Chapter Text
A whole day’s ride without a word,” Dougal laughed, “He should have tanned your hide sooner.”
“Fuck you, Dougal,” I spat at him, “How’s that for a word?” The men of castle Leoch seemed not to know whether to laugh at my still foul mood or to growl at my insubordination. The result was a mixed grumble. The war chief seemed to think it was funny so by the time I ascended the stairs it was to general laughter. I stomped up to my room at Bargrennan. Everyone had been a perfect gentleman today. So magnanimous after having me beaten. Is this what kindness is to men? They seem to be absolute brutes until they or someone else has inflicted some kind of pain or humiliation on you?
Dougal Mackenzie: if he hasn’t been an out and out bastard since the day we met, has been part bastard and part warden. He didn’t have a kind thought towards me until he found me laying on my side with Jack Randall’s boot getting acquainted with my ribcage. Only then did it occur to him that I might be anything other than an enemy.
Jamie came up behind me. Silent. Asking. I opened the door deliberately and stepped inside. I turned and looked him squarely in the face. He looked a little nervous and rueful. Like a boyfriend who forgot your birthday but is hopeful he’s done enough time in the dog house. I stepped back enough for him to think I’d let him in and he stepped forward. I stepped toward the doorframe and slammed the door as hard as I could. I don’t know what I hit but I hit something. I hope it was his nose.
It was all I could do to take off my clothes before I threw myself, face-first, onto the bed. I really need to remember I'm not in the twentieth century. The sheets weren’t exactly daisy fresh. On the plus side, they didn’t smell so bad either. Bed bugs. Dust mites. Stop that. It’s a roof and a bed. Now that I was in a bed, which I had longed for all the way here, I found myself unable to rest or relax. The last time I was face-down on a bed, my husband was beating me. The thought brought my rage back full force. Wonderful. I’m never going to sleep again.
I closed my eyes anyway. Maybe if I just counted back from one hundred… I started to repeat numbers somewhere in the eighties. Or at least I felt like I might be repeating them. I was definitely losing track of them. Maybe I got down to the seventies. Maybe I fell asleep. Then someone woke me for supper. It might have been Rupert. “Fuck off!” I growled into the pillow.
“Starve then,” he grumbled as he left the room again. No, that was Angus. I drifted off for what I’m sure was five seconds and then it was Jamie disturbing my sleep.
“What part of fuck off do you people not understand?” I growled into the pillow.
“Ye have to eat something, Sassenach,” he said gently.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” I raised my head, instantly angry that someone who had inflicted so much pain on me had the gall to call me by a pet name.
“You have to eat something, Claire,” he sounded like he was trying to be patient with a petulant child. It occurred to me to tell him I didn’t want anything from him but decided against it because I was hungry and turning down food out of spite is being a petulant child. I swung my legs off the bed in a daze. The second I sat up, however, I was wide awake. I must have winced or made a sound or something because Jamie’s hand darted by me. I was startled onto my feet. “I’m no going to hurt you, Claire,” he sounded hurt. He doesn’t get to be hurt. I’m the one he hurt.
“Words I would have readily believed,” I folded my arms, “If you hadn’t hurt me. And humiliated me.”
“I dinna do that,” he argued, looking for all the world like he believed what he was saying, “It had to be done, Claire, and I spared you the humiliation of doing it in front of the men.” This gave me paused. He saw an opening and pressed, “Dougal wanted to do it in front of the men.”
“My hero,” I snarled, “You think because it was on the other side of a wall that we didn’t have an audience?! And while you’re feeling noble, let me inform you of something. I was raised by my uncle from the age of five. I was with my first husband for seven years,” I may as well skirt lying while I was being self-righteous, “And the only man to raise his hand to me, besides you, is Black Jack Randall.”
Hit! I thought. Only it looked like I really hit him and not just physically. I had intended to but seeing it was more painful than satisfying. For a second, I felt a powerful sense of guilt. Then I remembered he actually had hit me and he didn’t seem to be feeling all that guilty about it.
“How can ye liken me to that man?” He asked, full of betrayal, and I swear I saw the twinkle of tears in his eyes. It must have been the effect of dusk.
“I didn’t liken you to Randall,” I told him calmly, “I’m just telling you that you and he are the only two men who walk this Earth ever to beat me. And if that’s the company you’re in, you might want to reconsider your life choices.”
“What I did was for good reason,” he argued fiercely, “Ye endangered the men and they needed justice.”
“And I’m sure if you asked Randall, he’d tell you what he did when he tore your back open was for good reason. As a matter of fact,” I remembered, “I did ask him,” I told him when he looked at me with a disbelieving expression, “You endangered the authority of the English crown. You stood defiant and didn’t make a sound or beg or plead when even one of his own soldiers fainted. And he couldn’t let such a thing stand. It fosters rebellion. So you see, it was for good reason.”
If I’d have seen him move, I’d have been afraid he was going to hit me. With his fist this time. Fortunately, it was dusk and he was lightning quick. The food he brought me crashed into one of the walls. I couldn’t immediately see which one it was. Some piece of furniture got broken too. I had no idea what that might be.
“You compare flogging me near to death for defending my home with strapping you for bringing a hundred red coats down on us?” he roared.
Keep calm, Baeuchamp. I took a breath and clenched and unclenched my fists. “I am telling you that everyone thinks their actions are justified and that having anything in common with that man means you may not be as right as you think you are,” I moved to stand squarely in front of him and looked him in the eye. His breathing might have been heavy. I couldn’t really hear it over my own and the sound of blood in my ears. I could see his chest heaving. “And as for the men,” I kept my eyes fixed on his, “You endangered them.”
“Christ!” I hope Dougal was planning to go over his budget because this room was going to need a few new furnishings.
“You convinced them to come for me,” I was certain.
“Should I have just left ye then?” he was positively fuming. I stepped back when he raised his arms. This was exactly my problem. I can’t possibly live like this!
“You’re missing the fucking point!” I found myself screaming, despite all intentions to keep calm. “I cannot take blame for a choice you made. I did not blame any of you for what it cost me to protect you, did I?”
“What?” That stopped him for a second.
“Jack Randall beat the hell out of me,” I reminded him, “Because I refused to sign a statement saying that you all were raising money for a Jacobite army. Which, let me point out, you were! But despite his every intention, Randall gave me a choice. He wasn’t meaning to. He meant to make me do what he wanted by force. Still, there were two doors: I could sign the statement and see you all hanged or I could take the beating. I chose to suffer rather than to let you all kiss the rope.”
“Claire,” all the anger was out of his voice. Good. Maybe he’d actually be listening because I wasn’t done.
“You had a choice too. You all did,” I pointed out, “You could have left me to Randall,” his nose flared up at this, “And even if you, Jamie Fraser, couldn’t conscience such a thing, the others certainly could have. Maybe they came out of loyalty to you. Or maybe they came because they gave a damn or felt something akin to gratitude towards me but- given what followed the daring rescue, I’m not inclined to think any of you bastards are capable of gratitude. But why do you think Dougal let them come?”
His eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe his uncle’s motives were pure then. Of course he didn't. Who that knows him would?
“You think he let this happen because he gives a damn about you or me?” I saw the knowledge in his eyes. “He was saving himself from being hanged for treason. Which brings me to my next point: Randall assaulted me on the side of the road because he’s a sadistic bastard and he stumbled upon an opportunity for cruelty. He didn’t pursue me like a rabid dog until he saw me with the war chief of clan Mackenzie. I became his target because of my association with all of you. Did I lay my suffering at your doorsteps? No, I did not. Did I try to exact some so-called justice for the danger and the pain I endured? I most certainly did not. But justice demands that I must suffer because you chose to rescue me from a man who pursued me because of you?!”
“I… We… We’d no thought of it that way,” he said at last, “But if you’d just stayed where I’d ordered you to,” he wasn’t about to admit to being anything other than right.
“So that should be my life then,” I sighed, “Tied to a stake in a field like a dog ‘til you deem it appropriate for me to be in your bed or wherever else you see fit? I did not know they had slavery in Scotland.”
“This is naught like slavery and ye ken it,” he had composed himself again.
“If I belong to you and your will supersedes mine,” I asked, “What are we but slave and master?”
“Husband and wife,” he replied firmly.
“Then marriage is slavery,” I concluded.
“It is not,” he declared.
“How is it different?” I asked in all sincerity. Because, really, if I'm his property to do with as he pleases, how am I not a slave?
“You have my protection- “ he hesitated the slightest bit when he saw my expression change at his words.
“From everyone but you, should you wish to do me harm,” I pointed out, “Slaves have the exact same protection from their masters. So do horses and pigs and all other property. And just as little means of enforcing it should it be reneged upon or abused,” I sighed again. I started off angry and ended up exhausted. “I’m going back to sleep,” I put one knee on the bed and then lay on my stomach.
“You need to eat,” he almost growled.
“You’ve seen fit to throw my food into the wall Master Fraser,” I reminded him, “I guess it’ll have to wait ‘til the next time you deem fit to see me fed.”
“Claire,” he was clearly about to argue some point about how I’m making him out to be cruel when he is not. I was in no mood to hear it.
“Corporal Hawkins,” I announced, a little groggily.
“What?” That threw him for a second.
“The nice young man who held me while Randall beat me,” I informed him. I couldn’t see his nostrils flare up but I heard his breathing change. “He seemed sweet. He clearly didn’t agree with what Randall was doing but he was doing what was necessary to root out treason,” I turned my head up towards him. The position was uncomfortable. I couldn’t turn my body too far without risk of a rude awakening, “Methods matter. After all, isn’t that the speech Dougal keeps recycling about your scars? That people who fund the Jacobite army will be freed from the yoke of a king who allows such brutality?”
“-“
“And before you utter one argument in defense of your methods and how they don’t constitute brutality,” I planted my face again but turned it to the side and raised one hand with the index finger raised, “Go ask the red coats if their methods constitute brutality. If you can find a single one who says they do, you won’t hear another word out of me on the topic.”
I curled my arm under my head and listened to the sound of my breathing. That didn’t work because Jamie’s breathing was throwing me off. So I went back to counting. And just when I was drifting off…
“Sass- Claire,” he revised, “I know you’re still angry with me but you must eat.”
“Put the food down and leave,” I told him. He clearly dismissed every word I said as the irrational ranting of a woman in a temper. “You and my appetite cannot exist in the same place as long as you think of me as no better than a pig.”
“I dinna say that,” he huffed.
“I’m not explaining this again. For one thing, I’m too damn tired and for another, you’re not giving my words an ounce of thought anyway so you’re wasting my breath and my time. I’ll eat when I wake up,” I said with finality. “Get out."
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“Eeep!” came the shocked sound from Rupert’s mouth. I’d stabbed him with the needle I’d been holding in my hand all morning. The biggest needle I had. I had awoken and eaten at some ungodly hour so I was still full by breakfast. Having no need for food, I stood at the window and looked outside until someone came to “express his sympathy” for my backside and I turned and stabbed him as hard as I could. Anger must make me stronger. I did not expect to find the needle had gone through his hand. I caught him in the part between his thumb and his index. He stumbled back into the middle of the room, almost knocking two men over.
They were all startled and I took advantage of the silence before it turned into an uproar, “The next man who puts his hand on my arse will lose his hand,” I announced. There were a few words in Ghailig, some cursing from Rupert and those who felt sympathy for him, one man crossed himself and then there was laughter. “Give me that,” I went towards Rupert, my hand extended. He backed away like I was going to bite him. Which was not an unreasonable reaction. It was also not an unwanted one. “Do you plan to keep it?” I asked him. Not trusting me anywhere near his flesh, (so they have the impulse and just don’t conceive that anyone else could) he went to remove the needle himself. “Not that way!” I tried to warn him but it was too late. He’d grabbed the needle on the tip side and pulled it all the way through. “Oh well,” I shrugged, “Serves you right,” I plucked it out of his hands and went to return it to my bag.
“Ye’ll have a wee bite for breakfast, won’t you lass?” Jamie was clearly trying a different approach today but I couldn’t yet point out what it might be.
“Why are you suddenly obsessed with feeding me?” I asked, not looking up.
“Ye haven’t eaten since…” he trailed off.
“Since what?” I turned to face him.
“Since your punishment,” he said with a pinched look.
“Since you beat me,” I spelled out, “Looking at you causes me to lose my appetite. I’ve eaten plenty. Just not in your presence,” I levelled my gaze at him. He was starting to develop a look that seemed to express anger, hurt and annoyance simultaneously. It disappeared just as quickly as it appeared and he nodded and turned and left.
The men of Castle Leoch had been feeling less kind towards my predicament since I stabbed Rupert but at least no one was touching me uninvited. This left it to Jamie to be the one who made sure I could get out of the saddle and I was in no mood to have him be my rescuer. He made up an excuse for us to walk. I didn’t listen to what it was. “They say a rodent can eat off your entire toe while you sleep because it bites and it blows,” I didn’t look at him, “It eats your flesh then blows on the wound so you don’t feel the pain,” I elaborated, “And before you know it, an entire part of yourself is gone.”
“Christ! Yesterday ye compared me to Randall and today ye call me a rodent,” he relayed. “Do ye hate me so much, Claire?”
The story about the rodent was not for him. It was for me. Angry as I was, I wanted to forgive Jamie and his contrition was making it hard for me to stay angry at him. But I had seen so many women subsumed by their marriages. One day a person in their own rights. Then an extension of their husbands. It happened so slowly that none of them saw it. Even we observers didn’t see the moment it happened. Then one day we all looked up to find that the woman we’d known had disappeared, including her.
“I told you your actions bare a similarity to those of someone you hate,” I pointed out, “Show me that this is not true and then you can blame my emotions for the comparison. Only then and not before.”
“Randall likes to torment people,” he pointed out.
“You seemed to be having a jolly good time tormenting me,” I pointed right back.
“My reasons-“ he started.
“Don’t matter!” I cut him off, “Everyone thinks they have good reasons for the things they do. Methods matter. Dougal has reasons that sound noble. Do you like that he’s exploiting you to serve them?”
“This is too much,” he shook his head, “Jack Randall, a rodent and now Dougal Mackenzie?”
“The rodent isn’t about you,” I surprised myself by telling him, “That’s about me.”
“You mean to whittle me away in my sleep, do ye?” there was a hint of a smile there. I could hear it in his voice.
“I mean to stay who I am, and not disappear into this marriage, not lose parts of myself that make me who I am and become someone I do not recognize,” I didn’t realize I had stopped walking until he came to stand in front of me.
“I’ll not cause you to lose who you are, Claire,” he said with all the sincerity of a promise.
“You want me to obey your orders,” I reminded him, “Does that sound like who I am?”
“You canna go through life without listening to anyone,” he pointed out.
“Listening and obeying are two very different things,” I felt my anger rising, “Who do you ever obey Jamie Fraser? In the short time I have known you, you’ve defied everyone up to and including the chieftain of clan Mackenzie, the very man whose protection you need to survive. You have a will of your own and exercise it as you see fit but begrudge me the right to do the same!”
“It’s no the same,” he’d started shaking his head before I’d even finished talking.
“Why? Because you had to rescue me from Fort William?” I saw him cock his head in that defiant way of his. He knew what was coming. “Need I remind you, you had to be rescued from the exact same place?”
“That was different!” he insisted.
“How?!” We’d risen to the level of screaming, again.
“I was defending my home!” he said with conviction.
“And I am defending my person!” I spat at him, “And do not tell me of the protection you offered because you clearly do not mean to protect me from yourself! And that’s the person I need protection from the most.”
“Of all the scum in the land, you find me the worst?” his angry vein looked like it might explode. For that matter, so did he.
“You hurt me the most!” I tried to keep the tears out of my voice, “I trusted you! You said I need never be afraid of you and I believed you. You said I had the protection of your body and, like a fool, I believed you!” There was no preventing the tears from falling. “Jack Randall punched me in the gut so hard every whisp of air left my lungs and I fell to my knees, gasping like a fish. He slapped me across the face so hard, I thought my eye was going to explode and I’m not even going to get into his expressed intent to cause a miscarriage if I was with child because I found my acquaintance with his boots to be an experience I want to erase from memory. None of that hurt as much as what you did to me! I trusted you! I felt safe with you and I believed you when you said I’d never need to be afraid when I was with you! That son of a bitch may have made a credible attempt at breaking my bones but you broke my heart.” I wiped my tears furiously and stomped ahead.
“Sassenach.”
“Don’t call me that!” I threw back. In a flash, he’d caught up to me. I wish I had longer legs. “Let go!” I screamed as he grabbed me by my arm and made me stop.
“Listen,” he said in a lower but more fervent voice. He was in front of me but my head was turned off to the side. I wiped my tears once more, drew in a breath and then faced him. He was on bended knee. He pulled out his dirk and I jumped back. “I’m not gonna use it on you,” he sounded exasperated.
“I can’t just take your word at that anymore. Now, can I?” I hugged myself.
He didn’t answer. He just bowed his head, kissed his weapon and recited the oath I swear I heard the clansmen make to Colum Mackenzie. Then he repeated it in English: “I swear on the cross of my Lord Jesus, and by the holy iron which I hold, that I give ye my fealty and pledge ye my loyalty. If ever my hand is raised against you in rebellion or in anger, then may this holy iron pierce my heart,” he looked up at me, with the dirk pointed at his heart. Was I supposed to take it? What had Colum done? Did I want to take it or whatever the reciprocal gesture was?
“Is this no enough, Claire?” Jamie asked. Apparently, he’d seen what I was thinking, “Do you want to lead separate lives?”
“Don’t you dare!” That decided it. “You do not get to fuck up this monumentally and still the lay blame for the demise if this marriage at my door.”
“That’s no what I was doing,” he protested.
“It may not have been your explicit intent but it’s exactly what you were doing,” I stepped closer to him. He looked to be having doubts about his current position but he stayed the course. “That or you’re trying to cut off my anger by backing me into a corner where I either have to let it go or lose my marriage.”
“I wasna trying to do any of that,” he held up the hand without the dirk in it, as if to stop a temperamental horse. Perhaps I was more menacing than I gave myself credit for. I wrapped my hand deliberately around the handle of his dirk. He let go but kept a wary eye on me. I stepped a little off center and placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked cornered. A dark part of me relished it. I placed the tip of the dirk against his breast plate. My left hand went up and grabbed a fistful of his hair so tight I could see the pull on his face.
“Listen to me, James Fraser,” I said through gritted teeth, “If you ever raise your hand to me again, I will carve your heart out of your chest and I will eat it.”
“Never again,” he looked up at me, a little breathless, “I swear.” I nodded in acceptance of his oath. Then a distinct glint came into his eyes, “Now, can we go to bed?”
“Not on your life,” I snarled. He better not have done this to get me back into bed.
“That’s no why I did it,” he answered my thoughts.
“Good,” I informed him, “Because, to answer your question, it’s not enough,” I saw something between panic and disbelief in his eyes for a brief second. “It’s a start.” I let his dirk fall to the ground and went to walk on the other side of my horse, effectively ending all conversation.
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Jamie’s first attempt to get back into my good graces was to regale me and everyone else at the first meal I sat down to with all the humiliating instances of discipline over the course of his life. Everyone thought it was hilarious. Everyone teased. Jamie took it in all good grace, glancing at me periodically. Even I couldn’t maintain a hostile façade. I chuckled here and there but didn’t participate.
“Two whole hours without saying a word,” Dougal commented, “If only you’d been this quiet while we collected rents,” he sounded teasing.
“I was quiet enough when Jack Randall asked me about the gold you were raising for your Jacobite army,” I was in no mood for this man, “My ribs are still bruised from where he gave them a close inspection with his boot,” I spat. There was grumbling around the tables.
“Aye,” he nodded, “You were brave, lass.”
“And you felt the appropriate reward for my valor was a beating,” I dropped the cheese I’d been nibbling on back on my plate. The mood became tense.
“You put the men in danger, lass,” he went with the party line, “There had to be-"
“You all put me in danger!” I didn’t realize I’d sprung to my feet until I looked down and found the table farther away than it should have been. I didn’t realize that I’d slammed my hands onto it until I heard the tremor of the plates and gasps from some of the men. “I wasn’t more than a passing thought to Randall until you delivered me into his hands and accused me of being his spy. That made him wise to why you wouldn’t appreciate being spied on. Next thing I know I’m on the floor being compelled to call you all traitors or risk organ damage!”
“And just the fool I am,” I shook my head, “I didn’t give in to that bastard, despite his offering me transport and freedom. No, I faced his wrath for people who’d shown me nothing but hostility and suspicion.” Don’t you dare cry right now, Beauchamp! “You’d think that would buy a girl an inch of slack but no! I have to be beaten for being the target you all made me! And for you exercising the lives I saved to save me.” Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just Dougal I was in no mood for. I turned around and fled upstairs before any of these bastards could see me reduced to a puddle of tears.
I threw myself on the bed and cried hot, angry tears. I thought I was mad at Jamie, and I am, but I realized that I’m mad at all of them. I don’t know how long it was ‘til I heard a soft knock and the door swung open. Just when I gathered myself enough to give a colorful dismissal, Angus, of all people said, “Sorry to bother ye, mistress,” he was being polite, strange, “I brought ye some tea,” stranger still, “She might not know so much as you on such matters but the cook swears it’s the best thing to calm nerves.”
At that, I actually had to turn around and check. It really was Angus. He took my silence as consent and walked into the room. I watched him as he made his way across the room and placed the cup on the table. He looked around awkwardly and said, “Sorry mistress. I hope you feel better.” I may have said thank you. I may have said hickory dickory dock. Really, nothing was outside the realm of possibility. It wasn’t an apology in any official capacity but I had a feeling it was as close as I would get. I would have thought that would have troubled me more but honestly, I doubted very much that Angus was versed in such things as apologies.
And so it went with the men of Castle Leoch. Kind gestures. Niceties. The word sorry thrown in, mostly without context. I suppose it would have to do. It’s the thought that counts, after all. At least for most of them. And it occurred to me that I wasn’t living in a time where people talked things out anymore. Ned recited poetry and sweet Willie actually apologized. He brought flowers and said he was sorry for not having protected me from being taken. “That was not your fault,” I told him sincerely. He wasn’t apologizing for what I actually had a problem with but I found that it didn’t really matter. It was an apology.
I tried to convince Willie that it wasn’t his fault I was kidnapped. He wasn’t having it so I decided to forgive him instead. It would lift the burden, fault or not. On an impulse that I would quickly realize was out of its time, I hugged him. Willie’s stiffening was the first indicator. I let him go to find most of the men staring. Most with expressions that seemed to say, “What fresh madness is this woman about now?” One man was glaring. Jamie. And suddenly it occurred to me that Willie’s apology had more to do with my husband than me. Willie apologized once more and then made himself scarce.
“Will you stop making the lad sleep on the floor then?” Murtag stood beside me and looked off into the distance.
“Why would I do that?” I skipped telling him it’s not his business. Jamie had clearly given him a different impression.
“All the men have tried to make it up to you, aye?” he turned his head the slightest bit in my direction. So that’s how it’s done in the 18th century, I nodded. Coming to think of it though, even in the 20th century, most men would rather buy a gift than actually apologize. The thought made me feel both angry and sad. “And Jamie humbled himself, aye?” he added, “Telling of all of his embarrassments,” so that’s whose idea that was.
“A story of his injuries, to balm my actual injuries,” I mused, “That’s like handing me an origami turkey and telling me it’s a pound of flesh.”
“Origanu?” he looked at me, puzzled.
“Paper,” I informed him, “Paper folded up to look like animals and other things. But whatever you fold it to look like, it's still just paper.”
“Mmhh,” Murtagh made a Scottish sound and then he left. We had one more stop before Castle Leoch. I was no longer in pain so we made good time. I was surprised when Jamie made up an excuse for me to dismount and walk. To hear him tell it, he was an expert on injuries such as mine. He shifted and squirmed as we walked. Clearly there was something he wanted to say.
“It was never my intention to hurt ye,” he started.
“Somehow, I don’t think you beat me by accident,” my hands tightened around the reigns and I walked faster.
“I dinna mean that,” he quickly caught up to me, “I dinna think you’d feel this way about it.”
“How did you think I’d feel?” I was starting to get angry again.
“I thought once you calmed down, you’d see the good in it,” he admitted.
“You still think this was a good thing?” I whirled on him, “Don’t answer that!” I shouted when he opened his mouth. I really couldn’t hear that one more time. He threw up his hands in exasperation. I flinched and took a step back reflexively.
“Are ye afraid of me, Claire?” he looked so sad when he said it that my anger dissipated. That was good. I had something to say and I’m not sure I would have said it correctly, much less constructively, if I said it in anger.
“Consequences,” I told him, “You said a beating is how you learn, before you beat me,” I reminded him. “A beating doesn’t teach anything. You haven't had a thrashing since you were sixteen. Are you telling me you've learned nothing since then? Randall beat you within an inch of your life. Did that turn you to his way of thinking? Beatings don't teach, consequences do. And when you feel I have not grasped the consequences of my action, you can talk to me about them. Like I just did with all of you,” I said with conviction. “When you told me how it made you feel to see Jack Randall about to assault me, I decided right then that I’d never do anything to cause you such pain,” I said sincerely, “Being on the run with all of you, being chased by a hundred red coats, that made up my mind never to endanger any of you again,” I paused, “But when you beat me,” I looked him squarely in the eye, “You eroded all of that. And it's not just about the physical pain, though having you cause me pain was very hurtful to me. It’s about being treated as less than. It’s about you going back on your promises to me. If I were a man, I would have been given a chance to say my piece. If you’d upheld your promise to protect me as my husband, you’d have made sure I got that chance. But you let your anger blind you. These are the consequences of that,” I swept my hand across the space between us.
“I said I’d never forgive you,” I reminded him, “That’s because I know a thing or two about broken trust. It doesn’t heal as fast as a blistered backside. The defenses of the body have a very good memory and I think, having been a soldier, you know that. Once you’ve been injured or ambushed, you become more vigilant. And it’s not something you decide, it just happens.” He nodded his head, looking horrified.
“Trust isn’t something I can magically hand over,” I informed him, “I can’t just make myself stop flinching when you raise your hand because that motion is now firmly associated with pain."
“What must I do?” he asked earnestly, “How can I fix it?”
“Why should it be my responsibility to figure that out?” I bristled, “You created this mess. Cleaning it up is your responsibility, not mine.” His face became stern and focused, as though he was trying to figure it out right this minute. “I don’t know, Jamie,” I told him honestly. I did want Jamie and I to put this behind us. Even at my angriest, I didn’t want him gone from my life for good. But even in these moments of tenderness when his sincerity melts my heart, I know I cannot just fall into his arms leaving issues unresolved. “If it matters enough to you, you’ll find a way,” I mounted my horse and trotted towards the rest of the party.
I was always of the opinion that if your husband beats you, you should leave him. But what if your husband is from an era where such a thing is qualified. According to the morality of the day, Jamie didn’t beat me, he punished me. To him, beating your wife is using your fists and the like. That is what is considered wife-beating in this century. Using a strap on her bum was differentiated. Can I hold him up to a standard he doesn’t know? That hardly seems fair. Can I live by the standard he does know? Not on my life. So, what is left to do? I hardly noticed anything else that happened. I was too caught up in watching the 18th century marital standards fight the 20th century marital standards inside my head. My sense of personal standards was the commentator and she wasn’t being kind.
I didn’t get out of my haze until I went up to bed. I vaguely noticed Jamie didn’t follow me up this time but I didn’t really think about it until I found him already in the room. It took my mind a while to put together what it was looking at. By virtue of hypervigilance, the first thing I noticed was the belt Jamie was holding, doubled and stretched between his hands. I took a step back and my hand went to the handle of the door I just closed. He let it go and lifted his hands slowly. Okay… I walked tentatively forward. He was kneeling by the bed and his hands went to lift his kilt.
“What are you doing?” I asked, even though I was fairly certain I knew.
“I thought about what ye said,” he told me, “I was a soldier,” he looked at me as though for confirmation, “I never looked at your punishment like that,” he shook his head, as if trying to dispel the notion, “But if that’s how ye feel about it then I think I ken how to fix it.”
“Oh?” My mind was still running from this scenario.
“Aye,” he nodded, looking hopeful, “It’s like ye said, when someone injures or ambushes ye, ye become… skittish. But see, when ye get to attack or ambush them, ye stop being so skittish afterwards.”
“Jamie,” I started to shake my head.
“This will fix it, Sassenach,” he said with conviction, “I ken it will.”
“I can see the logic,” I conceded, “But I can’t beat you. I can’t beat anyone. I don’t have it in me.”
“Ye stabbed that red coat deserter,” he pointed out.
“He was attacking me and if you’ll recall, I was a mess afterwards,” I reminded him, “I still have nightmares about it,” I admitted, “This is premeditated and honestly, I don’t have the stomach for it.”
“Sassenach, I’ve seen ye inflict all manner of pain on people without much trouble,” he raised is brows at me.
“That’s to help,” I said defensively.
“This is to help,” he replied. I stopped to think about it. Would this help? We would be even, I supposed. I haven’t settled a dispute with violence since I was eleven years old. That suggests that this would be taking a step backwards. But I’ve stepped two hundred years backwards. This is the time of a pound of flesh. Wait a minute!
“Did Murtagh put you up to this?” I asked.
“No,” he answered but something flitted across his eyes.
“I’ll rephrase,” I said, “Did a conversation you had with him lead you to think of this?”
“Well,” he inclined his head, “Ye said ye wanted a pound of flesh, aye?”
“No,” I shook my head, “I did not say I wanted a pound of flesh. I used it as an example when he suggested that hearing about your humiliation should assuage mine, when yours is a story I’m being told and mine is something I’m living. It was a metaphor, not a request.”
“Maybe ye chose that metaphor for a reason,” he suggested.
“Be that, as it may, I can’t do this,” I sat on the bed, “I was brought up without violence. I got into a fight when I was eleven and my uncle told me I was far too old to try to settle disputes with my fists and I never did again. I was a nurse. I was taught to put people through as little pain as I possibly could in order to help them. Even if I tried to beat you, I’d quit the second I saw the first welt. Even if I succeeded in beating you, that would just make me hate myself.”
He put his head in his hands and said something in Gealic. Then inspiration must have struck because his head shot up and he grabbed the belt. I must have made some reflexive movement because he shook his head with a pained expression. I wondered yet again about the workings of this society. He didn’t expect that there would be aftereffects to what he had done even though he knows there are aftereffects to violence. Did everyone just have that divide in their mind? Likely they did. Being taught that one form of beating is violence and another is good discipline can condition you to react differently to the two. I had no such upbringing. To me, a beating was a beating.
“Come with me, Sassenach,” he headed for the door.
“Alright,” I got up and followed. What could you have thought up now? When we got downstairs, the workers were gone. The tables had been cleared and conversation was muffled. Everyone was about to turn in for the night. It was easy for Jamie to get their attention. “I have a matter for our chief to hear,” he set a chair aside for Dougal. I supposed Dougal was the closest thing to a chief there was at present. Coming to think of it, that was pretty close. He was basically Colum’s other half. Everyone became attentive then. This all made me feel uneasy. Jamie motioned me to sit at one of the tables with his head.
“Well get on with it,” Dougal said impatiently, “We don’t have all bloody night.”
“I come before ye, my kinsmen and my war chieftain,” Jamie started, “Because I have done wrong. I have been derelict in my duties as husband. I did harm to my wife when I should have protected her. I let my anger and my pride blind me and dinna let her say her piece. Every man here kens that our actions made her the target of Black Jack Randall. Ye’ve all made your amends as best as ye could, but none of ye are her husband. I had a duty to her that ye dinna share. For my error,” he held the belt up to Dougal, “Fifty lashes, if ye’d oblige me,” he handed the belt over, “And so the punishment fit the crime,” he turned around and, instead of removing his shirt, he lifted his kilt.
There was some grumbling among the men and Dougal made a noise of disapproval. “A man must face the consequences of his actions,” Jamie said and the noise dissipated. I’d had a feeling, even as I descended the stairs, that whatever Jamie had come up with was not going to be comfortable for either of us. Then again, they say that the mark of a true compromise is that it is unpleasant for everyone involved. I wanted to say that this was not necessary. That I’d figured out while he was talking that what I needed was an acknowledgement, an apology. Thwack! But it was too late now. He'd brought this before his kinsmen and his chief. And quite frankly, to change my tune now would just mean never being taken seriously again, and I’d fought too hard to be taken seriously this time. Thwack! Was it necessary for Dougal to hit him this hard? Oh, who am I kidding? This is Dougal. He wasn’t just punishing Jamie for the crime Jamie wished to be punished for. He was punishing him for holding himself accountable to woman, for being a threat to him, for many other resentments I knew nothing about but was sure existed.
Fifty. Why fifty? I thought it must have something to do with the number he gave me. He had said twelve, if I cooperated. I didn’t cooperate. I didn’t count either. Did he double it to twenty-four when I fought him? Is fifty a rounded figure for the double of mine? How many were left now? Again, I wasn’t counting. How do people keep count of this kind of thing anyway? They probably didn't keep closing their eyes with the impact. Here was another thing I couldn’t help: I have trouble watching beatings. It would seem strange to Jamie. He did point out, after all, that I inflict more than my fair share of pain. I can watch amputations on people who are awake. I can perform amputations on people who are awake. It seems silly that a beating should make bile rise in my throat. What was it I had said to Jamie? Methods matter. Yes, that’s it. I didn’t want a road to reconciliation that held more violence. Turns out, the 20th century is still entrenched in me. I found myself glad.
After what I felt was all night but might have been five minutes, it was done. Jamie took his belt from Dougal and they nodded at each other. Some of them clapped his shoulder and then everyone dispersed. “Dinna fash yourself, lass,” he wiped a tear I hadn’t realized I’d shed.
“You could have just said sorry,” I looked up at him.
“Aye,” he nodded, “But ye’d likely still jump out of your skin with every twitch of my hand,” he extended said hand. I took it and he helped me to my feet. Hmmm. It wasn’t until he pointed that out that I thought back to him wiping my tears. I hadn’t flinched. The instinct that kept warning me that he was dangerous had quieted. Was it really because of what just happened? I thought about it as we ascended the stairs. I used to be afraid of tombs. That was an inconvenient fear for someone being raised by an archeologist. It was even more inconvenient for the archeologist when that person refused to be left anywhere but didn’t want to go inside a tomb. One day uncle Lamb convinced me to go into one. “There’s nothing dangerous down there except fear,” he told me, “Today you are going to face that fear and I promise, you’ll be better for it.” So, I went inside. Even when the lights were on, I was afraid. He walked me through every inch of it and showed me all that was in it, human remains included. Then he said we weren’t leaving that tomb ‘til I was no longer afraid, just bored. Whatever shadowy monsters I had thought lived there didn’t seem so scary after I sat among them eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The ghosts turned back into old bones. God bless you, Uncle Lamb. Maybe this turned Jamie, from the man who beat me, back into my husband.
“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I told Jamie when I saw him lay down his plaid. We’d gotten to the room and started undressing in silence.
“You want me to come to bed with you then?” he looked at me hopefully.
“Yes,” I said tentatively.
“To sleep or…” he raised his eyebrows.
“How can you possibly be thinking about that right now?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Ye’re in naught but ye shift with ye back to the candle,” he pointed out.
“Can we talk first?” I turned down my side of the covers.
“Aye, there are things I would say too,” he nodded.
“I don’t want to repeat any part of this experience,” I said honestly, “And I know you promised never to raise your hand to me again but this doesn’t end there. I can’t be in a marriage where I’m treated like I’m your property or your servant. I know the law allows it but I can’t live like that.”
“Aye, I see that Sassenach,” he turned down his side of the covers, “I’d no repeat any of this either. Have ye anything else ye wish to say?” he asked as I got into bed and sat up. I shook my head and looked at him. Clearly there was something he wanted to say. He tried to sit up next to me and winced then lay on his side. “Can ye lie down, Sassenach? I dinna want to speak to ye lap. I lay on my side and faced him. “I canna have ye compare me to the likes of Black Jack Randall,” he told me firmly.
“Jamie,” I started.
“I dinna interrupt when ye spoke, aye?” he raised his brows.
“No, you did not,” I conceded.
“And you said you were finished, aye?” he looked me.
“I did.”
“Right,” he nodded, “There are some things I must tell you about that red-coated bastard.”
Jamie told me all his association with Black Jack Randall. I could definitely see why he found it hurtful and revolting to be compared to that beast. I thought about what Jamie told me about Randall raping his sister. His character is certainly on par with such an action. But between what Jamie told me Randall wanted from him and my own experience I wasn’t sure Randall was capable of raping Jenny, or any other woman for that matter. I could be wrong though. It could just have been performance anxiety. It could be that I’d realized it was turning him on and stopped screaming. Either way, there were too many possibilities of my being wrong to say anything about it to Jamie.
Try as I did to convince him that he was not to blame for his father’s death, it didn't really take. The only person responsible for Randall being a bastard is Randall. Guilt, however, is immune to logic and reason. Things went a little skew when Jamie tried to make me understand why he felt he had to beat me, in light of this new information.
“You beat me to hopefully keep me out of the hands of another man who would beat me?” I spit out angrily. The anger came back into his eyes. Right, he didn’t like comparisons to Jack Randall. Well, I didn’t like having a man tell me he beat me for my own good. “Has it not occurred to you that talking to me has accomplished a lot more than beating me did?” I asked him.
“Maybe,” he looked dubious, “Aye,” he said, after thinking it over with me glaring at him.
“If you think I’m receptive to your words now because you beat me,” my voice started rising.
“I’m not, Sassenach,” he cut in, “I see now you’re no different from me: a thrashing won’t stop ye doing anything ye set your mind to. It’ll just make ye difficult to live with.”
“Oh, I’m difficult,” I huffed and folded my arms. It occurred to me, just after those words left my mouth, that I was perhaps not the easiest person for someone from the 18th century to live with, much less be married to.
“Aye,” it must have occurred to him too.
“Lie down,” I said to him, “Face-down,” I clarified. He looked dubious but he did it. Thwack! I brought my hand down on his bum. “That’s for enjoying it!”
“Enjoying it! Sassenach,” he said, gasping, “You don’t know how much I enjoyed it. You were so… God, you looked lovely. I was so angry and you fought me so fierce. I hated to hurt you, but I wanted to do it at the same time. Jesus! Yes. Yes, I did enjoy it.”
Thwack! “Enjoying that?” I raised my brows in question. He turned to face me and pushed the blankets down below his waist. Apparently he was. My nipples hardened, my core felt hot, every part of me tingled.
“I want ye, Claire,” he drew closer to me, “I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?” he got just close enough that I’d barely have to move to get to him but not so close that the choice was made for me.
“Yes,” I breathed, “Yes, I’ll have you.”