Work Text:
Inverness, April 1958
Frank’s visit to Scotland had been an unexpected one. Just a few years earlier he had found confirmation of a James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser’s existence in the 18th century and had allowed his mind to indulge Claire’s story just a bit. With the help of Reggie, their research had led them down a path that ended with finding a marriage contract between a Claire Beauchamp and James Fraser in 1743. Now, they were looking for additional information about the couple’s later life. They’d spent countless hours combing books and documents looking for anything to confirm or deny Claire’s claims of time travel.
There was a knock at the front door that startled both men. Reggie and Frank looked up, pulled from the hold that their respective books had had on them, and their eyes met.
“Were you expecting anyone?” Frank asked. Reg shook his head as he pushed himself back from the desk, the chair beneath him creaking as it met resistance against the rug.
The Reverend left the study to greet whoever it was at the door, and Frank stood up, his joints cracking as he stretched. He heard the groan of the heavy wooden door of the manse open and the murmurs of an exchange.
A few moments later Reg came back into his study carrying a large wooden box in both hands.
“What on earth is that?” Frank asked him.
“I have no idea.” Reg motioned for assistance and Frank pushed aside a stack of papers on the desk as the other man set the box down in the middle of the mess. Reg readjusted his glasses so they sat more securely upon the bridge of his nose and bent to examine the box closer.
It was a sizeable coffer, made of what appeared to be maple that had darkened over the years. Frank admired the exquisite craftsmanship. The joints perfectly detailed, sliding top, sealed with a thick bead of melted beeswax that had blackened with age. His knowledge led him to deduce it must be close to 200 years old.
Upon further inspection, Frank saw that a name was burned into the wooden lid, Jeremiah Alexander Ian Fraser MacKenzie . Frank’s heartbeat quickened, three of those names were ones he’d been searching for within his book just moments before, though the lack of James settled his heart rate. He looked up then and as his eyes fell on the older man he saw the blood drain from his friend’s face.
“Reg! What is it?” Frank said, placing his hand on Reg’s shoulder to steady him.
“Jeremiah MacKenzie. Jerry.” His voice was soft, almost wistful as his fingers traced the shape of the letters. Suddenly the coin dropped and Frank understood.
“Jerry? Your nephew? Roger’s father?” Frank asked in quick succession.
“Not exactly. He didn’t share the middle names, but,” Reg nodded towards the top of the box as he ran his hand over the worn grooves that formed the familiar name. “Jeremiah MacKenzie was his name.”
“I knew him.” Frank blurted without thinking. “In the war.” He had never mentioned his wartime dealings with Jerry MacKenzie to his dearest friend before, and a sense of guilt rushed over.
“You never said-” the Reverend looked up at him and Frank knew even more questions would come, but cut Reggie off before they could be spoken.
“No, I’m sorry, it was under top secret circumstances that our paths crossed. I shouldn’t have said anything even now.” Reg stared at him for a long while and then simply nodded and relaxed with acceptance, knowing the Official Secrets Act kept Frank from divulging any additional information to him.
Frank turned back to the desk where the box still sat. There was a folded letter attached to the top. Squinting at it, Frank could see it was a thick, homemade type of paper, one that showed faint imprints of what he thought may have been flowers long ago. The ink had faded some, but he could clearly make out the words written upon it.
Reverend Reginald Wakefield
Inverness, Scotland
Without saying anything, Reggie reached for the piece of paper. It was attached with a glob of what appeared to be beeswax. Very carefully, he peeled it away, the sound of the wax cracking as the letter was freed. He unfolded it, hands shaking slightly. Reg didn’t read it aloud, but held it aloft for Frank’s benefit.
Mr. Wakefield,
Though we have not nor ever will have the pleasure of meeting, I feel as though no introduction is necessary for this letter. My wife has told me much about you, as has Roger. I know you to be a man who can be trusted, and because of that I require a favor of you. I ask that you keep this chest safe and in your care for the son that we share. Everyone has a history, and this contains a part of his. He will find it when the time is right.
There was no parting salutation, simply a name and a date.
James MacKenzie Fraser
December 1777
They were both frozen in place. Eyes fixated on the signature of the man they had been looking for, appearing to them as though he’d been summoned.
“Son that we share? What-” Reg’s quick movements stopped Frank’s words in his throat as the other man dropped the letter on top of the chest and rushed around to the other side of his desk.
“You’d said you were beginning to believe her, Claire, about her time with James Fraser, and I didn’t think of troubling you with this, not until we found more solid proof, but now . . .” Reg trailed off as he pulled a manilla envelope from one of the side drawers of his mess laden desk. Frank watched as he removed a well worn, yet not overtly aged, piece of paper from the envelope. “I didn’t really know what to make of it, until now . . .” his oldest friend said as he offered it to him.
Frank took the paper from Reg’s now visibly shaking, outstretched hand. He grasped it loosely for a moment, not wanting to look down at it just yet. He knew what he would find written upon it, Reg’s reaction to Fraser’s note alerting him to what may be contained within, and he needed to have this one last moment before all of their suspicions were confirmed.
Squaring his shoulders as though steeling himself for battle, he took a deep breath and glanced down at the chart. It was handwritten in ink, the lines and letters bold and neat. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bottom of the page, the names there as familiar to him as his own.
James Alexander, born 1721. Married Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, born 1918. The line between them extended down. To the one name that was most treasured in his heart. Brianna Ellen Randall (Fraser), born 1948.
He felt his heart tighten. It wasn’t just the fact that Brianna’s parentage wasn’t linked with himself that troubled Frank. It was the fact that someone outside of that study knew the story about Claire, about himself, and about their daughter.
He looked closer at the paper in his hand and saw there were additional lines and initials written in pencil, very lightly upon the white page. A line extended out from Brianna’s name and connected to the initials RM . Running perpendicularly down from there, another line connected to the initials JAIFM . He felt his heart stop for a moment.
“Where did you get it?” he asked Reggie, still staring at the paper in his hand.
“A man named Stuart Lachlan. Well, that is, his widow. He died suddenly and she was cleaning out his desk. We had corresponded from time to time, and she thought I’d be interested in seeing it.”
“RM?” Frank said, a questioning inflection in his voice. He didn’t look up, but watched as his finger tips ran back and forth on that connecting line. A marriage line.
“Roger MacKenzie. The son that we share. It has to be. If Claire’s story is true, then possibly-” Reg stopped, unable to finish his thought.
“Claire . . . you think she was telling the truth then? About travelling through time? What we’ve found, and now this.” He gestured to the family tree that was still in his hand.
“It appears that she was. And with Mrs. Graham’s stories? The things she said to you when Claire was missing. I don’t know how, but I don’t know how to explain it otherwise.”
The study was quiet for a long time, both men lost in their own thoughts. Finally, the Reverend spoke.
“Frank, do you know of Kenneth MacKenzie? Known better as the Brahan Seer?” Reggie’s voice was calm, but Frank could sense he was struggling to keep it that way.
“The prophet who predicted the world would fall into chaos when there were five bridges over the River Ness? Yes, it was quite the talk in the mess halls during the war. Wh-?”
“He made several other prophecies, most not well known. But there is one that I think may be significant now, and of interest to you, to us both.” With a deep breath he continued, “This Lachlan fellow, he was part of a group, a Scottish Nationalist group. Crazy buggers really. But a crazy that borders on dangerous. There have been whispers, rumors, of the things they may try to do for an independent Scotland.” Frank didn’t understand the connection Reg was trying to make and began to ask, when the other man continued.
“Brahan the Seer has one prophecy that is not so well know, the Fraser Prophecy it is called. In summary it says that ‘The last of Lovat’s line will rule Scotland.’”
“And you think that they are looking for the last of Lovat’s line? Do they know about Brianna? Or maybe her . . . child?”
“Perhaps . . . That’s what your holding is it not? Lovat’s line?” Reg walked over to him then, hand outstretched, and Frank handed him the family tree. “Why else would Lachlan have this? More so, how would he know this much about them if he hadn’t looked? Hadn’t found them somehow?”
“You think these people found Claire and Brianna in the past?” Frank’s head was spinning. It was worse than he thought, not just the fact that Claire’s story was almost certainly confirmed, but that the truth of it put his daughter’s life in danger.
“Reg, I can’t say much, but from my experience- from the war, things like this,” Frank gestured at nothing in particular, encompassing the room and everything about them. “There are people who’d be interested, be looking, beyond nationalistic purposes. Who would think nothing of using the movement to further their own greedy ambitions. And if that is the case, I don’t want to believe it, but if it is, then Brianna may not always be safe here, in this time. She may need to seek refuge in the past. It may be the only protection they can rely on. Both of them.”
“All three of them.” Reggie corrected. “We best make sure they’re ready.”