Chapter Text
Jamie knew, from the second he decided she’d be his wife, that Claire was meant to be a mother. Since he made that marital choice a few minutes into knowing her, it stood to bear that he’d known it as long as he had her.
He saw it the way she abandoned her own discomfort to restore it to others. He saw it in the way she fawned over wee plants in the garden, or a horse that threw a shoe. He saw it in the way her eyes flashed in protective fury when Laoghaire was to be strapped in the hall, or when Father Bain tried to use his barbaric exorcism methods on little Thomas. After they had wed, he felt it in the way she cradled his head to her chest after lovemaking. He sensed it in the touch of her cool hands upon him when she tended the most minor scrape. He heard it in the way she scolded every single member of the rent party that dared to be undernourished, reckless with their safety, or in any other way perilous to the health of others.
He didn’t have to see Claire with Faith to know she had been a good mother to her and would have continued to be so had they been blessed. He was mesmerized by the way she soothed a bairn yet to be born, but he saw her do it dozens of times, rubbing over a spot she insisted was the babe’s head, though all the bumps seemed to feel the same to him (wonderful, but indistinguishable as individual parts of a babe). That quiet, melodic, tone she took when narrating some piece of the outside world to their unborn child had a death grip on his throat and choked all but grateful tears from him.
Fergus was the first person he had ever seen her direct her entire maternal efforts into, during those weeks of pregnancy, and later after they had lost the babe.
It had made Jamie feel as warm as a cheetie curled before a hearth to see her straighten his clothes, fuss over the smear of dirt on his check, push a second helping of dinner. He knew Fergus felt the same awe of her tenderness that Jamie did.
Fergus admittedly held a bit of hero-worship where Jamie was concerned, but in Fergus’ eyes, he knew Claire had hung the moon and stars. The juxtaposition of at once, wanting to fight off any of her would-be attackers, while simultaneously yearning for her to praise him with a kiss on the cheek for his excellent marks in his writing lessons was comical. Jamie knew they’d be keeping the lad when he caught her sitting on a chaise in one of the spare rooms, reading the boy a story, his head pillowed in her lap, sound asleep.
They had discussed it that night, in their room at Jared’s estate, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder, one of his large hands fanned out over her rounded belly.
“He’s so young, Jamie. And those women at the brothel are too busy with their own affairs to properly watch out for him and keep him out of trouble.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face while she talked, so that she could keep one hand tucked against her belly and the other pressed against his heart. “And he’s bound to find trouble, he’s a magnet for it. And he needs-”
“He needs you, Sassenach.” Jamie cut in, tone loving and assertive.
“But that’s just it, Jamie he does need-” She stopped and blinked rapidly, clearly having expected Jamie to argue against keeping him. “Sorry, can you say that again?”
“He belongs wi’ ye.” Jamie spoke simply, but with great confidence.
“With us.” Claire replied firmly, as if trying to assuage some doubt in him.
“Aye, because I belong w’ ye too. I’m fond of the lad, Claire, I am. And he’s fond of me, too, I think. But he’s fond of me because he likes me to show him to fight with a sword, and grapple, and adventure. He loves you because he sees the mother he’s always longed for. Someone who cares where he sleeps at night. Who worries if he’ll be home in time for supper. Who scolds him when he’s nicked something he shouldn’t have, and you find out about it. He loves you because you love him.”
Her eyes had begun to water then, a frequent occurrence since becoming heavily pregnant. “He deserves to be loved.” Claire stated with a waterlogged voice.
“Aye. And ye do. He’s that lucky. We all are.” Jamie agreed warmly, patting the swell of their child softly.
For a while after Faith, that spark which always shone so brightly in her had dimmed some, and Jamie was inclined to believe Claire herself had purposely dimmed it. Not that he blamed her. Just the thought of their wee lass, only so big as his two hands put side by side width wise, gone before they truly had the chance to love her was heartrending. He could see the way she tried to protect herself from that pain, that unutterable loss, by tucking away any associated feelings and tendencies.
He only really started to see it again once they had joined Prince Charles’ army.
Fergus had always been brash, but “It has never been more true than in the middle of a bloody fucking war zone,” Claire had raved at Jamie one evening, sat in between two towering stacks of empty crates, and cradling her own head in her hands, bent at the waist and desperately trying not to cry in front of her husband.
“Mo cridhe…” Jamie had begged helplessly, impotent to stop the source of her fear.
“He followed you onto a battlefield, Jamie! He drew a knife on trained soldiers! He’s twelve years old and he killed a man! My-! My…” She panted as her breaths came in uncontrolled spurts, so shallow she took in no air.
Jamie shot a hand out to palm the back of her neck, drawing her to him until her blue-tinged lips huffed uselessly against his cheek. He whispered to her then, simple words. “In, Claire. Good. Now out. Again, in. And out.” She sagged against him, and he brought his hands up, bracketing her rib cage, holding her together lest she fly apart again.
This wasn’t Jamie’s first war. It wasn’t Claire’s either. He wondered dimly what she could have seen to hollow her out like this. Nothing he had experienced in battle in France, nor any of the tribulations he and Claire had faced together had left quite so lasting a scar as Claire’s world war had, though Jack Randall had certainly come close.
Her cheekbones jutted uncomfortably into his collar as he held her. He could spread his fingers wide and count each rib, each vertebra below the sinewy, too thin body of his wife. And still, despite her fear, and her hunger, and her trauma, Fergus was her only thought.
“Fergus is well. He is unharmed, and he is back in his cot. We’ll see to him presently. He’ll no’ get near a battlefield again, mo nighean donn, I swear it.”
Claire had keened into his tattered waistcoat then. “As long as he stays with us, he won’t be far enough away. Never. But I can’t…” She choked on a sob, and he had to glide a hand up and down her spinal column to coax her into a regular breathing pattern again. “I can’t send him away from me.” She confessed after several minutes.
“I’m sorry, a nighean.” He sighed into her hair, desperate with the need to change their situation.
Claire had leaned back then, and set cool, forgiving hands on his cheeks. “It’s not your fault.” She held his gaze for a long, blessedly quiet minute. “Let’s get back to Fergus.”
Jamie nodded solemnly, and thumbed at the tracks her tears had made on her muddy, blood splattered cheeks. He searched for a slightly less soiled portion of his shirtsleeve, wiped her face reverently with it, then rocked until his forehead came to rest against hers, lending her his strength.
Claire had spent the whole night lying on her back, Fergus pinned to her side, playing with strands of his hair and whispering promises of safety and family and peace. Jamie spent the whole night laying on his side, fingers entwined with hers, watching them, his family, studying the way Claire soothed their boy, and wondering if he’d get the chance to watch her do the same to their next wean.
…
After he’d sent Claire through the stones, he spent long nights in his cave, and in Ardsmuir prison thinking those were the only glimpses of motherhood he’d get the chance to experience with Claire. They were treasured, to be sure, and on nights when he wished most for comfort, he’d imagine his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair, or her fingernails dragging soothing patterns on his back, and her voice, like honey, reminding him that she was here and that he was alright.
Upon her return, he hadn’t thought much about it, other than the nearly uncontrollable need to hear about his daughter, Brianna.
He wondered if she noticed how she unconsciously cradled her arms when she talked about their daughter’s infancy. The realization caused a physical ache in him to know that she had picked up the habit of kicking out one hip and rocking gently when she stood still for too long, as if she had a fussy toddler latched to her and in need of calming.
He hadn’t ever noticed it before, but after her return, even without the overt, automatic displays of maternal instinct, he sensed that something was missing when he looked at her. He could never pin down exactly what it was, but she never seemed complete to him. It was only when she was reunited with Fergus that he figured it out. She had clearly spent the last 20 years with a child. She looked natural clutching Fergus to her, at ease in a way she hadn’t been since she’d found him again. All it had taken was her hands on his face, studying his every detail, drinking in the presence of one of her children.
While he longed to know what Claire might look like walking the streets of Edinburgh with their daughter, he could appreciate that he was blessed to know what it looked like to watch her do the same with their son.
In a pub, later than night, Jamie had gotten up from the table to retrieve a second round of ale for the table. The tavern was full, and too close for comfort, everyone jostling for elbow space and shouting to be heard over the din. He couldn’t hear the conversation they were having, but he saw the crow's feet Claire hadn’t had in her twenties, and she laughed at some smart-arse comment Fergus had undoubtedly made. Her fingers rested gently on his remaining hand and slid against his knuckles as she talked. Their heads were bent close together to hear one another, but there was something conspiratorial about the way their two curly wig heads bobbed and at times nearly touched at the forehead as they spoke.
Jamie had finally succeeded in refilling their mugs and had rounded a column in an attempt to avoid the crowd with three full-to-the-brim drinks. Fergus’s voice carried over to him, and he planted his shoulder into the column, leaning in, hungry to hear them share the kind of carefree, easy conversation he used to overhear in Paris. “Bran had taken my hand! Milord was chasing him around the dooryard in the moonlight! Mud was flying everywhere. Mistress was screeching at him to give it up as lost. I swear, I never laughed so hard, Milady.”
He heard Claire’s musical laugh, high and elegant, and so, so full of mirth. “My goodness, I would have paid to see that. Sounds like quite the display.”
Jamie peeked around the edge of his hiding spot to see Fergus’s curls bob frenetically. “Oui. He cut quite an impressive figure, I think, despite smelling like the deepest rut in a well-trod carriage path.”
Claire shrieked with laughter then, patting his arm jovially and shaking her head in disbelief. Fergus grinned that impish smile that always reminded Jamie that trouble was never far where this young man was concerned. Claire clutched the young man’s arm, as if needing support, and he saw a profound look come over Fergus. Jamie saw the moment Fergus truly recognized her for the same woman who had chided him for eating too many pastries and spoiling his appetite. Jamie watched him gulp and return her grasp with such purpose and joy.
“Oh, stop. I can’t breathe. My God, I forgot how funny you are.” She said through fits of laughter. She leaned closer to him, and she must have seen the transformation in his eyes, for she lowered her voice and said, “I did miss you. I- well, I lived a different life while I was gone. But not a day went by that I didn’t hear the lullabies you used to sing when I was carrying Faith. I saw you everywhere I went. And I missed you desperately.” Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, and Jamie could feel his own welling in response. He never could stand to see her cry.
Fergus had every reason to be confused, to have a rush of conflicting emotions considering the reappearance of the mother he thought dead for the last 20 years. But, as with every challenge Jamie had seen him face, he took it in stride. A wry smile curled one corner of his mouth, but Jamie could see the relief and grief swirling behind it. “I did not think you left me by choice, Maman. It brings me great joy that I will not have to miss you any longer.”
Claire offered nothing more than a watery smile. Jamie decided he could re-enter without interrupting their moment, and he made a good show of sliding around the pillar as if he were avoiding a hidden patron. Fergus was just in the process of kissing both of her cheeks with his typical flourish and boyish charm, and he stood from the table.
“If you will excuse me,” He began, swiping his mug from Jamie and draining it in one very impressive gulp. “Milord has given me an exceedingly long list of errands to run, ostensibly to hoard you for himself tonight.” Fergus was subtle enough to drop an exaggeratedly lewd wink at that. “No matter. I have many more embarrassing stories of Milord, and now, many more nights to share them with you. Au revoir.”
…
Young Ian and Claire were close from the start, a fact that warmed Jamie’s heart to no end. It had much to do, Jamie thought, with their mutual empathy for all sorts of people, and their general lack of suspicion.
Ian had instantly taken to Claire, who was so used to mistrust based on her accent or proclivity for healing, that she was ecstatic to find a new ally, despite his youth. Their voyage back from France to Scotland gave them ample opportunity to pepper each other with questions and regale one another with the context that made up their pasts.
In the berth that Claire and Jamie shared (when his internal organs weren’t doing their damnedest to become external), Claire shared her joy with Jamie.
“He’s such a sweet boy. He’s got his father’s gentleness.” Claire said, in echo of a thought he’d had countless times since the lad was born. “But that keen mind. That’ll be Fraser blood through and through, not to mention the penchant for chaos.”
Jamie could only moan as another mighty rock of the boat churned his wame. “Ohh.” Claire muttered in pity, laying one icy hand on his forehead. She had just come in from the deck, and the chill was a blessing on his flushed skin. She took his grunt for dissatisfaction, and began to pull away, but Jamie shot an unseeing hand out, snatching at her wrist and leaning more fully into her touch. “Fergus outgrew needing me to tuck him in to fight off his nightmares. It’s a shame you couldn’t have outgrown this in the years since I was here last.”
The boat was a good sight calmer now, and her cool hand had brought him a brief respite from his agony. “I havena outgrown my nightmares, Sassenach.” He said playfully, braiding their fingers together. “Come chase them awa’ for me?” He suggested in that off-color way that made her blush from the neckline of her dress to the tips of her ears.
“As much as I’d like that, Soldier,” she said fondly (and indeed, very pink about the neck and face), pulling gently at a handful of hair at the back of his scalp, “I’ve seen this play before, and it always ends with me scrambling over you to avoid being on the wrong end of your nausea. You’ll just have to wait.”
Jamie chuckled in agreement, and scooted until his head rested against the soft, fleshy part of her hip, like a cat bunting up against a beloved owner. She stroked his scalp in blissful long strokes, which didn’t help the feline comparison his mind had conjured.
Claire’s mind had wandered back to the topic of their discussion. “I can see why you’re so fond of young Ian. He’s so guileless and earnest. I know he’s sixteen but… he’s got such a young, well-meaning heart, hasn’t he?”
Jamie smiled, though he closed his eyes at her ministrations. “Aye. There’s been much darkness since ye’ve been gone, but he’s like a lantern that never runs out of fuel, that one. He burns bright.”
“I shine, not burn.” Claire recited the MacKenzie motto, and suddenly it was as if two decades of longing melted away, and they were back in their bedchamber in Leoch castle, young, and in love, and far less scarred. Claire’s index finger snaked down to trace his eyebrows.
“I’m glad you had him. And Fergus too. It’s a wonder you haven’t gone gray keeping him alive into adulthood.” Claire observed wistfully.
“And Brianna? Did she no’ have ye pulling your hair out by the roots?” Jamie questioned quietly, resting his hand on her knee, which was folded up onto the berth next to him.
“Oh, by all means. She certainly does burn! A temper like a rabid boar. But she could be so sweet too. I worked odd hours as a doctor frequently. I’m not sure when exactly it started- she had to be 8 at least- but I’d wake up in my bed, after a few hours rest to find that she’d already left for school. But she always left something for me, so I knew she had come to say goodbye. A doll of hers, tucked under my arm, or a picture she had drawn for me on the nightstand.” Claire sniffled softly. “Even when she was older, at 16 or 17, I’d find the teapot filled and waiting on the stove, or a flower plucked from the garden we grew together.”
“Ye raised a kind, thoughtful lass.” Jamie rumbled against her skirts, which he had buried his face in.
“Yes. And you helped raise two impetuous, wonderful, charming young men. And their many other Murray siblings besides.”
Jamie curled his shoulder in so that he was practically on his belly, his face hidden against the warm solid weight of his wife, her knee clutched to his chest like a lifeline.
He felt her hand on his shoulder, the warmth of it seeping through his linen shirt. “Be at ease.
I’ll chase off your nightmares, Soldier.”
…
The dynamic of Claire and Ian’s connection necessarily shifted after the events surrounding Geillis’ capture of the boy. Ian, lost, scared, and an ocean away from Jenny, had no mother to turn to for comfort for the first time in his life. Claire, for her part, could never resist the call of the suffering, and responded like a she-bear at the call of a distraught cub.
Jamie had always considered Ian to be his foster son, so it was truly heart-warming to see his wife take to him so easily. Ian suffered nightmares following the events in Jamaica, but was very self conscious of them, and was reticent to share them. He’d often show up to the morning campfire or table (depending how far into the backcountry they happened to be at the time) with dark circles under his eyes and a heavy, unseen force weighing down his shoulders.
Rather than interrogate him in front of Jamie, Claire would set a large glass of goat or cow milk (when it could be found) in front of the young man and heap an extra portion of breakfast onto his plate. Jamie knew Ian noticed it, and found it endearing, because it would usually prompt his first eye-contact and interaction of the morning. He’d look up at Claire from under a burdened brow and say in the softest voice, “Thank ye, Auntie.”
Most days, she’d let him go off with his uncle to complete whatever tasks they had on order that day. She knew from their time in Edinburgh, how keen he was to be seen as a man, responsible and capable.
On his worst mornings, though, Jamie was amused to hear her find some excuse that would not sting Ian’s pride but would offer him the respite he needed after a few nights tumultuous sleep. One such day, after a breakfast of corn hash, wild strawberries, and cured boar meat, Jamie stood to meet the day’s work, and Ian rose wordlessly to join him.
He had dragged his feet from his bedroll to their campfire that morning and hadn’t had the energy to say more than his thanks to Claire. Jamie and Claire shared a private, knowing look over the boy’s head.
“I’ll be off to the settlement just past those trees there.” Jamie indicated to Claire with the tip of the dirk he was busy securing to his belt. They were in the habit of telling each other where they were going, and how long they could be expected to be away, after years of having to go off in search of one another after some latest catastrophe. “I’m hoping one of the homesteads there will have a few laying chickens we might buy, and a rooster too, that we could use to set ourselves up with a steady supply of eggs.”
“Alright. How far?” Claire acknowledged, using dirt and little bit of water from her water skin to scrub the burned remains of their breakfast from the pan.
“A little o’er an hour’s walk. I dinnae want to take the horses. I want them fresh when we break camp tomorrow. I’ll try to acquire the birds, and maybe some odds and ends if the price is right.” Jamie supplied, jingling their coin purse dubiously.
“That’s fine, then. Be careful.” She looked up and smiled at him, and the sun felt just a little bit warmer than it had moments before. “I’d like to forage for some edibles and medicinals before we head off tomorrow. Perhaps even find some seeding plants I can use to start a garden once we’ve established a homestead.” Her eyes flicked almost imperceptibly at Ian, then Jamie, before darting back down to the plates and mugs she was collecting.
Claire knew that Jamie didn’t like her straying without either he or Ian with her, for her safety. Typically, it was a point of consternation for the couple, as she felt she could handle herself, and he had a very rational fear that some trouble would find her while she was alone and bent double and paying little mind to the world around her.
Jamie suppressed a smirk and played the role she had silently cast him in. “Aye, but take Ian and Rollo with you, aye? Ye know I dinnae like-”
Claire had to turn her face from Ian so he couldn’t catch her smile as she interrupted in her typical response, “Yes, yes. I’ve heard it before. Ian?”
Ian’s head bobbed up from where it was hovering over his beloved wolfdog. “Aye, Auntie, I’ll come wi’ ye. I’ll just have a pish before we go.” He stood and, as a unit, he and his dog went somewhere downwind to relieve themselves behind a tree.
When Ian was out of auditory range, Jamie’s smile twisted into a half-scolding, half-praising look. “Very clever, Sassenach. But in the future, if you plan to involve me in one of yer schemes, you could jes’ tell me, no?”
Claire scrunched her nose at him and smirked back. “I dunno, you seemed to get the gist without.”
Jamie bent and kissed her hair. “Your acting has improved with age, Sassenach. Look after the lad. I’ll be back soon.”
Jamie arrived back at their camp several hours later, with three hens and a rooster, as well as a used but well forged rasp, and a new hoof knife and nipper, all pulled on a sledge helpfully by the single goat one of the homesteaders had been happy to part with due to her ornery nature.
Lines of twine were strung up between the trees near their campfire, heavy with the wild onion and other unidentifiable greens Claire and Ian had hung there. Besides that, there was not a sight or sound to indicate where the two might be. Jamie tied the goat to a tree near a flowering patch of something-or-other, set the crate with the fowl down a ways from their bedrolls, and decided to caper about in search of them. He wasn’t particularly worried, but he was always more settled when he had his family within in visual range.
He found them not far off, sitting on a felled log near a stream, their backs to him, speaking in low tones. “...honestly nothing to be ashamed of, Ian. It’s a natural response when you’ve experience something frightening or traumatic. I’ve suffered from nightmares. They’ll lessen with time, I promise.” Jamie knew Claire and Ian probably wouldn’t mind him joining the conversation, but he waited, allowing Claire to have this moment with her nephew.
“What do you dream of Auntie?” Ian’s voice was hoarse from crying, and he watched Claire pass a hand behind him, to work some of the tension out of his shoulders in broad sweeps of a palm.
“Oh, lots of things. I was attacked by a pair of wolves one time, when I tried to break your uncle out of prison. Those yellow gnashing teeth, and feral blue eyes.” She shuddered. Ian’s own wolf raised his head as if he knew what she spoke of, and he rested his chin on her knee with a considering glance.
“That’s why you were so weary of him when I won him, then?” Ian questioned. He seemed to be encouraged that she had overcome some fear which had once plagued her.
“Yes. But he’s a good dog, isn’t he?” Her voice pitched up, crooning at the beast as she scratched his ears. “I have nightmares about… About the battles I was a part of, too. And the time I was nearly burned at the stake for witchcraft. And the long time I spent away from Jamie, and your parents. And lots of other things, besides.” Claire’s arm was draped across his shoulders now, and Ian had leaned into her embrace.
“How do ye sleep at all, with so many things to keep you up?” Ian enquired.
“Honestly Ian? I talk to Jamie. Or someone else I trust. Sometimes, before I have the courage to say it to another person, I tell it to one of the horses.” She laughed faintly. “And I try to take comfort in being with people I feel safe with. Like you. And I let your uncle tell me over and over again that I’ll be alright, until I believe it too.”
This felt to Jamie like a good place to enter the conversation himself. Jamie let himself be heard before he was seen, purposely stepping through dry brush. Claire inclined her head over her shoulder to see him, but didn’t seem surprised at all by his presence. They had always had a sense for the nearness of one another…
“Uncle Jamie!” Ian stuttered, apparently taken off guard.
“Relax lad. I thought I might join the conversation, if ye dinna mind much?” Jamie raised a pacifying hand, indicating Ian shouldn’t get up.
“I-I…” He muttered, cheeks tinging pink.
Jamie eased himself into a seat on the damp earth at Claire’s feet, sitting sideways so that one of his shoulders was slotted against her knees, and he faced their young charge. “Has your Auntie told ye how she spent months rocking me and soothing me back to sleep after I was captured by a redcoat?”
Ian’s mouth fell open in unabashed astonishment. “You, Uncle?”
Jamie’s gaze flickered to Claire out of the corner of his eyes, and she nodded her own confirmation. “Aye. I told ye some of it, after we buried Hayes, you remember?” Ian nodded hastily eyes wide. “I had nightmares every night for a long, long time after that. Violent ones. Sometimes more than once a night.” Jamie cleared his throat at the emotion that had gathered there, his eyes scanning the forest around him for a moment. “At first I was ashamed, I thought… I thought I couldna be a man, nor a worthy husband, if I woke up cowering into my blankets every night.”
He focused his attention on his wife then, and let the whiskey amber of her eyes cleanse him of some of that familiar doubt and fear which had begun to creep in for the telling of it. “What changed it? You dinna have any night terrors now.” Ian observed quietly.
“Ah, I do, but they’re no’ so vivid as they used to be, nor so common. In truth, it was your Auntie. She made me confess what I dreamt, so that it wasnae trapped in my mind anymore. Thoughts like those echo in the dark of yer mind, ye ken, and feed on your feelings, and they grow stronger. It’s hard to tell the difference between a robin and a raptor in the dark. Sometimes it takes a second set of eyes to illuminate things. Do you catch my meanin’, lad?”
“A-Aye, I think so.” Ian accepted, seeming more at ease.
Jamie decided to finish with one final thought. “Take it from someone who has spent the last few decades learning it, lad. Strength is more than never showing weakness. Ye ken as well as I do how strong your Auntie is. And yet, ye’d never think ill of her for fearin’ some danger or harm. Let the people who care for ye be the bearers of your fear. Tha’s how ye overcome it. Your auntie has been slaying my demons for more years than ye’ve been on the earth. And I hope I’ve done the same for her.”
Claire smiled at him then, eyes shining with admiration and affection. “You know you have, my love.” She turned to Ian, kissed his brow, and made to stand up. “Fighting beasties always works up my appetite. What say we find something to cook up, ey, gentlemen?”
Jamie stood first, and offered her his hand, which she accepted. Ian followed their lead and took a step toward them. Jamie lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed understandingly, and the boy leaned forward to wrap an arm around each of them. Claire used the arm not around Jamie’s waist to pull Ian’s cheek to her sternum for a moment. “It’ll be alright, hmm?” She whispered.
Jamie’s heart seized for love of these two. He dropped his chin to rest on his nephew’s crown. “Aye. All is well.” Jamie agreed.
…
Claire was practically vibrating with excitement and buzzing about their small cabin like a wee bumblebee, straightening items on shelves, sweeping the roughhewn floors, checking their supper which cooked in the hearth in a large stoneware pot, and taking down drying herbs from the rack above the work top, never quite completing a task before whizzing to another.
“Claire, a leannan, slow down. They’ve all seen the cabin a dozen times or more at least.”
“Never mind that, it looks like a pigsty in here. Will you please straighten the bed?” It was put to him in the form of a question, but Jamie very much recognized it for what it really was: a command.
He did as he was told, straightening the linens, stacking their pillows, and folding their extra blanket at the foot of the bed, the way she liked it.
He looked behind him to see she had left a half-swept pile of dirt on the floor near the pantry and was standing on tip toes to reach the remaining silver candleholder that had been his mother’s. Jamie quickly opened the pantry door and swept the discarded pile there (it had a dirt floor, and Claire clearly wouldn’t notice the difference in the state she was in).
That accomplished, he strode over to where her fingers were just barely brushing the beautiful, ornamented holder and brought it down to her. She muttered something about the few precious scented beeswax candles she had made, then whirled to complete another inane task.
Jamie grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her back around to face him. “Mo ghoal, would ye stop tearing about the room like a madwoman?” He huddled so he could look up into her face. “Are ye nervous?”
Her shoulder slumped, arms hanging loosely at her sides as she sighed gently. “No- I… I’m just so excited, I think. I’ve got all this pent-up energy, I don’t know what to do with-absolutely not, don’t look at me that way. With our luck they’d all burst in through the door before we’ve had a chance to… fully enjoy each other.”
Jamie grinned. “Yer probably right about that, Sassenach.” He took the candlestick from her and mounted one of the unscented candles in it and placed it in the middle of the table which was already set for seven- Jamie and Claire, Fergus and Marsali, Brianna, Lizzie, and Ian.
Claire sat in one of the two chairs before the hearth and checked the contents of her pot roast. The hearty aroma of potatoes, onion, carrot, and stewed meat wafted up to Jamie. Claire poked at several potatoes with a fork to determine whether they were cooked through or not.
The front door swung open and Lizzie, Ian and Brianna trundled in. Lizzie had a large wooden bowl covered with cheese cloth, and Bree carried a small wicker basket.
“I’ve just made some fast butter, for the bread, Mistress.” Lizzie said, cheeks pink from exertion.
“And I thought it might be nice to have some fresh blackberries for dessert. There’s a huge bramble of them on the other side of the creek.” Bree noted, jerking her head at the basket.
Claire rose and retrieved both, finding places for them on the already crowded table. “That was very thoughtful of both you, thank you, you didn’t have to go through the trouble.” Claire praised somewhat formally.
Brianna rolled her eyes good naturedly and patted her mother on the shoulder. “Relax, Mama. We’re not gonna tear each other limb from limb. You adopted a bunch of young adults, not feral dogs.”
Claire laughed, having been caught, and took Bree’s nose in between two fingers, shaking her head like she might a naughty dog. “Hush, you. I’m not worried about the others, but I’ve always thought you might be half rabid yourself.” Bree snapped her teeth at her mother’s retreating fingers, and the group laughed as one.
Jamie came to stand behind Claire and put his hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “She’s been driving me crazy since dawn this morning, gave me a list a mile long.” Jamie received a mock glare from his wife, and he flashed them a charming smile. “Dinna worry, lass, I find it endearing. My wee perfectionist.”
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of Fergus and Marsali. Ian, being closest to the door, let them in, and the next ten minutes were spent in general introduction as Bree met her brother and sister-in-law for the first time.
Dinner was a noisy affair in which Fergus and Bree set their formidable wit against one another by trying to tell the most embarrassing stories about Jamie and Claire respectively. Ian joined the fun, and Marsali recounted the tale of her first meeting with Claire, which the party met with horror (mostly Lizzie’s) and amusement.
Jamie’s eyes bounced from person to person, drinking in the sight of them laughing, passing food, and chatting as if they’d been doing it together their whole lives. He hadn’t spared a glance for Claire since they’d sat to eat, and he did so now.
He was not disappointed.
Claire had a glow about her that was so heartbreakingly beautiful, he wished he could capture the image forever, in one of her photographs. It was the kind of serenity and inner joy he’d always longed to give her and had so rarely been able to.
She basked in the sounds of merriment, studying their faces as if to memorize this moment forever. His hand found hers on her knee beneath the table, and she welcomed his fingers in between her own. Jamie leant to whisper in her ear. “Our family, every one. Ours.”
A single tear shone in the corner of her eye. “Ours. And so beautiful.” She whispered back.
The moment was broken when the two noticed the silence and turned as one to see five pairs of eyes studying them teasingly. “If you’d like some privacy, all you have to do is ask, oui?” Fergus taunted boldly.
“Yeah, do you two mind getting a room?” Brianna suggested lewdly.
Ian looked ready to launch his own verbal assault, so Jamie lifted a single eyebrow, snatched at his wife, and bent her backwards, bestowing her with a very passionate, very familiar open mouth kiss.
Groans, exaggerated gagging, and five chairs scraping against floorboards proved Jamie to be the winner of that little exchange, and perhaps Claire too, if the glazed, hungry look in her eye was to be trusted.
...
There was something so devastatingly beautiful about watching her interact with their grandchildren. She looked so natural with a babe in arms, it struck him that he could probably count the number of times she had held a child in his presence.
She said the most daft, wonderful things when she spoke with them, making nonsense noises and silly faces while she spooned cool parritch or mashed fruits into their mouths. When she played with them, it didn’t matter whether the morning sun filtered through the silver streaks in her hair, she looked young and vibrant, and it took everything in him not to tear across a room to crush her in his arms.
When Fergus and Marsali joined them on The Ridge, the novelty of having both of her grandchildren within reach was not lost on Claire. Between building their cabin, planting for the spring season, and Jemmy’s recent birth, stress was high. Marsali, pregnant again, was trying her best to nest and prepare for the new babe. Brianna, a few weeks postpartum, was sleep deprived and very much missing the idea of modern conveniences such as disposable diapers and washing machines.
Jamie and Claire had offered to watch the children for a few hours to give the overwrought women a chance to take hot baths and a nap without the children demanding something from them. Jamie was engaged in a rousing game in which Germaine and he sat on the floor, facing one another, tiny feet pressed to massive ones, their legs vee-ed out, so that the two could roll a rag ball back and forth to one another without it escaping the confines of the makeshift arena of their legs. Occasionally, Jamie would encourage the little boy to toss it to him, and Jamie would make a show of shaking off his hand, or falling backward, as if the throw was enough to do real damage.
Claire’s charge, only a few weeks old, lay across her thighs as she sat on a settle by the fire, and danced her fingers a few inches from his face, encouraging him to focus his little eyes. By the gurgling Jamie could hear, he thought Jemmy was enjoying the show his Granny was orchestrating for him.
Not 30 minutes in, the two adults heard a set of hurried feet on the boards of the front porch. They exchanged a glance, before Claire sighed, shrugged and said, “Come here, Germiane. Grand-pere has to go, sweet boy. Come here.” She beckoned him with a one hand, the other patting the belly of the baby in her lap. Lizzie rushed in, bonnet askew with a wide look in her eye.
Claire relaxed slightly. With Lizzie, an emergency could be as simple as a horse throwing a shoe. “What’s amiss, then, lass?”
“It’s the White Sow. She’s slipped her pen and is terrorizing the goats again, sir.”
Jamie released a long breath. “I’ll kill that damned pig, more trouble than she’s worth the great, reeking-”
“Little ears, love. Maybe save those words for outside.” Claire suggested mildly.
“Aye.” Jamie grunted. He turned to promise Claire he’d be back soon, but they both knew the kind of chaos the thing could wreak.
Claire waved him off with a resigned frown. “I’ve got them handled. Do try to come back without any flesh wounds, won’t you?”
He leaned down, pecked her lips, and grabbed Germaine’s baby-round cheeks in his hands. “Ye mind your Granny, oui? I’ll hear about it if ye dinna.” The little boy nodded seriously, but Jamie sincerely doubted it would do much good. The boy was a menace to any breakable object or living creature within a twenty foot radius and had been since the day he was born.
An hour and a half later found Jamie rushing home, having succeeded, along with half a dozen other men, and Lizzie frantically waving a stick, to repen the pig, and calm the terrified goats. He was largely unscathed, other than a tweaked ankle and a mud-stained shirt that was likely to get him a cold glare from Mrs. Bug.
He removed his grimy boots and shook out the legs of his breeks and the front of his shirt, trying to flick at least some of the dirt and grass before he could track it into the house. He knew enough about women to know he’d be thankful he did so later, his wife included.
Claire had apparently quit the great room, he quickly discovered, but he was close enough to hear the whine and gurgle of two fussy weans, and he followed the sound into the room between Claire’s surgery and the kitchen that served mainly as a drying room for Claire’s many herbs and plants.
Claire looked up immediately upon his entry, Germaine on her hip, arms slung around her neck and legs wrapped around her hips, kicking her weakly in the low back and carrying on with a low, continuous whine. Claire held baby Jemmy against her shoulder with a single arm, and her whole body bounced and swayed in what was clearly supposed to be a soothing motion. He met her eyes. She looked harried but had a serene smile. Her curly wig stood at odd angles, as if one or both of the boys had been yanking at it.
Jamie paused in the doorway, a quiet smile on his face. “Ye look beautiful, Sassenach.”
She tilted her head, resting a cheek on the downy head of Jemmy, as if to give him another angle to admire. “And I have clearly trained you well. You’re sweet to say that. I feel a mess.”
“Ye’ve just wrangled two weans with Fraser and MacKenzie blood on your own, M'annsachd, that could fell a lesser woman.” Jamie teased, walking to her and reaching for Jemmy.
“I think not.” Claire denied quickly, swiveling so that only Germaine was in easy reach.
“Aye, I deserve that. Did ye no’ remember what I said, Germaine?”
Claire, now free of a squirming toddler, repositioned Jemmy so that he lay across a forearm, pressed against her bosom. She stretched a hand out to brush a lock away from the toddler’s flushed face, which now rested against Jamie’s shoulder. The boy was snuffling but had calmed himself. “Oh, don’t be too hard on him. He was a very good boy, and he laid down to take a nap, but Jemmy got fussy and wanted to make sure he was heard. It woke Germaine. He’s just sleepy and overstimulated.”
“Alright then. How about we all go sit for a bit eh? I think we could all use some quiet time.” They returned to the great room and sat side by side upon one of the cushioned chaises. Claire instantly reclined, shut her eyes, and lay the baby in her lap, one hand laid upon his chest. Jamie mimicked her, sitting Germaine sideways in his lap, and clutching the boy to his chest. The drapes had already been drawn, and it was too warm for a fire to be lit in the hearth, so the room was pleasantly dim and cool. Jamie rested his head against the back of the couch and rolled it to look at his wife. She sensed his eyes upon her and amber met sapphire as the two exchanged the kind of exhausted joy that was familiar to parents. Claire slid her head until it rested on his shoulder, and he let his head fall upon hers. The two closed their eyes and were found fast asleep an hour later by two amused, refreshed young mothers happy to retrieve their becalmed children.
Claire also insisted on teaching the grandchildren 20th century games she had played with Brianna when she was small. Jamie’s favorite was hide and seek, primarily because it was hilarious to watch her try to squeeze her not-quite-so-nimble body into the most absurd hiding spots. Jamie had just taken a break from harvesting grain to have some lunch. He wandered into Claire’s surgery, having not found her in her garden or in the kitchen, only to spot her hunched up below her desk, neck curled ridiculously to fit.
“Mo graidh?” He called her curiously. Her eyes opened and she got a finger to her lips to tell him murderously to shut up just before he heard Jemmy’s high, clear voice. “Gra’da?” The little boy twittered at him, around a mouthful of warm bread.
“Halo, Jem.” He smiled in amusement.
“See Granny?” Jemmy asked, whipping his head to and fro about the room.
“Ahh, Granny’s missing is she? Granny? Where are ye, Granny?” Jamie called, playing along. Brianna ambled into the room next, mirth sparking in her crystal blue eyes. “Brianna! Have ye seen Granny?”
Brianna tapped a finger to her chin, as if trying to think. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen her in a long time. I’m getting kind of worried. Do you think she’s lost?” Her tone carried exaggerated worry.
Jemmy toddled over to his mother, slapping a fist full of bread at her knees. “Granny lost!” He parroted.
Jamie stomped about the surgery, making a show of looking under the large empty bench, and throwing up the blankets to check beneath the bed. “I hope Granny’s alright!” He muttered much louder than necessary. He stalked over to the desk, whipped the chair out, and gasped emphatically. “Oh, thank goodness, there ye are, Granny! I’ve worried m’self sick lookin’ high and low for you!” Jamie thundered, snatching her out from the desk and throwing her up over his shoulder. Claire let out a soft, “oof”, and Jamie’s shoulder cracked audibly, and he reflected that these games might have been much easier on them 20 years or so prior. He mentally shrugged and lumbered over to the recovery bed, thumping down on it. “Jemmy! Look who I’ve found for ye! Tell her how we’ve missed her, aye?” Jamie yelled, caging his wife into a seat upon his knees.
“Granny!!! I miss you!” The boy responded immediately, running at her and throwing himself at her chest.
“Oh!” Claire cooed, lifting the little boy against her. “I missed you too Jemmy. Thank you for finding me.”
Brianna didn’t pass up the chance to be a part of this moment, and she sat down beside her father, patting Jemmy’s back and laying her head against Claire. “Welcome back Mama. We’re so glad you aren’t lost.”
Claire sighed contentedly. She kissed Jem, tapped her head against Bree’s, and scooched further back into her husband. Claire’s response held more sincerity than Jem could appreciate, Jamie knew, but he felt it likely that Brianna’s heart clenched with his when she said, “I am so very happy have been found here, by the people I love most.”