What if Jamie had met Claire when he first went to foster at Leoch? How might their story have changed? (BTW, I imagine Leoghaire would have been an annoying tween back then but she doesn't have to be in this scenario)
The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning: Part One:
Riding behind his uncle Dougal, Jamie Fraser kept his head low as the inhabitants of Leoch looked up from their daily chores to take in the wee lad. Not that he was so wee anymore but he was young enough that most cast him the cursory ‘keep yourself in check, laddie’ glare.
“Now,” Dougal interrupted, causing Jamie to snap his head in his uncle’s direction, “ye’ll go and see yer uncle Colum afore ye settle down, aye?” Dougal waited for Jamie to nod before continuing on, a eyebrow raised as if challenging his young nephew. “Yer father wants ye to learn the inner workings of Mackenzie clan life and we’re happy to accomodate ye lad, but there will be rules, ken?”
“Aye, uncle, o’ course,” Jamie returned obediently. At only sixteen and having stayed with Dougal Mackenzie once before only two years previously, he had some idea of the tasks he’d be set but he knew the Mackenzie men to be somewhat unpredictable. His father, Brian Fraser, had warned him to keep his wits about him but to be amiable all the same. It was for the sake of Lallybroch and peace that he’d been sent here, to keep his uncles from seeing the remaining Frasers as any kind of threat. Brian had told Jamie in confidence that he feared no wrath from his father, Jamie’s grandsire, Simon Fraser. But Collum was a different matter entirely. With Ellen gone, Dougal and Collum needed to be kept as allies for the sake of Jamie’s heritage.
Even at sixteen with a smart mouth on him, Jamie was a savvy young man. Following diligently behind Dougal, he made sure to listen carefully to all the instructions set out before him. Collum reiterated the same mundane lists with similar intonation as Jamie nodded silently to appease him.
Set to work in the stables, Jamie fell into his routine fairly quickly. He got on well with horses, they seemed relaxed in his presence and it was far easier than dealing with clan politics on a daily basis. Attending morning and evening meals, he got to know the various inhabitants of the castle fairly well. Angus and Rupert were the jesters of Leoch, their debauched sense of humour appealed to Jamie and his daft pranks often got him -rather than *them*- into bother with Mrs Fitz, the matriarch of castle Leoch.
“I ken it was ye, lad,” she said, not for the first time that week, waggling a scolding finger in Jamie’s direction as she sidled past him in the grand hall. “You had better watch yersel’ wi’ yer pranks.”
Giggling into his broth, Jamie tried to keep his eyes forwards as to not completely give himself away. Kicking Angus beneath the large bench that stretched the length of the hall, Jamie gave his best side-eye to the young man sat beside him. “What did ye do to Mrs Fitz this time, Angus?” He hissed, stealing one glance at Rupert to make sure he hadn’t guessed at the wrong fool. “She’s going to poison my super if yer no’ careful.”
“Tisna Mrs Fitz we were aiming for, aye,” Rupert whispered from the other side of him conspiratively, “just…”
With one swift hard stare from Angus, Rupert jerked as if he’d been stabbed with a fork and slammed his mouth shut. Assuming the pair had some sort of fancy for one of the lassies down in the kitchens, Jamie smiled shyly and went back to slurping at his stew. “Whatever this wee trick is fer,” he pointed his spoon jokingly at the boys as he spoke quietly to avoid attention, “dinna be getting me into bother wi’ yon Mrs Fitz, ken? If she grabs me by the baws in my sleep and drags me out to face retribution I’ll be taking ye both down with me, aye?”
“Ach awa’ wi’ ye, laddie,” Angus bit back with a daft look on his face, spitting half of his dinner over himself in some grotesque show, “she kens it wa’ us.”
“Angus is right,” Rupert said, laughing heartily as he threw a small piece of his bread in Jamie’s general direction, “yer just fresh meat, Jamie!”
Aside from some rather suspect glances from Mrs Fitz, the incident (which he never truly learned of) was soon forgotten and Jamie went back to a more quiet life split amongst the horses and his new studies. Angus and Rupert would come and fetch him from auld Alec’s company come supertime and would often drag him off for the odd game of shinty here and there. Even Dougal took control, teaching the young men more agility in their sword skills on rare sunny days.
Jamie’s first month completed, he settled down in his cot and plucked an old leather bound latin book from beneath the straw. He’d been learning the language on and off between his time with Alec and had fallen for some of the more poetic poems. Unable to envisage love himself - other than the brief keek he’d had of his cousin, Tibbie, those two years past in Dougals’ company, Jamie lost himself to verse the subtle inflections of the dying language playing powerful images in his mind as he read.
He was half asleep when the nervous braying sound echoed through the stables bringing Jamie awake in an instant. Darting from his lodgings he sprung into action so quickly that he failed to notice the brush he’d foolishly left lying on the floor. Catching his foot between the handle at the broomhead, Jamie watched as the ground rushed up to meet him, his eyes wide as he curled up into a ball and hit the slats with an almighty thump.
For a boy of sixteen, Jamie was already over six foot tall and he felt every inch of the wooden boards as they bashed against his shoulder. Blinking, he groaned, his ribs throbbing as he flopped onto his belly and promptly passed out, the pain ebbing and flowing through every fibre of him.
Twitching his legs, Jamie let his head slide backwards as he slowly came back to. A pair of small warm hands fluttered across his face making him smile as he cautiously twitched his fingers.
“Am I alive?” He sighed, his voice croaky and gruff.
“Hush, Mr Fraser,” a soft English voice whispered at him, the fuzzy haze fading from his vision as the beautiful, young, brunette came into focus. “Just try not to move too much. You might have a concussion. Can I ask,” she continued, her hands moving Jamie’s head this way and that as she checked him over, “did you fall head first?”
“Aye,” he returned, his eyes concentrated intently on the pretty lass tending to his self-inflicted wounds. “Like a daftie, I hit my heid and then my shoulder. But what’s a co-c-conc…shion?” He tried to reiterate her incomprehensible word and failed, his eyebrows drawing together as his lips failed at repetition.
“It means, silly, that you might have dislodged your brain. Now stop jerking your shoulders around!” she castigated, her tone disapproving as Jamie wriggled and writhed in an attempt at sitting up.
“Bloody men,” she sighed, exasperated.
“Just make sure the lad isna going to shuffle off this mortal coil anytime soon!” Dougal barked, breaking the spell that had befallen Jamie causing him to blink furiously and glance between his mumbling, irate uncle and the stray sassenach that was nursing him. “And be quick about it, I dinna want to be loitering around here all night waiting on ye hand and foot, witch…”
Jamie almost had to shake his head to make sure he hadn’t misheard Dougal. A witch? Surely she wasn’t…but he couldn’t tell just by looking at her. She was incredibly beautiful, with pretty blue eyes, a nice wide mouth and shapely hips. Hunching his shoulders, Jamie tried to eliminate the sudden memories of his childhood. His mother had often swayed him to sleep with tales of devious monsters who took the form of attractive wee lassies in order to lure men to their doom.
“I am no witch, brute,” she spat back, throwing the small cloth rag she’d been bathing in the small tub of water which now lay beside his feet. “Surely my still being here proves that much at least. Absolute moron…”
Jamie didn’t get chance to take note of any more of her features as Dougal heard her crude remark. Taking her by the arms, Dougal plucked the lass from the floor, his large hands wrapping tightly around her as he thrust her towards the exit of the stables in one swift move. He looked angry, his eyes flickering with subdued rage in the dim candlelight of the stables.
“That’ll buy ye another night, witch,” he spat, binding her hands behind her back, making sure the ropes dug into her pale flesh. “And the bite o’ the lash.”
“Fuck you!” She hissed back, stomping the heel of her foot into Dougal’s toes with renewed force as he almost shoved her further out of the doorway.
“I dinna care how much Mrs Fitz sings yer praises, ye heathen English whore,” Dougal said, his voice exuding a strange calm now as he turned to make sure Jamie was still sitting up alright, “I ken the truth of it. Jamie!” He boomed making Jamie jump a little. “Ye’ll live, now get yerself back to bed. You’ll need to rest fer your lessons tomorrow.”
And with that he was gone, the sassenach with him.
Jamie rubbed his chest, his fingertips moving steadily in time with his beating heart. Closing his eyes slowly he tried to pull himself from the filthy floor. It was hopeless he thought, the echo of the sweet latin words floating to the fore as the -rather blurry- image of the lass he’d awoken to came to mind, and there was no getting away from the feelings that were bubbling beneath his skin. He had to see her again and soon.
And he had to learn her name.
The next morning came slower that Jamie would have liked, his brain working overtime and keeping him awake for most of the night. He’d risen with the sun, taken care of the mares and foals that he’d been put in charge of and washed and brushed up in time to make it to the Leoch hall for breakfast. Approaching the bench, he turned here and there, trying to pick Mrs Fitz out from the crowd. If she kent the lass, he could surely get some information from her before placing himself in the way of the girl who, in one moment, had captured his attentions.
“Mistress Fitzgibbons?” he asked, returning to formality upon finding her spooning out parritch to some of the wee bairns.
“Aye?” she replied, turning with an aloof look in her eye. She was still wary of Jamie after his infantile behaviour on arrival at Leoch. “What do ye want, lad? Spit it out,” she said, having no time for babbling.
“Do ye ken an English healing lassie?”
“Och, aye I do. But what would you want with her, James Fraser?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips and holding eye contact for far too long.
Jamie blushed madly as he tried to keep his composure…and failed.
He shuffled from one foot to the other as nerves got the better of him. He felt as if there were a target aimed at his heart and, although life carried on around them with barely anyone paying attention to either him or Mrs Fitz as they stood in an odd silence, Jamie suspected everyone knew what he was up to.
“S-she helped me, aye? I fell last night and Dougal brought her to doctor me. I just wanted to pass on my gratitude. He seemed fair fashed about her, Dougal that is,” Jamie mumbled, his hands wringing in the fabric of his kilt as he tried to remain calm and collected, “and I didna get chance to do afore they left.”
“Fashed is right, lad,” Mrs Fitz scoffed. “I’ve told him she’s just no’ used to our customs, but he willna listen.”
“Aye,” Jamie interjected, his nerves piquing. “I ken Dougal’s often changeable moods.”
“Watch yer tongue, Jamie lad,” Mrs Fitz castigated, the reprimand clear in her eyes as well as her voice.
“Sorry, Mistress Fitgibbons,” Jamie replied apologetically. “But will ye tell me; what is her name?”
“Claire,” Mrs Fitz said as she bit her lip to keep her from smiling at the lovestruck lad. “Her name is Claire, Jamie. But ye willna find her about currently, ken? And dinna go looking for her either. Just leave her be. She has enough trouble at her door wi’out a young sapling nipping at her ankles, aye?”
Biting his tongue, Jamie had to dig his nails into his palms so as not to make an ill-advised comment on his educated and mature masculine prowess. Puffing out his chest in an attempt to look as grown up as possible, he nodded and bowed before Mrs Fitz. “O’ course,” he replied, his brain finally making a sensible decision and communicating it -in time- to his mouth. “I’ll leave her be, I promise.” He said with no plans to do as he’d pledged.
“Wee foolish gomrel,” Mrs Fitz muttered under her breath as she watched Jamie saunter from the main hall without even stopping to eat his breakfast. “Let’s just hope ye arena thinking wi’ yer ballocks, Jamie lad,” she continued as she cleared the finished bowls away, trudging the length of the hall and back again. “Many a wean has been undone by the insensibility of his nether regions instead of listening to the more prudent facts in his brain.”
dededos
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
