hello everyone! here i am with the next part of to build a home! i hope you all enjoy it ~ it was fun to write. not a super action packed chapter but a lot of information condensed pretty quick. we’re getting into the good stuff, people!
before reading, please note that this chapter takes place almost exactly a year after the last chapter. this is because a lot of the stuff i wanted to have happen was easier to write with a small time gap, and there was also no need in my mind to bore you guys with lots of small details and filler chapters. in an effort to keep the story moving, i saw it as the best decision!
without further ado, here we go! feedback is welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated (as always). much love to all of you - you’re the reason i do this.
Part Six
Castle Leoch, Summer 1745
“It’s getting a wee bit uncomfortable around here for my taste,” Murtagh muttered, finishing relieving himself against a tree and jostling his kilt back into place. He glanced over at Jamie, who was similarly making himself orderly, and folded his arms. “We should go. Ye dinna want tae get caught ‘tween Colum and Dougal if they’ve their minds set apart.”
Jamie sighed, wiping his hands on his coat and folding his arms, turning to look out over a small pasture of milling sheep. “Aye, I know.” Over the last few months, tension in Castle Leoch had skyrocketed to an all time high. When he and Claire had arrived the previous spring, there had been the murmurings of a division between the Mackenzie chief and the war chief, but everything had come to a head much quicker than Jamie liked. Rather than murmurings, there was now flat out talk of Dougal’s support for the Bonnie Prince Charlie, and some of the men had even begun to declare themselves along with him. To Jamie, it felt as if he were perched on a ledge. Below him, rocks and churning waters lie waiting, and at his back some great beast crept closer and closer. He could feel its hot breath on his neck. Jump, or turn and fight? Had this been the issue a few years prior, he would have known his answer immediately, but he had Claire to worry about now, and the decision was not one that came lightly.
“So, what say ye? Why not home to Lallybroch?” Murtagh’s thick brows were furrowed, and he chewed pensively on his moustache.
Jamie shook his head, hands dropping to his sides. “And risk having Ian and Jenny, not ta mention all the tenants, brought into it? Pick sides and have the British hate them or the rest o’ the Scots? No, I dinna think so. I’m still Laird, and it’s my job to protect them. Going home would do naught but make things worse.”
Murtagh grunted a little, running a hand along his chin as the two began to walk back down towards the Castle. “Aye, well enough. What about just going then? We could live on the road, we’ve done it before. It wouldnae be hard.”
While he was, to a degree, right, Jamie snorted and shook his head, curls bouncing. “Would ye have me sleeping beneath a tree with my wife come winter?” His tone was in jest, but his eyes were dull and far-off. “I promised to protect her as well, make sure she has food, a bed to sleep. I’ll no go back on that either. Besides, thing have been good for us here. After Brigid,” he paused, “well, I’m no’ quick to uproot us again.”
He thought he heard Murtgah mutter something about married life making him soft, but his godfather nodded and clapped his shoulder briefly. “I ken it, laddie. I was there. But ye canna be thinking a bed o’ snakes to be safer than a bed o’ grass, hmph? Ye must make the decision before it’s too late, Jamie.” He gave him a pointed look and Jamie sighed, running a hand down his face.
“I hear ye, a charaid. I’ll talk it o’er with Claire, aye? I dinna think we need worry just yet.” But even as he offered Murtagh a smile and they fell into step on the road back to the castle, he wondered how much of what he said was true. How much time did they have? And would it be enough?
Claire looked up as Jamie entered the room with a smile, bent over the washbasin and running her wet hands through her hair. She wore a thin shift and had the shutters open to admit some of the cool night air. “Long day?” She asked, twisting her curls up into a bun as he shrugged out of his coat, offering her a smile in return as he hung it up.
“Oh, aye. I’m proper sore but no worse for wear than last ye saw me.” He toed off his boots and set them down as well, pausing to give Claire a quick kiss as he crossed to the washbasin to take his turn wiping some of the dirt from the day off his arms and face. “And you, my Sassenach? How was your day?”
“Oh, not terribly exciting, I’m afraid,” she said, setting a clean nightshirt on the bed for him. “One of the young boys got hit in the head with a rock while they were playing down by the river and needed a few stitches above his eye. He should heal up nicely. Other than that it was mostly runny noses and runny asses, if you can believe it.”
Jamie chuckled, holding his head over the basin to pour water from the ewer over his hair. When he was done, he shook like a dog and finished getting ready for the night, tugging the clean shirt she had laid out for him on. “Oh, aye. Seems everyone has a cold or a stomach bug. I blame the neeps Mrs. Fitz has been cooking, but dinna tell her I told ye that.”
“Careful,” Claire laughed, going to close the shutters in hopes of keeping out bugs and bats while they slept. “If she hears you’re talking bad about all her hard work you’ll get nothing but scraps for your dinner and she’ll likely beat you with the wooden spoon.” She stooped to blow out the candle on the table and climbed into next to Jamie, scooting down beneath the covers to lie with him. “When I went down for dinner she told me she sent one of the boys down to the fields with some food for you and Murtagh. Did you eat?”
Jamie vibrated against her back with a hum of laughter and leaned his nose down into her hair, taking a deep breath. She must have been collecting sage today, he thought: she reeked of it. “Aye, I’m alright.” He paused, wondering if he should bring up the conversation he had with Murtagh, and Claire rolled in his arms to face him, sliding her chilly feet down his legs as she scooted closer, head tilted to look up at his face.
“What’s bothering you?” She asked softly, running a hand through his wet curls. “Something’s been off about you since you came in, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Is everything alright with Murtagh?”
Jamie sighed and pressed his forehead to hers, rubbing circles in the small of her back. “Everything’s well wi’ the auld fool, it’s just something we were talking about earlier that’s got me thinking.” He closed his eyes for a moment, taking comfort in the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp, and then opened his eyes and licked his lips, taking a deep breath. “Dougal supports the Jacobites, ye ken that already, and Colum willna pledge his allegiance to the Bonnie Prince.” He paused.
“Yes, of course. I think everyone more or less knows that.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “What else?”
“Well,” Jamie began again. “Ye must have heard the whispers round the castle the last few weeks, folk saying they’ll side wi’ Dougal should it come to it, help raise funds for the Jacobite cause.” Claire nodded. “Dougal’s declared himself outright now, broken the oath he swore to Colum. There’s talk of a mutiny, and people have begun dividing already. Just this afternoon two o’ the men down tending cows got in a fight o’er what we should be doing.”
Claire frowned, her hands stilling in his hair. “Yes, I’d heard rumour of all of this from some of the women earlier, but what do you mean by it? Surely you don’t mean to declare, do you? One way or another?” From the tone in her voice, Jamie took it she already knew what his decision was, and was just waiting for him to voice it.
“No, and there lies the issue o’ it. If I dinna come out and say I’ll stand by Colum, he’ll take my silence as treachery. But if I do come out and support him, I’ll have Dougal and the men who follow him to answer to. Same thing goes for if I declare myself a Jacobite. I canna see an outcome that doesna end wi’ my head on a pike.” He was frowning by now as well, a crease of worry between his brows, and Claire shuddered in his arms, pressing closer to him.
“What are you suggesting we do, then?”
“Murtagh thinks we should leave,” Jamie sighed, “get out and get clear o’ here before everything boils over and we canna avoid leaning one way or another. There still might be time enough that if we leave it willna be seen as taking sides. It would be the best - the safest - decision.”
Claire leaned back to look at him a bit better, face half shadowed in the dark of the bedroom. “I’m sensing a but here, James Fraser.”
He nodded. “Aye. We can leave, but we canna go back to Lallybroch, no’ wi’ the risk o’ all of this blowing back on Ian and Jenny and the tenants. At least this way we have some time, they have some time, and we can think about what we’re going to do before we declare for one side or the other. Murtagh suggests we live on the road, but I told him that willna do either. Not yet.”
Claire was quiet for a few moments, thinking, and her hand came to rest on Jamie’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “What about your cousin Jared? You’ve been in contact with him, haven’t you? I’m sure he could give us somewhere to stay until this all blows over.” Her tone was hopeful, but Jamie knew, and so did she, that it would not just be the dispute among the Mackenzie clan that would be the issue: it would soon become the entirety of Scotland dividing and deciding whether or not to support the prince across the sea or remain under British rule.
“Jared would help us, aye, of course, but I dinna see how that option is any better.” Jamie moved to sit up a bit, leaning to light the candle on his bedside table, and Claire propped herself on her elbow, one hand playing with the hem of his shirt as she looked up at him. “Besides, it’s Paris where Charlie’s gathering supporters. To go there could be more dangerous than to stay here.”
“Maybe the French countryside then,” Claire offered, pursing her lips. “We could find somewhere to stay until Culloden gets closer and we have to come back and try to keep Lallybroch safe. You could work on a farm I’m sure, and maybe I could start a practice. I - we could start over, at least for now. We could be safe and happy for the next two years, at least. And who knows. Maybe all of this will work itself out and the men at Lallybroch won’t even need to get involved. If you don’t pledge yourself to the Prince he can’t call upon your men for service. Maybe we just need to stay off the radar, is all?” She looked up at him with a strange look in her eyes, and Jamie sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Aye, maybe,” he said softly. “But I canna think any more on it right now, and worrying willna do either of us any good. Let’s just get some sleep, mm? And we can think about it when it gets closer.” He scooted back down to lay next to Claire, tucking his arm beneath her as she cuddled up against his side, legs entwined with his and her head resting on his chest. “There should be time enough for us to make a plan.”
He felt her nod a little and the room went quiet, but he made no move to blow out the candle and neither one of them fell asleep for a long while.
“Claire?” Jamie tapped one knuckle on the half open door of the Beaton’s room as he ducked inside, eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room in comparison to the hall.
Claire was bustling over something in the back of the room, and looked up when he came in, turning towards the door. “Yes, just back here. Come in and shut the door behind you.” She didn’t sound like something was wrong, but there was a pinched tone to her voice, and he locked the door quickly, feeling anxious.
“Claire? Are ye alright? The lad who came to fetch me at the stable said to hurry.” He crossed the floor to come stand by her, peering down at the table. There were a few pieces of parchment, typical letters from Ian and Jenny, one from Jared, and a few notes in Claire’s scrawling writing. There was one that caught his eye immediately, set aside from the rest, and he reached for it with suddenly clammy hands, his heart hammering.
“I saw the seal and opened it,” Claire whispered, moving closer to his side. “A man I didn’t recognize brought it in and gave me explicit directions to give it to you.” Her voice was uneasy, and she touched one hand to Jamie’s coat as he unfolded the paper. It bore a simple red wax seal, but there was an insignia on the back that made his skin crawl.
“It’s from Prince Charlie,” he said, his voice sounding odd and far away in his own ears as he began to skim the letter. “It’s thanking those listed below for their support of the Jacobite cause, requesting they gather men to fight.” He stopped reading to glance over at Claire, whose face had gone pale and tight. He kept reading. “He says he’s coming to Scotland. He’s going to try and fight the British.” Beneath the letter were dozens of listed names, supporters.
Jamie’s throat grew tight and he licked his lips, setting the envelope down on the table without a word.
“Jamie?” Claire breathed, and he could hear the fear in her voice.
It had been just over a week since they had talked about leaving Castle Leoch, refraining from declaring for one side or the other. They thought they had time. Apparently, their time had run up, and Jamie wondered briefly if there had actually ever been any chance for them at all, or if time had run out on them long ago.
In neat, dark black ink on the bottom of the page, five words sealed their fate: James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.
hello everyone! happy new year! i hope you all had a safe, happy holiday season and (if applicable) you are currently staying warm with family and friends!
so, we haven’t seen to build a home since this past summer, but lately i’ve received a lot of asks regarding if i am still working on it and when it will return. the short answer is yes, i am still working on it, i just have to iron out some issues and develop the plot a bit more. but this was my first official fic and will always hold a special place in my heart. and, since so many of you seemed to enjoy it, i wanted to give it back to you all as well.
so, finally, here is part five of to build a home. i love you all dearly, and thank each and every one of you for the continued support. you make this all worthwhile.
find part four here, and if you need to catch up, find part one here.
ps / for my dear @marlosbooknook because she is sick, and for @internallydeceased because she’s also been on my tail about this. i love you both! and thank you @kaitrionabalfe - couponers can go to hell.
Part Five
Castle Leoch, Summer 1744
“Jamie?”
He blinked hard, coming back to reality, and cleared his throat in an interrogative gesture of acknowledgment. “Mm?”
“Be a dear and pass me that jar, would you?” Claire murmured, extending one delicate hand, palm up, without taking her eyes off the item she was examining. She had a small dish set up beneath a rather large magnifying glass; a makeshift microscope, she had called it. Good for viewing big things, but none of the wee germs she often talked about.
Obediently, he reached to pick up the jar she had gestured towards and made a disgusted noise of revulsion as he came face to face with its contents. “Jesus Christ, Sassenach, what in seven hells is that?” He wrinkled his nose and passed her the jar hastily, wanting it out of his hands.
“Worms!” She chirped cheerfully, with, GOD, was that pride? “I found some parasitic maggots on a squirrel carcass the other day, which is what you have in that jar there, and I’ve found just the sort here now-” she inclined her head to the microscope as she unscrewed the jar and neatly deposited her new additions “-so they’re going to need a place to stay.”
He gagged. “Ye dinna- what I mean is- well, Claire, ye canna be meaning ta keep the filthy buggers?” He shuddered again, casting a dirty look towards the jar, where a series of long, stringy worms and fat little maggots writhed around on a chunk of browning meat.
“Why, of course I do.” Claire sat back, wiped her hands on her apron, and blew out the candle she had lit beneath the platform of the small microscope she had made. “The worms themselves are rather useless, medicinally, but their larvae can be used to treat necrotic wounds. They’re excellent at removing the dead flesh.” She lifted her face with a smile in time to see Jamie pull one of horror, and she grimaced. “Right, sorry,” she offered, though he caught her hiding a chuckle as he turned and gagged into his fist, and vaguely thought he heard her whisper ‘drama queen.’
After a moment, he steeled himself and sat back down on the table he had been perched on, feeling a little green, but thoroughly restored as she moved the container of insects onto a dark shelf in the corner. He watched her as she went, a small smile on his lips. Her hair was perched in a pile of messy curls and flyaway hairs on the top of her head, and her smock had been dirtied with whatever she had been working with all day; smears of juice from different plants, dirt, the odd small spatter of blood here and there. He leaned back on his hands and sighed.
She no longer bore the gentle curves of motherhood, but her hips sat differently now, and her breasts were a new kind of full. It made his heart ache momentarily, still not accustomed to the loss of their child. It hit him sometimes, swift and hard and merciless, and his throat momentarily closed up.
Their stay at Castle Leoch had been good for them. They had been welcomed with open arms and open hearts and had settled nicely into their respective tasks around the castle, but the wounds that Brigid had left in their souls were still gaping and empty, with the distraction of the Mackenzie Clan as little more than a superficial bandage. They generally avoided talk of their daughter when at all possible, but sometimes the reminders were inevitable.
Like the day a young woman had come seeking Claire’s help with late-term bleeding, or the constant patter of children’s feet in the yard. But the worst, by far, had been the day that one of the older women had narrowly eyed Claire’s waistline, nodded her approval, and asked in an oh so charming voice when they planned on continuing the next branch of the Fraser family tree.
“Oh, ye’ve been marrit nigh on a year now, have ye no?” She had asked, heedless of Jamie’s cold warning look or the frantic shake of his head. “Have ye been trying? Surely a woman such as you would have something to, umph, aid with the process, no?” She had leaned conspiratorially forward and then arched her eyebrows. “Or is one of ye, mmph, incapable?”
Claire had broken into sobs, hurled the small pestle she had been grinding willow bark with against the wall, and crumpled in a mess on the floor of her own surgery. Jamie had promptly, aggressively, sent the naive old woman on her way and tended to his wife, who took days to recover from the incident, like a bandage ripped off too fast once the wound’s begun to heal around it, fibers stuck in the newly formed scab.
After that, everyone around the castle had keenly avoided the topic of children and motherhood when around the pair.
“What are you thinking about?” Claire’s voice broke into his train of thought, and he looked up at her, blinking to clear his mind. “And don’t try to say nothing, because I can see the look on your face and I can practically smell the smoke.” She smiled a bit, but then frowned at what must have been the expression on his face. “Are you feeling alright, love?” She asked softly, stepping across the room to step between his legs and press her lips to his forehead. “You don’t look very well.”
He sighed, reaching out one hand to wrap his fingers lightly around her wrist, and forcing a smile. “Aye, just tired is all, my Sassenach. Are ye almost done here?”
Claire pursed her lips and nodded slightly, brushing her hands idly on her apron as she turned to tinker with some things in her cabinet. “Yes,” she breathed, and the room lapsed into silence. Then, after a moment, she turned to look at him, leaning against her exam bench. “It’s her you’re thinking about, isn’t it?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and her honey eyes wavered.
Jamie let his breath out in a rush and hung his head. “Aye,” he breathed. “It’s always her.” He looked down at his hands, calloused and cracked and lying limp in his lap, and curled them into fists, wiping a spot of dried blood with a corner of his plaid. When he looked up next, Claire was standing with her back to him, holding something in front of her. She sighed and he thought he saw the tension go out of her. Gently, she set the small jar she had been holding down on the counter and turned to look at him. Her eyes were shining, but for the first time, she hadn’t broken down crying at the mere mention of their stillborn daughter.
Slowly, she crossed the room to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing his head down into the crook of her neck. Neither one said a word, and his arms came up to wrap loosely around her waist, both of them just breathing. One of Claire’s hands came up to smooth over Jamie’s hair after a moment, and he half nodded against her shoulder, a sigh running through him.
That night, they lay quietly in bed watching the moonlight dance across the floorboards. A small fire had been smoored in the hearth and the room was pleasantly warm and smokey, one of the shutters cracked to let in a little cool air, which Jamie always liked. He tended to always burn up like a furnace, and Claire would wake some nights to find him having flung all the covers off, or standing by the window letting the cool air prickle across his heated skin. After their marriage, sleeping next to another warm body had always made his temperature spike, and so they had settled on an arrangement: as long as the room was warm when they went to bed he could crack the window, that way, he wouldn’t swelter and Claire wouldn’t be cold.
As it was, Jamie had been drifting in and out of sleep for somewhere around an hour, one arm draped lazily over Claire’s waist as he held her, his hand tucked up under her shift and against the warm skin of her belly. She covered his hand with her own, threading their fingers together and listening to the quiet changes in his breathing.
After a bit, when she could feel he was awake again, she turned in his arms, surprised to find his eyes open and shiny in the dark of the night, so dark a blue as to nearly be black. She reached out one hand to touch her fingertips to his cheek and sighed softly, tucking herself more comfortably against his chest. The hand that had been resting on her stomach slid down to grasp her ass familiarly, anchoring the two of them.
“Jamie?” she asked softly, tucking her face against his collarbone, breathing in the smell of him. She could never quite place her finger on what he smelled like. Some days it was obvious, of course, horses or the woods or even blood, but beneath what his day was like, there was an underlying smell that was always just Jamie. It was, if she had to try and describe it, like wet heather and musk and sunshine, and just a touch of steel. It was intimately comforting, and she took a deep breath now, one hand splayed on his chest, feeling his pectoralis major ripple as he adjusted his arm around her.
“Mmph? Are ye alright?” His voice was rough with sleep and he peered at her out of the corner of lidded eyes, his long lashes brushing his cheeks.
She nodded a bit and drew back to look up at him, one hand cupping his cheek, thumb rasping over the day’s stubble. “Yes, yes I’m fine,” she said softly, biting her lip for a moment as she thought. “I want to ask you something, or - I don’t know if it’s a question, really, it’s just that I want you to be honest with me-” she pressed her hand harder against his chest, feeling his heart speed up against her palm “-and with yourself.” She looked up at him and he wore the most peculiar expression, face calm and eyes wild with thought. “Could you do that?”
“Aye.”
Claire took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and moved away from him ever so slightly, her legs still twined with his but her head resting on her own pillow so she could see his face. A moment of silence stretched between them, impossibly long, and she reached out to grasp his hand. “After, when Brigid-” her voice cracked and she saw his pulse throb in his throat, but steeled herself and continued, clearing her throat softly, “-when Brigid died, you spent so long looking after me, Jamie, and you were so, so good,” she moved her hand once more to lovingly cup his cheek, his eyes dry and locked on hers, “but I never saw you mourn her.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she swallowed, licking her suddenly dry lips. “I just, it’s only I wonder sometimes if you feel like you were so busy taking care of me you never got to say goodbye to her.” Her voice cracked and she took a moment, screwing her eyes shut to hold back tears and placing her fingertips against Jamie’s lips to stop him from speaking. His breath came warm against her fingers, and steady, and when her eyes were finally dry and she opened them, his were wet. “Do you need to cry for her?” She whispered.
It took him what seemed like a very long time to answer, the column of his throat moving slowly. “I do,” he rasped, “cry for her, I mean. Nearly every day since.” And the conviction in his voice was strong enough to break Claire’s heart. She nodded, tight-lipped, and sniffled.
“It’s only, Jamie, do you need to cry here, with me? Do you need me to take care of you? She’s your daughter too.”
The change happened slowly, barely noticeable in the dark of the bedroom, but Claire saw his full lower lip tremble and caught the glistening of moonlight off tears on his cheek. He didn’t make any move to be closer to her, and his chest began to rise and fall more rapidly as his breathing picked up, becoming shallow. “Oh, my darling,” Claire whispered, and drew him to her. His arms came shaking up around her back and he pressed his face into her shoulder.
And for the second time in his life, James Fraser went thoroughly and completely to pieces.
hey guys! so i’m not even going to try to make up an excuse for why my beloved pearls hasn’t been updated in approximately seventeen centuries, but here ya go! lord knows it’s been long enough.
catch up on chapter two here!
really hope you enjoy this one! as always, feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated!
III. This is the Army, Mr. Jones
Four and a half weeks and Jamie Fraser had not so much as seen an airplane. The excitement (and impatience) seemed to build with each day, working him up to the point where a knot sat just below his ribcage. It dissipated overnight, his childish wonder replaced by steadily increasing disappointment.
Ian groaned across the table, rubbing at his shoulder. “At this rate, Jamie, I wonder if we should pack our bags and join up wi’ the army boys,” he grumbled around a mouthful of powdery eggs (“Get you boys used to real food!” the cook had said, laughing at their horror. “No time to scramble decent eggs when shit’s running down your leg and you’re crouched in the mud in some unnamed fucking ditch!”). Jamie gave a small grunt of agreement, eyed his own fork with distaste, and swallowed with a grimace.
“Ye think they make everyone wait this long, or are we just beyond helping?” Jamie put down his fork, one eyebrow quizzically raised, and leaned forward to rest his head on his forearms on the table. “A month and then some and I couldna even tell ye how ta open the damned cockpit.”
Ian raised a mug of stale juice in mock toast, muttering something under his breath along the lines of “at least we still have clean toothbrushes.”
But neither of them really knew how long that would last, either. First their shower privileges, then powdered eggs… next they’d be prohibited from brushing their teeth with anything other than the brush they used to polish their shoes.
Jamie began to wonder if perhaps the glorious life of a pilot was a fairytale after all.
All of his wonderings were proven false the first time they dropped him behind the wheel in the cockpit of a beat up, but still shiny Mosquito NF. He fit in the seat like he was made to be there, despite the clammy palms and nervous sweat on his brow.
“Now,” Weinstock’s voice boomed from Jamie’s left, “I trust that ye’ve all been using your time wisely and becoming accommodated with our birds.” Two months into this hellish endeavor and the first taste of what actual piloting must be like. They had first been shown a plane three weeks ago, and spent hours every day after PT and mealtime to become familiar with the layout and the way everything worked. Jamie and Ian had spent quite a fair deal of their free time on the tarmac as well, and it wasn’t something that Weinstock hadn’t noticed. Hence why Jamie was currently the first student perched inside the Mosquito’s belly, in a puddle of his own sweat and his heart hammering incessantly in his chest. He could practically feel Ian’s nervous excitement from the crew seat behind him. “-Fraser and Murray here will demonstrate that. I trust you all to pay close attention, and maybe learn a thing or two.” Jamie hadn’t even realized Weinstock was still speaking, and swallowed quickly, swiping his palms discreetly on his pants as the older man’s face appeared at the side of the cockpit.
“Captain,” Jamie greeted with a dry tongue.
The man almost smiled. “Fraser.” He turned his head to peer back at Ian. “Murray.” A moment of silence. “You boys are up for this, ain’t ya?” Jamie’s grin and Ian’s enthusiastic nod spoke for themselves. Weinstock sucked his teeth. “Mm. Thought so. Right, you’re all well and good out here, our strip boys have made sure the old girl’s not quite too old. There’s a full tank and everything out here’s all sealed up. How’s she look inside, boy?”
Jamie cleared his throat and turned to inspect the plane. All gauges set to zero. All rudder pedals and trim switches in the proper positions. Receiver unit turned on and set to the air captain’s frequency. He didn’t look back up at Weinstock when he replied. “All good, sir.”
“Good. Murray, you make sure this hothead here doesn’t do anything stupid. Keep an eye on those gauges boys, take her up too fast and you’ll be coming back down even faster. Your guns will shoot blanks, but go ahead and give her a few test shots while you’re up there, get a feel for how she flies, alright?” He didn’t wait for an affirmative before closing the hatch and banging a hand on the glass. “Start her up, Fraser.” His voice was muffled and his breath momentarily fogged the window, but Jamie couldn’t miss the hint of a smile on his face.
He took a deep breath, glanced over his right shoulder at Ian, and started the engine.
It sputtered for a moment, not quite roaring or purring to life like he had expected, and then started with a clank, the plane suddenly coming to life. The needles on the gauges jumped, the lights flashed on in unison, and the propellor kickstarted with a whir.
“Alright, Jamie,” Ian’s voice came through his headset, slightly garbled and out of time with his mouth, but steady and reassuring. “Maybe try not to bring us down prematurely?”
Jamie wanted to laugh, but just swallowed thickly and nodded instead, hands taking the yoke and guiding the nose of the plane forward and right towards the strip of asphalt they would be taking off from. In his mind, all of the formulated steps he had studied for how to take off melted away. On instinct, he pushed the yoke forward and the engine hummed in agreement, the aircraft steadily picking up speed as it bounced down along the pavement.
Towards the end of the strip, Jamie’s heart whispered a prayer - Hail Mary, full of grace - and he pulled the yoke. The plane jumped, skittered forward a few feet, and then the nose lifted and he felt the wheels lift off the ground.
And they were flying.
Ian let out a small whoop of excitement and Jamie grinned, releasing out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he looked at the dials, slowly bringing the plane up to altitude. When he leveled it off and gave the bird back its nose, she flew straight and steady, the contented rumble of the engine seeping into his bones.
The radio crackled in their headsets, and then the smiling voice of Captain Weinstock trickled through. “Well done boys, well done. Give us a loop around to the right and give those guns a fire.”
Ian answered for him, and Jamie rolled right, the wing of the plane easily dipping to carry them in a graceful arc. He moved his thumbs to the triggers on the yoke, and fired as they came out of the turn.
Ian clapped his shoulder in excitement, and Jamie’s hands momentarily trembled with nervous thrill. He gave off another few shots, and then let Ian have a go with the secondary weapons. As they turned in another wide loop, Jamie was able to look down and see the crowd of men gathered on the tarmac, many with their hands pressed to their ears, and many with their hats in their hands, waving in excitement.
Jamie grinned, and turned to meet the beaming face of his best friend.
The next few months flew by. Literally. The boys were up in the air twice a week at first, rotating flying shifts with the other recruits. When they weren’t flying, they were sitting in hot, close quartered lecture halls, listening to one of the corporals yammer on about the plane, the war, the whole bloody ordeal. The further into the training they progressed, the less Jamie seemed able to believe it. It was like sitting in a locked room, watching the chaos happen outside the window. Germans invaded Poland. France declares war…
On a cool morning in September they received the news.
“Boys, we are now at war with the Germans.” Major Hammond was pacing back and forth in front of the room, hands clasped behind his back. It was quiet enough that Jamie could have heard a pin drop. A few murmurs sounded from the back of the room, but everyone fell silent as Hammond turned to face them all. “We expect it won’t be long before the Americans follow suit. Looks like we’ll be having another world war.” A hush fell over the room, broken only by the harsh sound of someone breathing. “You best see your assigned officers, find out where you’ll all be headed.”
Hammond wrung his hat between his hands, and looked at each and every one of them as his eyes passed over the crowd. “Good luck to you, men. And may God have mercy on your souls.”
hello everyone! after a verra long (and admittedly much needed) hiatus, i am back! so sorry for the disappearance. but, i come bearing gifts! this is just a short little piece inspired by the song “the night we met” by lord huron. this will be a two part project, so catch the next piece sometime soon!
all my love and thanks! feedback is welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated! enjoy :)
I am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debt.
He hunched his shoulders, bracing himself against a fresh gust of chilly wind. It wreathed itself around him, whipping his hair across his cheeks, and he clapped a hand to his head to keep his hat from being lost to the woods. Beneath him, his horse Arabus snorted once and shook his head, a small, fine dusting of water spraying off.
It had snowed earlier, just a brief dusting that made the ground crunch slightly underfoot and powdered the brim of his hat. A small collection of flakes had gathered on the gelding’s neck and mane but had long since melted, leaving both horse and rider damp and chilly. Jamie shuddered involuntarily against the cold and cupped his hands to his mouth in an attempt to warm his fingers.
Behind him, a twig snapped, and Jamie sat up immediately, swiveling around in the saddle with one hand already on his pistol. Arabus whipped his head around as well, ears pricked and eyes wide. He shifted his feet uneasily and gave a soft whinny. A small bead of sweat trickled down Jamie’s spine, and he licked his lips, relaxing after a moment. “Just the woods,” he murmured, leaning forward to pat the animal’s neck. “Nothin’ ta fash about.” Still, he risked a second glance over his shoulder. There was still nothing there. He let out a deep breath, fixed his cloak around his shoulders, and turned back around when he caught it out of the corner of his eye.
It was nothing, really, could have been a shadow or a trick of the imagination, but his mouth went suddenly dry and he reined Arabus to a stop, staring into the darkening woods. It had begun to snow again, ever so slightly, and he could have sworn there was a figure there, among the saplings. If he closed his eyes, he could see it clearly, coming towards him…
A shriek of delight split the air, and he reeled back as the figure came hurtling out of the woods. It was a woman, of all things, with her skirts clutched in her hands and her hair a flyaway mess around her head. For a moment, his heart constricted at the sight of her, at the sight of those dark curls, all too familiar, and he swallowed harshly as she bolted past him. He had no time to see her face, she was moving so quickly, and he opened his mouth to speak when suddenly an answering laugh echoed from the woods - one that made his blood run cold.
It was his laugh.
He looked back to the gap in the trees the woman had come from, hands shaking ever so slightly, and watched as his own face materialized from the shadows, grinning ear to ear, cheeks flushed red with cold and exertion. “Christ,” he whispered and crossed himself, heart hammering. What kind of devilish tomfoolery? The demon-Jamie seemed to be focused on something behind him, and Jamie’s wame twisted. If he was looking at himself, then that could only mean the woman… the curls, the laugh…
When he turned, Claire’s face was beaming at him, flush and ruddy and gorgeous in the dying light. His breath caught in his throat, and a choked noise constricted in his chest. He leaned towards her, eyes impossibly wide, and stretched out one shaking hand.
She looked right past him, at the Jamie who had stepped out of the woods, and he blinked once, harshly, sitting back in the saddle to watch his own memories play out in front of him.
“That’s close enough!” Claire giggled, bending down to scoop a heaping handful of dry snow up from the ground. Jamie grinned, took a tentative step closer. “I said close enough!” Claire was smiling madly, doing her best to tame the wad of powder in her hands into something resembling a ball.
Jamie took another step, stooping down for his own handful of snow. “Oh? And what do ye plan on doing ta stop me?” He ducked, howling, and narrowly missed the makeshift snowball, catching instead a shower of the powdery debris as it broke apart in the air. “Oh, ye’ve asked for it now, ye wee besom!” He bent to gather even more snow into his own hands, and Claire turned tail, laughing wildly as she dashed for the trees, hiking her skirts up once more.
He caught up to her in a few easy strides as she waded through the snow, scooping here and there to try and amass some of the wetter patches. She froze when she heard him behind her, and whirled, snowball raised behind her head, a look of triumph glittering in her eyes. The flush had spread down her neck, and her chest was heaving. They froze, locked in a stalemate, both grinning like fools.
The world exploded in a powdery cloud of white, and the two of them dissolved into giggles as they collapsed together, supporting one another even as they almost toppled into the piling drifts. They staggered upright, heading back towards the path, where the snow was shallower, and Jamie wrapped his plaid easily around her shoulders, Claire sidling up to his side. She slipped her hands inside his coat, seeking the warmth from his torso, and he rubbed a hand briskly along her arm, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “I do love ye, my wee white witch.” He brushed a small heap of snow from her shoulder and she grinned up at him, face glowing.
“I know.” One icy hand reached up to touch his face, rasp along the stubble of his jaw, fist in his hair and draw him in for a long, slow, kiss…
Jamie leaned forward once more, nearly out of the saddle, desperately clinging to the memory. He could feel her, how cold her fingers would be on the back of his neck, how warm her mouth was against his. How soft and yielding. He called her name, eyes welling, and shut his eyes against a breeze blowing stinging bits of snow against his cheeks. When he opened his eyes, the vision was gone, and the hollow in the pit of his stomach yawned wider.
He settled himself heavily into the saddle, drawing in on himself and trying to wrap his cloak more tightly around his body. “Just ghosts, man,” he whispered, castigating himself for his vulnerability, “only ghosts.” Still, the lingering heat of that ghost burned hot on his skin and in his mind, and he screwed his eyes shut momentarily.
When he opened them again, the path in front of him had widened, and he nearly gave a start at what horrible conjurings awaited him.
A young girl, no older than three, stood balanced on the white beams of a fence, one tiny hand clutching the rails as the other was reached as far out as possible on the other side, mitten-clad and clutching a carrot. She wore a hat tucked snug down around her ears, but riotous auburn curls flew free in every direction, fluttering in the breeze and catching bits of snow. Jamie sat frozen, jaw hanging slack as the scene unfolded.
The child’s jacket restricted her movement, and she made a small, impatient noise in the back of her throat, trying to thrust her hand out further. “Hawsee!” She squealed in delight, enraptured by a fat little pony, and nearly vibrated with energy as the inquisitive thing wandered over, sniffing curiously at her hand before snatching up the carrot. The wee beastie leaned his head towards her and gave a sharp whinnie, and the girl lost her grip on the railing, eyes blown wide as she flung herself back, not realizing she would lose her balance. She landed squarely on her rump in the snow, her face a perfect picture of surprise, sapphire eyes wide and empty as her mind processed.
“Bree, darling, are you alright?” Jamie turned his head sharply, in time to see Claire seem to materialize from nowhere. His breath hitched at the sight of her, so lean and graceful, clad in the strangest clothes he had ever seen. Her face radiated, her hair peeking out from beneath her hat just like the girl’s - Bree’s. Once more, his eyes stung, and he swallowed harshly.
Bree looked up at Claire suddenly, blinked, and the trance was broken. The look of astonishment transformed into a face-splitting grin, and she shrieked in delight, making the fat little pony toss his head. “MUMMY! Hawsee!” She scrambled to her feet, clutching at Claire’s hand, pulling her towards the fence.
Claire smiled, reaching out to tug her daughter’s hat back down, and took her hand to allow herself to be led over to the fence. “Yes, love, that’s a horsie. Can you say hello? He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”
Bree’s chest heaved as she took a deep breath, cheeks red and shiny as wee apples. “Hi hawsie! You very hansum!”
Claire dropped a kiss on the top of the girl’s head, and picked her up, balancing her easily on her waist. “Look Bree, hold out your hand like this, let him give it a little sniff, sweetheart.” She held her own hand out, palm up, in demonstration. After a moment of watching her, Bree thrust her hand out as well. The pony, noticing a lack of treats but not entirely doubting their presence, took a few steps closer and snuffled his lips along first Claire’s hand, and then Bree’s. Claire smiled, looking down at her face as the most angelic expression of bliss took the little redhead over. She pursed her lips, making little cooing noises in the back of her throat, eyes fixated on the pony.
A sob ripped unbidden from Jamie’s chest, rattling in his throat and causing barely suppressed tears to roll in freezing tracks down his face.
As if she heard it, Claire’s head whipped up, her eyes scanning over him and then back. They passed by him a second time, and then her face changed, and suddenly Claire was looking right at him. And she wasn’t just looking in his direction, either. She was seeing him. He was sure of it. Her face fell, contorted for a brief second in a mask of emotion, and her mouth opened to form words, her own eyes growing shiny.
A sudden gust of wind, borne up from nowhere, ripped through the trees and sent his ghosts disappearing into a flurry of white. He was alone again, and yet Jamie swore he heard the trees sigh his name, and his heart cried out.
hello everyone! i hope that you are all enjoying your weekend. here is chapter two of pearls, which follows our boys to the raf college in lincolnshire, where they’ll undergo training to be pilots. i’m excited to show you all where it goes from here! these next few chapters are where our story really begins.
chapter one can be found here!
lots of love! feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated!
II. Wish Me Luck as You Wave Goodbye
“Are ye sure ye have everything?” Jamie grinned and ducked neatly away from Jenny’s questing hands, catching her wrists.
“Jenny. I’ve got everything. I’ve no’ forgotten my socks or my clean underwear or my razor. Will ye stop yer worrying, woman?” He smiled and leaned in to kiss her forehead, bending to sling the last of his suitcases into the back of Ian’s father’s pick up.
It seemed as if they had been going back and forth like this all morning, Jenny nervously fretting that Jamie would forget something, and him reassuring her he wouldn’t. Even when some extended family and friends came over to wish the boys good luck, she was slyly double checking his bags, mentally tallying up his possessions. Now that they were alone, able to say their private goodbyes, she was getting even more anxious.
Jenny smoothed down the front of her dress, shoulders heaving as she took a deep breath. “Aye, right, I just worry, ye wee mongrel.” She smiled at him, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Ye’d forget yer own head were it no’ stuck on yer shoulders.” She let out a huff and stared up at him for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck, her hand cupping the back of his head. He heard her sniffle, and she hid her face in the crook of his shoulder.
“Aw, Jenn,” he murmured, arms coming up to lock around her. He closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned his head against hers. “Dinna fash, they’ll no’ send two fresh faced lads like me and Ian up to the frontlines, aye? We’re like ta be scrubbin’ bathrooms wi’ our toothbrushes for the next few months, if no’ years.” This earned a small, wet laugh from his sister, and she nodded, releasing him after a moment and wiping furiously at her eyes.
“Ye’re probably right, ye big fool. But I’ll still worry. Ye’ll write, won’t ye? Whenever ye can?” Her eyes wavered as she looked up at him, red and slightly puffy. Jamie’s heart ached.
He nodded, cleared his throat, and reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ears. “Aye, Jenn, of course I will. Whenever I can.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead.
She took one final deep breath, and then stepped back, her composure suddenly returned. “Good.” Then she turned to look at Ian, and smiled. “Don’t be thinkin’ ye’re gettin’ off easy either, man. Come here and give me a hug.”
Ian flashed a smile in return, and stepped over to wrap his arms tightly around Jamie’s sister. When he released her, he stepped back a fraction, but kept a hand on her arm. “Take care, Janet, won’t ye?”
Jamie glanced away, feeling as if he was suddenly intruding on something he shouldn’t be.
“It’s you two I’m worrit about. Don’t be fools, and keep an eye on him, Ian, please.”
“Aye, of course. I’ll no’ leave his side.” The two embraced again, and then drew apart, and Ian clapped Jamie on the shoulder, mischief in his eyes. “Are ye ready then, Jamie?”
The niggling tension in his chest melted, replaced rapidly by a fleeting feeling of excitement, and Jamie nodded, grinning. “As I’ll ever be.”
The last thing he saw as the truck rattled down the driveway from their family home was Jenny standing in the driveway, arms folded against her chest. Jamie, caught in a sudden tidal wave of emotion, ripped the cap from his head and stretched to hang out the window, looking back at her. He waved his hat furiously, letting out a holler of farewell.
In the distance, his sister, alone in front of an empty house, raised one hand in goodbye.
“Whadda ya think, Ian? Think they’ll gi’ us toothbrushes ta scrub the toilets wi’, or do ye reckon we’ll have ta use our own?”
They had been trapped in the car for almost five hours, and Jamie had decided to fill the silence with any number of ridiculous questions and ideas that popped into his head. Ian was quickly losing interest in the little game, though Jamie could feel the same nervous excitement radiating from him.
“Christ, Jamie, I’ve no idea.” He rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Would ye just get yer damn bags? We’ll miss the train.”
“I’m only thinking,” Jamie mused, swinging his bags down from the bed of the pickup, and waving Ian’s father, who had driven them this far, goodbye, “what if they do give us extra toothbrushes, but they look just like ours, and one day ye wake up and go ta brush yer teeth and get a mouthful o’ some other bugger’s shite?”
This got the desired reaction. Ian groaned with laughter and clapped an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, bags in hand as the two made their way down the platform. “I think we should be happy if that’s the worst o’ our troubles, my friend.” Somewhere down the platform, a man shouted their train number, and they took off at sprints, hollering and trying not to drop their things as they scrambled onto the train just as the doors closed, collapsing into a pair of open seats with poorly suppressed breathless laughter. “I think-” Ian gasped, head between his knees, “we should worry about more pressing matters first, like getting there.”
“Just you wait til we’re actual air force boys,” Ian murmured over an early supper some time later, eyes glittering, “ye’ll have that lass back at the bar knockin’ on yer door.”
Jamie snorted into his drink, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink at the notion, and cleared his throat, aware suddenly of the handkerchief, which he had folded up and tucked in a side pocket of his bag. A reminder, she had said. He coughed.
Ian, catching on to his awkwardness, grinned, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh? Unless she’s already come callin’?” His eyes flashed wickedly, and Jamie sunk into his seat, almost melting in embarrassment.
“Would ye shut it, ye filthy animal?” But he couldn’t help the smirk at the corner of his mouth either.
“Shit, Jamie!” Ian leaned forward on his elbows, food forgotten, and looked at his watch. “We’ve twenty minutes before Lincolnshire. Ye better tell me everything.”
Jamie kicked him under the table, grinning. “There’s nothing to tell! We went out to my truck, made out a bit, but that’s it. I told her I was shipping out this morning.”
Ian was slackjawed. “Jamie. Ye mean ta tell me that ye had the chance ta have that and ye passed it up for a good night’s sleep?”
“I was right. Ye’ll die a virgin.” He shook his head, and looked over to a man sitting across the aisle, smiling down at his newspaper, obviously amused. “Would ye believe him?” Ian asked, hurling a thumb at Jamie.
The man chuckled, peering at them over his newspaper, and shook his head good naturedly.
Their arrival at the Royal Air Force College in Lincolnshire was less than glamorous, but no less exciting than either of the boys had expected. From the train station, a bus had taken them the rest of the way - about a fifteen minute ride to the campus. They had stepped off to be greeted by a large plaque with Royal Air Force College Cranwell chiseled into the stone.
From there, they had been greeted by a cold faced man in a blue uniform, matching cap shielding his eyes from the evening sun. Jamie and Ian, along with a small crowd of other cadets, gathered in close, excitement and nerves passing in waves through them all.
“Welcome to Cranwell, boys. I expect you’ll make the most of your experience here. This will be your home for the next few months, though I daresay you will not enjoy it.” His eyes, black and empty, scanned over the crowd. “Some of you will go home-” silence “-some of you will go on to become pilots-” murmurs of anticipation “-and some of you will become aces-” here the hushed comments were barely kept in control, and the man stood silent, unwilling to continue until everyone had quieted down. “First things first,” he began after they caught on, “my name is Captain Weinstock. You will do as I say, when I say, and you will not speak over me.” He did not raise his voice, but silence fell heavy on them all, and Jamie instantly respected him. “Regardless of what happens to you,” Jamie thought he heard his voice soften fractionally, “you’ve done your country a service coming here. She could use all the men she can get.” Absolute silence. Weinstock cleared his throat, and the twinge of emotion was gone. “I expect to find you all showered, dressed, and with your bunks made by the time I get to your quarters at oh five hundred tomorrow. Understood?” A chorus of agreement.
Weinstock left the crew to their own devices after that, turning them over to the hands of one Lieutenant Chockhelm, who gave them a brief tour of the campus, showed them to their barracks, and demonstrated once how they should fold their uniforms and make their beds. Each man had been provided with three outfits - one set of navy blue shorts and a white t-shirt for physical training, a set of casual olive green battle dress uniforms, and a set of crisp blues.
“You’ll be expected to be dressed for PT every morning, gents. No exceptions or excuses, or you can walk out the door.” Chockhelm, who stood nearly a head shorter than everyone in the room, and held none of the quiet seriousness of Weinstock, had a general good nature about him that Jamie could sense most of the men were drawn to immediately. While not exactly a friend, he was not an enemy. He didn’t wish to see anyone hurt. “Showers can be found down the hall. Food is available in the mess hall. Do try and go to sleep. It won’t do you any good if you can’t hear the instructions given to you, let alone perform them.” And just like that, he was alone, and the twenty-odd new recruits were left to their own devices.
There were twenty six of them to be exact; twenty six fresh faced, round eyed young men from the ripe age of eighteen to his own twenty one, up to twenty four. In time, he would learn most of their names. Some of them would become brothers, others enemies. But for now, all of them were strangers, and the silence that followed their abandonment was shattered by the surprised exclamation of someone Jamie couldn’t see - “Shit, this is it, then.” - and the resulting laughter from everyone else.
This is it, then.
He looked to Ian, whose eyes glittered. We made it, they seemed to say, and despite the rising thrill, something in the back of Jamie’s mind whispered dangerously.
We made it… this far.
But the war would take them farther than either of them thought possible.
as promised, chapter one of pearls! i am beyond excited for this, and hope you all enjoy! you can find the prologue here!
feedback, is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated! mwah!
I. Nature Boy
It started in a bar on a rainy Friday night…
The door clanged shut behind him with a rattle of the thin window pane, and Jamie at once pulled his hat off his head to beat it against his leg, turning the collar of his coat down as he was at enveloped in the warmth and energy of the bar. Outside, a stray clap of thunder heralded the worst of the storm, and he shivered in relief to be out of the rain.
“Jamie!” The voice across the room caught his attention at once; his lifelong best friend Ian Murray was crowded with a group of guys at the end of the bar, and stood half out of his seat, flagging Jamie down with his hat over the crowd of people dancing, smoking, and drinking.
“Ian!” He clapped the other man on the shoulder, already reaching for a shot from one of the others, and tapped their glasses briefly together. “Sláinte!” They tipped their whiskey back together.
When they came up again, Ian grasped Jamie by the back of the head, pulling him in close to hear him over the din of people dancing and live music. “Whaddaya think, Jamie? A wee bit o’ trouble before the end?” His eyes glittered with the beginnings of a drunken stupor, and he punched Jamie neatly in the shoulder. “Find us some girls ta make us men before we die in this bloody war?” His smile faltered, the air momentarily silent between them, but then Ian shook his head and leaned across the counter, signaling for two more shots of whiskey. He pressed one into Jamie’s hand. “Nay mind that! Sláinte!”
Jamie flashed his own grin in return, and threw back the shot. Across the bar, a brunette woman peered at him from over the rim of her glass. He arched an eyebrow, and her eyes smiled, entrancing him for the briefest of moments. The slam of Ian’s shot glass on the counter broke him free of her gaze, and when he glanced back she had turned back to chat with a redheaded woman.
“Come, Ian,” he shouted, grasping his friend by the arms and hauling him up. “Have a dance!”
“Just a beer, thank you!” Claire practically had to shout at the poor server to allow him to hear her over the chaos of people talking, a live band playing music, and the stomp of dancing feet. Minutes later, the young man dropped a mug of ale in front of her and a martini in front of her friend Geillis.
“So, Claire.” Geillis leaned in, her glass untouched. “What say you to a little fun tonight? I’m sure there’s a young laddie somewhere in here just waiting to be seduced.” Her eyes glittered with mirth.
Claire felt her cheeks flush, and shook her head with a laugh, sipping at the foam of her beer. “I say not tonight, Geillis! Unlike our young laddie, I am waiting to be absolutely hammered. We’ve been accepted into medical school; we might as well kill our livers to celebrate!” The redheaded woman raised her glass in cheers, and the two sat peaceably in relative silence, enjoying the clamor of life around them.
After a moment, Geillis nudged her. “Well, don’t look now, but there’s a handsome young laddie just walked in, hmm? Are ye quite sure ye wouldna like ta get hammered and hammered?” She dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Claire’s face blazed.
“Quite sure, thank you, Geillis.” Nevertheless, she looked.
He was quite an attractive young man, tall and lean and broad shouldered. She could make out small details of his face from such a distance, but could see the prominent line of brow and jaw. A mop of auburn curls topped it all off. She couldn’t tell, but she’d bet his eyes were blue.
Geillis was looking at her with a gleam in her eye.
“Thank you, Gelis,” she said, raising her mug and turning her back on the newcomer. Still, she found her eyes sliding in his direction every now and again, drawn almost magnetically to the stranger.
She was looking at him again. That had to be at least the fourth time Jamie had made eye contact with her, that woman from across the bar. Naturally, he and Ian drifted closer, weaving through the crowd clustered on the cleared swath of floor being used for dancing, both curious to get a sly look at her.
He risked a smile in her direction, and he might have imagined it, but she ever so slightly raised her drink, eyes glittering. He lifted his glass.
Ian kept looking at him smugly, eyebrows raised. “Are ye no’ gonna go over there and talk to her?”
Jamie snorted, walking to the bar for another drink and leaving his friend to follow. “Am I no’ gonna talk to her? Of course I’m not.”
He might as well have been stupid, for the look Ian gave him. “And why no’?”
Jamie shrugged, accepted a glass of brandy, and rubbed a knuckle beneath his nose. “I canna just go and make advances on a lady like that. She’s out wi’ a friend, enjoying herself. Would ye drop it, ye wee fiend?”
Ian groaned and threw himself bodily upon the bar. The tender paused to look at him, and he wagged a finger theatrically in Jamie’s direction. “He’ll die a virgin, my stupid friend!”
The bartender poured them both more whiskey.
“He’s looking again!” Geillis leaned in close enough that her breath stirred the hairs by Claire’s ear, and her skin momentarily prickled in discomfort as she shoved the other woman away.
“Oh, do stop, Geillis. Really, can’t you just enjoy the two of us being out at a bar? We’re women in a man’s world, this is call for celebration! Do you know how many women actually get to attend med school in this day and age?”
Geillis grinned. “I know o’ two!” She leaned in and dropped her voice. “One of which is about ta become a major in anatomy.”
Claire groaned.
“Maybe he’ll come over here.” The other woman was chattering now, brimming with excitement. “Oh, I wonder what his voice sounds like. I bet it’d make yer wee heart ooze.”
“If your heart’s oozing, my friend, find a doctor,” Claire grumbled into her drink.
But her eyes still flickered across the room. Hopeful.
“I suppose I could go and say hello…” Jamie caught her eye again, and this time gave a small smile. She blushed, he licked his lips, and her eyes grew momentarily wide.
“Damn right ye could go and say hello ye auld fool!” Ian leaned far enough forward to almost topple off his stool, grabbing onto the bar counter for support. “It’s one word! I’m sure ye can manage.” He giggled into a tankard of beer, and Jamie thought he heard him murmur “clotheid.”
One word. He could manage one word.
He took one last swig of his drink and stood up.
“Oh my God, he is coming over!” Geillis squealed, hiding her face in her drink, and Claire’s head snapped up.
Sure enough, the ginger fellow had abandoned his friend at the bar and was picking his way across the room, his eyes trained on her. Claire felt a shiver rip down her spine.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, “he’s coming over.”
He was close enough now that he could see little streaks of honey amid the chocolate of her curls.
His face came suddenly into view, like a telescope put into focus. His eyes were blue.
“Evening, ladies,” he said too quickly, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.
The redhead giggled. The brunette woman just smiled a little, cheeks flushing.
He cleared his throat.
“I, uhm,” Jesus Christ, this should not have been so hard. “Could I - I would like verra much to buy ye a drink, miss.” Blue met gold, and he could have died then and there and been a happy man.
She smiled, and something in his stomach tightened, like a rubber band stretched too far. “If you tell me your name.” Her voice was musical, and when she leaned in to better be heard over the sounds of the bar, he caught a whiff of her perfume; lilac.
“Jamie Fraser.” His name spilled off his lips all at once, his eyes locked on hers. “At your service, ma’am,” he added as an afterthought. Beneath the table, Geillis stepped on Claire’s toes.
“A pleasure, Jamie,” she smiled, extending a hand. “Claire Beauchamp.”
“Claire.” He said her name reverently, and she felt her knees go momentarily week as he took her hand and bent to kiss the knuckles, folding the fingers over his own calloused digits.
He hoped his palms weren’t sweating. Her hand was delicate and smooth in his, cool as porcelain, and the smell of her perfume was stronger as he pressed his lips to his knuckles, the smell of flowers and her skin suddenly heady. He straightened, and smiled, testing her name on his lips. “And what will ye be drinking, Claire?”
She smiled coyly, peering up at him through her lashes. “Whatever you’re having.”
Her lips met his with a clash of tongue and teeth, desperate and hungry, and her hands flew up to grab fistfuls of his curls, tugging and pulling in her need to be closer to him. He slipped his hands up under her dress, roaming over thighs and around the curve of her arse as she ground against his lap, pulling back to catch her breath.
They had gone outside to talk under the guise of it being quieter, but one thing had led to another and they found themselves a tangle of limbs in Jamie’s old Ford now, the windows slightly fogged and their breath mingling in the air.
“Oh God,” Claire groaned as he dropped his attention to her chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons as his lips sought out what skin he could reach. Her fingers tightened in his curls as he finally got the buttons open enough to expose the skin of her breasts, which prickled with goosebumps. Her hands dropped suddenly from his hair to his shoulders, clawing and pushing at his shirt. He had been wearing a tie, but he had no idea where that was now, and Claire was yanking at the collar, panting. It popped open suddenly, buttons flying, and she shoved it down off his shoulders, smoothing her hands over his now bare skin.
God, he could have died.
She caught his mouth again, and he tasted blood as her tooth caught his lip, her tongue smoothing over the cut without pause. He groaned and she swallowed it down, dragging her nails across his back.
“Let’s get out of here,” she breathed against his lips, and oh how he wanted to do just that. One of her hands shot momentarily down between them to grasp him through his pants, and his hips jerked of their own accord, eliciting a small noise of pleasure from her.
He wanted to lose himself in her, in the taste of her skin and the smell of her hair. It took entirely too much effort to pull back from her, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Wait, wait.” She sat back on his thighs, hands falling from his shoulders, and he offered her a reassuring smile. “Believe me,” he murmured, and his voice was husky, “there’s nothing I should like more, but I can’t.” Confusion briefly flickered across her face, and he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I ship out in the morning,” he breathed, speaking the words for the first time. “I’m with the RAF. Gonna go and see if we can’t shake these Jerries.”
She sat quietly for a moment, and then laughed a bit, sliding off his lap to sit next to him. “You’re a crab.” She must have seen the question on his face - she raised her hand to fix her hair and then turned to face him. “It’s a term for the air force boys. I have a friend in the Marines.” The hand waved in dismissal. “Where are you going?”
He smiled a little, and licked his lips, shrugging. “Dinna ken. Wherever they put me, I suppose.” She laughed, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Well, I hope it’s nowhere too dangerous. Just a little. Get your blood pumping.” She was doing a well enough job of that right now, and she damn well knew it. He grinned.
“I’m sorry ta disappoint ye, lass,” he chuckled, gesturing to their varying states of disarray, and she shook her head with a smile.
“It’s probably best I don’t leave my friend to her own devices anyway.” She turned his rearview mirror so she could see herself, and did her best to quickly compose her appearance, and then she was opening the door of his truck and sliding out into the night as if their little tryst had never happened.
“I- Claire, wait-” he leaned over, making to get out of the truck as well, but she shook her head and leaned up to kiss him briefly, a fistful of his shirt caught in her hand.
When she pulled back, she pressed a small square of linen into his palm; a handkerchief, white and clean with a small rose embroidered in the corner. He caught a whiff of her perfume on it. He looked up at her and licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
She shrugged, and stepped back with a smile, backing away from his truck. “Just a little something to remember your life before the war when you get tired of shooting at Jerries all day.”
And then she was gone, disappearing into the night and leaving him with little more than the taste of her on his lips and a folded up piece of fabric, warm from touching her skin.
He leaned back against the seat and blew out a breath. “Jesus.”
