Guests spill out onto the lawn before the Big House, where tables groan beneath platters of food and tankards of ale. Somewhere a fiddler strikes up another tune while children race laughing between the adults. Inga and Brian stand together near the front steps, lined up and receiving congratulations from a steady stream of guests.
Lord John Grey inclines his head politely. "Mrs Fraser." He turns to Brian with a warm smile. "And Mr Fraser. My congratulations to you both."
"Lord John." Brian smiles broadly. "I'm glad you could come."
"I would not have missed it." Lord John extends his hand first to Brian, then bows courteously over Inga's. "May I wish you both every happiness."
"Thank you." Inga says warmly.
Lord John smiles. "I have attended a great many weddings over the years." He says. "Some seemed founded upon duty, others upon convenience. It is always a pleasure to witness one founded upon genuine affection."
Brian glances towards Inga. "I count myself fortunate."
"As do I." Inga replies quietly.
Lord John smiles. "Then I shall not keep you from your guests." He offers another courteous inclination of his head. "I wish you both long years together and every blessing."
"Thank you," Brian says sincerely.
As Lord John disappears back into the gathering, Roger and Ellen approach, Jem perched happily upon Roger's shoulders.
"There ye are," Roger calls.
Jem spots Brian immediately. "Unca Brian!"
"Well," Brian laughs, "someone seems pleased to see me."
Roger lifts the little boy down, and Jem immediately launches himself at Brian, who catches him easily despite still wearing his wedding coat.
"There he is." Brian says, kissing the top of his nephew's head. "Were you good?"
"No."
Roger snorts. "At least he's honest."
Ellen reaches Inga first, embracing her tightly. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you."
"And congratulations."
Inga hugs her back. "Thank you."
Roger clasps Brian's shoulder. "Congratulations, brother."
"Thank you." Brian replies. "We thank you for allowing us to stay at the cabin tonight."
Roger grins mischievously. "Of course, every newlywed couple needs some privacy."
Ellen elbows him on the side with a grin on her face. Inga blushes and Brian huffs a quiet laugh.
"If you're sure." Inga quickly says. "I hate to think we're pushing you out of you're home."
Ellen waves a hand. "'Course. Anyway, we'll be in the big house so it's definitely no hardship."
Roger shifts Jem onto his hip after taking him back from Brian after the young boy put up a fuss. "So," he says, "have ye nearly finished then, with yer own cabin?"
Brian laughs. "Nearly, just need the final touches."
The two men drift into conversation about the cabin while Ellen and Inga begin to talk amongst themselves.
Inga lets her gaze wander across the gathering and beyond the dancers; she notices Eudora and Penuel MacEalair standing beneath a maple tree. Both girls are sharply muttering to each other; both are looking directly towards Inga with expressions that are distinctly less cheerful than everyone else's.
Inga blinks. She turns back to Ellen. "Are they well?"
Ellen follows her gaze and promptly laughs. "Oh, they're fine."
"Really?"
"They're just jealous."
Inga blinks incredulously. "Jealous?"
Ellen laughs again. "You've no idea, have you?"
"I don't think so."
"Those two have been trying to catch his attention for a couple of years now." Her sister-in-law explains.
"Should I be worried?" Inga asks worriedly.
"Only if they decide to challenge you to a duel with knitting needles." Ellen quips.
Inga laughs. "They look rather determined."
"They'll recover." Ellen smiles mischievously. "Eventually."
Inga watches the sisters for another moment before shaking her head. Brian glances over, notices her moment of uncertainty, and gives her a small reassuring smile. Inga relaxes slightly before turning back to Ellen.
āā
The ceilidh is well underway. Brian leans by Ellen at one of the tables after finally escaping the latest set of dances. His hair is askew and there's a thin layer of sweat on his forehead as he gulps down his drink. He still finds himself a little breathless when Ellen speaks.
"Do you think..." Ellen begins, then hesitates. "Do you think Ian's happy?"
Brian follows her gaze into the fire for a moment before answering. "I hope so."
"Me too."
The last word they had received had come the previous autumn. Ian had married, and there had been a baby expected in the spring. Spring had long since passed now.
"I'd like to think he's holding his baby by now." Brian says quietly. The thought sits heavy in his chest, missing Ian, yet hoping he's celebrating somewhere too.
Ellen smiles too, though there is sadness behind it. "I'd like that."
For a moment they simply listen to the music. The fiddle and pipes fill the warm evening air while couples spin across the clearing, skirts and kilts sweeping through the firelight.
"I miss him."
"Yeah. Me too."
For a quiet moment, neither says anything more, content to hope that somewhere far away, their cousin is happy, healthy, and celebrating with his own growing family.
āā
A/N:Ā Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.
Tagged by the bestie @flyinghome-againstthewind to do a little seven sentence Sunday. š
This is definitely more than seven sentences but š¤·āāļøš¤·āāļøš¤·āāļø. (A Little Longer) Where You Are aka The Vet Fic is a slow burn because I cannot write anything succinctly so this bit will either be in chapter 8 or chapter 9.
Jamie laughed. A real laugh that loosened the tense muscles in his shoulders and breathed life into his body. There were so few true moments of laughter lately, he realized, and the feeling of ease and joy now in his body was a reminder that he needed to do it more.Ā
Just as he and Ian were getting back to work, reviewing a few small medical needs in their sheep flock, Jamieās phone pinged with a text message. It was from Claire, and before he even had the chance to read it, Ian asked, āAnd just what has ye grinning like an idiot at yer phone?ā
Was he blushing? His face felt warmer than it had a minute ago. Why did he feel flustered and tongue tied?
āAch, itās nothing. Just a vet friend checking-in or asking something. I can look at it later,ā Jamie said rapidly, putting his phone face down on the desk next to him, despite it pinging again and his hand reflexively going to pick it up again.Ā
Ian looked at him intently, clearly not buying Jamieās story. āWho is this friend? Do I know them?ā
āNay. Tis a more recent acquaintance. We met a few months ago,ā Jamie answered vaguely, not really sure why he didnāt want to tell Ian about Claire.Ā
āIām not going tae push ye on it, mate, but just ken I am suspicious. I dinna think most people go all googly eyed when they get a text from a work acquaintance.ā
(Book Three: Mistress MacKenzie; Chapter Three: These Are the Days; 5: Merry)
Previous
Book Three, Chapter 3.5: Merry
He held up bravely for the first kneeling, but heād made a little noise deep in his chest as they rose from the second. Leah watched him out of the corner of her eye. She ought to have finished his kneepads and made sure he had them for the Christmas mass.
If heāll even use them. Stubborn ox might take it as an insult.
Whatever; sheād give them anyway, and he could use them or not.
Father Bain was droning extra slowly, as if his voice carried such weight he could hardly shove it out of his chest. Was he like that every Christmas? Was he milking the midnight mass, since he only got the one? Heād gotten to bless the animals earlier in the day, or yesterday, but they probably didnāt appreciate it as much as heād like. Horses were known heretics.
That is the longest fucking kyrie Iāve ever heard. Itās only got three syllables, dude; itās not supposed to take a full minute to get out of your mouth.
At least she mostly understood the Latin bits; her Gaelic was still too limited to grasp much. She could tell the priest had started freestyling on the theme of darkness, at least. Dorachadus an hoo-hee, or however it was spelled. Something about wicked men, she thought. Dark wickedness and wicked darkness and come on, itās Christmas. Gaudete, the running of the deer, the boarās head in hand bear I.
Although when she thought about it (she had plenty of time to think about it), some of the old carols were a bit wicked-y and darkness-y themselves. Wounds bleeding day and night; Adam lay ybounden, bounden in a bond ā but at least that one ended in a Deo Gratia, even if it wasnāt much of a hooray.
At least Leoch had benches to sit on while they got homilized at.
Then they knelt for the last time, and she made a little noise herself when they rose, her carefully-stuffed wool no match for Leochās stones and Father Bainās drones. She could see little Hamish starting to flag; he half-slumped against his mother when they sat, though her slightest nudge had him straightening up again. Eleanor looked like sheād fully dissociated, or figured out how to sleep with her eyes open.
Margaret . . . she was tired; they all were, but if she were feigning interest in the mass she at least made a good show of it, not even a little weakness in her shoulders. Thereās a great comfort in it, if you believe, Leah thought, watching her with weary fondness. Some people can find it, and the rest of us just muddle through. It was Margaret that Eleanor leaned against, so minutely that Leah only noticed the crush of one girlās sleeve against the otherās.
And if even Margaret swayed a little, when it was all over, who could blame her? Leah took her hand from Dougalās arm and gave him a nudge. āTheyāre asleep on their feet,ā she murmured, when he frowned down at her. āLet them have their fatherās arm.ā
And if he made that face, that impatient one where he didnāt quite roll his eyes, he did at least step forward and take his daughters by the elbows, steadying them on the way up the stairs to blissful slumber.
Two hours of blissful slumber.
It was probably more, by the clock, but the clock could fuck itself when Ceana tapped at the door and brought in the pitchers of water and ale. Poor girl; sheād have had even less rest than Leah, and Leah was currently yanking a pillow over her head and making enraged badger noises as Dougal pulled back the bedcurtains and rose.
āI am not,ā she finally got herself together enough to say. āI am not getting up. This is inhuman.ā But her face was still buried in the pillow, so Dougal heard little more than āNuh. āM nuh gāup. Sānhmn.ā
āYeāll noā sleep through the Yuletide breakfast, lass,ā he said, entirely too awake for her liking. āOr Mrs. Fitz will drag the new Beaton up herself to tend ye.ā
Leah had glanced at his book of remedies; the thought of woodlice brought anywhere near her had her up and moving.
Well, it had her upright.
Mostly upright.
āIād sell my soul for a coffee,ā she muttered. āCuban espresso directly into my veins.ā
If her words were at all intelligible, Dougal either didnāt hear or chose to ignore them, pouring them each a cup of water.
āLetitia will have tea, wonāt she?ā Leah asked with desperate hope.
Dougal gave her a look that said he never once considered his sister-in-lawās beverage choices, and Leah flopped back down, drawing the blanket back up over her head ā
ā and whining loudly when Dougal ripped it away. āMake yourself seen, mo bhean,ā he ordered, grabbing an ankle and giving it a tug. āThen ye can rest again until midday.ā
She kicked half-heartedly and he pulled again, sliding her down the bed with little effort. The cold air hit her backside as her nightshift rucked up to her waist, and she felt him pause, hand still wrapped around her ankle.
āIf I have to be seen,ā she muttered, reaching for her glasses as he gave her a speculative look, āthen Iād better get dressed. In layers and layers.ā
āAye,ā he agreed, running a hand up her calf.
She leveled a Look at him. āIf I stay in this bed, Iām going back to sleep.ā
His eyes flicked toward the table, but she was already moving, yanking her leg out of his grasp and hopping across the cold stone toward the dressing screen. At least the shock was enough to wake her fully.
Someone ought to turn them onto the idea of brunch, Leah thought, trying not to down the scalding tea in a single gulp. A very civilized practice. Much better suited to a midnight holiday.
Colum was taking his breakfast alone again; Leah could hardly blame him for it. Even Hamish was only picking at his food, when heād usually wolf it down and then try not to wriggle until his mother turned him loose for the day (well, turn him loose to go with his tutor until he could escape out to the stables or something). Letitia took pity on him much earlier than usual, and he slumped off about ten minutes before she excused herself.
There was no work today besides that necessary for living (and feasting), no ledgers or planning (sheād been informed of that very strictly by Annie); theyād taken small baskets to the local tenants on Christmas Eve and given alms on the last Sunday of Advent; until the midday feast there was little required of them, except ā
Shit; I forgot the apples!
But Dougal was drawing the little bundles from his coat pocket and setting them before the girlsā plates, real casual-like.
āHere,ā he said, voice gruff as he nodded at the bundles. āYour mother always made sure ye had these at Christmas; best ye have them this year, too.ā
Leah just stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Well, shit ā letās not make it sentimental or anything. Letās not make them think you care about them.
But Margaretās face softened, her lips curving as she untied hers and saw the mix of apples and nuts. āThank ye, Father,ā she said quietly, her fingers brushing the red edge of an apple.
Eleanor hesitated, her gaze flicking between Leah and Dougal. āYe remembered it?ā she asked, more cautious than challenging.
Leah found an intense interest in the bottom of her teapcup, and missed whether Dougal had any type of look on his face.
āI did,ā he said, and at least he didnāt sound offended.
Well. He remembered that Iād reminded him. And I guess thatās better than I did, anyway.
Leah watched Eleanor pick up a bundle out of the corner of her eye. āThank ye,ā she said quietly, almost grudgingly, her eyes darting back to Dougal before settling on the little present.
āMother would have appreciated it,ā Margaret added softly, and Eleanor opened hers at last, her mouth curving just the slightest bit.
āYeāll want this, too,ā Dougal said, pulling out a clever little brass nutcracker with a flat screw that could press the nut into the solid base until it snapped. Big enough for the walnuts, too, Leah noticed; she hadnāt even thought of that. But Eleanorās eyes brightened when her father held it out to her, and as she set about destroying the first of her treats, Leah brushed her little finger against Dougalās and smiled.
If Leah thought Eleanorās eyes had sparkled at the nutcracker, they were shining bright as a harvest moon as she danced with the stewardās apprentice ā well, technically she was dancing with him, but with the way a country dance worked, sheād only held his hands about a quarter of the time. Heād crossed hands with Annie more often.
Now that young lady had come into her own. Leah watched her affectionately, Annieās shy little voice darting through her memory. Sheād been so curious, the first of the maids to speak to Leah at all, the first to ask her anything (she could hardly remember what Annie had asked, too nerve-wracked and lost to pay much attention), the first to offer advice. A very soft wing to be taken under.
A little less soft, now, Leah thought wryly, sipping her wine. A little more willing to just straight-up say āNo, Mistress MacKenzie, ye cannae do thatā (hide in the library, skip the Advent masses, wear seven layers of cloaks inside, tell Mrs. MacVinish to jump in the well). More willing to laugh without looking like she expected a scolding ā although in fairness, they were almost always in Leahās chamber or drawing room; itās not like they had an audience. But still, more confident, more purposeful, more grown.
And now the apprentice ā she ought to learn his name, at some point ā was bowing to Annie directly, and Eleanor had clasped hands with one of the tacksmanās sons, and there was Margaret dancing, too. All her ducks in a row.
Those are not your ducks. They have their own . . . what are mama ducks called? Daisys? No, she was just an aunt.
Wait. Were Daisy and Donald married?
Be less weird, Leah.
She heard a crack of male laughter from her left ā Dougal was there, and Colum, holding up better than she might have expected, with Ned and a half-dozen or so tacksmen and Leoch hangers-on. Colum was bearing up well; his voice strong at the midday toast and his shoulders only a little slumped, only one degree off their usual rigid straightness. He had a glass of brandy in his hand now; a bit early in the day for that, but it was a holiday.
Hell, we used to get hammered watching Hallmark Christmas movies. Drink when someone gets stranded. Drink if thereās a tree-buying scene. Drink for every interrupted kiss.
She eyed her husband thoughtfully, relaxed and laughing and a bit tipsy ā loose, at least ā and felt something warm spread through her chest.
Thatās a fine braw man. That is my fine braw man.
Ok, maybe Iām a bit tipsy. She turned back to the ladiesā conversation and tried to put him from her mind.
She was watching the dancers, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight like jasper sparked against steel. Theyād opened the dancing, hands clasped in the first reel, and heād felt a moment of regret that she didnāt fall into him like she had the first time, on the green at Kilcoy. But heād had to send her off to bed alone that night, himself angry at the redcoatsā interruption and half-aching for her, though he could hardly admit it then. She might move with more confidence now, but heād dance her right beneath him this night and sheād come to him with a smile. It fueled a manās pride, to have a wife so wanting of him.
And if she were still a bit unsteady on her feet, best that Rupert take the stomping, Dougal thought, watching his friend cross to her and nod, holding out his hand to pull her into the dancing. He turned back to Colum, listening to him managing a pair of tacksmen whoād inherited a horn-locked grudge from their grandfathers, their sons bound to take up the fight after them. At least they had the sense not to draw blood by their lairdās hearth, although Colum might draw some from them both, if they couldnāt settle themselves.
He heard her laugh, a canty wee sound cutting through the din, and found himself scowling at Rupert as if the man had wronged him. Foolishness.
Still. Heād have her next dance.
Sheād never danced so much in her life than at Leoch.
The club, to no oneās shock, hadnāt been her milieu. School dances were worse; she could still feel the cold terror of a sixth-grade dance where the DJ called out for all the girls to pick a partner, and it took about two seconds to realize sheād be better off sidling into the shadows than subject herself to a miniature Sadie Hawkins humiliation conga.
She might have carried that memory a little too long.
But sheād run out of breath before she ran out of partners at Leoch, and if some were men currying favor with Dougal, and some were trying to clasp hands with a girl already on the floor, and some were just glad to dance with a wedded woman instead of a young lass everyone would expect them to court, she could hardly mind.
And when a hand pulled hers from Iainās (that was the apprenticeās name), whoād danced a set with her after Bryce (of the missing-sheep scandal months ago) whoād taken over from Rupert (and she hadnāt stepped on him even once), and she looked up (and up) to see her husbandās eyes and his infuriating little smirk, well. She might as well run out of breath with him.
Book Three; Chapter 3.6: And Bright drops on Sunday, July 26!
Chapter 7: You turned me down, and now itās showing (The Other Side of the Door)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 7/28
Fandom:Ā Outlander (TV) RPF
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Caitriona Balfe/Sam Heughan, Caitriona Balfe & Sam Heughan
Characters: Sam Heughan, Caitriona Balfe, Tony McGill
Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, RPF, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, what if
Summary: As CaitrĆona and Sam struggle to protect the lives they've chosen, the first cracks begin to show. The hardest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.
They chose friendship.
Years later, CaitrĆona is in love with another man, Sam is still pretending he's fine, and neither of them is quite as over Paris as they'd like to believe.
A story about timing, missed chances, impossible promises, and the doors we never quite manage to close.
baratheonpilled
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
ellievsbear
