “I'm sorry Claire, truly.”

She nodded, once. “Good.”

Just then Brian stirred.

“Da?” He whispered hoarsely.

Jamie lowered himself beside Brian, brushing a hand over the boy’s damp hair. Brian blinked up sleepily, eyes trying to focus on his father.

“Da.”

“Aye, lad. I’m home.”

Brian gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re in trouble.”

Jamie let out a strangled laugh. “Aye. That I am.”

Claire watched them, the ache in her chest still present—but softened. The man she loved had come home. The child she almost lost was safe. And for now, that was enough.

*************************

Jamie didn't have much of a choice, he accepted John's offer, and Claire and the children would be joining him on the voyage. He arranged with Lord John for a place for his wife and children to be safe away from the fighting, at least they would be on the same continent. He would be in charge of a highlander regiment. In charge of one hundred and fifty men, highlanders, some he knew from ardsmuir, some were distant relatives and some complete strangers. He was to become their leader in battle, a battle none of them wanted to fight.

A week had passed since his return from prison. Jamie was in his room, they were all packed and ready to leave on the next ship. He stood before the mirror, shoulders squared, hands moving with quiet precision as he fastened the final fold of the great kilt around his waist. The familiar weight of the tartan settled over him like the embrace of an old friend—or a ghost. It had been nearly a decade since he’d worn it. Nine years since Culloden, since the slaughter, since they’d stripped the soul from the Highlands and buried it beneath English law. And now, here he stood, draped once again in the cloth of his forefathers, the colors of Fraser blood and land. But this time, it was not worn in secret. Nor defiance, nor remembrance. This time, it had been given to him.

Granted.

Permitted.

A "reward," they called it.

A gesture of goodwill from the British officers he now served under—for swearing his loyalty, for agreeing to take up arms in their campaign against the French. The kilt, once outlawed, once punishable by imprisonment or death, now draped over him by permission.

He wasn’t sure if it made him want to laugh, or be sick.

A creak of the door broke the silence. “Da…?” He turned.

Brian stood at the threshold, barefoot, hair rumpled from sleep. His eyes fixed on the kilt—on his father—and didn’t move. “You’re… wearin’ your kilt.” 

"Aye.”

The boy stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, as if afraid that moving too fast would shatter the moment.

“I’ve never seen you wear it.”

“Ye wouldn’t have. Last I wore it, You weren’t yet born.”

“But it's forbidden,” Brian said, brow furrowed. “The tartan. You told me so.”

“I did. And it is.” He drew in a slow breath, looking down at the cloth. “But the British… they’ve changed the rules - for some of us. Let me wear it again. Said it was a mark of trust.” He gave a bitter half-smile. “Like a bone tossed to a dog.”

Brian looked confused. “So… they let you wear it because you joined them?”

“Aye.” He dropped to one knee, facing his son. “They’ll let me wear the kilt again. They’ll let me keep my name, my clan, my pride—so long as I put on their uniform and fight their war.”

The boy’s voice was small. “But you hate them.”

“No lad, I hate what they did to us. What they took. But I love you more. I love your mother. Your sisters. I’ll wear what they ask me to wear, fight who they ask me to fight… if it means keeping you clothed and fed.”

Brian stared at him, silent. “What does it feel like?” He asked with curiosity as his fingers reached out and touched the tartan at his father’s knees.

Jamie looked down at the boy’s hand, then back at his face.

“It feels like a memory. Like a part of myself I buried. It feels like my father’s voice. My brother’s laugh. Your name, spoken on the wind. It feels like home… even if it comes with a chain around my neck.” He gently took Brian’s hand and placed it over his chest.

“This cloth is more than wool. It’s our blood, our land, our sorrow and strength. And it should never have been taken from us. Now they give it back, as if it's a gift. But it’s not theirs to give.”

Brian’s voice trembled. “Will I ever wear one?”

“Aye. You will. And when you do, I want you to wear it not because someone gave you permission, but because it’s your right. Your birthright.” He held the boy’s gaze. “Ye must never forget what they did to us, Brian. Never forget how they tried to erase us. But dinna let it fill ye with hate. Let it make ye strong. Let it remind ya who ye are, no matter whose flag flies above ya.”

From the doorway, Claire watched in silence, Lexie nestled against her shoulder, Ellena standing beside her with wide, damp eyes.

Brian looked up at his father. “Are we really goin’? Wi’ the army?”

“Aye. We leave soon. All of us. I couldna leave ye behind.” he smiled weakly at Claire.

“Will we ever come back here?”

He hesitated. “I hope so.”

Brian leaned into him then, and Jamie wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him close, burying his face in his son’s hair.

Claire wiped her cheek. Behind her, Ellena took her hand. Jamie stood slowly, taking Brian’s hand in his own. The kilt fell around his legs like a curtain parting on a new act—one written not in pride or glory, but sacrifice. And still, he stood tall.

Because some battles were not fought for land or kings…

They were fought for family.

Chapter Text

The morning mist clung to the hills like a shawl, softening the edges of the Highland landscape as the sun slowly crept over the horizon. The small cottage Jamie and Claire had built with their own hands stood quiet in the pale dawn light, its windows catching the last flickers of warmth from the hearth inside.

Fergus stood near the door, his face grave as Jamie approached. The two men clasped forearms, a gesture that said more than words could manage. Years of loyalty, love, and brotherhood passed between them in silence.

"Take care of them," Jamie said at last, his voice gruff with emotion he wouldn’t name.

Fergus nodded, his dark eyes serious. "I’ll guard the house — and Marsali — with my life."

Inside, Marsali embraced Claire with the fierce grip of a daughter. "Ye come back in one piece, ye hear? Don’t be getting yourself killed patching up daft men in redcoats."

Claire gave a breath of laughter, though her throat tightened. "Only the ones who need saving."

Bags were packed, provisions loaded. Lexie clung to her favorite doll while Brian fussed about bringing a carved wooden horse, and Ellena tried her best to appear grown up though her eyes lingered on the only real home, besides Lallybroch, she’d ever known.

They rode out mid-morning, the path winding through the heather-strewn hills, the large tower of Broch Tuarach a familiar shape fading behind them. The journey toward the coast would take days, but for now they moved at a quiet pace, the kind born of heavy thoughts and too many unknowns.

Claire watched Jamie ahead of her, broad-shouldered and steady in the saddle. His hair had begun to silver at the temples, but he rode as strong as ever, the Highland warrior who had survived war, prison, and loss. She was with him still — they had carved a life from ruin — and yet now, here they were again, riding toward a future neither could predict.

As they crested a hill, the standing stones of Craigh na Dun came into view — gray sentinels stark against the brightening sky.

Claire felt her breath catch.

She hadn’t expected this. They’d taken the long route, avoiding villages, and she hadn’t realized this trail would lead them past the place where her life had first split in two.

Lexie, riding with her in the saddle, sat up straighter. "Mama… what’s that noise?"

Claire turned sharply. "What noise?"

"A buzzing," Brian said, tugging on his reins. His pony shifted uneasily beneath him. "Like… like bees."

Ellena was already staring at the stones, her eyes wide. "I hear it too. It’s not bees though. It’s coming from inside my head."

Jamie had stopped at the front of the line. He turned his horse and looked at Claire, his face pale.

Claire swallowed. Her heart thundered.

"You can hear that?" she asked quietly.

Ellena nodded. So did Brian. Lexie squirmed uncomfortably. "I don’t like it," she whispered. "It hurts my ears."

Claire dismounted, lifting Lexie down. She guided the children away from the path, steering them gently away from the circle.

They made camp that night in a small abandoned cabin near a burn, a good distance from the stones. The children were quiet, subdued in a way that unnerved Claire more than any tantrum ever had. They huddled close under their blankets, whispering to each other.

When the fire burned low and the forest pressed in with its night sounds, Claire sat beside Jamie, her knees drawn up beneath her shawl.

"It wasn’t just their imagination," she said, her voice barely above the crackle of flames.

"No," Jamie replied. He stared into the fire. "They’ve got the gift, or curse. Like you."

Claire nodded slowly. "I didn’t know if they would. I thought maybe it would skip them… or maybe just one. But all three?"

"Aye. It seems so."

She looked at him then, studying the curve of his jaw, the crease between his brows. He was thinking ahead, she could tell. Always planning. Always trying to keep them safe.

"What do we do with that?" she finally asked.

Jamie’s hand reached for hers, callused and warm. "We protect them. Teach them, and keep them away from this place…."

Claire’s throat tightened. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Do you ever think," she whispered, "that the stones called me back not just for you… but for them?"

Jamie kissed her hair. "I think ye were always meant to be here."

“What if one of them is meant to go…”

“No.” He stopped her mid sentence. “No, I'll no’ lose them.“ Jamie stated in determination.

Claire listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and tried not to let the fear take root. They were heading into the unknown once again. But at least they were doing it together.

And now, it seemed, their children might one day face even more impossible choices than they had.

But that was a worry for another day.

Right now they

have to worry about their future in the past.

***************************

The harbor stretched wide before them, the sea stained bronze and pewter under a thick morning sky. Masts rose like skeletal trees against the horizon, and the scent of salt and tar clung to the air. Claire held Lexie tightly in her arms, the little girl quiet for once, her mouth slightly open as her eyes took in the vastness of the scene.

Ellena clutched her father’s hand, her ten-year-old face caught between awe and uncertainty. “Is that our ship?” she asked, nodding toward the largest vessel in port — a towering Royal Navy frigate, its Union Jack snapping in the wind, rigging taut like webbing spun by giants.

“Aye,” Jamie murmured. “That’d be her.”

Brian, ever eager, took two bold steps forward, nearly tripping on the uneven cobbles. “She’s Giant! Do we get to sleep up there? On the top?”

Jamie gave a short laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If we’re lucky, lad. More like below decks, near the rats.”

“Really?” Brian's eyes grew even wider, clearly delighted by the idea.

Claire hid a smile, brushing her hand over Jamie’s arm. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw set — not from nerves about the sea, but something heavier. The ship was a symbol. A threshold. Once they boarded, there would be no turning back.

A young officer approached them at the dock’s edge, bearing a parcel wrapped in oilskin. Jamie took it without ceremony and unfolded it slowly, revealing the vivid scarlet of a British officer’s coat.

There was a long silence.

Even the children fell quiet.

Claire looked up at him, trying to read his expression. His mouth twitched, but not with amusement — with distaste. He stared at the garment as though it might burn his hands.

“I dinna ken if I’ll ever get used to it,” he muttered.

“You only need to bear it for a while.” Claire said softly. “Just survive.”

Jamie nodded once, then turned slightly away and pulled the coat on over his shirt. It fit too well. It hugged his broad frame, the brass buttons glinting like an affront against the backdrop of his past. Jamie clasped his plaid over his shoulder with his stag brooch.

Lexie, squirming now in Claire’s arms, reached out to pat the bright red sleeve. “You look funny, Da,” she said with a giggle. “Like a berry.”

“Berries are better than a lobster,” Jamie replied dryly. “Though I think I may feel like one once we’re on that ship.”

Just then, a voice rang out above the low murmur of the docks.

“Fraser!”

Jamie turned. Claire followed his gaze.

Lord John Grey strode toward them in a tailored coat of navy and silver, flanked by his wife, Isobel, and a tall, slender boy with bright auburn hair and strikingly familiar eyes.

“John,” Jamie said with cautious warmth. “Didna expect to see ye.”

“I made sure to get my assignment on the same voyage,” Lord John said easily. “Given the cause — and the company — it seemed… appropriate.”

His gaze flicked to the children, resting briefly on William. The boy offered a polite nod, eyes on the ship, face unreadable.

Jamie nodded back. “We’ll be neighbors then, on land and sea.”

Isobel gave Claire a warm smile. “We brought a few things for the children — books, and sewing material. For the voyage.”

Claire’s throat tightened. “That’s… very kind. Thank you.”

The formalities fell away soon after, as orders were shouted across the harbor and crewmen scurried like ants up the gangway. Luggage was loaded. The wind picked up, stirring skirts and lifting hair. The air tasted of change.

They boarded slowly, the children bouncing between curiosity and nervous energy. Jamie lingered near the rail, eyes scanning the water as if seeking reassurance in its rolling gray vastness.

Claire stepped beside him, sliding her fingers through his.

“You alright?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Ask me again once the ship starts moving.”

She smiled. “I'll make you some ginger tea, it'll help settle your stomach.”

“Oh, Aye,” he said with mock solemnity. 

He glanced down at the children—Ellena chatting with Isobel, Brian and William racing along the deck, and Lexie dancing between them—and sighed.

“Mark my words, Sassenach,” he said grimly. “I’ll face battle with sword in hand and fire in my veins. But this voyage will be the death of me.”

The sea did not wait for them to grow used to it.

By dusk, the ship had cut a jagged line through the firth and into deeper, darker waters. The horizon tilted endlessly, rocking with a ceaseless rhythm that unsettled even the sturdiest legs.

Claire had expected Brian to be the first casualty, with all his boundless energy — but it was Ellena who turned pale, then green, her small body folded over a bucket in the dim corner of their cramped cabin.

“I think I’m dying,” she groaned, forehead slick with sweat.

“You’re not dying, a leannan,” Jamie said gently, crouching beside her with a damp cloth. “Ye’ve just never made friends with the sea before.” his stomach in turn was beginning to stir as he swallowed to keep it in check.

Claire knelt too, brushing hair from her daughter’s temple and kissing her clammy skin. “It’ll pass. Keep sipping the tea. Small sips.”

Lexie had fallen asleep earlier in Claire’s arms, exhausted from the novelty and excitement, tucked now into a makeshift bed of folded blankets and coats. Brian, miraculously unaffected, was climbing the narrow ladder to the upper deck with a crewman he’d befriended, determined to “learn the ropes.” young William not far behind. Claire had only rolled her eyes when Jamie murmured he’ll be steering the ship by morning.

Once Ellena was settled and dozing at last, her tiny frame curled in toward the warmth of the blankets, Claire stood and stretched, her spine aching.

“I’m going to check on the other sailors,” she said softly. “I saw a few green faces earlier. No doubt the sea’s working its magic.”

Jamie nodded, sitting cross-legged near the children, arms braced on his knees. “I’ll stay.” his own face turning green at the thought.

She leaned down and touched her lips to his head, inhaling the familiar scent of him — salt now mixing with wool and the faintest trace of tobacco.

The corridor outside was dim, lanterns swinging on their hooks with every motion of the waves. Claire moved with practiced grace despite the listing ship, her feet remembering the feel of sway from her voyage through time.

Belowdecks, the small makeshift sick bay was already half full. A few soldiers, a merchant’s wife clutching her bonnet, and a crewman who had lost his supper three times over.

She worked for hours — checking pulses, mixing powdered ginger into water, murmuring calm in three languages. Her hands were steady, her voice low, every movement grounding her. 

By the time she returned above, night had fallen fully — the sea outside black as ink and just as cold.

Jamie was leaning against the rail, his plaid wrapped over his shoulders like a blanket.

“Children?” she asked.

“Asleep,” he said. “Brian fell into his bed face-first and didna move since.”

“Ellena?”

“Better. Still pale. But breathing fine.”

Claire exhaled and stepped beside him. The wind caught her hair, lifting strands around her face like silk threads.

For a long moment, they said nothing — just stared out into the nothingness, the silence broken only by the creek of timber and far-off gulls.

Then a familiar voice joined them.

“Fraser. Mrs Fraser…or is it Doctor Fraser?”

Lord John emerged from the shadows, his hands tucked neatly behind his back, posture impeccable despite the rocking deck.

Claire smiled. “Mrs Fraser is fine.”

Jamie straightened slightly, but didn’t release the rail. “Grey.”

Claire nodded. “How’s Isobel?”

“Sleeping. As is William. He’s fascinated with your eldest, by the way.”

“Ellena?” Claire asked, surprised.

“Sharp girl,” Grey said with a fond smile. “Asked William if he planned to inherit all of England, or just most of it.”

Jamie huffed a laugh through his nose, then groaned. “Dinna make me laugh. My stomach’s not yet decided whether to settle or revolt.”

Claire rubbed his back in slow circles.

Grey leaned beside them on the railing, his gaze fixed on the invisible dark horizon. “The voyage will be long. But not without moments of… revelation.”

Jamie raised a brow. “That a promise or a threat?”

“A promise,” Grey said quietly. “Of many things. Change being one of them.”

Jamie stared out at the sea, jaw working. “Aye. Everything’s changing, whether we like it or not.”

Claire watched him closely — the stiffness in his frame, the exhaustion behind his eyes. He’d borne so much already, and yet he stood here, enduring more, because he believed in survival.

Grey clapped Jamie gently on the shoulder, then offered Claire a polite nod. “I’ll leave you to the wind and stars. Goodnight.”

When he disappeared below, Jamie finally turned to her.

“I dinna ken what’s waiting for us in these colonies, Sassenach.”

“Whatever it is, we'll face it, together.” she said.

He nodded. Then grimaced, holding his stomach. “Though I’ll face it better once I’m off this damned ship.”

She laughed, low and warm. “We’ve only been sailing half a day.”

“Aye,” he said mournfully, “and I’ve already made my peace with God four times.”

She slid her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. His heart was steady beneath her ear, his warmth anchoring her in the dark.

Together, they stood at the edge of the world, bound by love, braced for war — and prayed the sea would spare them long enough to reach their destination.

Chapter Text

The harbor at Halifax was loud with gulls and thick with brine, a tangle of sails and shouting men, horses protesting their confinement below deck. It had taken over six weeks to cross the Atlantic, and still, the earth beneath Claire’s feet felt as though it pitched and rolled with the sea.

She kept a firm grip on Lexie’s hand, the little girl blinking up at the sky in awe, curls ruffled by a gust of wind. Ellena stood just behind her, protective as ever, one hand resting on Brian’s shoulder. The children were quiet, wide-eyed, watching the bustle of the strange new land as though it might vanish if they breathed too loudly.

It was colder than Claire expected. Sharper, somehow. The light was brighter too — clear and harsh, the kind that made every edge feel crisper. Perhaps it was just the shock of being still after so long at sea.

Jamie stood beside her, back straight and shoulders squared, his red coat drawing glances from both locals and passing soldiers alike. He hated the sight of it. Claire could feel it in the stiffness of his posture, the way his fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword. But he wore it anyway — for her. For the bairns. For Lallybroch, and for whatever hope still lingered across the ocean.

Lord John had arranged quarters for them just outside the town — a modest timber house with three rooms and a wide hearth. Claire had already begun setting up her medical kit, her fingers itching to work, to bring order to something. The local garrison had few supplies and fewer trained physicians. It wouldn’t be long before someone came knocking.

By late afternoon, the family had settled in as best they could. Claire unpacked what herbs had survived the voyage, reorganizing bandages and instruments with methodical hands. Jamie paced outside, watching the horizon like he was still waiting for a ship to come and carry them home.

When John appeared, it was with a lieutenant at his side and a folder tucked under his arm. Claire caught the look he exchanged with Jamie — official, but sympathetic. Jamie kissed her cheek without a word and followed him down the path.

The garrison’s officer’s quarters smelled of old ink, pipe smoke, and damp wool. Jamie stood silently as John laid out the parchment across a broad oak table.

"These are the men under your command,” John said quietly. “Highlanders, mostly. Some Irish conscripts. A few younger lads from Nova Scotia itself.”

Jamie’s eyes moved down the list slowly. He recognized a few names — men from Ardsmuir prison once fighting for Scotland, now bound for war in a foreign land. His jaw tightened.

“Aye,” he murmured. “And they’ll be lookin’ to me to keep them alive.”

“They will,” John said. He didn’t pretend to offer comfort.

Jamie swallowed hard. He couldn’t ignore the irony. Once hunted by the Redcoats, now clad in their colors, leading their men. It was a bitter thing, this compromise — but he would wear it like armor. It was the price of protecting his family.

He straightened. “When do I meet them?”

“Tomorrow,” said the lieutenant. “They’ll be mustering at dawn.”

Jamie nodded, then turned to the window. The sky was beginning to purple with dusk, and somewhere in the distance, a bell rang out from the port.

He didn’t fear battle. Not truly. But this place was strange and wide and full of unknowns. And his family — his heart — lived at its center now.

He feared not knowing what it would take to keep them safe.

******************

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting soft orange light across the wooden floor and filling the little house with a kind of borrowed warmth. The smell of stew lingered in the air — simple fare from the market that Claire had transformed with dried herbs from her satchel. It wasn’t home, but it was something close. A pocket of safety, however fragile, in a world still foreign.

Jamie sat cross-legged on the rug with Lexie curled in his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin, thumb in her mouth. He was telling her a story, voice low and rhythmic, half-Gaelic, half nonsense, weaving dragons and selkies into a tale about a brave lass who outwitted the English and made off with all their gold. Ellena sat nearby, plaiting a bit of string into a bracelet while Brian worked with fierce concentration on sketching their ship from memory onto a scrap of parchment. Claire watched them from the chair by the fire, one hand nursing a cup of tea, the other resting idly on the armrest.

She let the moment sink into her bones — the closeness, the peace, the rare hush in their usually chaotic household.

Lexie was already asleep before Jamie finished the story. He lifted her gently, placing her into the pallet beside her siblings. Ellena helped settle her in, then gave her father a long look — one that said she was old enough to know things weren’t quite normal, even if no one had said it aloud. He kissed her forehead all the same.

By the time the children were asleep and the house stilled to a soft, steady breathing, Claire had lit a single candle and tidied the hearth. Jamie returned with his boots in hand, his kilt slightly askew, face flushed from the fire and the day’s weight.

“You should rest,” Claire murmured as he came up behind her.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her neck. “I will. In a moment.”

They stood like that for a while, his breath warming her skin, her hands folding over his.

“It feels wrong,” he said quietly. “Being here in that uniform…” His voice trailed off, thick with memory and bitterness.

Claire turned in his arms. “You’re doing this for them. For us.”

“Aye.” He looked toward the room where the children slept. “But I canna stop wondering what it will cost.”

She cupped his cheek. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

He leaned his forehead to hers, eyes closing. “You always say that. And yet I keep fearing the day I lose you.”

“I think I'm in more danger of losing you,” she whispered.

They sat by the fire, the candle burning low between them. Claire retrieved a bit of parchment from her medical bag and set it on the small table beside them.

“We should write to Fergus and Marsali,” she said softly. “Let them know we arrived safely. That the children are well.”

Jamie reached for the quill, nodding. “Aye. Fergus will want to hear about Brian trying to steer the bloody ship.”

Claire smiled. “And Lexie’s seagull impressions.”

“And Ellena’s questions about whether America has fairies.”

Their laughter was soft, muffled by the hour and the heaviness in the air. But it was laughter all the same.

Later, in the quiet of their room, Jamie held her with a tenderness forged by years and sharpened by fear. There was no frantic urgency — only touch, the steady beat of heart against heart. They kissed in whispers, each caress an unspoken promise: I'm here. I’m with you. I’ll come back to you.

Afterward, Claire lay with her head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heart like an anchor. He traced circles against her back with callused fingers.

“When you go into battle,” she said, voice barely audible, “Wearing that red coat. Remember who you are beneath it.”

His hand stilled. Then, with quiet conviction, “I’ll never forget.”

The fire burned low, and the wind sighed against the shutters. For now, they were safe. For now, they were together.

And in that moment, it was enough.

****************

The morning broke with a haze of golden light spilling through the warped glass panes of the cottage they now called home. Birds chattered unfamiliar tunes outside as Claire pulled on her boots, her satchel already packed with clean bandages, tinctures, and needles. Word had come from the edge of the settlement — a young boy thrown from a horse, unconscious and bleeding. She had to go.

Jamie stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching as she pinned up her hair. His brow was furrowed, not in disapproval, but in that way he did when trying to memorize something precious.

“You’ll be safe?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep and worry.

Claire paused, then crossed the room to press a kiss to his mouth — warm, sure, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Isobel has the children. Lexie adores her. You worry about your men today.”

“Aye.” His jaw tightened. “My men.”

She gave him a small, knowing smile, and then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

The children were already up when Jamie returned to the main room. Ellena was braiding Lexie’s hair as William tried to teach Brian how to shuffle playing cards, his young voice earnest and patient. Isobel, ever graceful, had made a breakfast of oatcakes and stewed berries and was chatting gently to Lexie as she wiped her hands.

Jamie offered his thanks and made his way toward the garrison.

It felt strange, wearing the red coat.

He’d delayed donning it for as long as possible, the color itself an insult, a symbol of violence and loss. But today was different. Today, he would meet the men who had been entrusted to him. Men like him, who had once fought against the Crown — and were now, by fate or hunger or desperation, bound to serve it.

John met him outside the drill field, eyes flicking briefly to the red jacket. “Fits better than you’d think.”

Jamie made a sound that could’ve been a laugh. “I’ll no’ make a habit of it.”

But his eyes scanned the field ahead — Highlanders. Young, mostly. Hard faces, lean bodies. Many of them bore the scars of a life shaped by hunger, exile, and grief. Some had no proper boots. Others stood with arms crossed, suspicious. The tartan they wore under their uniforms told him everything he needed to know. Frasers, MacKenzies, Camerons. Clans that had once stood side by side at Culloden.

And now, they stood here. Under his command.

“I told you they’d follow you,” John said quietly.

Jamie nodded once, but said nothing.

He stepped forward to address the men, his voice rising with the crisp cadence of a Highlander who knew what it meant to fight. What it cost.

“You’ve no need to like the coat,” he said, gesturing to the red sleeve with faint contempt. “I don’t. But what we do here — it matters. For each other, for those who canna fight. You’re no longer lads hiding in glens. You’re soldiers. And I’ll lead you as one of your own. Not as a British officer, but as James Fraser of Broch Tuarach. We are Fraser’s Highlanders. Je suis pres!”

An irruption of cheers swept through the group, followed by respect stirring beneath their guarded stares. A few nodded. One or two gave sharp, instinctive salutes.

Throughout the morning, Jamie ran drills — guiding their formations, testing their strengths. They learned quickly, muscle memory rooted deep from years of clan defense and rebellion. He corrected stances with a firm hand and encouraged quietly when he saw hesitation. They weren’t polished. Not yet. But they were capable. They were Highlanders.

By noon, sweat soaked his shirt and his voice was hoarse from barking orders. But his spine was straighter. The dread that had hung on him like a second skin when he’d first pulled on the uniform had begun to ease. This wasn’t about loyalty to the British Empire. It was about survival. It was about keeping these men alive — and keeping a promise to Claire and the bairns.

As he walked back toward their quarters, he could already hear the shrill giggle of Lexie echoing off the stones. Brian and William raced each other along the garden path while Ellena, ever watchful, looked up with a wave.

Isobel was trimming herbs with a practiced hand.

And Claire — Claire was just returning, cheeks flushed from the sun, hair damp beneath her bonnet. She smiled when she saw him, a slow, private thing that melted him where he stood.

That night, after a hearty meal and the bustle of bedtime stories and goodnight kisses, they sat together at the small table. A candle flickered low. Claire reached across the wood and took his hand.

“How were they?” she asked.

“Good lads,” he said. “Quick to learn. Fierce enough, once they get over the shame.”

Claire nodded. “You’ll lead them well.”

He swallowed. “It still feels wrong. Wearing that.”

“I know.” Her fingers traced over his knuckles.

He looked toward the fire, quiet. “I thought we’d left war behind.”

“So did I,” she whispered. “But at least we’re together.”

They wrote to Fergus and Marsali that night, recounting the voyage, the town, the children. Jamie’s training. Claire’s patients. They left out the part where their hearts never quite stopped pounding.

And in the silence afterward, wrapped in one another beneath wool blankets, they lay awake, listening to the distant sounds of a land still new —

still strange. The night air was thick with promise. And danger.

Chapter Text

Halifax, Nova Scotia – Late May, 1755

They'd been in this new world for just over a month. The spring air slowly changed into the mild heat of summer. Jamie knew the battle was nearing. Claire had told him as such. Though she knew of battle dates and names of famous generals, she didn't know the fate of her husband or her children. And that scared her. 

The troops were being marched up north to Fort Beausejour. Jamie was to lead his men there and await further orders. 

It was just past dawn when Claire fastened the last button on Lexie’s cloak. The child squirmed, cheeks pink from the brisk sea air, but didn’t complain. Not today.

Ellena stood with arms crossed, trying not to cry. She was eleven now — old enough to know that tears made it harder. Brian, beside her, clutched his carved wooden sword like a true soldier, jaw tight in that way that always reminded Claire of Jamie.

Jamie knelt before them, the bulk of his Red coat falling around him as he took their hands in his. His kilt blowing lightly in the cool breeze.

“Mind Isobel,” he told them, voice steady but thick. “And Lord John will see ye want for nothing — Ye’ll be safe here.”

“We don’t want safe,” Ellena said fiercely. “We want you.”

Jamie gave a soft huff through his nose. Pride and pain. “Aye, well. I want you too. But this is what’s asked of me.”

Claire crouched beside Lexie, smoothing back her brown locks, heart clenched as she kissed her forehead. “You’ll be brave, sweetheart. Just like we talked about.”

“I want ya ta’ stay,” Lexie said, looking up.

Claire glanced at Jamie, then back to their daughter. “I know darling, but these soldiers will need my help, I need to go.”

Brian looked up at Jamie. “Will you kill people, Da?”

Jamie didn’t flinch. “I’ll do what I must to protect the men I lead. I’ll protect your mother. That’s what soldiers do.”

He pulled the boy into his chest, hand firm against the back of his head, then reached for Ellena, drawing them all in, all four of them in one tight embrace. Claire watched the lines in Jamie’s face shift — the weight of separation pressing in, even before a step had been taken.

Then it was time.

Isobel stood respectfully behind the children, nodding to Claire with gentle understanding. Lord John offered Jamie a solemn look — the kind shared only between men who’ve walked into war together and survived.

it was Lexie who broke at the last moment, arms flying around Claire’s legs as the tears came.

“Mama! don’t go!”

Jamie turned away, fists clenched at his sides. Claire picked up Lexie, held her tight, and whispered into her curls. “We have to, my darling. But we’ll come back. I promise.”

When they finally turned their backs to the children, Claire didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Jamie’s hand squeezed hers just before they mounted their horses and stepped into the path that would take them toward the north.

The road north from Halifax clawed through thick forest and rugged coastline, then gave way to the boggy flats and low-lying fields of the Chignecto peninsula. By the fourth day of marching, boots were caked with mud and tempers wore thin with every slow mile. The Fraser Highlanders — mostly Scots, most loyal — trusted Jamie well enough to keep their grumblings quiet. But even Claire could feel the unrest building, like storm pressure in the bones.

Their company marched in close columns at dawn, then fanned out to scout terrain or ford marshes by noon. The midday sun brought flies and damp misery. Still, Claire rode beside Jamie when she could, or behind with the supply cart when needed, tending to blistered feet, chafed skin, or the occasional scalding from spilled gunpowder oil.

By nightfall, they made camp in narrow valleys or beneath thin stands of birch. It was there — among tents pitched at odd angles and the creak of leather saddles being unstrapped — that Jamie found her again.

Not Claire the surgeon. Not Claire the soldier’s wife. Just Claire. His Claire.

He came to her that night as she sat alone by the fire, massaging the ache from her thighs with tired fingers. The tent flap rustled, and before she could lift her head, he knelt behind her and began to rub her shoulders — slowly, thoroughly, reverently.

“Ye’re carrying the whole bloody regiment in yer back, Sassenach,” he murmured.

“I’m carrying you,” she said, leaning back into him, “which is heavier than it used to be.”

He chuckled, warm breath on her neck. “Is that so? I’m the leanest I’ve been in years.”

“Mmm,” she said, turning just enough to meet his eyes. “And still your weight throws me off balance… and the anchor that keeps me steady.”.”

Their laughter was quiet, private — a pocket of warmth in the darkness. Around them, the men drank, played cards, snored, and occasionally argued. But for a few stolen minutes, there was only the two of them — one flame between them, and the weight of shared years pressing gently against their ribs.

He kissed her shoulder, through the linen of her shift. Once. Then again.

“You’re nervous,” she said softly.

Jamie didn’t deny it. “Aye. There’s something…off about this. The French should’ve fortified the ridge long before now. They’ve had months. But General Rous says they’re still undermanned. Either they’re bluffing, or they know something we don’t.”

Claire frowned. “And the Acadians?”

Jamie’s jaw tightened. “Some say they’re neutral. Others think they’re hiding arms for the French. Either way, Rous wants it taken swiftly. Which means risk.”

Claire turned fully, catching his face in the firelight. “Do you trust him?”

Jamie hesitated. “I trust myself. And I trust my men.”

“And me?”

He met her eyes. “With my soul.”

They didn’t speak again for a while. Claire folded into his arms like she had on so many nights before — before Culloden, before Ardsmuir, before time itself had pulled them apart and stitched them back together.

Tomorrow, they would break the tree line and see Fort Lawrence in the distance, where General Rous waited. And beyond that — Fort Beauséjour, a stone nest on a hill between marshes, waiting like a wound.

But tonight, she was in his arms. And that would have to be enough.

Claire had smelled blood before — in battlefields, in hospitals, even in the birthing room — but this was different. This was the thick, metallic scent of it in the air before it spilled, like a warning.

She was moving along the wounded cart mid-morning, checking a soldier’s fevered forehead, when the birds stopped singing. That was the only warning they got.

The forest erupted.

A burst of muskets cracked through the trees, echoing like thunder. The horses screamed. Men scrambled for cover, clutching rifles, blades, anything they had. Highlanders hit the dirt in seconds, Jamie’s voice rising above the chaos — shouting orders in Gaelic, even as he drew his sword and threw himself into the fray.

“Claire! get down!” 

But she didn’t listen.

She reached for the rifle beneath the cart and ducked behind the wheel as arrows whistled past. One struck the canvas just inches from her cheek.

Jamie was fighting off two men with bayonets, the red of his coat sharp against the green blur of forest. Another Highlander fell nearby, throat pierced by a sharpened spear.

Then she saw him — not Jamie, but a young soldier she’d treated just the day before, stumbling forward with blood pooling from his thigh. She ran.

She didn’t think — just dropped beside him, pulled her satchel open with shaking fingers. Her hands were sure even when her body wasn’t. Compress the artery. Elevate. Tourniquet. The boy cried out and she gritted her teeth, pressing harder.

“Claire!”

She turned just in time to see Jamie struggling — one man lunged at him from behind. She screamed.

“Jamie! Look out!”

Jamie twisted just in time, stabbing upward. The Frenchman fell, but not before his blade caught Jamie’s arm — a deep slash, blood already soaking through the sleeve.

Then the Highlanders surged forward.

Bayonets glinted, boots thundered, and suddenly the enemy lines began to break. Some of the Acadians and their Indian allies fled. Others were seized, forced to the ground at musket point. The forest grew still again — but this time, it was a deathly hush.

Claire dropped to her knees beside Jamie as he stumbled back toward her, his face pale but alive.

“You daft, bloody Scot—”

“Me? I canna fight properly when I'm tryin' to watch what mad thing ye'll be doin' next…” he said, panting.

“I was doing what needed to be done.”

He smiled — that crooked, pained, maddening smile — and winced as she tore open his sleeve to assess the wound.

“It’s not deep,” she muttered, wiping blood away with trembling hands. “But you’ll need stitches.”

“Fine. Just do it now before I start bleedin’ from the mouth and ye stitch that shut too.”

Her laugh turned into a sob. She pressed her forehead to his.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“Not today, Sassenach.” he said softly, wrapping his uninjured arm around her.

They sat like that for a moment, amid the ruin — men moaning, others counting the dead. The price was high. Four Highlanders wouldn’t rise again. Several others bled freely as Claire worked her way through the casualties.

But they survived. For now.

**********************

The fire had died down hours ago, but Isobel remained in the chair by the hearth, her knitting needles idle in her lap. The ticking of the longcase clock in the hallway was the only sound, save for the soft snores of young Lexie curled beneath a woolen blanket on the rug beside her.

Upstairs, Ellena had finally fallen into a restless sleep — after much coaxing and tears. But Brian… Brian had been quiet all evening. Too quiet.

Isobel had never seen a child retreat into himself with such solemnity. He barely spoke at supper, toyed with his bannock without eating, and stared into the hearth as though it held the answer to everything he didn’t dare ask.

Jamie and Claire had only left that morning, but it felt like a week already.

Isobel leaned her head back, closing her eyes for just a moment. Before falling asleep.

The next morning she woke up with a start.

“Isobel! Isobel!” Ellena’s voice shrilled up from the kitchen steps.

Isobel startled upright, her heart already thudding as she gathered her skirts and hurried down. The kettle had boiled dry, and the bread hadn’t yet risen. But none of that mattered the moment she saw Ellena — pale, breathless, eyes wide with panic.

“I can’t find Brian!”

Isobel froze. “What do you mean you can’t find him? He’s not in bed?”

“I checked. His bed’s empty — it looks like it hasn’t been slept in at all.”

Her heart gave a sickening lurch.

Without a word, Isobel rushed up the stairs, Ellena close on her heels. Brian’s bed was indeed empty — the coverlet barely disturbed. The shutters had been unlatched, swinging slightly in the morning breeze. The latchstring hung limp.

“Dear God,” Isobel breathed.

She turned, her mind already racing. Where would a frightened, grieving eight-year-old go?

“William? Have you seen Brian?”

William looked up at his mother with trepidation.

“William, if you know where he is you must tell me.” 

He looked between the two female faces unsure. Ellena tried to reassure him.

“Please Willy. Where did he go?”

“He went to fight…” he finally answered in a small voice.

Isobel looked at Ellie with worry.

She didn't lose another moment, barking at the servant girl to go and fetch Lord John. She promised to keep the children safe, and she would do everything she could to keep that promise.

*****************

The forest was still hushed with morning dew, the mist curling low through the trees as the first pale streaks of dawn filtered through the pines. Birds had only just begun to stir, chirping faintly in the canopy overhead.

Jamie stepped away from the sleeping camp, tugging his coat tighter against the morning chill. He moved slowly, wincing as he favored his bandaged arm. Claire had insisted he leave the dressing alone overnight, and though it throbbed dully, the bleeding had stopped.

He'd only just lifted his plaid at the edge of a tree when a soft crunch of underbrush made him freeze.

His hand went instinctively to the hilt of his dirk.

Then he heard a small sniffle.

Turning, he squinted into the brush — and there, muddied to the knees and with wet hair plastered to his forehead from sweat and dew, stood a small boy.

Jamie blinked.

“Brian?”

The boy looked up with wide eyes, lips trembling but defiant.

Jamie’s blood ran cold, then hot.

“Jesus, Mary, and Bride,” he muttered under his breath. “Brian William Fraser, what in God’s name—?”

“I followed ye,” the boy said, voice soft, like he wasn’t sure if he should be proud or scared. “I left in the night.”

Jamie strode forward, crouching to his level despite the pull in his arm. He gripped the boy’s shoulders — not too hard, but firm enough to keep him grounded.

“Are ye mad son? Do ye have any idea what could’ve happened to ye out there? Bandits, bears — soldiers!”

“I wanted to fight wi’ you,” Brian said in a rush, tears welling up now. “I couldn’t sleep, and I dinna want Ma to be alone if ye died. And I didn’t want you to be alone either.”

Jamie stared at him — dirt-smeared, eyes red-rimmed, shoes nearly falling off his feet from walking all night — and the swell of love in his chest was so sudden, so fierce, it nearly bowled him over.

God, he was so much like Claire. And so much like himself.

Jamie exhaled slowly, softening.

“I should thrash ye within an inch of ye’r wee life,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed him.

Brian bit his lip, looking nervous.

“But… I reckon I’d have done the same if I were you.” he said with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jamie stood and ruffled the boy’s hair, then held out his hand to him encouragingly. “Come on, lad. Let’s get ye fed before I take ye to ye'r mother, best have a full belly before she tans ye'r hide for ya.”

Claire had just finished boiling water when Jamie appeared, their son muddy and drooping with exhaustion but clinging to his father’s arm like a koala.

At first she didn’t process it.

Then her face drained of color.

“JESUS H. ROOSEVELT CHRIST!”

He gently coaxed the boy forward and lifted his good hand. “Aye.”

Claire rushed forward, crouching before Brian, checking him over — his eyes, his hands, his breathing. “Christ, Brian! What are you doing here?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You could’ve been killed!”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Brian whispered, clearly overwhelmed. “I just— I Want to fight. Be a soldier like Da.”

Jamie blinked hard at that — the words so familiar, and so natural from his son’s mouth.

Claire sat back on her heels, folding her arms across her chest. “You're too young for that Brian. We should send him back immediately.”

“Aye, I thought as much,” Jamie said, folding his arms. “But we canna spare a man. And we certainly canna send him alone.”

Claire stood slowly, brushing off her skirt and fighting the urge to give her son a good hiding but also wrap him in her arms and never let go.

Jamie touched her back gently, lowering his voice. “He’s here now, Sassenach. We’ll keep a close watch over him. I'll find a way to get him home safe.”

She looked up at her husband — grimy, tired, wounded, and yet radiating that stubborn Highland pride.

He was glowing with it, damn him.

“The sooner the better. You’re bloody proud of him, aren't you?” she whispered dryly.

Jamie grinned, glancing at the boy devouring a hunk of bread by the fire. “I am.”

Claire exhaled in exasperation, but a reluctant smile curled at her lips.

“The Highlander blood runs strong,” she murmured.

“Aye,” Jamie said, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Stronger than fear.”

She leaned into him, watching their son with new eyes. Despite her anger and worry, she saw it now too — the courage, the tenacity, the recklessness... all unmistakably Fraser.

By the time the company reached Fort Lawrence, the sun had dipped behind the treetops, casting long shadows across the barracks and training fields. The ragged band of Highlanders had pushed through the final stretch of forest with aching legs and tight jaws, exhausted but relieved to arrive in one piece.

Jamie rode at the front of the line, his injured arm still aching, though he bore it with typical silence.

Claire rode alongside him, tired and sweaty. And nestled against Jamie's chest, tucked into the crook of his cloak, was Brian — sound asleep on horseback, too tired even to lift his head when the sentries called down from the wall.

Jamie dismounted with care, holding his son in his good arm as he slid down. The boy barely stirred, his head dropping to Jamie’s shoulder with a little sigh.

Claire looked at them, heart swelling with weariness and love.

Jamie settled Brian onto the nearby cot. The boy curled instinctively toward his father, letting out a soft sigh before slipping into deep sleep.

Claire crouched beside him, tucking the blanket higher over his chest.

“I still can’t believe he made it this far,” she whispered.

Jamie was quiet a moment, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall in rhythm.

“He’s a Fraser, Sassenach,” he said softly. “Stubbornness is our gift.”

“And your curse.” she added dryly.

Jamie sat down with a low grunt, his bandaged arm throbbing.

Claire fetched some fresh water from the basin and helped him remove his coat. His shirt stuck to his back, damp with sweat, and she gently wiped his face and neck, watching him wince but not complain.

“You’ll need to rest before the march tomorrow.”

Jamie looked down at Brian, still sleeping soundly. “Aye. Now that we've reached the Fort I'll try and find someone to take him back in the mornin’ before we leave.”

The sounds of the Fort quieted. No shouting. No drills. Just the creak of boots, the occasional barked order, and the rustle of wind through pine trees.

Brian lay nestled beneath a tartan on the cot, his cheeks pink from sleep, one hand curled beneath his chin.

Claire had long since washed the day from her skin and sat in her shift, brushing out her tangled curls by lantern light. Jamie stood near the window, looking out across the darkened compound.

“Four hours through dense forest tomorrow,” he said. “The ground will be slick from tonight’s fog. It'll be a hard march.”

Claire didn’t answer right away. She set the brush down and joined him, resting a hand lightly on his back.

He turned, and for a long moment, they just looked at one another. The kind of look that spoke louder than words. Of fear. Of love. Of aching uncertainty.

They’d reached Fort Lawrence just before nightfall, the sky fading to a wash of ash and violet behind them. The air inside the barracks was thick with the smell of damp wool, gunpowder, and sweat, but within the modest quarters granted to Jamie as an officer, Claire had managed to carve out a fragile sense of quiet. A single candle burned low on the table, flickering shadows across the stone wall and the rumpled blanket where Brian now lay curled up, asleep, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

Jamie sat nearby, shirtless, his bandaged arm cradled loosely in his lap. Claire knelt beside him, inspecting the dressing she’d done hours earlier, fingertips light but focused.

"Still aching?" she whispered, voice soft enough not to wake their son.

He smiled crookedly. "It’s just a wee scratch, Sassenach.”

She looked up at him then — unimpressed, brows raised. “A scratch that bled through two layers of linen, required twelve stitches, and made you wince like a bairn.”

“Aye, well. Maybe a scratch that's no' so wee, then.”

She shook her head but let a small smile pull at her lips, brushing her knuckles against his jaw. “You stubborn Scot.”

Jamie’s good hand slid to her waist.

“I've been a soldier for most of my life ,” he said softly. “But tonight… can we just be husband and wife?”

Claire’s throat tightened. “Yes please.” 

He caught her hand and kissed it, then leaned forward to press his forehead to hers. For a long moment, they sat like that — skin to skin, breathing the same quiet air, the chaos of the past days held at bay.

When their lips finally met, it was with an aching slowness, the kind that spoke of fear and love in equal measure. Jamie pulled her gently into his lap, mindful of his arm, but needing her close. She shifted to straddle him, skirts bunched up around her thighs, and cupped his face as if memorizing every line, every shadow

They made love in the stillness of that small room — slowly, carefully, as if each touch and whispered breath could imprint itself in memory. Outside, the garrison was still alive with the sounds of soldiers settling in — murmurs, footsteps, the occasional shout in the distance. But within the walls of that room, they moved in their own rhythm, muffling moans against each other’s skin, gasps swallowed in kisses.

Claire clung to him like she could tether him to the moment — to her — and Jamie moved within her with the reverence of a man who had known loss, who understood how fragile it all could be.

His good hand trembled slightly as he brushed her hair back from her damp brow, his lips grazing her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. “Mo nighean donn,” he whispered hoarsely, over and over like a prayer. “Mo chridhe… mo leannan…”

Tears slipped silently from Claire’s eyes, but she didn’t try to stop them. Not this time.

When they finally stilled, wrapped around each other in the cocoon of candlelight and shared breath, Claire’s head on Jamie’s chest and his fingers tracing idle circles along her spine, she whispered into the darkness:

“I can’t lose you again,”

“You won’t,” he answered without hesitation. “I’ll fight every bloody army in the world to stay with ye.”

“Promise me you'll come back to me, James Fraser.”

Jamie kissed her brow, his lips lingering.

“I will, mo nighean donn. I swear it.”

And she believed him.

Chapter Text

The sky was still ink-dark when the knock came — sharp, precise, unmistakably military. Claire stirred under the thin blanket, blinking herself awake, but Jamie was already sitting up, bare feet on the cold floor. He pulled on his shirt with a wince, adjusting the sling at his shoulder as he stepped forward to open the door.

Lord John Grey stepped inside, the dim light from the corridor illuminating his pale, drawn face. His redcoat was dusted with road grit and the damp sheen of morning fog clung to his hair.

“Fraser,” he greeted quietly, eyes flicking first to Jamie, then to the bed where Brian still slept, curled under the covers. “Thank God.”

Claire rose and nodded a greeting as she gathered her shawl around her shoulders. Jamie clasped John’s arm in silent gratitude.

“I came as soon as I could,” John said. “When word reached me about the 

ambush…I feared the worst.”

“He’s all right,” Jamie murmured, glancing at his son. “Stubborn as ever.”

John gave a faint smile. “I see where he gets it.”

Jamie exhaled, nodding once before motioning to a stool. “Sit. Warm yourself. Rest.”

It wasn’t long before Brian stirred. His eyes blinked open to find Lord John seated in the corner, sipping from a tin mug Claire had filled. The boy sat up slowly, brow furrowing, already sensing something was afoot.

“Da?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Jamie crouched beside the bed, brushing a hand over Brian’s tousled hair.

“Get dressed, a bhalaich. Ye’ll be leaving soon — with Lord John.”

“What?” Brian shot upright. “No. I’m staying wi’ you!”

Jamie’s voice remained calm, but firm. “We’ve been through this.”

“I won’t leave ya!” he cried, pushing off the covers. “You canna make me!” 

Jamie stood and jerked his head toward the doorway. “Come wi’ me.”

Claire reached out and touched Brian’s shoulder, murmuring softly, “It’s all right. Go with your father.”

They stepped out into the cold predawn air, the fort still half-sleeping in the hush before dawn. Jamie led him around the corner where the first gray glimmers of morning traced the edges of the sky.

Brian crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Why can’t I stay? I can fight too. I can help.”

Jamie knelt stiffly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Listen to me, lad. I ken ye want to help. And be a soldier. But this isn’a the time or place for ye.”

Brian’s lip trembled, and he looked away. “I’m no’ a child.” the eight year old stated defiantly.

“No, you’re not,” Jamie agreed. “That’s why I’m asking this of ye — man to man. Soldier to soldier.”

Brian blinked up at him.

“I need ye to go home,” Jamie said softly. “To look after your sisters. Ellena is wise and she'll try to be brave, but she’s still only a lass, no’ a brave lad like ye’rself. And wee Lexie… she’ll need ya to be there for her as well. Ye think I want to send ye away? God, no. But if anything should happen to me, or to your mother…” He let the words trail off, heavy in the air. “They’d need ye to be the man of the house.”

Brian's mouth worked silently before he said in a whisper, “I’m scared, Da.”

Jamie’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Aye. So am I. But I must do my duty. And I ken you’ll do ye’rs.”

He looked into his son’s eyes, steady and unwavering.

“I’ll do my best to come home to ye, I swear it. But it’s time for me to go now. And you’ll do as I said. Promise me.”

Brian’s chin wobbled. But after a long beat, he nodded.

“Aye, Da. I promise.”

Jamie pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his face in the boy’s hair. “Good lad. I love ye, a ghràidh.”

“I love you too,” Brian whispered against his chest.

They stayed there for a moment longer, father and son clinging to the last hush of night before the march of war broke the stillness.

The first golden slivers of sunlight were just beginning to warm the horizon when Jamie stepped out into the courtyard of Fort Lawrence, fully dressed in his uniform, his plaid secured neatly at his shoulder, his sword belted at his side. The Highlanders were already assembling, their boots echoing against the packed earth, the air tense with quiet anticipation.

He paused just beside the stables, where Lord John waited with Brian, the boy now subdued but holding his chin high. Claire stood near them, wrapped in her woolen shawl, her eyes fixed on Jamie with an intensity she couldn’t mask.

He embraced his son first — brief, firm, the way men did when leaving for battle.

"Mind what I said," Jamie murmured into Brian’s ear. "Take care of them. All of them.”

Brian nodded solemnly. “I will. Don't die.”

“Aye,” Jamie said, offering a faint smile. “I’ll try.”

He turned next to Lord John and gripped his hand in a silent exchange that held volumes — gratitude, trust, shared understanding born of battlefields and brotherhood.

"Keep him safe," Jamie said quietly, not needing to specify who.

“You have my word,” John replied. “And… good luck, Jamie.”

Finally, Jamie came to Claire. For a moment, neither spoke — just looked. The crowd seemed to vanish. The fort. The soldiers. Even the war.

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, then leaned down and kissed her — not rushed, not showy, but full of longing and unspoken promises.

“You’ll be careful?” she asked, her voice tight.

“I’ll come back to ye,” he said. “That’s a promise.”

“I'll hold you to that promise”

Jamie smiled at that, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone.

“Good luck, soldier, I love you.” she whispered, her voice trembling despite herself.

He touched his forehead to hers for the briefest moment, then turned and swung into the saddle of his horse. The Highlanders began their slow procession toward the open gates, toward the road north — toward Fort Beauséjour and whatever waited for them there.

Claire stood rooted in place, arms folded tightly across her chest as she watched him ride away from everything he held dear. The pounding of hooves faded into the wind, and still she stood, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Behind her, inside the officers' mess, Lord John sat at a small table with Brian, both of them eating quietly. The boy picked at his bread more than he ate it, his appetite dampened by worry. John said nothing, merely kept him company as the morning light spilled through the narrow window.

In a few hours, they would begin their journey back south to Halifax, where Ellena and Lexie waited — with Isobel and little William too — the fragile heart of the Fraser family now spread across Nova Scotia, each piece hoping the others would survive long enough to be whole again.

And in the quiet of Fort Lawrence, Claire turned back toward the infirmary, her apron already tied, her hands ready.

War had begun. But she would be ready for whoever came through her doors — and she would be waiting for the one she loved most.

*********************

The morning mist clung to the earth like a shroud, soft and silver in the early light as Jamie Fraser led his men north toward the Missaguash River. Each breath he took clouded in the chill air, the warmth of his body rising in faint tendrils from beneath his coat and plaid. The land stretched wide and quiet ahead, broken only by the crunch of boots on frost-bitten soil and the low murmur of voices as the Highlanders marched in disciplined rows.

Jamie rode at the front, his arm still aching faintly beneath the bandage, though he’d long since stopped acknowledging it. Pain was a companion now — dull, familiar, and far less weighty than the burden in his chest.

He glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him. Weathered faces, sharp eyes, shoulders squared beneath the weight of muskets and resolve. Men who had followed him across oceans and over battlefields. Men with families of their own — wives they missed, children they feared they’d never see grow tall. Just as he did.

The image of Brian’s face rose unbidden — solemn and brave as he’d promised to care for his sisters. Jamie’s throat tightened. He’d seen fear in the lad’s eyes, but also the strength he’d prayed would come through when the time came. God help me, Jamie thought, he’s more a man than I was at that age.

He shifted slightly in the saddle, the leather creaking beneath him as his eyes scanned the horizon. The route from Fort Lawrence to Beauséjour cut through woods and low-lying meadows, all eerily quiet. The tension in the air was like the silence before a storm — brittle and expectant.

By late morning, they reached the Missaguash — the river that marked the edge of French-held territory. Jamie drew his horse to a halt, heart thudding as he took in the sight before them.

The bridge — once sturdy and broad — was nothing but smoldering ruin now, its center collapsed into the current, blackened beams jutting out like broken ribs. Wisps of smoke still curled from the remains, and the scent of charred wood and gunpowder lingered in the air.

Across the river, French soldiers had taken up defensive positions — crouched among trees and earthworks on both banks, muskets at the ready. Blue coats moved like shadows through the haze, their officers shouting orders in clipped, urgent French.

Jamie narrowed his eyes.

“Damn them,” muttered Captain Macdonald beside him. “Burned it right as they saw us coming.”

Jamie nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the far bank. “They’re forcing our hand. Want to keep us here, there's no other way to reach the Fort.”

He dismounted, boots crunching in the damp grass as he moved forward, crouching near the ruined bridge. The current ran fast — not impossible to cross, but treacherous with the charred remains of timber littering the water.

He turned and raised a hand to the men. “Defensive lines,” he called. “Cover fire from both sides. Engineers forward — we’ll rebuild the bridge.”

The Highlanders snapped into action, musket fire erupting as they took cover and returned fire across the river. The sound echoed off the trees in sharp bursts — the angry exchange of defiance.

Jamie ducked instinctively as a shot whizzed past, splintering bark behind him. He could feel the thrum of adrenaline coursing through him, that peculiar clarity that came in the face of danger — where each moment stretched thin and sharp.

Claire would be pacing now, he thought suddenly. Watching the infirmary door, waiting for news. And Brian, maybe stealing glances behind them on the road south. Wondering if I’m alive.

He swallowed hard and forced the thought away. He couldn’t afford it now — the ache of missing them. Not when his men needed him clear-headed.

Then, a shift.

A bugle call in the distance. Movement on the far bank. Jamie squinted just as the French began pulling back — not in chaos, but in swift, practiced retreat. Their line collapsed in a controlled withdrawal, disappearing into the woods beyond the river.

Jamie rose and turned to the nearest officer. “They’re giving it up.”

“Aye. Cowards.”

“No,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “They’ve another plan. But it means we move now.”

And so they did.

Within an hour, the British engineers — with Highlander hands helping — had a makeshift bridge spanning the water. It groaned under their weight as they crossed, but held. Jamie led his men across with eyes fixed forward, every nerve sharp as glass.

They pressed on through the afternoon, pushing deeper into enemy territory with the smoking bridge behind them, and the specter of war ahead. Yet as Jamie rode, the sound of battle still echoing in his bones, he reached for the memory of Claire’s touch, of Brian’s voice whispering “Aye, Da. I promise.”

They were behind him now, yes — but never far.

Every step he took toward Beauséjour, he carried them with him.

By dusk, Jamie could see the shadow of the French stronghold in the distance — low stone walls pressed against the horizon like a sleeping beast. The Highlanders made camp within cannon range, though hidden just beyond the ridgeline. The air smelled of smoke and pine sap, cut only by the distant echo of hammering as British engineers readied the heavy artillery.

No casualties today. A miracle, Jamie thought, though he wouldn’t tempt fate by saying it aloud. He’d seen luck turn on a single gust of wind.

That night, he walked the camp perimeter alone, mind quiet but heavy. Somewhere far behind them, Claire would be receiving no news — which, for now, was the best kind.

By morning, the orders came: form up in rows, align the artillery, and prepare to begin the siege.

Jamie stood beside Captain Wolfe as cannons were rolled forward across sodden ground. Men worked tirelessly, carving trenches and hauling timber to build firing platforms. Jamie gave commands between hauling planks and steadying ropes himself, shoulder aching, muscles stiff. He welcomed the distraction.

They formed a wide semicircle around the French fort. From the walls, the enemy peered back — silent, watchful, calculating. For now, neither side fired. Each waited for the other to blink. It was tedious.

Days passed in a rhythm of waiting and tension. The cannons were in place, but orders hadn’t come to fire. Instead, Jamie spent his time drilling the men, rationing water, and keeping tempers from flaring. Rain came in spurts, soaking boots and bedding. Mud clung to every surface. And still, no real battle.

But Jamie could feel it — like the low hum of bees before a storm.

At night, he lay beneath canvas, staring up at the darkness, hearing Claire’s voice in memory. Be careful, soldier.

He could almost feel her beside him.

Five days later the quiet broke.

A French patrol attempted to flank the British east line in the early morning fog. Jamie was already awake, feeling something in his bones before the alarm was raised.

The skirmish was swift — musket fire, smoke, shouting. Jamie fought alongside his men with sword and musket in hand, and when the smoke cleared, the British stood. Twelve men injured. Five dead. Eight French were taken prisoner.

Jamie’s shoulder bled lightly from a musket ball that had nicked him near his collarbone, but he hadn’t noticed until afterward. 

He poured some whiskey over it to cleanse it from germs, as Claire had instructed him, wrapping it up in some cloth as best he could. For the time being, it would have to do.

They buried the bodies quietly behind the trench line. War was never clean.

The next day, they advanced.

Closer to the walls now, they built a second siege line — tighter, reinforced with logs, brush, and earth. From here, the cannons would devastate the French walls if needed.

Jamie watched the engineers mark distances and call adjustments. Each action measured, deliberate, deadly.

No one spoke of surrender. Not yet. The French were holding, but their silence felt strained.

Jamie walked the new trench at sunset, musket slung over his back, eyes scanning the ramparts ahead. He whispered a prayer — not for himself, but for the boys in his care.

The final battle began before dawn.

The first cannon fired just as the sky turned pale, thunder cracking the silence like a divine fist. Jamie’s men surged forward, musket fire erupting, the boom of artillery shaking the ground beneath their boots.

Jamie ran with them, his sword drawn, giving orders as the British pressed forward in waves. The French returned fire from the walls, but something in their defense had frayed.

Jamie saw it in their movements — hesitations, scattered retreats, a lack of coordination.

By midday, the white flag was raised.

Surrender.

The battle was over.

As the smoke cleared and the noise gave way to eerie quiet, Jamie stood at the edge of the broken French line. His clothes were soaked with sweat and powder, his hands black with soot. All around him, men cheered, wept, sat in stunned silence.

He didn’t cheer.

He looked north, toward the fort behind him. Then south — toward Halifax, toward Claire, toward the children waiting to hear if he still breathed.

He exhaled slowly, lowered his sword, and closed his eyes.

I’m still here, Sassenach. I’m coming back to you.

******************

The moment Jamie rode out of Fort Lawrence, a piece of Claire went with him.

She had stood at the gate long after his plaid disappeared into the trees, her hands clenched into her shawl as if that might hold her together. She didn’t cry — not then. Not when Brian clutched her goodbye and climbed into the horses back in front of Lord John. Not even when she watched the horse trot briskly down the road south toward Halifax, her son’s hand lifting in one last wave before they vanished around the bend.

Instead, she turned and walked back into the infirmary — chin high, spine straight, heart splintering.

The days that followed blurred together in a slow ache of monotony. Claire kept busy tending minor injuries, reorganizing supplies, boiling linens, checking and rechecking her surgical instruments with meticulous care. Anything to silence the dread that grew louder with every hour of silence.

Soldiers passed through Fort Lawrence daily, most carrying only rumors — murmurings of skirmishes near the river, talk of French defenses, speculation about an imminent siege. None carried official dispatches. None spoke Jamie’s name.

At night, it was worse.

She would lie awake on the narrow cot in the corner of the infirmary, listening to the wind moan against the shutters and wondering — Is he warm? Is he hurt? Is he even still alive?

She'd lived through war before, and this one felt no different. Her mind traveled back to the battle at Prestonpans. The hours of waiting, not knowing.

Two full weeks had passed.

Claire stood at the open window of the infirmary, sleeves rolled up, apron damp, fingers stained with tincture and sweat. Her body was tired, but her mind buzzed with restless energy. She hadn’t eaten much that day. The not-knowing gnawed at her more than hunger ever could.

Then — hooves.

Fast. Urgent. Galloping into the yard like fire.

She turned sharply just as a rider tore through the front gates of the fort, his uniform streaked with dust and sweat, a sealed message clutched in his gloved hand. Soldiers rushed to meet him as he dismounted, tossing the reins to a stable boy and demanding to be taken to the general.

Claire’s heart leapt into her throat.

She wiped her hands hastily and hurried across the yard, apron fluttering behind her. The general’s tent was already buzzing as word spread that the rider had come from the north — from Beauséjour.

Claire didn’t wait for protocol. She strode into the officers’ quarters, head held high, voice calm despite the tremble in her chest.

“Please,” she said, directing her words to the nearest lieutenant. “I need to know. Colonel James Fraser — he led the Highlanders into battle. Has there been any news?”

The man blinked, then nodded. “Aye, ma’am. The dispatch just came. Fort Beauséjour was taken this morning. The French surrendered after a full assault. It’s ours now.”

Claire’s breath hitched. “And Colonel Fraser?”

The man glanced at the paper again, scanning the lines. “Alive and well, according to this. Only a handful of casualties listed among the Highland officers. They’re holding position until reinforcements arrive — maybe another few days.”

Claire closed her eyes and released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for days. Her knees nearly gave, but she braced herself against the doorframe, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

He was alive.

Jamie was alive.

She turned and walked back into the evening light, and for the first time in two weeks, her heart felt lighter than air. She tilted her face to the sky, letting the last golden rays warm her skin, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Claire didn’t know exactly when she’d see him again. But she would.

And that was enough — for now.

*********************

The morning fog clung low to the earth like breath that hadn’t yet been exhaled. Fort Lawrence was just beginning to stir, the clatter of pots from the mess hall, the distant ring of hammer on steel. Most soldiers were still in their tents. The courtyard remained quiet, save for the sound of water splashing from a basin.

Claire stood there alone, sleeves rolled to her elbows, rinsing the blood and tincture from her hands. The water was tinged pink, her knuckles red and raw from days of work. Her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, but she moved with the steady purpose of someone who no longer trusted rest to come easily. It had been four days since she received the news of victory.

She hadn’t expected them back until later that day. The reinforcements had passed through the night before. No word yet of Jamie.

So when she heard hoofbeats approaching from beyond the gates, she didn’t turn at first. Likely a patrol or a supply wagon. Nothing unusual.

Until she felt it.

Not a sound — a shift in the air. Like gravity itself had leaned toward her.

She turned slowly, water dripping from her fingertips, and saw him.

Jamie rode through the open gates, slouched in the saddle, his face streaked with dust and dried sweat, blood crusted on his shoulder and one sleeve torn at the seam. He was filthy. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

And he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

He pulled up short in the center of the courtyard, eyes locked on hers, as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Claire didn’t move at first. Couldn’t. Her throat tightened, tears burned behind her eyes, and for a moment all she could do was stare.

His gaze swept over her — the familiar shape of her, the weariness in her face, the hands she was still clutching over the basin like she didn’t dare let go of the moment.

Then, without a word, Jamie dismounted and crossed the space between them in long, purposeful strides.

Claire met him halfway.

They crashed together with a force born of longing and aching need. Her arms flew around his neck, his arms wrapped around her waist, and they held each other like the world might split apart again if they dared to let go.

His scent hit her all at once — blood, sweat, horse, gunpowder, and something uniquely Jamie that made her knees go weak.

“Jamie…” she whispered into his shoulder. “You’re here.”

“I told ye I’d come back,” he rasped, his voice rough with dust and emotion. “God, Sassenach…I missed ye.”

Then their lips found each other — desperate, open, trembling with the weight of too many unspoken fears. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was fierce and wet and utterly necessary. It tasted of sweat and salt and longing. Her fingers gripped the back of his neck like she could pour her soul into him through the touch alone.

Jamie’s hands roamed her back, her hips, as though he needed the reassurance of every curve, every breath. He made a low sound in his throat — a broken groan that spoke of battlefields survived only by the thought of her.

They finally broke apart, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together, their hands still clinging.

“I was afraid I'd lose you,” she whispered.

“I thought I might never see your face again,” he replied.

Her eyes brimmed, one tear sliding down her cheek before his thumb brushed it away.

“I love you,” she said.

“Aye. And I you. Forever,” he answered, voice hoarse.

And for that moment — in a muddy courtyard with her hands still stained, and his body bruised and bloody — they were finally together again.

Chapter Text

Brian Fraser took his duty very seriously.

He had barely jumped off the horse with Lord John when he’d straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and silently vowed to live up to the promise he’d made on the battlefield — or just outside it, in that dewy hush of morning when his Da had crouched before him and said “Soldier to soldier. Man to man.”

That wasn’t a game to him.

And Brian didn’t play games. Not now.

Not when his father and mother were still out there, somewhere in the north, with war drums echoing and smoke curling up into the sky. He hadn’t seen the worst of it — but he’d seen enough to understand that men bled and died, and boys had to grow up.

So, he got to work.

At first, it was small things—fetching water, feeding the hens behind the inn, carrying kindling without being asked. Then came the part he took most seriously: controlling and “disciplining” his sisters.

By breakfast the next morning, he had declared himself “in charge” of the household. His older sister Ellena — eleven years old and nearly as tall as Aunt Isobel — hadn’t looked up from her tea.

Which didn’t go over quite the way he’d hoped.

Ellena Fraser, at twelve, had no intention of letting her younger brother tell her what to do. Especially not when he tried to use phrases he'd clearly stolen from Jamie.

“You’re eight,” she said flatly, buttering her toast. “You can’t even tie your own cravat properly.”

“I’m the man of the house,” he insisted, puffing out his chest. “Da told me to take care of you and Lexie. So I am.”

Ellena gave him the kind of look that might've come straight from their mother — amused, sharp, and utterly unimpressed.

“Try that and I’ll shove you in the linen cupboard.”

That had put a swift end to his command over her.

So Brian redirected his attention to Lexie — Alexandra — the four-year-old whirlwind of curls and mischief who was far more pliable. Mostly. She liked following orders, provided they were phrased like a game and came with snacks.

“Lexie,” he said solemnly that afternoon, “from now on, ye’re not allowed to touch knives, run in the garden barefoot, or eat more than two pieces of bread with jam.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous,” he replied, with an air of great authority. “And because I said so.”

She blinked up at him with wide brown eyes, identical to their mother’s, and nodded seriously.

Then proceeded to do exactly what she pleased.

Brian’s eyes filled with tears, frustration boiling over. “Why don't ya listen to me Lexi!”

Ellena heard her brother's distress and softened—just a little. She saw the look on his face, the same one Da had worn when he was trying not to fall apart. She sighed and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Alright then, General. You can give Lexie her breakfast.”

Which was, of course, a disaster in itself.

Lexie had strong opinions on what she would and would not eat. She liked jam, but only made from strawberries. She liked porridge, but not “too hot.” And she definitely didn’t like Brian trying to spoon-feed her like a baby.

“I’m a big girl,” she announced, flinging the spoon at the wall.

“A big girl who can’t even hold her cup straight!” Brian muttered, wiping jam off his shirt and licking it off his fingers.

Brian had been sulking on the back step for the better part of an hour, watching the grey Halifax sky and trying not to cry.

He was tired of being brave.

Tired of trying to keep Lexie from feeding bread crusts to the hens inside the house. Tired of Ellena correcting him like she was the one in charge. Tired of pretending he was fine when all he wanted was to see his Da walking through the gate, calling him a bhalaich and hugging him tightly to his large comforting body.

But Brian never quit. He couldn’t.

Every night, after the house had gone quiet and the others were tucked into bed, he’d sit by the hearth in his nightshirt, arms wrapped around his knees. Ellie sometimes found him there — staring into the embers, face too still for a child.

He didn’t cry. Not aloud.

But when she sat beside him and laid a hand gently on his back, he’d lean into it like a boy half his age and whisper, “I miss Da.”

“I know,” she’d say softly. “We all do.”

“And Mama too. Do you think… do you think they’re safe?”

Ellena never lied.

“I dinna ken. But I believe they’re trying with everything they have to come home to us.”

Brian would nod, jaw clenched, holding back tears that never quite fell. He was the man of the house, after all.

But when Lexie wandered down the hall in the middle of the night — thumb in her mouth, dragging her favorite stuffed lamb — and curled up in his lap without a word, Brian wrapped his arms around her and let her fall asleep against his chest.

Just like his Da had held him once, not so long ago.

And for that night at least, Brian Fraser kept his promise. 

********************

The room was small — stone walls still bearing the chill from the recent rainfall — but the fire crackled low in the hearth, casting warm gold across the makeshift officer’s quarters. Outside, the fort murmured with life again: the shuffle of sentries, distant orders, boots echoing on wooden planks. But inside, all was still.

Claire knelt beside the copper basin, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and gently sponged the dried blood from Jamie’s shoulder.

He sat on the edge of the bed in naught but his kilt, torso turned slightly, jaw tight as she dabbed at the wound — a long, shallow graze torn across the muscle, just below the collarbone.

"You’ll live," she murmured, her voice soft with exhaustion and relief.

"Aye, well enough," he replied, eyes on her face more than the cloth in her hand. "Thanks to you."

"Don't thank me." She dipped the cloth again. "Thank your ridiculous luck. And your ability to follow my orders.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I always do.”

She smiled without lifting her eyes. The intimacy of it — being near him, tending him — felt like breathing again after weeks of holding her breath. Not knowing if he’d come back, not knowing how he would return.

Jamie raised his hand and brushed a damp curl from her cheek. “You look tired, Sassenach.”

"I am." She rinsed the cloth, wrung it out, and set it aside.

He reached for her then, hands steady despite the stiffness in his shoulder. “Come to bed, mo nighean donn.”

She didn’t hesitate. She stood, unpinned her hair, and let him pull her gently down beside him. No urgency. No heat of battle or fear of loss to rush them this time. Just quiet.

They lay down together, clothes discarded, shifting slowly into the kind of embrace you don’t think about — one the body remembers for you. Claire curled into Jamie’s chest, her hand resting flat over his heart. His arm wrapped securely around her, palm splayed low on her back.

Her leg tangled over his. His nose brushed her temple.

"I missed the smell of you," he murmured, voice rough with wear. “Even when ye smell like blood and sweat.”

“I think that's coming from you…” She smiled into his chest. “I missed everything. Your voice. Your weight beside me. The way you always steal the blankets.”

"I do not," he said with mock indignation.

"You do,” she replied, nestling closer.

They lay in silence for a while, only the fire crackling, and the sound of their breath slowing, syncing.

Jamie’s hand stroked lazy circles at the small of her back. Claire’s fingers skimmed over his ribs, warm and possessive, like she was memorizing him anew.

Their kisses were quiet things — slow and reverent — lips brushing cheeks, brows, shoulders. Not seeking more. Just grounding themselves in the truth of being here. Being safe. Being together.

Eventually, Claire shifted, tucking herself into him as he turned on his side. She fit there perfectly — one of his legs across hers, his hand at her waist, skin to skin.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered.

“I willna,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Even in my sleep.”

And he didn’t.

**************************

The morning came slowly, like a hesitant hand pulling back the curtain on a half-forgotten dream.

Sunlight crept in through the small window, catching on the dust in the air and the crumpled folds of the blanket tangled around them. Claire stirred first, breath soft against Jamie’s chest, his arm draped across her belly, his leg still hooked over hers.

Jamie didn’t open his eyes right away. He simply lay there, savoring the warmth of her skin, the even weight of her beside him, and the rare feeling of being completely… still.

“Are you awake?” she whispered, voice husky with sleep.

“Aye,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her head. “Have been for a while now. But I didna want to risk breaking the spell.”

Claire smiled and turned her head to look at him. Her hair was a wild, lovely mess and her eyes still heavy-lidded.

Jamie winced slightly as he shifted. Claire’s gaze dropped instantly to his shoulder.

“Still tender?” she asked, brushing her fingers lightly over the healing wound.

“It’ll do.” He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Though I may milk it for another day of sympathy.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said with a smirk.

There was a sudden knock at the door.

Jamie and Claire both turned, startled. He reached for his shirt and slipped out of bed as Claire wrapped herself in the blanket.

“Come,” he called, voice steady.

A young corporal stepped in, hat in hand. “Beg pardon, Colonel Fraser, but orders from Halifax just came through. Commander Rous wants you briefed immediately.”

Jamie’s brows rose. “That so?”

The man held out a folded paper, sealed and marked. “You’re to report to Major Scott by the hour.”

Jamie nodded and took the orders. “Thank ye. Dismissed.”

When the door shut behind them, Claire rose and crossed the room, the blanket trailing behind her. Jamie broke the seal and scanned the contents, his eyes narrowing as he read.

“What is it?” she asked gently, watching his jaw tense.

“They’ve reassigned me,” he said slowly. “First — leading scouting patrols northeast, along the Saint John River. There’s word the French are regrouping upriver.”

She nodded. “That’s not surprising.”

He continued, voice flatter now. “Second —I’m to serve as liaison. Translate. Report. Soothe tensions between the local French and British.”

Claire walked over and took the paper from him, reading the lines herself. Her stomach turned.

“They expect you to keep fighting with one hand and keep the peace with the other,” she said quietly.

Jamie gave a short, humorless laugh. “Aye. Seems I’m to be a soldier, a judge, and an interpreter of mercy.”

He dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

Claire knelt beside him. “Jamie, what are you going to do?”

“I dinna have a choice. I’ll do my duty,” he said softly. “But I’ll no turn my back on what’s right.”

He looked at her then, and she saw the fire behind the fatigue. The man who would fight a war, but not let a child be torn from their mother. The man who had killed, and saved, and wept with his hands bloody.

“You’ll have to walk a thin line,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “And I’ll walk it with you.”

Jamie squeezed her hand, pulled her gently to his lap, and held her against him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he whispered, “I’ll do what I must. May God help me.”

She nodded against his chest.

********************************

The sun had just risen when Jamie tightened the straps of his saddle and handed Claire a quiet goodbye.

“Stay near the fort,” he said, brushing her knuckles with his lips. “And dinna go wandering off to heal every wound in the province.”

She gave him a dry look, though the worry in her eyes betrayed her. “Only the ones that need my care.”

He cupped her cheek briefly, his thumb sweeping beneath her eye — and then he mounted and turned his horse toward the east gate.

The land beyond Fort Cumberland was a tangle of brush and silence.

The trees along the Saint John River swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to one another. Jamie rode at the front of the small patrol, eyes scanning the shoreline for movement. The water glittered in the early afternoon light, deceptively calm.

Behind him rode four men — two Highlanders from Fraser’s company, one local militia man, and a quiet scout with Mi’kmaq ancestry, loaned by a British captain who trusted him more than his own map.

They’d been traveling north for hours, deeper into Acadian territory. Burned farmsteads dotted the horizon. Livestock roamed untethered, half-wild in the meadows. Fruit trees still bore fruit that would rot on the branches, untasted. The French had retreated — but not far. Jamie felt it in his bones.

He reined in at a ridge and dismounted. The breeze picked up, rustling the long grass around them. The scout , Jenu, came up beside him, already crouching near the river’s edge. His fingertips skimmed the damp earth, searching. Reading.

“Family, maybe two days ahead,” Jenu murmured. “Heading northeast. Not soldiers. One child, barefoot. Carrying little weight.”

Jamie crouched beside him, studying the faint prints — no boot heels, no signs of horses or carts.

“They’re running,” Jamie said quietly.

Jenu nodded. “But slow. Weak or sick, perhaps. We’ll overtake them by morning if we cut inland.”

Jamie stood, brushing his hands on his kilt. “Let’s move quietly. No rifles unless I say.”

The men behind him nodded silently. There was no appetite for blood in this patrol, only duty and dread. Jamie felt the burden like iron strapped across his shoulders — heavier even than his musket.

They camped that night beneath a stand of black spruce, the fire small and smothered before full dark. Jamie leaned against a tree, chewing dry biscuit and smoked meat that Claire had provided for him, eyes half on the river, half on memory.

Claire’s voice came to him in the hush. Be careful, Jamie. Be kind, where you can. Remember who you are.

He looked up and found Jenu watching him across the fire, saying nothing.

Jamie offered a nod.

The next morning, they caught up with them — a small Acadian family huddled in a clearing near the bend in the river. The man was kneeling beside a pot over a weak fire. The woman sat on a fallen log, her arms wrapped around a little girl who looked no older than four.

Jamie stepped forward slowly, hands visible. “Bonjour,” he said in soft French. “Je ne suis pas ici pour vous faire du mal. I mean you no harm.”

The man’s eyes widened. He reached for a stick — not a weapon, just instinct — and placed himself between Jamie and the fire.

“We’re not French soldiers,” Jamie said gently. “But I can’t let ye stay here.”

“We have nowhere else,” the man rasped. “And we've no weapons.” 

Jamie stopped a few paces away. “I can see that.”

The woman was trembling, her fingers pressed to the child’s hair. The girl stared at Jamie with wide, hollow eyes. She reminded him of his wee Lexie.

“We’re not here to harm you,” he continued. “But this land is no longer safe. The British are clearing it. If another patrol finds you first...”

The man’s mouth tightened. “You’ll turn us in just the same.”

Jamie didn’t answer at first. His heart was heavy — heavy with war, with orders, with history clawing at his throat. Finally he said, “You have my word. I’ll see ye protected — as best I can.”

The man hesitated, then looked at his wife. Her chin lifted, silent assent.

Jamie turned to one of his Highlanders. “Fetch them some food. And a blanket.”

He crouched before the little girl, gently offering a dried apple. She took it without blinking.

That evening, they returned south along the river, the child asleep on Jamie’s horse before him, wrapped in the blanket. The man and woman walked silently behind, shoulders bent with fatigue and something deeper.

Jamie didn’t know their names. He didn’t ask.

But as they approached the walls of Fort Cumberland, lit golden in the falling sun, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette waiting near the gate — hair curling wildly in the wind, arms folded, watching.

Claire.

She saw the child first, and then his face, and without a word, she turned to prepare space in the field tent beside the infirmary.

Jamie exhaled.

This was only the beginning.

************************

The fog was thick that morning — clinging low to the fields like mourning cloth, muting the clang of soldiers breaking camp. Claire stood outside the field infirmary, arms wrapped tight around herself, watching Jamie read from a creased letter in the grey light.

His expression was unreadable at first — jaw set, brow furrowed — but she’d learned how to read him long ago. The way his lips thinned. The small crack of tension at his temple. She took a slow breath.

“New orders?” she asked gently.

“Aye,” he said, not looking up. “We’re to begin evacuations immediately. I’m to oversee the surrender and removal of Acadian families along the Tantramar and LaPlanche roads.”

Claire felt her stomach clench. “Removal where?

Jamie folded the letter. “The transports are headed for other colonies. Boston. Maryland. Carolina. Scattered to the winds.”

She stepped closer. “These are farmers, Jamie. Families. They’ve lived here for generations.”

“I ken that,” he said quietly. “But they’ve refused to sign the oath. The British call them a threat. There’s no changing it now.”

He looked up then, eyes full of weariness and fury, as if the orders had been carved into his skin.

They rode out just after noon, flanked by two British marines and a junior officer eager to make rank. Claire rode beside Jamie, her medical satchel strapped to her saddle, every nerve on alert.

The homestead came into view as they crested a hill — a stone house nestled between a row of apple trees, smoke curling from the chimney. A small barn stood off to the side, and a swing made of rope hung from a low branch. A family. Not soldiers. Nor traitors.

Jamie signaled the group to halt and dismounted first, walking down the slope alone.

A man emerged from the doorway — late thirties, wary but proud, holding a boy of ten behind him with one hand and his wife’s hand with the other. The woman’s face was pale but composed, an infant in her arms. A girl of about seven peeked out from behind her skirts.

Jamie stopped a dozen paces away and spoke in French.

“We mean no harm,” he said. “But I carry orders from Fort Cumberland. This land is now under British rule. You’re to be evacuated.

The man’s chin lifted. “We are farmers. We’ve harmed no one.”

Jamie’s voice was calm, grave. “I believe ye. But it changes nothing.”

The man’s mouth twisted in disbelief. “We were born here. My father, his father before him. We do not fight for France. We fight for our home.”

“I ken that, mon ami,” Jamie said. “But you must leave. Today. You’ll be taken to the ships within the week.”

The woman clutched her baby tighter. “And what happens to us then?”

Claire had dismounted and stepped forward, speaking gently.

“You’ll be kept together. No harm will come to your children while I draw breath. Please — let us help you pack. I can carry the baby.”

The girl began to cry softly. Claire crouched beside her and offered a smile.

“What’s her name?” she asked the mother in French.

“Élise.”

Claire took the girl’s hand. “We’ll bring her doll, too. And the books on the shelf. She’ll need those.”

The woman’s lip trembled. Then she gave a nod.

For the next hour, Claire helped the family gather their things — clothing, food, a bible, toys. Jamie quietly refused the British officer’s suggestion to catalog valuables for seizure. “They’ll need what little they have,” he said. “Unless you’d care to explain that to the child.”

When the marines grew impatient, Jamie sent them ahead.

By the time the sun began to fall behind the ridge, the wagon was packed and the family stood in silence beside the road. Jamie handed the boy a blanket and offered the father a flask of water.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it.

The man looked at him long. “You speak our tongue. You protect our things. You speak gently. But you still drive us from our land.”

Jamie didn’t flinch. “Aye. And I’ll carry the guilt to my grave.”

They rode back toward the fort in silence. Claire reached over at one point and took Jamie’s gloved hand in hers. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t let go.

That night, they lay in their tent, backs to the world, faces toward each other.

“They’ll lose everything,” Claire whispered.

Jamie swallowed. “So will we. If we dinna follow orders.”

They lay in the half-dark, a single lantern flickering low, casting long shadows against the canvas of the tent. Outside, the camp had settled into uneasy quiet — the low murmur of horses shifting, the occasional cough, a lonely set of boots passing in the dirt. But inside, there was only the silence between them — and the weight of what they had done.

Jamie stared at the ceiling, his arm tucked beneath Claire’s head, her fingers resting gently against his chest. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat — slow, steady, and heavy. He hadn’t spoken in nearly twenty minutes.

“It’s tearing you apart,” she said softly, not as a question but a truth.

He exhaled through his nose, the sound brittle. “Aye.”

Claire turned slightly, her hand smoothing across the wool of his shirt, fingertips curling over his ribs. “You did what you had to. You helped them. You showed mercy.”

“Aye,” he said again. But there was a hollow edge to the word.

He shifted to his side, facing her now, their legs tangled beneath the blanket. His hand found hers.

“I keep thinking about Scotland,” he said quietly. “When we had to leave Lallybroch. After the British...” His eyes flickered, haunted. “The bairns didna understand. None of them did.”

Claire waited.

“I swore I’d never be part of that,” Jamie said finally, his voice rough. “I watched the Redcoats burn crofts. Pull bairns screaming from their mothers. Line up old men in the mud and call them traitors for protecting their own land.”

He paused, swallowing hard. “And now here I am. Wearing their uniform. Speaking their tongue. Telling another family they can’t stay on the land their grandfathers worked with bare hands.” His voice cracked. “It makes me sick to my stomach.”

Claire reached up, brushing a curl of hair from his brow. Her fingers trembled, just slightly.

“We didn’t ask for this,” she said. “You didn’t. We were given no choice.”

“We had a choice,” he snapped, then immediately closed his eyes. “Forgive me.”

“Forgiven.” she said instantly.

He sat up, leaning on one elbow. The shadows deepened across his cheekbones, his mouth a tight line. “We left Scotland so I’d no longer be imprisoned. So our children could grow without fear. But what does it matter, Sassenach, if they must still live while I'm away from them. Ellena... Brian... Alexandra...” He trailed off. “We pulled them away from their kin. From Fergus and Marsali. From Jenny’s hearth. I canna bear the thought that they’ll remember this and blame me for all of it.”

“They won’t,” Claire said, sitting up too. “They’ll remember that we did what we could to keep them safe. That we were together. That we’re trying to find our way back.”

He turned toward her, the fire in his eyes dimmed to aching blue. “I want to believe that. God knows I do.”

Claire touched his face, gently stroking the bristle at his jaw, the familiar slope of his cheekbone. “You must believe it. For them. For us.”

Jamie leaned into her palm, closing his eyes. “I sometimes think we’ll never make it back. That the war will drag on. That I’ll be ordered to do unspeakable things.”

“We’ve already survived so much, Jamie.” She said fiercely. “Culloden. Three years apart at Ardsmuir. The loss of Faith. And yet—here we are.”

He looked at her again, his expression softening. “Aye... here we are.”

Claire hesitated, then lowered her voice, not wanting to deepen the sorrow in him. “If you desert, they’ll hunt us. It could make everything worse. For us. For the children.”

Jamie nodded slowly. “I ken that well. But I think on it all the same.”

She leaned forward, their foreheads pressing together. “Then we endure. Until we can return free — not as fugitives or prisoners, but as ourselves. As Frasers. Whole again.”

He kissed her — not with hunger, but with reverence, lips lingering against hers like a vow.

“I just hope,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along her cheek, “that we survive this long enough... to see them grown. To walk our land again. To live without answering to another man’s crown. That’s all I ask now. No gold. No titles. Just that.”

Claire cradled his face in both hands. “Then we hold on. To each other. Until the tide turns.”