This little fic takes place in the world of Outlander the book. No spoilers outside of book 1. All the thanks, as always, to @drunklander.
Jamie was so tired. Every muscle screamed in protest. He was filthy, covered in muck and dirt, but he had promised himself he would do this the moment they returned to the castle, and he would not abandon his plan. Once Claire was deposited safely in their room, he cleaned himself up a bit and set out to see a man about a ring.
Jamie had done everything in his power, and managed to finagle a few things that required the power of others, to provide Claire the wedding she deserved. He had no idea what kind of affair her first wedding had been, but clearly, as an English lady of birth and breeding, she would expect a certain level of ceremony. At least he had assumed so. He had wished so urgently to do her honor, to show by his actions how much he respected her, since he could not tell her that he loved her. And he did love her so very much. She had consumed his every waking thought since the day they met. He found her challenging, obstinate, intelligent and utterly bewitching. How the fates conspired to allow him to marry this goddess would forever remain a mystery to him.
His only regret of the day had been his inability to procure her a ring. He had had no money and there had been no time, but it caused him a pang of regret every time her gold circlet flashed on her left hand. He knew she did not continue to wear it as a reproach to him, but he felt keenly the lack of his own ring adorning her slender, graceful hands.
He made his way down the castle steps, excitement blooming in his stomach, when he caught a glimpse of the girl, Laoghaire, just around the corner. He sighed deeply, squared his shoulders and strode forward to meet his duty, unpleasant though it may be. Ever since the day took her beating, Laoghaire seemed always to be lurking in the background wherever he found himself in castle or grounds.
She was a lovely young lass. The day she cornered him in an upper corridor, intent on âthankingâ him for his kindness was a revelation to him, having never seen her as anything but a child before. But she was plump and soft and willing, and he kissed her â more than he should have. He left that encounter feeling slightly guilty because while Leeryâs lips were sweet and pliable, he was thinking of no one but Claire, and how much he longed to have her in his lap, arms about her waist, his lips dancing with hers.
Heâd gone about his business following that encounter, giving the girl no more thought than he spared for any of the wee lassies about the place. Heâd seen her face, however, when he had carried Claire into the castle tonight, and for the first time realized that he had been a might cavalier in his actions towards her and perhaps misunderstood her intentions towards him. And now she was here, lurking about the stairs, trying to catch him alone, no doubt, to confront him about the kissing and the beating and now, about his wife. Well, damn her! He didnât owe her anything, had never made a promise to her or even taken advantage of what was freely offered. All he wanted to do was buy a ring for his wife.
The confrontation was short and uncomfortable, partially because he was unused to discussing his feelings with acquaintances but mostly because he was unwilling to discuss something with this lass that he didnât feel he could tell his own wife. If he couldnât speak of love to Claire, he certainly wouldnât do it with Laoghaire. She left unhappy and Jamie quickly put her out of his mind. If he didnât get to the armorerâs soon he was going to collapse with fatigue.
Ewen had a selection of rings from which Jamie could choose. He made these in his spare time, and while his weapons were things of excellent craftsmanship and beauty, his rings were true works of art. Jamie had spent a small bit of time with him when he was at the castle as a lad and Dougal had commissioned his sword. Ewen had required Jamieâs presence several times as he balanced and honed the blade, ensuring it was perfect for a left-handed warrior. During these visits, Jamie had learned Ewen had the soul of an artist, and expressed his passion in the wee baubies he made for sale to the lucky few who had enough money to buy one of his pieces.
Jamie had first imagined buying Claire one of Ewenâs rings the night they met, on the road back to Leoch and her gold band had flashed in the moonlight. Later, by the fire as she wept and allowed him to comfort and console her, he had imagined taking her hand in his and caressing her fingers while he slipped a circlet of silver over her knuckle, pressing her fingers to his lips. He imagined further, kissing her at an altar, declaring before God and witnesses that he would be husband to her, guard her, provide for her and love her with all his soul and body. His father had been adamant about what it meant to be a husband. It was a manâs holy duty to cherish and revere his wife, an example not provided by Brianâs own father, but one Brian had modeled in his deep and abiding love for Jamieâs mother. Jamie would honor his parents in honoring his wife.
Jamie left Ewenâs with a small wrapped package carefully hidden in his breast pocket. The ring, a wide silver band of interlacing links and highland thistles, represented so much to him. Jamie wasnât as a general rule much attached to things. Items of luxury were rare in the Highlands, and times being what they were, things came and went with great regularity. His parents had taught him that it was better to save his tears for people. So he surprised himself when he bought Ewenâs grandest ring. It took all his coin, plus a few hours of odd jobs at the armory besides, but this ring meant more to him than he could express. A circle of eternity, a never-ending round that embodied his steadfast love for Claire. Heâd waited for another hour while Ewen made the requested addition to the ring, making sure that it would be a perfect representation of his feelings. He wanted Claire to wear it so badly he ached with the thought. He longed to see his ring adorning her finger, telling the world that she had accepted him, that she viewed him as he had viewed himself since the beginning; as her protector, lover and home.
So many men, nearly all that he knew, viewed wives as possessions, much like their land and cattle. To be negotiated over, traded for and used to gain power, influence and heirs. Jamieâs father had never treated his mother this way, and it was a concept that was at once foreign and commonplace to him. When he had tanned Claireâs arse for her disobedience, he had thought he was doing as a man aught. Claire had felt differently, and their subsequent arguments had brought greater comprehension to each. Jamie now understood what Brian had meant about marriage being a partnership. Jamie would never dominate Claire. He couldnât subdue her without breaking her, and in breaking her he would break himself. His only recourse was to move forward with Claire as her equal. The thought was exhilarating to him.
Nearly back to their room, Jamie patted the parcel in his pocket and smiled to himself. This was going to be beautiful.
Jamie awoke in the dark, muzzy with sleep and sore from his exertions. His thighs ached pleasantly, but his back was a different matter. The wee fiend had marked him from shoulder to hip. Well, his resolve not to break her to his will hadnât lasted long, damn the headstrong, prideful woman, and he had done it, by God, but so had she. And he had submitted to her with an eagerness he hoped to repeat many, many times over. Lord, what a night.
Claire sighed in her sleep and snuggled in just a little bit closer to him. Her movement caused the ring to flash briefly in the silvered light of the window, and he caught her hand in his own, feeling the solid hardness of it circling her finger. He kissed her knuckles and moved to take her again. Just seeing her there in his bed, his ring on her, marking her, made his heart swell with pride and left him rigid with want. She sighed again, caressing his cheek vaguely as she slept. Nay, he would not disturb her slumber. There was time enough for that come morning. For now, he would drink in the sweet nectar of her. He would worship her with his eyes and use this time to thank God for the gift of this woman.
âDa mi basia mille.â He whispered into the dark. She hadnât noticed the engraving earlier and he had nearly pointed it out to her, but refrained. She would find it on her own, when the time was right, and she would know. Surely, by then she would know.
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