Gee

29 | NY

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior MasterList

The list so far. You can also read on Ao3 HERE!

Chapter 1: Highlanders 

Chapter 2: Not Alone Anymore

Chapter 3: Mistrust

Chapter 4: Fear of Flames 

Chapter 5: Just a Lass 

Chapter 6: The Wonders of Whisky

Chapter 7: Ring Heist Renewed 

Chapter 8: A Punch to the Stomach

Chapter 9: Tea Leaves and Existential Crises 

Chapter 10: Honorary Scot, Official Jacobite

Chapter 11: My Own Protector 

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior MasterList

The list so far. You can also read on Ao3 HERE!

Chapter 1: Highlanders 

Chapter 2: Not Alone Anymore

Chapter 3: Mistrust

Chapter 4: Fear of Flames 

Chapter 5: Just a Lass 

Chapter 6: The Wonders of Whisky

Chapter 7: Ring Heist Renewed 

Chapter 8: A Punch to the Stomach

Chapter 9: Tea Leaves and Existential Crises 

Chapter 10: Honorary Scot, Official Jacobite

Chapter 11: My Own Protector 

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up with Chapter 10 here! Read this chapter on Ao3!

Chapter 11: My Own Protector

A weight had been lifted, and I felt wonderful. I practically danced back through the doorway of the tavern, but the sight of Jamie stopped me dead in my tracks. I saw Dougal follow his line of sight directly to the gash on my head. Jamie’s nostrils flared ever so briefly.

“The … the horse kicked me.” I shrugged and looked at the ceiling.

“Aye, ye ken how that filly can be sometimes.” Dougal then made a horrible attempt at a casual throat clearing noise and swiftly made for the stairs.

“I thought ye kent not to stand directly behind her.” Jamie mumbled as he rose and headed for the stables. He did not meet my eyes.

It was getting increasingly difficult to lie. The fact that Dougal now knew about it did not make lying to Jamie any better. It actually made it worse since Dougal had aided me in said lie.

In any case, I would only have to do it for one more night and make it out with no obvious lacerations or contusions. Tonight was the last fight, and this time I was not plagued by my former ulterior motive. Perhaps someone in possession of more common sense than I had might have decided not to go.

What was the point? Dougal trusted me now. Gavin would close the ring for a while after tonight, so a huge portion of the town was likely to be there. The point was I wanted them to watch me prove I could win.

The sight of Jamie’s face drawn with desperation as he begged me not to do anything foolish swam around the back of my mind all day. I finally forced it out as I wrapped myself in my cloak, preparing to leave. I bypassed Angus’s and Dougal’s rooms; they knew tonight was the last one.

Rupert and Murtagh were now the only way in which my secret could get back to Jamie. I stopped outside Rupert’s door, from which issued loud, hog-like snoring. Next was Murtagh’s door, from which came more snoring, but less hog-like. Jamie’s door had no candlelight underneath. After straining my ear against it until I was satisfied that I had heard no noise from within, I painstakingly tip toed down the stairs.

The taproom was empty, except for a figure in the armchair by the fire. I couldn’t see their face, for their back was turned and they too wore a dark traveling cloak. The stranger absentmindedly prodded the dying embers with the poker; sparks flew out of the dull-glowing log as it broke in two. If they knew I was there, they didn’t turn around. They still didn’t turn as I walked out the door, closing it very slowly behind me.

__________________________________________________________________

Jamie had dared not breathe until he was positive that Claire was gone. He’d made a frantic grab for the poker and tried to appear to be nonchalantly moving the ashes around. He wished he’d had the sense to pour himself a cup of ale, maybe that would have made it more believable. But no, Claire had left as quickly as she could.

He knew she wasn’t very likely to try and talk to him. She had wanted to make as little noise as possible, although her attempt to descend the stairs sounded quite like a tip-toeing elephant. He waited a minute or two to give her a head start, and then rose to follow. If nobody was going to tell him the truth, then he would find out for himself.

Claire was a terrible liar; she looked at anything and everything except the person she was lying to, and she repeatedly scratched her nose. Dougal was a seasoned liar, but Jamie knew his game. He’d give an indifferent shrug to belittle one’s perfectly valid suspicions.

Stepping into the chilly night, he drew up the hood of his cloak and watched Claire’s back reach the end of the street and turn left. His stomach gave a lurch.

He knew beyond doubt where she was going, but he had hoped to God that he was wrong. He was even nursing some half baked wish that she really was an English spy. But no, that wasn’t true. As tough a demeanor as she liked to build for herself, Jamie witnessed its foundations crumble more than once. In the forest with the two soldiers on the day they met, and on the day she glimpsed the English marching toward Nairn.

She always fought to keep her hands steady, and Jamie knew her well enough by now to know this came with great effort. What really gave her away was how all of the color drained from her already pale face, leaving a strange tinge of gray. How the muscles of her cheeks and neck popped out from clenching her teeth together as hard as she possibly could. It was the same way she had appeared when the stables had caught fire. But that time he liked to think that they had been alone and therefore she let her fear show plainly, tired of the effort it normally took to conceal it. Her own countrymen terrified her.

He felt like a fool because she had been able to lie to him so easily, inept at it as she was. He should have known sooner. He should have known long before she’d slashed her head open. Christ, she had even asked him to help her improve her fighting skills, and he’d happily obliged just grateful to spend time with her.

She’d been withdrawn from him ever since the soldiers had occupied the tavern. They hadn’t spoken much; she had taken to sleeping for a large portion of the day. She was always covering up strange and unexplained bruises. As much as it pained him to see her willingly hurt herself, there was another deeper fear lurking in the back of his mind that he hadn’t yet been able to identify.

Claire suddenly whipped around in the middle of the darkened street, the moon outlined her in silver and the frayed ends of her scarf swayed gently in the breeze. She didn’t have her sword or bow on her, but he saw her hand dart to her belt where he knew there was a dagger. She always kept the scarf and dagger close; they had both come from Jamie. A bit of cloth ripped off the end of his tartan offered to her as a makeshift scarf a few days after the rent party set out. She had been shivering.

Jamie pressed himself against the nearest building until she decided that the coast was clear. His lips pressed into a thin line as he noticed a slight limp. He peered around the next corner as she had just finished having a laugh with the man at the front door and disappeared down the stairs. Two minutes later, he descended as well, and his eyes widened in surprise when he reached the bottom. There was more than twice the number of people here since they had first come. There was already a fight underway, but Claire was nowhere to be seen.

“Do ye reckon that lass is going win tonight?” A conversation at the table to his left had Jamie inching over to listen.

The other man grunted. “Weel she’d better win, or else I’ll kill Dougie for tellin’ me to put my money on her!”

“Excuse me,” Jamie addressed them. “Are ye talking about the Sassenach? D’ye ken where I can find her? I’m a … big fan.” He added hastily when he saw their matching suggestive grins.

“Oh aye?” The first man laughed. “What makes ye think she’ll fancy you? One look from her and ye feel as if she’s already kicked ye in the balls!”

Jamie knew the look well; she gave it to Dougal quite a lot. The other man elbowed his companion. “Ach we canna blame the lad. After all, ye’ve said yerself that ye’ve never seen a pair of breeks look that good!”

Jamie felt his face begin to heat with anger, and he wanted nothing more than to drag their drunk arses into the ring right now and beat them both. He grabbed the shirt of the man nearest to him. “Either tell me where she is, or else I will kick ye in the balls for her.” He snarled.

The man ducked and pointed to a door in the corner. “She’s probably in the back with Gavin!” Jamie threw him back in the chair and headed for the door. He imagined bursting in on her and declaring that he had known what she was up to the whole time. But that thought was followed almost immediately by a sour taste in his mouth. It didn’t seem like the right way for her to find out. He didn’t want to embarrass her; he didn’t want her to feel ashamed.

It was then that he decided that he would not let her see him, and that he had only come to watch over her, to make sure she didn’t get hurt. He would watch the fight and go right back to the tavern.

Inside the door, there was a hallway with multiple smaller rooms on either side. It smelled like sweat and the floor had blood stains of varying shades of red brown splattered across it.

“So, the soldiers will be here again by the end of the month?”

“Yes, that’s what they told the barman. Are you still going to close the ring?”

Jamie’s head snapped up at the sound of Claire’s voice, coming from a room at the end of the hall.

“Aye, for a couple weeks I think.” Gavin answered. “Do ye really have to go though? I’ll give ye a room in the inn to stay while the ring is closed. ”

“I can’t stay here forever just to fill your pockets. Besides, I have things to do.”

“Have I no’ been filling your pockets as well?”

“Well, I’ve been filling Dougal Mackenzie’s. For the Jacobites.”

Just then a very large bald man with a close cropped black beard exited the room on the opposite side. He had more hair on his chest than Claire had on her head, and thick veins lined his forearms.

“Oh Tom! In here if you please.” Jamie saw Gavin’s shadow beckon him  over. “Claire, I thought I’d have ye fight Tom here to make yer last fight one we’ll never forget aye?”

Claire snorted.

Jamie felt his chest seize up and his throat go dry. Never forget?! Surely he must be referring to the head trauma that Claire was likely to incur from fighting this man. What could possibly have happened to her, to make her fear a red coat more than this?

“Easiest money I’ve ever made.” The man’s voice was much deeper than Jamie’s.

“Go ahead, underestimate me. That’ll be fun for you.” Claire said darkly. “You’re just a big blundering bear with no teeth or claws.”

Jamie clapped a palm to his forehead and went back through the door find an inconspicuous place to watch. The wee idiot! It would seem that her trash talking had made all of her opponents forget any reservations they may have had about fighting a woman.

The talking died down as Gavin stepped into the center of the ring to end the previous match. He looked around, enjoying the enthralled look on his patrons’ faces. “Now I understand that many of ye came tonight to see a certain wee Sassenach.”

The crowed erupted into cheers, and Jamie was feeling more sick by the second. He felt a strange pang of possessiveness at the word Sassenach. It would never mean the same thing coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Gavin held his arms up to silence them. “Now ye should ken that tonight is her last fight, but let me first introduce her opponent. For those of ye who dinna ken, Tom Campbell here has never lost a fight.” And out walked the bear. Some people cheered, some murmured excitedly, some doubtfully. Jamie wasn’t sure how this could possibly get any worse.

“Now, without further ado, I give ye the Sassenach!”

Claire hurdled over the side of the wooden barrier of the ring. Tucked into the breeks, she wore a simple white cloth shirt. Her hands had been wrapped in linen strips to the middle of her forearm, and she wore no shoes. The little piece of Jamie’s tartan was now tied in her hair. There was no obvious expression on her face. She had opted instead for quiet intensity.

“Opponents will now shake hands.” Gavin had to remind them.

Tom Campbell’s hand completely engulfed Claire’s. He saw the tendons pop out as he squeezed a little too hard. Claire snatched her hand back and her lip curled.

As the match began, it became apparent that not everyone was a Sassenach fan. It was hard enough for Jamie to ignore the scathing insults some people were yelling, but it was almost impossible to keep himself from running into the ring and knocking out Tom Campbell himself. If Claire knew he was here, she’d want him to trust her, and let her hold her own against this man.

Tom had already landed a punch or two right into her mouth. Her face was the at the perfect hight for his fists. The top of her head rose barely to the middle of his chest, bun included.

But she was still standing, and she didn’t seem to be in pain. She was light on her feet as she danced around him, dodging the majority of his blows. She drove her fist with all her might into Tom’s abdomen, and he threw back his head in laughter. Claire had backed away, shaking out her hand.

She had yet to get any solid hits on him. She seemed to be waiting for something. “Whatever is the matter?” She taunted. “Am I too fast for you? Am I making you dizzy?” The man roared and lunged at her.

“Claire!” Jamie screamed her name, but it was drowned out by the crowd.

When the dirt had settled, the crowd has gone silent. Claire was on her stomach, and the brute had her left arm bent and pinned painfully against her back. The littlest finger stuck out at an odd angle. Her face was drawn with pain but there was the hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth. “Well you’re going to feel downright foolish Tommy.” She said. “You probably should have taken both of my arms.”

She turned as much as she could to the right, and threw the handful of dirt she had concealed in her right hand right into his eyes. He shrieked and fell to his knees, now right in her range. The rest of the fight lasted less than ten seconds but Jamie felt as if he was watching in slow motion.

She was on her feet again faster than lighting. After paying him back with interest for the punches she received, she grabbed his arm and drew him forward. Tom Campbell, eyes streaming, could barely see what was about to happen to him.

Jamie watched with a mixture of horror and a little bit of pride as he saw all of his own techniques executed perfectly and lethally. Claire’s elbow collided with the man’s mandible, and the ear splitting crack silenced everyone. But she wasn’t done yet. She had then jumped over a foot off the ground. On the way down, both of her feet had planted themselves firmly into Tom’s chest and knocked him back with such a force that the sound of his head colliding with the wooden barrier sounded almost like a gunshot. He lay crumpled and moaning on the dirt floor.

Claire stood there alone, hunched over with her hands on her knees and chest heaving. If she was surprised that she won, she was purposely not showing it.  There was a new gash on her temple. Hair was stuck to her forehead, which was shining with sweat. A deep red splotch bloomed in white of her eye. Her mouth was slightly open as she took rhythmic, panting breaths. Blood had pooled inside her lip, and she spat it onto the ground. She looked terrifying and beautiful all at once, almost like she wasn’t even real.

Gavin announced her the winner. Some of the patrons were clapping and cheering. Others simply stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief. The fight was over, and Jamie had meant to leave but he was rooted to the spot. Claire slowly straightened up. She had been staring off into space and she extended her hand out to Gavin without looking at him. He dropped an enormous bag of coin into her palm.

And Jamie was finally able to identify his deepest fear. Although he cared for her safety more than anything, he cared for Claire herself even more. She was going to use that money to leave, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. It was what she wanted for months, and he had always pushed it back behind his brain, out of sight. He could never ask her to stay, it didn’t seem right. He had made the mistake of thinking he meant more to her than this.

It was as though someone has turned his hearing back on, and the screaming of the crowed came rushing back. Somehow, Jamie knew exactly what Claire was going to think if she saw him. But he didn’t have to wait much longer to have it confirmed. He was rooted to the spot unable to look away, and they had suddenly locked gazes from all the way across the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. The spell was broken and he hastily made for the exit and wondered miserably if she’d be gone come morning. Honest feelings and bad timing make the most painful combination.

_________________________________________________________________

Fuck fuck fuck. And everything had been going so horribly right too. The initial shock was draining away and quickly becoming replaced by anger. I had spent the entire evening being so happy with myself. It was almost over, and he had been there the whole fucking time.

I shouldered my way through the crowd with great difficulty. Hands came from all directions to pat me on the back. Someone tried to hand me a pint. I had finally broken through to the back where I roughly pulled on my outer clothing and my boots. I sensed somebody standing in the doorway behind me.

“Excellent fight, sassenach.” It was Peter.

“Do not call me that.” I said acidly.

“What’s the matter? You’ve just won!” There was something odd about the expression on his face, like he was keeping a fantastic secret and he wanted me to beg to know what it was.

“Doesn’t feel like it. Get out of my way.”

He pushed a greasy flap of hair back off of his forehead. “Where’s that red head?”

“Jamie? Hell if I know.” Technically not a lie, as I in fact did not know his exact location but I could hazard a guess. Why would Peter care anyway? It inexplicably bothered me and I pushed past him out the back door, bumping him with my shoulder a little harder than necessary.

Jamie was halfway back to the tavern when I caught up with him. He stopped in the middle of the alleyway as he heard my running feet stop suddenly behind him. He didn’t turn around, plainly wanting me to speak first.

“Who told you?” Was all I could think to begin with.

He whirled around and ran both of his hands roughly through his hair. “No one told me Claire. I could almost laugh out loud upon hearing such a question. You may as well have told me, instead of trying to keep track of all yer stories. That must have gotten so tiring for you.”

I chewed my lip, not having expected to get so mad so early in the argument.  “Why are you even here? Did you want to catch me? Well congratulations. You’ve done it. What are you going to do now? Drag me back to Dougal? Or perhaps pour me a glass of whisky so you can have another excuse to put your face right up to mine?”

He’d been trying to cut me off during my rapid-fire questioning. But now his mouth had pressed into a thin line. He attempted to put on a mask of anger to match mine but I could still see the hurt in his face. I was trying to upset him, and telling him that whisky-filled night meant nothing to me did a pretty good job of it. The Claire Beauchamp in that moment did not care.

“I only wanted to make sure you were safe.” He said quietly.

“Well I don’t need you to okay?” I shot back at him. “I didn’t ask you to watch over me. I won didn’t I?”

“Aye ye won but at what cost? Ye’re purple from head to toe and I’ll be damned if that finger isna broken. What’s worse, ye’ve deliberately risked the English finding ye!”

I quickly put the finger in question behind my back. It was beginning to take the form of a small sausage. I then decided against my better judgement to escalate the fight into a full blown shouting match.

“Stop trying to discipline me like a child! I’m fine. The English aren’t coming back for weeks, and in case you didn’t hear me before, I won. And everyone saw it.”

Jamie threw his hands up in exasperation. “Christ Claire ye’ll do anything for spite d’ye ken that? Don’t ye care that ye’ve already proven yerself to the people that actually matter?” He said desperately.

“What if that’s not good enough for me?” I spat back.

He bowed his head. “Then I hope ye ken ye’ll never be satisfied.”

Then, when my coin pouch fell with a seemingly deafening clank onto the ground between us, I thought that night the universe wanted all of our unspoken issues to be laid out before us. We both stared silently at it for a few seconds before I swiped it back and tucked it into my belt.

“But ye care about yer so-called freedom even more than spite aye?” His voice held an odd note almost like he rehearsed this, or at least spent a very long time thinking about it.

“You hate being alone. Ye think ye’ve gotten used to it, that it’s the only way for you. And that's why ye’re ready to run away like a frightened little rabbit, even when ye’ve found a new family.”

I opened my mouth to speak but he stopped me. The dam had been broken.

“Dinna think I haven’t seen ye pass money on to Dougal every morning thinkin’ he’ll reward ye with your ring. And dinna think I don’t know that you’re going to l-leave with all haste the second ye get it back! All this nonsense about the Jacobites.”

Then very quietly, “somehow the fact that ye’re hiding it makes it worse. You hate that someone is able to make ye feel something.” He finished, breathing raggedly.

He had taken several steps forward during his speech, as if to impress upon me the magnitude of what he was saying. Of what he was feeling. He was now standing less than a foot from me. I thought to the onlooker that it must have looked like we were about to tear each other apart in the ring.

I had stopped shouting but where my voice lacked volume, it was now filled with venom. “Jacobite nonsense? The story of an innocent boy flogged half to death doesn’t mean nothing to me Jamie. Neither does the fact that families are being torn apart and culture is being destroyed. Perhaps you should think again before you claim to know me so well. Because guess what.”

I had been repeatedly jabbing my finger into his chest as I spoke. Now, I reached inside the neck of my shirt, drew out the ring, and held it up to his face. It spun gently to and fro in midair, glinting slightly in the moonlight.

“Dougal already gave it back you bastard. And I’m still here.”

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up with Chapter 9 here and read this chapter on Ao3!

Chapter 10: Honorary Scot, Official Jacobite

“Claire?” 

My first instinct was to blurt, “Shit!” and jolt three feet into the air. So concerned with poking all my bumps and trying to stop the blood from leaking down my face, I had allowed someone to sneak up on me. I still hadn’t turned around. Maybe I had finally gone insane and imagined the voice, God I hoped so. 

“Claire it’s almost dawn, what the hell are ye doin’?” 

“I … How long have you been standing there?” I had finally turned to face him.

Angus crossed his arms. His boot began tapping on the ground. “Long enough to ken you’ve just done something incredibly sneaky … and I’d wager this isna the first time.” He would have taken on the air of a disappointed parent, had it not been for the confusion and blatant curiosity also present in his expression. 

And just like any manipulative schemer would do, I turned it around on him. “What were you doing out before dawn? You all love to accuse me of being shifty, so let’s hear it!” 

“Claire, ye ARE being shifty!” He almost shouted at me. “And for yer information I was visiting with Margaret, since we’re leavin’ soon.” His cheeks turned light pink. 

Oh yes, his big breasted friend. How horribly anticlimactic and boring. I supposed telling him I went for a walk was not even worth the breath.

“And Christ, what happened to yer face?” Now he mentions my face.  

“I um … fell?” 

He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “I ken I’m not terribly bright Claire, but ye insult me so. If I ken but one thing about ye, it’s that ye did not maul up yer face because ye fell.” 

His eyes fell to the skin just below my elbow and they popped wide open as he quickly grabbed it and shoved my own hand into my face.

“Is that a bite mark?!” 

Oh dear. Any chance of lying my way out of this was quickly dissipating, not that I had had a good shot in the first place. They were in fact, teeth marks. Small indentations lined the top and the underside of my arm; they were an angry red color, and quickly becoming tinged with purple. I inspected them more closely. It seemed that my opponent had extremely crooked teeth. 

“Um yes, but …” 

“Are ye drunk?” He cut me off. 

I crossed my arms in defiance. “Well not to brag but I don’t need alcohol to do things that I’ll regret.”

He looked at me long and hard, his hand scratching at something underneath his beard. I had been edging my way towards the door, although I knew I would have to demand his silence somehow. 

“Oh no Claire, if ye dinna tell me what ye’ve been doing, I’m going to make sure everyone in this whole tavern knows ye’ve been running late night errands.” 

“All right all right!” I said quickly to shut him up. “But nobody knows and it better stay that way.” 

“Can I be there when ye tell Dougal and Jamie that ye fell?” He smirked. 

A dog barked somewhere in the distance and I jerked him into the stables. Brushing stray hairs out my face, I winced as some of them caught in the mass of curdled blood on my head. 

“I’m going to tell them I fell, and you are going to back me up. Got it?” I hissed in his ear. “Now if you insist on knowing where I went, I had been fighting in the ring for the past week or so. Gavin has been paying me.” 

Angus’s eyes popped open again. “That’s why ye’ve been keeping us away from there!” It was then he heard the jingling in my pocket. “Jesus how much has he been payin’ ye?”

“Enough.” 

“Ye’re going to run. Aren’t ye?” An unnecessary question really. They’ve all known this from the second they met me. 

“That’s … I … Dougal has all of it. For the Jacobites.” 

He softened a bit. “But why?” 

And the words came gushing out of me. “Because I want my damn ring back and I want to get as far away from Dougal as I can. All of the mistrust and all the shite I get for being English is quite honestly draining me. I want to go home.” 

Home. 

I shouldn’t have used that word. 

You are an outlander no matter where on this earth you think you can run to.

I sat down heavily. “But that’s the thing. I’ve spent years as a ghost and I don’t even know where home is anymore, I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be doing. I thought I did. But the fighting, it was like medicine to me, it makes me feel passionate, it makes me forget. After we leave this town, nothing is going to change. I feel trapped. Directionless.” 

  It was true. It was as if somebody plucked me from Uncle Lamb’s side and plopped me into the middle of a vast ocean. I could stay afloat but for what? Everywhere I turned there was a huge expanse of nothing. 

Angus sat down next to me. “Can I tell ye something? For what it’s worth, I trust ye, and ye look right at home, covered in blood and stinking like a man.” 

I gave him an honest smile, “Thank you.”

“But what about …” Angus closed his mouth and scooted away. Clearly what he about to say might result in my elbow colliding with his ribs. 

“What about what? Jamie?” I answered harshly. “What about him?” 

I don’t know why his question made me bristle as much as it did, and what I said next did not improve matters in the slightest.

“Please don’t tell him about this.” 

He caught the note of extreme seriousness in my voice. “Aye.” Was all he whispered in return. I traced the path his eyes took, out the wide stable door and up to the candle in Jamie’s window. 

Inside, he helped me clean the wound as quietly as possible, and we trudged up to bed. Stripping off my sweaty garments, I groaned as I tugged loose the strip of fabric I used to bind my breasts. I had tried a corset once, but declined to ever do so again in favor of proper breathing and being able to bend at the waist. 

Knowing that I wouldn’t sleep, I still tried in vain. I supposed I felt better, but only in the sense what I was able to get everything off my chest and hear my feelings out loud. Angus was a good listener, but the conversation should have been had with Jamie, and there was no telling how that would have gone and who would have walked away hurt. Although it probably would have been both of us.  

My body so desperately wanted to be unconscious but my mind wouldn’t let it. About two hours had passed and the first light of day gently lit the room. There was a soft knock on the door, and I heard Dougal’s voice from the other side. 

“Get up, lass.” 

Of course he’d be wanting the money. I hurriedly tugged on some pants and a shirt and grimaced at the blood stains on the pillow. Evidently I had been oozing. Opening the door halfway in an attempt to cover my face, I thrust the pouch into his hand. “I know it’s not as much as last time, I’m sorry.” 

“Never mind that lass. Get yerself together. Yer comin’ on a little trip wi’ me today.” Then he briskly walked away toward the stairs. Clearly the matter was not up for discussion. 

This is it. I thought as I retied the knot on top of my head. He’s gotten all the money he can out of me and now he’s going to take me somewhere and kill me. I quietly slid the small knife Jamie had left in my room the other day into my boot. 

Not if I kill you first.

Up close and personal, no arrows. He’d never see it coming. I imagined how it would go down. He’d lunge at me, I’d grab his throat and press the knife into the very spot I knew would bring death. A slow death, but death nonetheless. I wanted him to watch me reclaim my ring and finally be free of him. 

“So kind of ye to finally make it.” Dougal said when I reached the stables. He’d already saddled a horse for me. “Daydreamin’ up there?” 

“Actually yes.” 

He didn’t question me further as we set out. After riding in silence for about an hour I had worked myself up to the point where my hands were quite clammy and I was overly aware of the sgian dhu waiting in my boot. The tiny knife couldn’t have been more than one pound but it felt like ten. 

The hilly moor began to give way to forest. My horse followed Dougal’s of its own accord, allowing me to slouch back in the saddle and stare off into space. The trees that blurred by were becoming denser, and something caught my eye. Someone had set up camp on a distant hill. Strange, the hill seemed to rise up relative to everything around it, why expose yourself like that? 

Squinting and craning my neck back to the mysterious hilltop, it was enough for me to break the silence that had stretched for the entire ride. “What on earth is that?” I said it more to myself, but Dougal answered anyway. 

“Ancient faerie stones called Craigh na Dun.” He sounded almost wary. “Used by our ancestors for rituals, and said to be a gateway between worlds.” 

My mouth twisted. That concealed more than it illuminated. These Scots and their superstitions. I thought back to those wretched tea leaves and supposed anything was worth believing. 

The gentle thump of hooves striking grass gave way to the sound of crunching leaves. Dougal’s head was turning this way and that. We were close to our destination. My muscles tensed further in anticipation. The small spring looked peaceful enough, but Dougal had succeeded in choosing a secluded place. Then the smell hit me, and my face involuntarily contracted. Rotten eggs. 

Dougal caught it and laughed; I was not about to turn my back to him. “I ken it doesn’t smell like roses, but there’s a reason I took ye here.” 

There must have been a reason. Why ride over an hour for a drink from a spring that smelled like hell?  I stiffened. To conceal the smell of a corpse? 

He stared at me for a long moment, eyebrows raised. “There seems to be a bit of blood comin’ out of that head wound ye still haven’t told me about.” 

I started and then gently touched my fingertips to the wound in question. They came away bloody. “So there is.” I smiled sweetly. “Please excuse me a moment.” 

Kneeling by the edge of the spring, I made sure to keep him in my peripheral vision. The water was cool and it had an odd slippery quality. Throat parched with nerves, I took a big swallow before proceeding to wash the cut. Bracing myself for a taste to match the smell, it never came. The water was crisp and pure. Face dripping, I turned to find Dougal staring at me with an odd expression.

I shortly exhaled through pursed lips, causing the water to spray outward. “What?” 

“I’m going to ask ye once more.” He said, tone turned quite serious. “Are ye a spy for the English?”

I stood up and crossed my arms impatiently. “For the final time,” I seethed, “I am not a fucking spy! Are you going to tell me why you’ve taken me here?” 

His eyes narrowed as he sneered back at me. “Are ye going to tell me what’s happened to yer face? Or do I have to attend one o’ yer fights to get a better idea?” 

I would have liked to maintain a cool, collected expression at this remark. I also should not have been surprised at Dougal’s knowledge of my clandestine activities in the slightest. My eyes had widened nonetheless and he laughed humorlessly. 

“Angus …?” I said weakly, although I already knew it wasn’t him. 

“Angus didna tell me ye wee dolt. Gavin did when I collected the rent from his family’s farm.” 

“Ah.” I breathed, weaker still. It seemed I had failed to discuss the secrecy of my appearances with my sponsor. So Dougal knew my plan. He’d taken me here in order to kill or threaten me, thus preventing my escape and subsequent report back to my imaginary English superiors. 

He had turned his back to me before he resumed speaking. “Ye’re verra messy, Claire.” 

His back thus turned, I saw my chance. Of course the leaves underfoot would make sneaking up close difficult. A charge then, and a quick jab in the kidney. My heart instantly began pounding. 

He was shaking his head and laughing, genuinely this time. “Verra messy, not to mention clumsy. Ye’d make a terrible spy, and I’m sorry its taken me till now to believe ye.” 

My hand froze on its way toward the knife. “Wait what?”

He tilted his head and regarded me with considerably less menace than he had in all the time I’d known him. “Well ye drank from the Liar’s Spring aye? And yer still standin’ here.” 

I gawked at him. If it had been this easy I would have dragged him here a long time ago. Evidently this place was called St. Ninian’s Spring. Anyone who drank from it and then told a lie would meet a fiery end quite swiftly, what with the reek of hell so close by. 

“Dinna look so relieved yet, I’ve a few more questions.” 

I sat down heavily and looked at him with raised eyebrows and expectant annoyance. As long as I didn’t burst into flames, he’d be satisfied. And if I did? Well, he would probably still be satisfied.

“So ye really are a fugitive of the Crown?” 

“Yes. It wasn’t just some cover up. Neither was the money I gave you.” 

He nodded solemnly. “I must admit ye had me a bit confused when ye began yer … donations. Give me money and with it, a false sense of security and trust? Yer right clumsy Claire, but I wouldna put that past ye.” 

Indeed. For that had been my plan the entire time. Or had it?

“So now you see why I kept the fights from you. To be caught sneaking off in the middle of the night?” I laughed ruefully. “You’d never believe me.” 

He nodded again but there was a long pause before he spoke, very softly. 

“Can I ask why?” 

My teeth momentarily clenched together. Hard. 

“I’d rather you didn’t.” The words sounded strained and dry, barely above a whisper.

The air shifted; a chilling breeze blew tiny ripples across the stinking pool. Dougal had turned, and was staring at the wall of boulders on the side of the clearing. But he was seeing something else. 

“You’ve seen his back.” 

I inhaled sharply, and that was all the encouragement he needed to continue. 

“I was there, ken.”  

Whether I offered a response or not didn’t matter, for he meant to tell the tale either way. I found that my hands had clenched themselves tightly together. I did not want to hear this. I couldn’t. It felt like a betrayal of Jamie’s trust from when he first showed me the scars. But I had to. 

So I listened to how Jamie and his still raw wounds were paraded out of his cell at Fort William. I imagined Jack Randall’s eyes lighting up upon seeing him. I imagined the cords of Jamie’s neck taut with pain as he attempted to remove his shirt, which Dougal had described as barely more than a rag and almost completely crusted with the red-brown of dried blood. Jamie had carefully folded it as if it were made of silk, his last shred of dignity. And he meant to keep it. Hearing this part of the story almost wasn’t as bad as the flogging itself. He had hung unconscious by the wrists for the latter half or so, unaware of Randall’s deranged face behind him, splattered with Jamie’s blood. 

When his account had ended, my shoulders slumped and a shaky breath rattled out of my mouth. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I ken ye care about Jamie and I ken ye care about Scotland.” 

Perhaps I needed Dougal to say it before I truly realized it. Murtagh had tried to tell me as well. The truth was that I felt more Scottish than English, and I really didn’t want to leave my Highlanders. They looked out for me. I could be whoever I wanted around them, and it didn’t matter if who I wanted to be was a hunter and fighter . . . a protector. I wanted to be myself. 

“Well ye’re already a fugitive aye? Might as well be full blown traitor while you’re at it.” 

An unexpected laugh rose to the surface. “Do you know what? That doesn’t sound so bad.” 

It was strange how nonchalantly I had made the decision to change my life. The first time had been an accident, but now I was the one drawing my own map. Scotland was flailing under England, and it had gotten worse during my short time here. I saw it everyday. Whether it was in the form of hunger, poverty, families being torn apart, or religious persecution, England was not just using Scotland for revenue. It was threatening their way of life, a rich and ancient culture that I respected and cared for very much . . . as much as I had resisted it. Then there was everything that had been done to Jamie, including double flogging and exile to France. 

I supposed my deal with Colum was broken, as I had now effectively joined his brother in the exact kind of reckless acts he was looking to prevent to protect the Mackenzie clan. 

“Why did ye no tell anyone the Crown was after ye?” His last loose end. 

That was an easy one. “The fewer people that knew, the safer I felt. I’m sure you knew I had planned to leave your company as soon as possible, and I wasn’t looking to leave a trail leading right to me.” 

He made a Scottish noise in his throat which I took to indicate understanding. The breeze had returned as we sat in silence for a while. Dougal purposefully rose to his feet, smoothed his kilt, and extended a hand to me. 

“Welcome to the fight then, Claire.”

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior MasterList

The list so far. You can also read on Ao3 HERE!

Chapter 1: Highlanders 

Chapter 2: Not Alone Anymore

Chapter 3: Mistrust

Chapter 4: Fear of Flames 

Chapter 5: Just a Lass 

Chapter 6: The Wonders of Whisky

Chapter 7: Ring Heist Renewed 

Chapter 8: A Punch to the Stomach

Chapter 9: Tea Leaves and Existential Crises 

Chapter 10: Honorary Scot, Official Jacobite

Chapter 11: My Own Protector 

[abbydebeaupreposts]

Outlander Wedding Dresses 

Bree’s dress Diamar Payano (originally posted by @ingenua-idade)

Claire’s dress @vittysartbox

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 8 here and read this chapter on Ao3!

Chapter 9: Tea Leaves and Existential Crises 

Torrential rain battered the windows. It was loud but I enjoyed the static as I sat curled up in an arm chair near the hearth with a cup of tea. My boots were strewn on the floor below in favor of woolen socks. The back of my head had a large, sensitive lump from where it had made forceful contact with the floor last night. It was now accompanied by a dull throb and minor light sensitivity. Brady had thought me unconscious, and had turned his back to celebrate a premature victory. The power I felt surging off the ground to claim the true victory was indescribable. The match was hard won but I had triumphed, and Dougal got his hands on another bag of coin this morning. 

Becoming more accustomed to the fighting techniques, I determined that I had graduated to a different opponent. A larger one, whose size I could use against him. These matches were hardly about strength, and anyone who thought otherwise was surely going to lose … to me. 

As Jamie entered the room I sat up straighter, stopped squinting, and tried to appear altogether non-concussed. His face was buried in an empty teacup as he sat in the chair across. “There’s an auld woman in the taproom readin’ tea leaves! Give her yer cup once ye’re finished.”

I shifted in my seat, letting my leg hang over the side. “You actually believe that stuff?” 

“Well, I suppose not fully. But there’s always a voice in the back of yer mind asking if it could really be true.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yes and there is another, louder voice asking how the hell a bunch of soggy leaves could know that.” 

He feigned a pout. “Ye’re no fun, Sassenach.” 

“Well? What did your leaves say? Oh please don’t keep me in suspense.” Waving my hand in the direction of his cup, I took another sip.

Jamie inhaled deeply, as if he seemed unprepared for me to ask him this. His voice turned serious. “Well, she told me a lot had happened to me for one so young.” He shifted his shoulders, and I knew he was thinking of the scars, Randall, the death of his father. It was silly how something like this could dredge up those memories for him. How could this woman have possibly known what his life was like? 

“She said my hardships were far from over.”

I wondered what more the world could possibly do to Jamie Fraser. 

“But there will be one thing to make it all worth it.” 

I looked up sharply to find his blue eyes staring intently into mine. “One thing?” I whispered. 

And with that, the door from the taproom banged open announcing Rupert, brandishing his empty cup. “I knew it!” He said. “I’m goin’ to be a hero in battle! That will impress the lassies for sure.” 

“Let me see that!” I grabbed the cup from him and inspected the contents. “Well this lump looks a bit like a pile of shite … and would you look at that! This one looks like Dougal!” 

Rupert snatched the cup back. “What do you ken? Ye dinna have the sight!” 

I ignored him and looked into my now empty cup. “I’ve got a snake that’s eating itself, and what appears to be a lopsided bannock.”

Jamie was trying unsuccessfully to hide his laughter at Rupert’s rising anger. Rupert held his hands out for both cups; I gave them to him. “Ye ken on second glance, this clump does bear a slight resemblance to Dougal.” 

“It would seem I have got the sight after all.” 

Rupert suddenly began staring very intently into my cup. “But I would be lyin’ if I said I wasna curious about Claire’s leaves.” 

I stiffened. They still knew next to nothing about me. It wasn’t that I was afraid the leaves were going to reveal my true past. But that whatever they did reveal, true or not, they would likely believe it. Sure enough, Dougal was lurking in the corner of the room as Rupert handed my ‘fate’ to Mrs. Graham. 

She spent an awful lot of time with it, rotating it this way and that. She was squinting the whole time; her pale eyebrows knit together and she looked worried. I had noticed my heart had begun to knock against my ribcage. At last, she set it down on the counter. The only sound was some muffled conversation from some patrons in the corner; all the other mouths were shut for once and all of their eyes were locked on the fortune teller. 

“I read yer tea leaves,” she said finally. “Here’s some whisky.” 

I silently reached for the glass and took a large sip. Clearly she was about to drop a large problem onto my head. Another large problem. Why was I gripping the glass so tightly? I had just finished telling Jamie how this is a load of crap. Who was this women to tell me my fate? She could be making it all up for all I knew. 

I pictured her sitting back and laughing while she watched a bunch of sorry fools running around doing ridiculous things just because they believed it was their fate to do so.

“Your life has been full of tragedy.” She began. “No family, nowhere to go back to. You are an outlander no matter where on this earth you think you can run to.”

Breathing heavily, I abruptly backed off the stool. Jamie got to his feet as well.  “No… you can’t know that.” 

“As for the future,” Mrs. Graham consulted the leaves again. “Should ye so choose, ye can be an integral part of something greater than yourself. It will bring ye much more sorrow, it will bring crushing defeat. But it will also bring great joy, and great passion. Ye can replace what ye’ve lost.” 

All the while she was talking her voice was mounting in intensity, and I was involuntarily backing up towards the door, pricks of tears behind my eyes. With the end of the proclamation, I turned and sprinted out. 

With absolutely no idea where I was going, I kept running. The woman had just laid my whole miserable life out before me, and before everyone. In times when emotions like this began to take control, the cool metal of my ring would give me comfort. I couldn’t even remember how many months it had been since I’d seen the damn thing. 

Should I run off without it? Is it even worth it? All throughout this roiling confusion I was dimly aware of the pouring rain. It didn’t even matter now if I was crying or not. Also becoming apparent was the fact that I didn’t bring my weapons, my cloak, or even bothered to put my boots on. I stopped and looked down at my feet. The once cozy and inviting wool socks were now soaked with mud, and my toes were quickly turning numb. 

So what will it be Claire? Go back, grab your shit, have an awkward confrontation and leave? Or shall I just keep running and lose a couple toes to frostbite? I had a nice head start anyway; everyone else was likely still standing open mouthed in the taproom. 

The scariest thing was not even the harsh reminder of the death of my family. I had always considered myself a solitary person. But when she had declared that I truly had nowhere and nothing to return to, a strange weight of soul crushing loneliness had settled upon me. I had spent so much of my time trying to escape from Dougal that I didn’t even stop to think about what I was going to do when I returned to the pile of rubble that was formerly my parent’s house. My books, my wooden sword and bow, a scorched portrait of my mother lay strewn about in the ash in front of me. I don’t even remember what they looked like. 

I belonged nowhere. 

And it was during this insane inner turmoil when a sound materialized that appeared to be the approach of many riders on horseback. A streak of red between some of the farm buildings at the edge of town, and suddenly I was back in the glade in which I had first met Jamie. A bright red blob in a mass of green, and I stood cursing at myself to move, climb a tree, do something. 

With the same absence of thought with which I sprinted out of the tavern, I was sprinting back. The need to warn Jamie had overshadowed the tea leaves, and my feet squelched in the mud as I picked up speed, barreling back through the door. Mrs. Graham was gone. 

Jamie had returned to the chair by the hearth, his head in his hands. My boots were still on the floor a few feet away. It was as if I had never left, as if I wasn’t standing over his now startled face soaked to the skin and looking like an absolute lunatic. 

“Sassenach, what …” 

“Redcoats.” I blurted out. “You have to hide.” 

“Me? You have to hide!” He spluttered. 

I grabbed his hand and yanked him up the stairs. “All right we both have to hide.” 

I brought him into my bedroom and we crouched just inside the door frame, across from one another. The hallway overlooked the taproom, allowing us to see below. Jamie was looking around the small chamber with wide eyes, as if he found it scandalous for him to be here. I laughed to myself at the thought. My room was a complete mess. The blankets had fallen off the bed, there were empty tankards everywhere, and to be quite honest, it didn’t smell that great.

Dougal was striding around the bar, inquiring about Jamie. “The lad’s done well to make himself scarce. I think some soldiers are headed towards this tavern.” He commented to Angus. “Although don’t ye find it strange the second that sassenach ran out of here, a whole squadron of English show up?” 

“Insufferable fucking bastard. After everything I’ve done.” I groaned angrily and banged my head back against the wall; the doorframe rattled. Pain immediately radiated in all directions and I emitted a high pitched gasp, having aggravated the sore spot from my head injury the previous night. 

Jamie turned his head sharply in my direction. “Claire,” concern dripped from my name, and his hand involuntarily flew up. He forced it back down again. “Are ye all right? Ye’ve been acting quite funny lately and …” He broke off, 

So my strained movements and small winces of pain had in fact not escaped his notice. Of course not. He was more attentive to me than my own damn self. 

“What are you talking about I’m fine.” I quickly removed my hand from the back of my head. 

His eyes narrowed. “Ye never let anyone help you.” 

“I don’t need it or want it. I can take care of myself.” 

Whatever his next rebuke was had gotten cut off when the front door slammed open and in strode about a dozen redcoats. Loud and boisterous, they showed a complete lack of respect for the establishment. Jamie was intently scanning the crowd, undoubtedly looking for Randall. I had no idea of what he looked like. 

“He isna here,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. 

The redcoat in charge had made himself right at home. “Well what are you waiting for?” He sneered at the barman. “Ale for myself and the lads.” 

The poor flustered man scurried about behind the bar, dropping and splintering several glasses in the process. The Englishman had taken up a seat and placed his muddy boots on top of the bar. After the fifteen or so glasses of ale had been served, the redcoat flicked a penny at the barman’s head. 

“Keep the change!” The rest of the men roared with laughter. 

I started to get to my feet. “He can’t just do that!” 

Jamie quickly grabbed my wrist. “Yes, Sassenach. He can.” 

The barman’s face held an expression of utter defeat. Jamie was right. 

“What brings the patrol in today, sir? Ye’re early.” 

“What? We can’t pay a visit to our favorite tavern? Didn’t you miss me?” Came the mocking reply. “Well first off, we’re about to run out of food again, so you’d better tell that little brat of yours to come load up our wagons.”

“Right away, sir.” The man’s head remained directed at the floor. 

For the next hour, the soldiers laughed and drank and harassed the women serving them beer. Jamie and I still sat across from each other. We had started to toss a balled up pair of my socks back and forth. 

“Ow! What did ye have throw it so hard for Sassenach?” He huffed, rubbing his eye. 

I shrugged. “I was bored.” 

Downstairs, the conversation had resumed. The Englishman in charge approached the bar with quite a nasty smile on his face before he spoke. “Rumor has it, you’re harboring fugitives. What’s more, there seems to be an attempt to stir up the rebellion in this very tavern! Among other illegal activities in this shitehole of a town.” Ah. The real reason for the visit. 

Where the hell was Dougal? 

My eyes snapped up to Jamie’s at the very second his eyes came to mine. And for the second time that day, I wanted to run as far away from that tavern as humanly possibly. I made to get up again, wildly turning my head in all directions. Jamie had risked a quick maneuver over to my side of the doorway. His hands held my forearms, and the effect stilled me. Breathing slowing down, I wondered what ridiculous thing I might have done if his touch hadn’t brought me back.

“Claire. Ye’ve got to stay put. What can ye possibly do at this moment?” 

There it was again. His words had driven home the feeling of complete powerlessness conferred to us by the English. My arms trembled with anger and panic under his hands. 

“Fucking nothing.” 

“Nothing aye? All we can do is wait and see what happens.” He said matter of factly. 

“Jamie what if they find us?” I already knew the answer to that. I would be sent to the noose and Jamie would be sent into the arms of Jack Randall. I had never thought my days as a fugitive would come to an end like this. We crouched pressed together, sharing the tiny amount of wall between the left side of the doorframe and the washstand, waiting to see what happened next. 

Downstairs the barkeep, ever the Jacobite, was lying straight to the ugly bastard’s face. “I run a simple, honest establishment sir. I’ll no have ye comin’ in here accusing me o’ such a thing. Not to mention drinkin’ all the ale that I ken well and good ye have no intention of payin’ for! Agh!” 

He crumpled onto the countertop clutching his face into which the redcoat had just emptied his glass. 

The solider grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. His eyes were red and streaming. “See to it that you’re telling the truth then. Because there is a little English bitch and a red headed Scottish brute both of whom the Crown would love to welcome into its custody. The next patrol will be by again in two weeks. If you don’t have more food, we will be taking more coin. Get up lads, we’re leaving.” 

As the last redcoat lurched out the door, Jamie and I let out simultaneous breaths. I turned to look at him. “Are you all right, red headed Scottish brute?”

“Better than ever, little English bitch. But my arse seems to have fallen asleep.” He grinned. “I want to thank ye for coming back to warn me. I ken those tea leaves really unsettled ye.”

I had completely forgotten about the tea leaves. 

“Jamie!” Dougal’s voice sounded from somewhere above. He must have made his way up to the attic during the little English tea party. 

“Right here, Uncle.” Jamie rose, and extended a hand down to me. 

Dougal stopped in front of the doorway, and narrowed his eyes at me. “Where in the devil have you been?” 

I stomped my foot and opened my mouth to give him a wise mouthed answer when Jamie gently squeezed my wrist, a sign which I took to mean shut up. 

“Claire was here with me the whole time. She was the one who told me to hide in the first place. She was the one who first spotted the patrol. I should think ye can place a bit more trust in her, Dougal.” He snapped at his uncle. 

I had the grace not to smirk at him over Jamie’s shoulder. 

A couple days, a couple more bags of coin, and more than a couple bruises later, I was about to return to the tavern from my latest fight. Of course, it was decided that we would be leaving this town in a few days time, before the redcoats tore the place apart looking for us, and I told Gavin as much. 

“Aye it seems that surprise patrol has put everybody on edge. I was actually going to close down the ring for a bit after tomorrow night.” 

“Well you can be sure to see me tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss my last fight for the world.” I would miss this, and I hoped I would have the opportunity to do it again someday. 

“Dinna tell anyone, but ye’re the bonniest fighter that I’ve ever seen.” He smiled. “Half the lads are scared of ye!” 

“As they should be. Goodnight, Gavin.”

After going through my ridiculous ritual of hiding behind the stables for twenty minutes and then creeping up to the window to make sure the coast was clear, I caught sight of the heinous reflection starting back at me and heaved a sigh. My breath caused a bloom of fog across the glass. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.” 

My left eyebrow was almost completely split in two, a dark mass of congealed blood in between. It was surely going to leave me with a lovely little bald spot after it healed, and not even a win tonight to show for it. Given only half the coin I normally receive, I groaned at the prospect of a disappointed and now spoiled Dougal in the morning. 

I had been cocky and overconfident in my big genius plan and I could have split my other eyebrow myself because of how foolish I’d been. Who knows how much money I had just handed over? 

Do you not think things through on purpose or are you that stupid, Beauchamp?

And yet, despite the fact that Scotland was accepting my donations to its fight for  freedom in the form of Dougal Mackenzie’s greedy hands, it felt right somehow. 

The footsteps were completely silent. 

“Claire?”

[coaxing]

“You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.”

— Cormac McCarthy, The Road

[mirroir]

“Still,” wrote van Gogh in a letter, “a great deal of light falls on everything.”

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 7 here! 

Chapter 8: A Punch to the Stomach

“I’m here to fight.”

There. I said it. I determinately set my chin and waited for his response. 

Gavin opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. The crease between his brows deepened as he looked me up and down, deep in thought. 

I had supposed his original answer was going to be an outright no, and admittedly I had not planned for that scenario. Then it would be back to square one. 

“Are ye sure ye can handle it?” He said finally. “Because I’ll tell ye now that I dinna take responsibility for any broken bones, loss of blood, missing teeth, or any other type of bodily harm that ye may incur. Ye dinna want to get that pretty face of yours all botched up now do ye?” 

I smiled sweetly. “I have plenty of scars, I wouldn’t notice a couple more. Anything else?” 

“I also hope ye realize that all of the other fighters are men.”

I rubbed my hands together. “Excellent.” 

Of course Gavin was not going to try too hard to dissuade me. He was a businessman after all. Who wouldn’t pay to see a woman in a brawling match? He would rake in the coin due to mere curiosity. 

Everything that happened after Gavin’s overly exaggerated sigh was a blur. 

I was whisked into a back room full of large, sweaty, and shirtless men. The prominent smell of alcohol had bloody undertones. As expected, there was immediate silence followed by not so subtle whispering. 

“Aren’t ye goin’ to take off yer shirt as well lass? ’Tis only fair!” Somebody called from within the steaming mass. He was met with roaring laughter. 

My lip curled in disgust as I sat down. The light from the back of the room was suddenly blotted out as somebody approached and stood over the chair next to me. 

“Is this seat empty?” Vulgar man asked me. 

“No, but this one will be if you sit down.” I said gesturing to my own chair without turning to look at him. 

“Watch out lads, she bites!” He walked away snickering. 

“Now we ask that ye remove yer boots and any jewelry ye might be wearin’,” Gavin told me as two female attendants grabbed both of my hands and began wrapping strips of cloth around them, halfway to my elbow. 

“I - I don’t have any jewelry.” I said, recalling the whole reason I was about to perform this stunt in the first place. After toeing off my boots I held my hands up. 

“What is this for?” 

He looked up and chuckled. “It’s supposed to prevent yer knuckles from splittin’,” he paused, “. . . too badly.” 

I turned to a more practical question. “Who . . . who is going to be my opponent?” I scanned the room, looking for someone who might be similar in size to me. 

“I figured I’d put ye against Brady.” Gavin said. “He’s still pretty new, and shouldn’t crush ye, I expect.” 

“Well, tell him not to hold back.” 

Jesus Christ what am I saying?

After assuring Gavin I would compete and follow the same rules as any man, I stood just outside the entrance to the ring stiff as a board waiting for the introduction. Brady was already in the center, still in a bit of a shock after learning of the last minute opponent change. He was several inches shorter than Jamie, and possibly just as young with short, dark brown hair. He was muscular but thin. He seemed strong, but a bit clumsy, as if he knew not how to carry himself or use his strength. I tried to gather as much information I could before the entire crowd let out an audible gasp. 

I kept replaying the distinct sounds of everyone’s voices as they went up to bed. None of the men I was traveling with were here tonight. Paranoia made me scan the crowd over and over again. 

“Claire?” Gavin’s voice pierced the hazy cloud surrounding my head. Someone gave me a push from behind, and then I remembered how to walk. 

Nine minutes later, I was on my hands and knees gulping for air. Waiting for the blinding pain to subside where Brady had punched me in the stomach, I was also doing my very best to ignore the crowd. 

Well what did ye think was goin’ to happen? 

Serves her right!

Sitting once again in the room behind the ring, the chair creaked as I tipped it back so that it touched the wall. My head went back as well, allowing me to let go of the bloody cloth I had jammed up my nose. 

“Ah, Mistress Claire?” It was Brady. I think. “I - I’m verra sorry about hurtin’ ye, but Gavin said . . .” 

I swung my head forward again, the front legs of the chair hit the ground and cut him off. “Tell me something Brady.” 

He stood there expectantly, waiting for me to continue. God he looked even younger up close. 

“How many matches have you won since you started fighting here?” 

“Well including tonight, four mistress. But I almost beat Daniel last week!” 

I leaned back in the chair again and crossed my legs. “Wonderful,” I almost sneered at him. “So how many of your other three victories came with an apology?” 

The stuttering that followed indicated that he was understanding my point. 

“I’m terribly sorry mistress!” His hand flew to his mouth. 

I sighed, “It’s all right. I am well aware that I don’t belong here, but I’d prefer if you didn’t remind me.” 

This was probably my final match anyway, I thought as I heard the coins jangle in Brady’s pocket as he walked away. At this rate, it would take me until Samhain to make one single solitary cent. I tilted my head back again, closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh, followed by a longer yawn. Hearing approaching footsteps, I kept my eyes closed. I was not in the mood for further ridicule. 

The footsteps stopped in front of me, and I was jolted forward by the presence of a heavy mass tossed suddenly into my lap. Upon further inspection, said heavy mass was a pouch of coin. I looked up, and Gavin chuckled at the expression that must have colored my face. 

“I - You know I lost right?” 

“Oh aye ye did! But ye got a couple o’ hits in!” 

Crossing my arms, I waited for an explanation. Gavin continued quickly. “Listen Claire, I hope we didna scare ye too badly tonight. I want to be the first to tell ye that ye have potential. With a little practice and technique, ye can be really great. The crowd went wild for ye tonight.”

I casually tossed the pouch between my hands. “Ah, so this is to ensure my return, because you know that I have no money to my name and that I am completely dependent upon Dougal and company.” 

A pause. 

“Fine I’ll do it.” 

After quietly closing the door behind me back at our lodgings I saw a solitary figure in a chair by the fire. Just the man I wanted to see. I still had no idea if this was going to work, and my pounding heart agreed with me. Sitting down across from him, I swept my cloak behind me and lowered the hood, waiting for him to speak first. 

His eyebrow went up and the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. “I kent ye werna tryin’ to escape. That’s why I let ye go.” 

I leaned back and crossed my legs. “I suppose I shall have to do a better job at sneaking out then, won’t I?” 

“Passing information to the English, then?” 

Enough of this. The pouch of coin thumped onto the table between us. Dougal’s  eyes widened imperceptibly. 

“For Scotland.” I said. “If we stay in Nairn a bit longer I can double that. Triple if you stop using Jamie.” 

The smirk had quickly evolved into his famous malicious smile. “Ye care for the lad.” It was not a question. “However ye got this money,” he continued, “seems like an awful lot to go through for Jamie.” 

I flinched. He was right, but thankfully it wasn’t my only reason. “Well Dougal Mackenzie, it seems your patriotism has rubbed off on me. Even if I can’t understand a word of your speeches, traveling with you has taught me that the mistreatment of the Highlanders under the English crown has been unforgivable.” 

He looked suspicious, but I kept telling myself that I technically wasn’t lying, just leaving out my number one motive. If I help to fund his war, he will trust me enough to give my ring back.

It would take some time and patience, but it all rested on this moment. The silence stretched unbearably and I kept my face set sternly. Finally he seemed to decide that this and any subsequent donations were more important than any shenanigans I could be up to. He all but snatched the bag off the table. 

“I want triple.” 

The agreement was made. 

__________________________________________________________________

The next morning saw me walking awkwardly tilted to the left with my right arm hugged across the front of my body. I had awoken to unpleasant painful throbbing, a souvenir from last night. I silently thanked whatever divine forces had ensured that my face was not sporting any bruises, cuts, or swelling. 

The next part of my plan was to stop assuming that I knew how to fist-fight simply because I wielded a bow and sword slightly above average. I found him in the back, with the horses of course. 

“Good morning, Jamie.” 

He jumped. “Sassenach, g’mornin’!” I was glad that it seemed he had put that small drunken episode behind us. I was going to have to execute this conversation as delicately as the one with Dougal the previous night, if I was going to get what I wanted. Strolling up to the horse’s muzzle, I casually gave him some scratches and continued. 

“It’s a little chilly this morning, don’t you think?” My back was turned so he couldn’t see the cringe I made at the lame remark. Weather? Really?

“Aye, I suppose,” he said hesitantly. “Is that why ye’re walkin’ like that?” 

He gestured to the hug I was giving myself in a vain attempt to ease the pain from the beating I took. 

“Exactly!” I answered a little too loudly, and he seemed to take my strange behavior for my usual strange behavior. 

“Sassenach?” He said slowly. “I was thinking, um, would ye like to go back to see more fighting tonight? Dougal isna makin’ me stay here for another speech.”

The word “No!” Had escaped my mouth a hair too quickly. He gave me a funny look. So much for delicate execution. “I - I mean - I thought we were all playing cards tonight!”

He blinked. “We’re playin’ cards?” 

I laughed nervously. “Of course we are! They - they didn’t tell you?!” I was speaking far too quickly and excitedly.  Great. I now wanted to hit myself because directly after this I would have to find Rupert, Angus, and Murtagh and orchestrate a card game for later. I could have just faked a headache right before we left. 

“Oh. All right then. Perhaps another day.” His mention of the fighting however did provide a perfect route into the real reason I came to Jamie this morning. 

“How extraordinary is that place?” I said dreamily. 

“I had never seen yer eyes light up like they did watching it Sassenach,” he laughed. “It looked like ye were itchin’ to get into the ring.” 

Oh the irony. “Well I have a bit of a confession to make.” 

“What’s that?” I had his full attention. 

“My uncle had only ever taught me to fight with my bow and sword. I’d say I am quite pitiful at hand-to-hand combat.” 

His eyebrows rose. “Is that so? The great Claire canna throw a few punches?” 

I shoved him a bit and punched the air in front of his face, doing my very best not to wince at the stabbing pain in my side. “Of course I can. But that’s all they are, they lack actual skill or finesse.”

“Ah now I ken yer meanin’” There was still a smirk on his face. 

“I take it you are an oh so skilled fighter then?” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“I ken a thing or two.” He answered casually, leading me to believe that he knew much more than a thing or two. 

“Did your father teach you?” 

Jamie chuckled. “Actually it was Dougal. My uncle plays one brutal game of shinty.”

I snorted, “somehow I’m not surprised. Well why don’t you show me what you got?” 

“All right,” he beamed. “Some things I’ve learned over the years then.” He inclined his head, thinking. “A fool-proof way to knock out or stun yer opponent is to either get them in the jaw with a fist or an elbow, a foot or a knee to the middle of the abdomen …” 

I grimaced, remembering that one quite well. 

“… or a shot to the kidney, from the back.” He reached out with his right hand and yanked me closer by the arm. At the same time, his left elbow was making its way to the corner of my mandible. He was doing it slowly enough, so as just to demonstrate the technique but not actually hit me. That would have been fine, were it not for the intense soreness coursing through every muscle I had.

Jamie had taken me a bit by surprise, causing me to let out a gasp. “Ah …!” 

He stopped immediately. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?” The concern in his voice was heartbreaking. 

“…Ah hah! So that’s how it’s done!” I unconvincingly attempted to disguise the groan of pain. Brushing the hair out my eyes, I reassured him that I was “fine.” 

“Never better, I just didn’t know it was going to be this kind of lesson!” I eagerly jumped back and forth, to further demonstrate how “fine” I was.

“Well I canna explain very well without showin’ ye Sassenach,” he smiled, relieved because he thought he hadn’t hurt me. 

This was going to be a long lesson. 

“I think ye’ve had enough, Sassenach.” Jamie finally said about an hour later. 

“What … makes you … think .. that?” I huffed sarcastically, doubled over trying to catch my breath. After promptly flopping onto the bench, his tone turned a bit serious. 

“Claire, can I ask ye something?” 

“Yes?” I said cautiously. This question could not end very well. 

“About that poster we found the other night…” 

“Oh God you didn’t find anymore did you?” I started to rise, but he stopped me. 

“No, I just had a frightening thought.” Frightening indeed, his entire demeanor had changed in an instant. “’Tis just that, Randall has been through this town.” His fists began clenching and unclenching. “What if …” 

“Jamie. What?” I demanded a little impatiently, rising from the bench. He was beginning to make me nervous. 

“What if his troops were the ones who put the poster there? What if there are more … in other towns? Claire. If that man kens who ye are … I dinna ken what I would do.” 

His hands had even started to shake, which is why I felt bad for the subsequent  giggling. “Jamie have you seen that drawing of me?” I snorted out. After the initial shock of finding the thing, I had sat in bed and chuckled at the grossly disproportionate features before throwing it into the fire. “My nose is not that big!” 

“It doesna matter. Ye are pretty easy to spot for plenty of other reasons!” He said, outraged. “Please Claire, just dinna do anything stupid until we get back to Leoch?” His voice had taken on a begging tone and he did nothing to mask it. He seemed terrified, and I had the grace to stop laughing.

Preparing to lie yet again, I took a deep breath. “I promise.” 

And he looked relieved.

That evening, fake card game in place, I could not stop thinking about my morning with Jamie. I had blatantly used him to improve my fighting skills. Gazing across the table at the pure joy that had colored his face all day made it so much worse. He was blinded. Jamie was not stupid. It was quite easy to discern how odd I was acting, and he wouldn’t allow himself to see it. Guilt is not an emotion I grapple with very often, and I seriously contemplated telling him what I was up to. 

But I just couldn’t. 

The tavern was full that night. Many were demanding a speech from Dougal, having brought with them like-minded friends and relatives. I fixed the brute with a stern glare, a reminder of our deal. I received the smirk in return. 

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” He said with mock regret. “But why would ye need me? Ye dinna have yer own stories? Yer own struggles? Yer own scars?” His eyes flickered to Jamie, bluffing at the card game and blissfully enjoying the fact that his new shirt was going to remain intact. 

Soon, the Scots were getting up one by one to tell their stories and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes in Dougal’s direction. His job was doing itself now and he didn’t even need his nephew any longer. 

My annoyance with the Mackenzie war chief soon evaporated as each Highlander stood up and shared their story. I looked over at Jamie and I knew he was thinking about how the English soldiers had marched up to his home and Randall had decided that he wanted to have his way with Jamie’s sister. For some, the same exact thing had happened, but the soldiers had actually gone through with the rape. Some dragoons had taken animals, set fires, and driven families out of their ancestral estates. Some went so far as to take children away from their mothers as payment for taxes, stating that with one less mouth to feed they should be able to produce more money. 

My throat constricted as this woman began to cry in earnest. “Last I heard, he was taken to a manor in England.” Her voice wobbled considerably. “He’s workin’ in the stables, and I dinna ken if I’ll ever see him again!” She crumpled to the floor and her husband lifted her back into her seat. 

I could have easily stood up and told my tale of how the British Empire took everything from me, and how the wanted poster was proof that they’re still not satisfied.  But the truth is, I have never talked about it. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe that I ended up here. Scotland, my ever present reminder of something that I can’t bear to think about. I will never speak of it partly out of spite, because I have no idea how the inner turmoil would project itself and I was quite frankly afraid to find out. 

The tears of agony and loss that accompanied what I heard this night stirred up something inside of me. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if my path to freedom from Scotland involved funding the rebellion, even it was through Dougal Mackenzie. Feeling completely unsettled, I resolved to march down to the ring as soon as everyone was in bed and kick Brady’s ass.

[geethedentist]

Proud to announce that The Sassenach Warrior is (finally) now on ao3!! The next chapter is in the works. Thanks for being so patient!

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 6 here!

Chapter 7: Ring Heist Renewed

“Care to explain, lass?” Murtagh asked the question before I could bolt after Jamie and the others, thus avoiding the ensuing conversation that I now knew to be inevitable. But he sounded matter of fact, not accusatory. He even seemed a bit curious. I turned to face him, hand nervously clenching the wanted poster in my pocket. I still had no idea what the charges were. Hopefully it only mentioned my most recent encounter with the redcoats.

“Does Jamie ken?” He tried for an easier question. 

“I … he … not all of it.” I glanced helplessly at the door to the inn Jamie and others had just gone through and took several steps backward.

“And I suppose those two wee fools ken nothing of it.” He said, referring to Rupert and Angus.

My hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically around the poster. The sound of crumpling paper drifted from my pocket before I replied. “What was your first guess?” 

He chuckled. “Well for one, I have never seen such a petrified look on yer face before.” 

“Well that’s because there is not much out there to petrify me.” 

“But this does.” 

I let out a long sigh. “Myself and the British government have been . . . at odds for some time.” 

“As cryptic as ever, Claire.” Murtagh stated. He didn’t need me to beg for secrecy with such a shameful, pleading look on my face. “Is that why ye’re so desperate to leave then?” 

I imagined Jamie telling his uncle of all the unsuccessful scheming I had done to recover my ring and be on my way. “Ye can leave and keep running, I ken how badly ye want to.”

“It isn’t safe for me here.” I told him the lie I kept telling myself, and he saw right through it. 

“Not safe? We brought ye to one of the most fortified castles in the Highlands. Ye’re surrounded by kindhearted and protective Scottish warriors, many of whom have grown quite fond of ye.” 

“I still feel like a captive rather than a guest.” I answered quietly. 

Murtaugh grunted. “Well I’ve said my piece, ’tis yer choice what ye do with it.” He started toward the door. 

“Wait!” I called after him. It felt silly to use my usual method and threaten a kick in the balls to ensure his silence. He demanded much more respect with his quiet demeanor and wisdom, and he was very important to Jamie. 

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “I wilna tell anyone lass.” 

Jamie was giving me a concerned look when we reached the door. I smiled briefly to assure everything was okay, and he relaxed. There was a man standing inside the doorway holding a lantern. He scrutinized us until he saw Rupert and Angus, and he grinned broadly. 

“Back again are ye? Who d’ye have here?” He asked, clapping Rupert on the shoulder. 

“Aye, we’ve brought some kinsmen. Dinna worry they wilna blow yer cover.” Rupert responded. 

“Pardon me if this seems like a foolish question,” I began as we descended a narrow staircase single file. “But is there some sort of illegal activity taking place here?” I had half-expected to walk in on some sort of orgy at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Will you two dolts just tell us where we’re going?” Murtagh piped up from behind me. 

“Ye canna just wait two more seconds?” Angus called back. 

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs with a warm light peeking out the bottom. From beyond I heard cheerful music and many voices. Rupert pushed the door open and we entered what looked like a basement turned taproom. There was a bar and tables with patrons. I blinked in confusion. 

“You … you made us walk all the way over here to sit in a nearly identical taproom?” I folded my arms and regarded Rupert and Angus. Behind me, Murtagh suppressed a laugh.

“It isna just a taproom!” Angus said. 

“Oh my apologies, ‘secret taproom’.” I stretched and started for the bar. “Well as long as we’re here, I’m going to have a drink, or three.” I said, hoping this would aid me in forgetting about the incriminating paper in my pocket and stop me from wondering if I’d ever be able to show my face in public again.

“Sassenach.” Jamie tapped my shoulder. “I think that’s why they brought ye here.” He inclined his head toward the far end of the room, where the most people were gathered. There was a sea of bodies in my way, and I still saw nothing while Jamie easily towered over almost everyone. Determined to make something of this night, I shouldered my way through the crowd ignoring the comments and side glances. I reached an opening in the crowd and my jaw promptly hit the floor. 

“Look at her face!” Rupert said gleefully. “I kent she’d love this!” He looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. 

A large ring had been constructed out of wood in the middle of the floor. The walls rose about four feet high, and they were stained with blood. Some spots were old and faded, others clearly fresh. Suddenly a man was thrown headfirst into said bloodstained wall, adding to the collection. There was a gash in his forehead. He wore no shirt and he was glistening in sweat and breathing hard. His opponent loomed over him. There was blood running down the other man’s neck from some unidentifiable wound, deep in his long brown hair. He was missing a tooth. He reared up and drove his knee into the fallen man’s nose, the force sending him colliding with the wall once again. Thunderous cheering accompanied this clear victory, and I couldn’t help but join in. 

Jumping up and down, I grabbed Jamie’s sleeve. “Do you know what this is?!” 

“Aye, it looks like a fighting ring.” And then he smiled down at me, my excitement infectious. “Somebody owes Rupert and Angus a thank you.” 

I shrugged. “There is a degree of difficulty in dealing with me, but I’m easy to please.” 

Our attention was brought back to the middle of the ring when another man stepped out dressed in clean cut breeches and a vest. He reached the winner, grasped his wrist, and thrust his arm up into the air. 

“Your winner!” He boomed. The declaration was met by more applause and cheers.  He then pulled out a pouched stuffed with coin and handed it to the victor. 

Somebody emitted a drawn out groan next to me. “That’s the last time I put my money on Campbell.”

Preparations began to be made for the next fight. The loser was hauled off to see if something couldn’t be done about his broken nose and forehead laceration, and blood was being scrubbed off the walls and floor. I led Jamie over to a table where the others were seated. Both Rupert and Angus had large smiles plastered on their faces. I crossed my arms. 

“Before you say anything, I will give credit where credit is due.” 

An ale that I didn’t even know I wanted was pressed into my hand by Jamie as I climbed onto the stool. 

Angus was nodding smugly. “Weel our Claire is always attracted to violence is she no’? 

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, violence and danger.” 

Murtagh gave a Scottish grunt of agreement from the corner and met my eyes briefly. I swallowed, remembering the paper I harbored. Yes, violence and danger were quite exhilarating until finding your face on a poster dampens the mood. Before I knew it the ale was finished. 

The conversation was in danger of departing from harmless observations about my personality and entering dangerous territory. 

“So . . . a dark, unassuming inn under which is hiding a covert brawling competition.” The fighting of course supplied the danger and violence I always preferred to be immersed in, but the clandestine nature of the whole thing was the real reason that anyone with sense shouldn’t want anything to do with it. 

“And allow me to venture a guess,” I continued. “The English have had some objection, forcing it underground.” 

A common theme here seemed to be that the Scots enjoy their tests of strength and courage, especially against each other. I thought of the sword play back in the smaller village. It was yet another unique aspect of their way of life. 

Angus shifted uneasily. “Aye, Gavin told us the whole story.” He inclined his head toward the neatly dressed man in the center of the ring directing the clean up. “He’s the one who runs it.” 

Rupert picked up the story. “A couple of weeks ago Her Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons came through the town, and the captain had somethin’ to say about all this.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm. 

At the mention of the redcoats occupying the town I went rigid, my hand reflexively clutched the paper inside my pocket, now realizing why it had been hanging up in the first place. Jamie had stiffened simultaneously next to me and he swore in Gaelic. 

“The Eighth Dragoons. That’s under Randall’s command.” He said the name with difficulty, almost forcing it out. “How good to know he’s still terrorizing these people.” 

Murtagh tugged at his beard. “Ye havena seen Randall since …” 

“No.” Jamie answered softly. 

Murtagh did not need to finish that sentence for anybody present. Jamie had not seen the English captain since he had flayed open his back and made known his physical desire for the nineteen year old boy. 

“I expect that nothing illegal was going on and Randall did this because he can.” Jamie’s fist was clenching and unclenching at his side. I saw it. From his words, Black Jack Randall took an even more definite shape in my mind: a haughty man who takes advantage of his rank, but harbors fiendish and perverted tendencies apparent in the fact that he enjoys watching people suffer. Although at that point, I had no idea how sadistic he truly was. 

“Exactly, because Randall’s a bastard.” Angus said. “He called this barbaric. Gavin used to run the entire inn upstairs and when he refused to close the ring, Randall and company shut the inn down.”

“Sounds about right.” Said Murtagh. 

“Anyway,” Rupert continued, “the whole business has gotten Gavin a bit nervous, so he’s only opened the ring a few nights a week.” 

“Perhaps Randall and the English felt threatened by all the revenue this seems to generate for the people of this town.” I put in helpfully.

“Oh aye,” Angus answered, “But only if ye bet on the right fighter. I lost a hell of a lot o’ coin last night.” 

“You did?” Rupert punched him in the shoulder. “Ye borrowed half of it from me!” 

While Rupert and Angus entered a full blown argument, I glanced over to Jamie. He had his chin in his hands and he was staring very intently at the floor. He had shut down for the night. I imagined he was not happy to hear that Randall was still at large. How could a man like that come to justice? 

__________________________________________________________________

By the next evening, I was still silently thanking Rupert and Angus for bringing me to Gavin’s ring. After sharing a glass of whisky with Jamie and Murtagh, I made a show of yawning repeatedly and excused myself for bed. I stood in front of the washstand and pulled the pockets of my breeches inside out. A couple granules of lint floated to the floor. These pockets will be empty no longer. But as per my plan, most of it would be going to Dougal and his preposterous Jacobite army fund. I stuffed the pockets back in, honestly struggling to remember the last time I had held any type of currency. I had consistent meals and now a bed to sleep in, but it did not change the fact I was still destitute. Dependent. Still a prisoner. 

I paced the room, my steps bouncing slightly with nervous energy. My life seemed to be directed by impulsive, often stupid decisions. Tonight would be no different. As I waited for the voices to die down indicating that the others had gone to bed, I couldn’t help but to somehow arrive at the conclusion that Jamie rarely slept well, if much at all. 

After another twenty or so minutes and a strong pull of the whisky I had snuck upstairs, heavy booted footsteps were making their way up the stairs and past my door. Swinging the cloak over my shoulders, my nails caught on the rough fabric. I had chewed them all the way down, and now the ends were jagged. Shifting my weight carefully, I moved slowly and tried not to make the old floors creak. After what felt like forever, I reached the stairs and grasped the railing. Gingerly, I tip-toed down the stairs one by one, my face screwing up at every infinitesimal sound I made. 

It felt ridiculous and childish. I suppose I was sneaking out for any one of the various, irrational reasons I had created. Perhaps I was not up to the task of dealing with Dougal if he caught me. I shuddered. Any one of them could catch me and assume I was on some espionage mission for the British. Conclusions would be jumped to, and Dougal would smugly fold his arms and say that he knew all along that I was helping the enemy. I reached the bottom and let out the long breath I was holding. 

Glancing back up, a soft flickering light shone around the edges of a closed door. I dimly wondered whose room it was and admitted that another reason for the tip-toeing was to spare Jamie of the knowledge that I was actively trying to leave. Then and there, I resolved to escape without anybody’s knowledge once I had my ring back. Yes, I would make my triumphant escape by cover of night guilt free with no awkward goodbyes, and in the morning after some initial confusion I will be nothing but a strange memory to them. 

I was still fixated on the door that could have been Rupert’s for all I knew and hadn’t realized that while gazing stupidly and open-mouthed up the stairs I was slowly walking backward. The arm of the chair at the nearest table had gotten caught inside the enormous sleeve of my borrowed cloak. The chair was already halfway to the floor before the high pitched whispers of profanity made it out of my mouth. I covered my face with both of my hands during the inevitable crash as if that would do any good. Peeking through my fingers, I saw the light under the door move. Someone had picked up a candle. After clumsily setting the chair upright I dashed out the door clutching the hood so that I remained concealed. 

The night air was chilly and I gave a hollow laugh to myself upon realizing that I was about to go somewhere all alone, no Scotsmen included. The night was still. It had to be after midnight. Since the previous evening I had been on the lookout for more posters with my face on them. I thankfully found no more, surmising that the first place I saw it must have been the town’s main bulletin. 

Faint laugher floated across the side alley of the inn as I approached. There was the unmistakable sound of a glass splintering on the floor and the laughter escalated. The same man was at the door, holding the lantern. I tried nonchalantly to remove my hood, but it had gotten caught on my hair. The man watched me struggle for several seconds before I had tied the hair back into a knot and causally leaned against the wall. 

“Busy tonight?” I asked him. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Aye. Ye were here last night?” There was suspicion in his voice upon hearing my accent. As of late I wished I was able to speak differently. I once attempted a Scottish accent and it had sent Jamie into a uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

“I was. Rupert and Angus are friends of mine.” 

His expression softened and he let me enter. The voices got louder as I descended. The large room was once again bustling with activity. I scanned the crowd in search of Gavin when a familiar face materialized in front of me. It was the freckled young man from the tavern earlier in the week who seemed to have the utmost faith in Dougal Mackenzie. He was holding a small notebook. 

“We meet again, Miss …” He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name. 

“Claire. Remind me again of yours.” 

“Peter.” He smoothed his hair with one hand; it had a greasy sheen to it.

“Oh yes, the man who gave his coin to support some Bonnie Prince who is off God knows where. And now you’re here, gambling it away.” It sounded quite strange as I said it. I supposed he was around my age, but the freckles made him look like a boy.

He laughed. “Gambling’s no’ such a bad thing, provided you win.” 

“I intend to.” I told him, starting to walk away to let him figure out what I meant. He didn’t get the hint, reappearing at my left shoulder like a fly. 

“May I buy you a drink?” 

“No thank you.” I kept walking. He plainly intended to keep this conversation going. 

“Tell me,” Peter continued, paying no heed to the fact that he was about to address his next question to my back. “Have you been here before?” 

“Just once.” 

“I see. The atmosphere is quite invigorating, but I can’t help but feel only a handful of people know about it.” 

“Well, yes.” I turned to face him. “It has been like this since the last time the soldiers came through. The English shut down this entire inn because they did not like the presence of the fighting ring for whatever reason. Perhaps because the Scots found a way to make money through a means that they couldn’t put another one of their bloody taxes on. Or perhaps because it gave them some way to enjoy life since the English barged into the Highlands. Your guess is as good as mine.” It appeared as though I had gone on a small rant. 

He smirked. “You sound like your Mackenzie friend.” If that was meant to provoke me, it worked, damn him. 

“I - no. No.” I gave a flustered laugh and held up a finger. “Listen. Do you see me trying to raise an army?” His mouth opened to answer but I kept going. “That man is holding me against my will on the basis of a ridiculous assumption that he cannot prove. Furthermore, if you approach any single person in this room right now, they will share a similar sentiment concerning the English.” 

He blinked, evidently becoming more fascinated by the second. A clear indication that I have shared way too much information with a total stranger. “You’re his prisoner?” 

I groaned. “Goodnight Peter. Good luck to whomever you bet on.” 

He bowed. “Goodnight then, Mistress Claire. Perhaps I’ll see you again down here.” 

I had finally located Gavin standing in a doorway towards the back of the room, next to the bar. I cast a look back at Peter. He was seated alone at a table scribbling furiously in the notebook. 

Gavin was directing people who wanted to place their bets; he didn’t turn his head as I approached. 

“Good evening to ye, sir.” He said, tying off a small coin pouch. 

“Good evening, and I’m not a sir.” I was about to enjoy his subsequent reaction. 

He turned, and didn’t seem too surprised. “Well of course not lass, forgive me. Yer clothing had me mistaken out ‘o the corner of my eye.” 

I tilted my head to the side and got the feeling that he was almost expecting me. 

“So where are those two dolts tonight eh?” He continued; I presumed he was talking about Rupert and Angus. 

“I - They’re … asleep.” I said lamely, after much too long of a pause. There was no need to explain to him why I was here in secret when I could barely explain it to myself. 

He extended his hand then. “Ye must be Claire.” 

“So you must have heard all about me.” Wonderful. 

“Aye, and I kent ye’d be back so I could meet ye! Never met a lass here for the fight.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “All the ladies who come here dinna care a lick for it. They come with their husbands and gossip all night long.” 

I followed his eyes a small group of women seated in one of the booths along the wall. Clearly whispering about something (me), there was absolutely nothing subtle whatsoever in the way that they all simultaneously averted their eyes to the tabletop. Giggling soon ensued. 

“Who will ye be bettin’ on tonight then Claire?” Gavin asked. “Fletcher’s been doing bonny this month.” 

Betting? Boy was Gavin about to see how much the fighting really interested me. I smiled sweetly. “I fear there has been a misunderstanding. I will not be placing a bet tonight.” 

Disappointment followed by confusion crossed his features. “Oh? Why not?” 

 I folded my arms. “Well for one, I haven’t got any money. Not one little penny to my name. It seems finding work as a soldier is quite unattainable for someone like me.”

He reddened slightly. “I’m sorry lass, I didna mean to assume the state of yer funds … I …” 

I held up a hand. “It’s quite all right.” A pause to prepare him. 

“I’m here to fight.”

[holdhertightandsayhername]

“I have loved ye since I saw ye, Sassenach,” he said very quietly, holding my eyes with his own, bloodshot and lined with tiredness but very blue. “I will love ye forever.”

- Diana Gabaldon, Written In My Own Heart’s Blood, ch. 24

[mysharona1987]

[bluereevesphotography]

Misty Edinburgh - 6/4/19

[vintagepales2-blog]

Mont Saint Michel Abbey

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 5 here!

Chapter 6: The Wonders of Whisky

Rising from the chair, I froze halfway trying to decide if I should go after Jamie. Dougal had suddenly became aware of my presence once again, as if coming down from an intoxicated state. I suppose he was. 

He smiled. It was not a nice smile. 

“You look very pleased with yourself.” 

“Pleased? Ye should come back and see me when Scotland and the Bonny Prince are victorious.” 

I crossed my arms. “Forgive me, but hasn’t there already been two failed Jacobite risings?” 

That remark dampened his euphoria. “Watch it lass, I expect ye to remain civil. Ye’re only here because I still dinna ken what yer game is. Ye ken nothing of those risings and what Scotland has been through.” 

“I am being perfectly fucking civil. You on the other hand, are a complete barbarian. I take it that Jamie is only here to be used as a prop?” I gestured toward the door through which Jamie had just left.

He let out a long breath. “Please try to understand. ’Tis nothing against the lad. He just happens to be the owner of a verra strong example of English brutality and ruthlessness. He swore loyalty.” 

“He did no such thing and you know it. I was frankly shocked he sat there for the past hour and let you do that. Good night.” Before he could say anything else I swept up my half-full mug of ale and my meat pie and stomped up the stairs. 

I awoke an hour or two later in a sweat and a coating of pie crumbs. Sighing, I draped my arm over my face. The dream was quite unsettling. Dougal was the one flogging Jamie and once again, I was sitting there watching with a mug of ale. Jamie had looked pleadingly into my eyes. The dreams were worsening since I had been taken by the Scots, but they had started when Uncle Lamb died. I let out a shaky breath and climbed out of bed. 

There was a figure in the back alley of the tavern below. My stomach flipped when I realized it was Jamie. His familiar form was hunched over as he sat on a wooden bench. His knuckles were a mess of blood, though he made no move to staunch the flow. It was rhythmically dripping onto the ground in front of him. It ran between the cracks in the stone. I tore myself away from the window and tried, unsuccessfully, to go back to sleep. 

The next morning my head felt heavy; it hovered dangerously close to my bowl of porridge. What should have been the most sound sleep I’ve had in weeks was punctuated by horrible dreams of varying content, guilt for some reason, and other feelings I did not care to identify. I blinked heavily and parted my jaws in an enormous yawn. 

“Ye look like ye’ve been up all night,” Murtagh commented. 

“I suppose I had gotten used to sleeping on the ground.” I answered. Then I swung my head to look around the room. “Where is Jamie?” 

“Why?” Angus interjected, a large annoying smirk on his face. 

As much as I wanted to hit him, displaying hostility would only encourage it. I tried for nonchalance. “I just noticed that he isn’t here. That’s all.” I added a shrug for good measure. 

“The lad woke up hours ago, he’s spendin’ the day in the stables if I’m not mistaken.” Murtagh answered me, ignoring Angus. So Jamie wished to be left alone. 

That evening saw us all in the taproom once again. I had just finished supper when I noticed with dread that the tavern was much more crowded than it had been the previous night. Dougal was drawing a larger audience then, and word was spreading. Jamie was led in by his uncle. I imagined that the days he was flogged looked quite similar to this. 

Dougal then began the exact speech from the previous night, and hearing it a second time made it far less impressive and far less passionate. I wanted to spare myself the sight of Jamie’s anguish by spending the night in my room. But tonight, I was going to make sure he was okay. 

We had not spoken in two days. 

It took longer for the taproom to clear out this time. A young man with light brown hair was the last to drop his coin in. His cheeks were ruddy and covered in dense patches of freckles. Dougal bowed to him. “Alba a ’toirt taing.”

A confused expression momentarily crossed his face before he nodded and made his way to the front door. He passed the armchair in which I was sitting. 

“Save your money.” I said to him. 

He stopped. “He’s going to save Scotland.” I almost felt sorry for the innocent, deluded look in his eyes. 

“He thinks he’s going to save Scotland.” I said, putting my legs up on the table. 

“Well, what’s he going to do with all that money?” He demanded.

I sighed. “What’s your name?” 

“Peter, Miss.” He hadn’t commented on my attire, but I could feel him staring at it. 

“Peter. What you just saw was a carefully rehearsed ploy in which that man exploited his nephew for money. Sure Dougal cares about Scotland and I imagine that he’s going to attempt to use that money to raise an army against England. But if you ask me, he’s a child in a grown man’s body. A couple pence is not going to help. Feed your family instead.” 

His eyebrows knit together. “I shall keep that in mind, Miss. You’re quite the cynic aren’t you?” 

I smiled insincerely. “Being a pessimist is wonderful. I am either always right or pleasantly surprised. Have a good evening sir.” 

After he had gone I dimly realized that he wore no tartan and spoke no Gaelic. My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Jamie attempting to shrug back into his destroyed shirt. Tonight was different than last night. He was not angry. He was defeated. The floor above us creaked as Dougal entered his room after having counted the night’s earnings. 

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Can I help?” 

He did not say anything, but nodded once. Permission granted, I took the two tattered ends of the shirt and tied them in a knot at his back. The scars shone in the candlelight. 

“At least now it won’t fall off.” I whispered. 

He still said nothing, and I realized that he was holding his breath. 

“I have - I have no idea how to sew.” I said stupidly and unnecessarily into his silence. 

His fingers drummed on the counter, I saw fresh scabs. His head turned slowly towards me. He gave the most infinitesimal smile, but it was the most I’ve seen in days. “I didna think ye would, Sassenach.” 

My breath came out in a laugh, and he continued. “Maybe I’ll teach ye one day.” 

I was still laughing, more out of some unexplained relief than from what he said. “No thank you!”

He pretended to be taken aback. “No thank you? All Scottish boys are taught to sew and knit ye ken.”

The barman approached and placed a glass of amber liquid in front of Jamie. I sat up straighter. “What is that?” 

He picked up the glass and swirled it around. The way the liquid caught the light was pleasing to look at, and just watching it made me feel warm. He took a sip and savored it before answering me. “It’s whisky, Sassenach. Ye’ve never had?” I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was hoping I would say no. I shook my head, still staring at the glass. 

“Then I am honored to be the first that ye shall drink it with.” He waved the barman over and had him pour me a glass. “Leave the bottle, if ye please.” Jamie told him before he went into the kitchen. 

I held my own glass at eye level right in front of my face. He was intently watching me inspect my whisky. I sniffed it, and the scent was complex. It smelled like Scotland. After the first swallow, there was a small fire burning merrily in my belly, a warm trail down my throat, and several unidentifiable flavors commingling on my tongue. It was magnificent. 

Half an hour later, the bottle was almost empty, and the small fire had become a raging blaze. We had spent that time laughing hysterically and having a belching contest. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to get drunk, and I said as much as I reached to pour some more. 

Jamie’s eyes widened. They were becoming a bit glassy and bloodshot. “Sassenach I fear ye may be drinkin’ me under the table and I am ashamed.” 

I snorted. “Please, I could drink any one of you under this whole tavern.” 

That sent him into a small fit of laughter. “Would ye like to test yer theory on the lads, then?” 

My reply came without thinking. “Actually, no. I find I can only handle them in small doses. I’m quite enjoying this sad little drinking party and all two of its current members.” 

He smiled. “Me too.” After a short pause, he tentatively reached out his hand. “Ye have something in your hair.” His speech slurred faintly. “Um. Do ye want me to get it out?” 

I shrugged. “If you think it will help my tangled mess look more presentable.” 

Permission granted, his hand continued reverently up to the top of my head. 

“Coltach ris an uisge ann an allt, mo nighean donn.” 

He carefully extracted some piece of lint, and lowered his eyes to my face. I watched as he switched his gaze between me and the glass of whisky I had suspended near my lips. Suddenly, Jamie MacTavish abruptly reminded me why I had not spoken to him for two days.

“It looks just like yer eyes …” He breathed. 

I lowered the cup with a sharp exhale. He was beet red, and that’s when I realized he was in over his head. It didn’t matter now if I ignored him completely. He would still be torn apart when I left no matter what. I silently cursed myself for not leaving sooner.

Being in the company of these Scots was the longest I had been in anyone’s company since I lived with my uncle. Before this, I had never had time to forge any kind of profound connection. I had kept interactions and acquaintances short and unattached. It was safer for me that way. 

Jamie sat there sweating now, and gazing at me expectantly clearly hoping that his fuck up would reward him. I shuddered to think what sorts of sober thoughts would make it out of my drunken mouth. 

Instinct took over and an irrational urge to make him angry at me manifested itself. If I had known all that was going to unfold after, I would have gone to bed right then and there. I suppose I thought that angering him on purpose would make it easier for him when I was gone. If he hated me, he’d be glad to see me go. 

 I attempted to look him straight in the eye, although at this point my vision was beginning to spin slightly. “Why do you let Dougal do that to you?” 

He stiffened. “I could ask you the same.” He said lowly. 

I clenched my teeth together. “It isn’t the same and you know it. He’ll put your back on display every night!” 

“Not the same?” He chuckled humorlessly. “Dougal is controlling and manipulating both of us.” 

“Excuse me but nobody can control me.” It sounded ridiculous and delusional on its way out of my mouth. “You on the other hand, can take your body back anytime you like!” 

“Then ye prove ye ken nothing of clan politics!” He half shouted back at me. “As for you, ye can leave anytime ye like as well. Ye can leave and keep running, I ken how badly ye want to.” His burr was growing quite broad, almost to the point where I had to strain to understand him. 

“I can’t.” I whispered. “You’ve got me all figured out don’t you?” 

“And I canna leave either.” He suddenly had the same vulnerable and tortured expression as the say he showed me his back.

“But the scars … He’ll bring you a constant reminder each night if he keeps this up. I know you hate the pity it brings down upon you.” I suppose I had been trying to get him to oppose his uncle because I was powerless to do it for myself. Perhaps I enjoyed the fact that I was only one who had seen them. 

“The scars are there and they always will be, ’tis hard to forget the past when it’s written all over your body.” 

Admittedly, I had drunk much as I did that night for two reasons. The first was to be a bit of a show-off, and the second was because I truly loved the whisky. There came a moment when I entered a completely different plane: that of the hopelessly intoxicated. It happened in an instant, and the world tilted dangerously. But the spinning was accompanied by that strange sentimental, affectionate feeling that only alcohol can bring. I put my hand on his shoulder. 

“I have trouble forgetting the past too.” For weeks I had hovered between wanting to push Jamie away and wanting to keep him close, and I had chosen both within the past five minutes.

“I can help…” His voice was barely a whisper. My heart was a hammer in my chest. It drowned out the creaks and moans of the tavern. Jamie’s face drew closer to mine, his mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were focused intently on my lips. The world surrounding him kept spinning and it made my head throb painfully. If I kept my attention on him, everything was stable. He was the focal point. I involuntarily inched forward to close the gap. 

The front door banged open and raucous laughter accompanied it. A brief mixture of disappointment and relief came flooding as I nearly catapulted myself as far back as possible as quickly as possible. Rupert and Angus had returned, each with a girl in tow. 

Angus waved at us without taking notice of the fact that we were both red in the face, breathing heavily, and sinfully drunk. “Jamie! Ye should have come with us!” He called cheerfully. 

“I was otherwise engaged.” He answered stiffly, plucking at his tattered shirt between his thumb and forefinger. 

I stood listening to this exchange numbly trying to process the last thirty seconds. Eyes shut tight, the room revolved violently although I stood still, albeit swaying a bit. 

My eyes popped open with the realization that I was being addressed. “What?” 

“I said,” Rupert repeated, “are ye sober?” 

My face scrunched as I tried to put him into focus. “I am moderately functional.” 

He howled with laughter. “I’ll take that as a no!” 

As they thundered up the stairs Jamie had risen from the stool with an expectant expression. I twisted my fingers nervously. “I - I should follow their lead and head up to bed. I’m afraid I’m not going to feel very well at all come morning.” At this, I saw the line between his eyebrows deepen. 

“Thank you for introducing me to the wonders of whisky,” I added, trying to lighten the mood and bring back the platonic nature of our relationship. 

“Aye, Sassenach. Sleep well.” 

I staggered up the stairs, clutching the railing. Jamie had returned to his seat at the bar. I saw him push the whisky away. 

Laying on my back, I felt as though I was floating in water, being slowly pushed and pulled, but somewhat weightless as well. My mind too muddled to think, I passed out no thanks to the waves of vertigo swirling around my head. 

I have always found that when all one wants to do is sleep, it the absolute last thing that one is able to do. I awoke painfully and peeked under the drapes. The sky had the faintest light to it, no longer dead of night but not quite dawn either. 

I shuffled over to the washbasin and chugged a glass of water. Hands braced on the edge of the basin, breathing deeply, all of my problems hit me at once. I angrily shoved hair out of my face attempted to regain some control in order to figure things out. 

Right then, first problem: my near kiss with Jamie. Before contemplating a solution, I gave myself a stinging chastisement. What in the ever-living fuck were you thinking Claire?! 

Oh God, it was so bad. It was irreversible. I could not even recall how my face made it into such close proximity with his. I suppose it happened involuntarily. I could hear his heart pounding from where I sat. … Or was it mine? An irrational surge of anger overtook me. I wondered what could be going through Jamie’s head at the moment, I was almost certain that he was awake as well. Oh no. Would he try again? Curse that whisky, I thought, blaming the alcohol. And then it became clear. If alcohol got me into this, it would get me out.

__________________________________________________________________

Everybody must have been waiting for my arrival downstairs the following morning because it appeared they had bet both upon the time I would arise and upon how horrible I would look. 

Dougal and Ned were out collecting some of the rent, but Rupert and Angus sat in the taproom barely able to control their laughter. Murtagh was chuckling as well. Out of the corner of my vision I noticed Jamie staring intently at me. I did my best not to look at him, afraid one glance would acknowledge that I did in fact remember everything. 

“How are ye feeling today lass?” Angus clapped me on the shoulder as I took a seat. 

I glared at him. My eyes felt swollen and heavy. “Better than ever, thank you for asking.” 

“Ye ken,” he continued, “one of the best things to cure a hangover is alcohol, believe it or not.”

My stomach lurched. “Do you want me to vomit on you?”

After another round of laughter at my expense, everyone left to go about their day and I was finally allowed to eat my porridge in peace. Well, almost in peace. 

“I’d say I’m sorry they were makin’ fun of ye, Sassenach. But that’s what ye get for winning a whisky drinking contest against a Scotsman.” Jamie had moved to sit across from me. 

“So it was a contest? I hadn’t noticed.” 

He shifted uncomfortably. “Claire, I - how much do ye remember from last night, exactly?” 

Moment of truth, I hoped my acting skills were up to the task. “Well I must admit that it was a bit of a blur after the belching contest. I do believe you relieved my hair of a piece of lint but that is about it.” 

A flash of grief crossed his face, he blinked rapidly and exhaled strongly through his nose. But as quickly as it had come, he pushed it away. 

He tried once more, “are ye certain?” Oh God. He knew. But I was clinging to my story like a piece of driftwood in a storm. 

“I’m afraid so, but one thing I do remember is how much I loved that whisky.” 

The conversation continued cordially after that, but each of us knew the truth. I kept telling myself this would all make it easier for Jamie to forget me when I left. So in a way, I was thankful that he knew I was lying, that I refused to accept the truth about what happened. 

As for my leaving, I had partially solved that problem as well as I lay in my drunken stupor. I thought about Dougal and his obsession with financing an army for the Prince. I could either wait until we returned to Leoch to inform Colum of his brother’s latest financial venture and still run the risk of not being set free. 

Or, I could help Dougal along. Perhaps if I had some money to contribute to the cause, he would see fit to trust me. It was as Uncle Lamb used to say: “Throw money at the problem.” Perhaps Dougal  would leave Jamie alone as well. However, this was where my plan was incomplete.

Should I sell something? Become a whore? Rob a bank? 

That evening, the perfect opportunity would present itself to me when Rupert and Angus urged us all to come with them to have a bit of fun. 

“If ye were wonderin’ where we were last night when we got back, now is yer chance to find out!” Angus was attempting to herd us out the door. 

Dougal and Ned declined. Murtagh, Jamie and I shrugged and followed them. We strolled down the central street, chatting amiably until we turned a corner and stopped in front of a seemingly dark inn. I raised an eyebrow. 

“Now I ken what yer’re thinkin’,” Rupert began. “But this isna just an inn. Claire I’d wager ye will be the one to enjoy this the most.” 

Rupert and Angus were both standing with their backs to the tall fence that separated the inn from the property next door. Sheets of paper adorned the fence, town bulletins, advertisements, someone’s lost cat. Then I saw it. Or rather, I saw me. I saw my own face and my own kinky mop peering back at me from a wanted poster pinned right next to Rupert’s head. My eyes widened but he took no notice and kept talking. I looked helplessly at Jamie and tried discretely to dart my eyes in the direction of the poster. His eyes narrowed as a puzzled look came across his face. It did not take him long to find it. 

“Oh Jesus,” he said softly.

Murtagh had seen it too, but he said nothing. Jamie’s fingers were tapping rapidly against his thigh. I could tell he was improvising a plan. They would sell me out to Dougal right away. 

“Ah I see why ye wanted to come back,” Jamie said suddenly and loudly. “This is where ye met those bonny lasses, isn’t it?” 

“Aye well that’s part of it!” Angus said. 

He stepped forward, put his arms around their shoulders, and steered them away from the fence toward the side entrance to the inn, where the only light seemed to be coming from. Angus had begun animatedly describing his meeting with the girl from the night before with Rupert chiming in occasionally. I all but lunged forward and ripped the poster down, shoving it immediately into my pocket. Murtagh stood watching me with his arms folded. I lowered my head guiltyly and followed the others.